Daddy PI: Book 1 of the Daddy PI Casefiles, Frost, J [great novels to read .txt] 📗

myself on my forearms. She likes my weight, my Kevlar baby doll, so I give her some, but not so much I’m crushing the breath out of her.

My weight, and the pressure on the butterfly, send her bucking up off the bed. “Please, Daddy. Daddy, please!”

“A little more,” I encourage her, gritting my teeth against my own release. If we can both hold out just a bit longer, when we finally let go, it’ll be that much more intense. Fuck, is it hard, though. She’s bucking under me, driving me right to the edge. Her hot little cunt tightens, squeezes, clamps on my cock. I spread my elbows to give her more of my weight, and my knees so I can pound into her.

She bucks like a bronco, squealing, yanking on the cuffs so hard she’s going to have another set of bruises. “Daddy, now! Daddy, please! Please!”

I can’t hold back any longer, either. “Come for me, baby,” I grunt, and follow it with a long groan as my own pleasure spikes.

She sounds like a fire-engine as she comes, wailing, rocking from side to side. If I didn’t outweigh her by so much, she’d throw me off. She locks her legs around my hips, shoving back against each of my thrusts. It’s that motion, the tattoo of her hips against mine, that explodes my climax, eruption after eruption, a dozen trips to Heaven and back, until I collapse on her, completely spent.

“Baby,” I groan. “Oh, baby doll.”

She makes a happy humming noise, vibrating her belly against mine, locking me inside her, which should hurt when I’m going soft but feels so, so good. I’ve found my perfect little sheath, and I never want to leave it.

She’s quiet when I finally withdraw, when I uncuff her, when I carry her to the bath. Quiet but happy, smiling and snuggling. Her eyes, more green than brown in the bathroom’s halogens, linger on my face. When I smile back at her, her eyes light up.

I kiss her on the forehead as I lower her into the hot water. “Good second date, baby doll?”

“Oh.” She goes limp in my hands. I pick up a washcloth to clean her, then decide I might as well get clean, too. I scoot her forward so I can slide into the tub behind her. As soon as I spread my legs around her, she wiggles back into my lap. “Yes, Sir, great second date. What’s third base, I mean, date?”

“Dinner and spanking.” I rub the washcloth up and down her arm. “We leapfrogged, didn’t we?”

“I’m good with that.” She sighs. “This feels great.”

It does. The wet heat works deep into my muscles, almost as good as the orgasm. My fourth orgasm today, even if the second one was more of a paingasm. Still, I’m going to have to start pacing myself, and drinking more water, if I’m going to keep up with my needy baby girl. I stroke her soft head back onto my shoulder and rub the washcloth over her lazily, less concerned about getting her clean than about letting her feel warm, safe, and cared-for. Cared for by her daddy.

“Emmy, you know what? I really like it when you call me Daddy. How about you do that all the time when we’re alone? Save sir for when we’re around other people.”

“Like at the mall?” She giggles and I chuckle at the memory of telling her to flash a couple of women who gave her the stink-eye when she called me “sir” on the phone while she was shopping.

“Uh-huh.”

“Yes, Daddy. I’d like that.”

“Good girl.” I kiss her temple. “We could fall asleep here, except you’d get all pruney.”

She takes my free hand, resting on the lip of the bath, and brings it to her lips. She sucks one of my fingertips into her mouth. “Don’t you get pruney?” she asks around it.

“Superman doesn’t prune.”

Another soft giggle. “But Superman’s a dork. Wouldn’t you rather be Wolverine?”

“Wolverine’s a prick, with a huge chip on his shoulder. He couldn’t see past his own ego long enough to top. He’d make a lousy daddy.”

“True,” she says. She sounds sleepy. And happy. “Some people say that the Joker’s a daddy, but he’s too much of a nutcase. He hurts his baby for real. Not many Daddies in films, either. Except Bruce Willis in RED. He’s such a daddy.”

“He is, huh? I don’t think I’ve seen that one.”

“I have it with me on my laptop, if you want to watch it.”

It shouldn’t surprise me that she carries the one Daddy-Dom movie around with her. I bet she watches it a lot. “Is it PG? My little girl’s not allowed to watch R-rated movies.”

She giggles. “Yes, it is. Can I keep Deadpool, though? I mean, I’ve already watched it.”

“No.” She was wearing a Deadpool shirt when she arrived. That will have to go, too. But when I think about it, it was baby Deadpool, riding a unicorn. Too cute. She can keep that.

She sighs and turns so she can cuddle to my chest. “I’ll delete it, Daddy.”

“Good girl. We’ll watch the movie tonight before bed.”

We do. Or, at least, I do, because Emily falls asleep on my shoulder in less than five minutes. I watch it to the end for pointers, although other than being incredibly indulgent with his manic baby girl, I can’t see that good ol’ Bruce does anything I wouldn’t do. But after Emily nods off, I pull my black book of ideas out of my bag and add several spy-themed scenes to my list of games to play with Emily.

Once the movie’s finished, I turn off all the lights, tuck Emily against my side, and watch the glow of the Los Angeles skyline play over the soft curves of her face as she sleeps. When I close my eyes, it’s that image that I carry into my dreams with me, and not any of the others that have twisted behind my eyes today.

* * *

My first interview of