Negotiation: Daddy P.I. 0.5, E Frost [best thriller novels of all time txt] 📗

peaceful, even when he’s not punishing me. “I was just admiring your focus. I’m really scattered. I mean, I can focus when I’m writing, but the rest of the time?” I shake my head. “Even when I’m researching, half the time I end up writing down facts that amuse or interest me but aren’t even on topic.”

Logan wrinkles his chin. “That might make your research slow, but I bet you learn about a lot of different subjects.”

“I do,” I admit.

“Do you get your ideas for your books from your research?”

“Not really. This might sound crazy, given what I write, but most of my ideas come from French fairy tales. My mother used to read them to me when I was little. ‘The Bee and the Orange Tree.’ ‘Prince Marcassin.’ ‘The Pigeon and the Dove.’ I loved all those stories. There was sorrow and loss, but there was also enchantment and sacrifice and true love. That’s what inspires me.”

Logan reaches out and takes my free hand again. He lifts it to his lips and kisses my fingertips. “I like that. I don’t know any of those fairy tales.” He takes the pad of my middle finger into his mouth and nips it. “Bring them on the cruise. We could read one each night as a bedtime story.”

I stare at him. I told my ex-husband and one of my Doms about my muse; Ash gave me a beautiful leather-bound volume of Baroness d’Aulnoy’s Les Contes de Fées for our first anniversary. But not a single one of them has offered to read them with me.

It takes me a minute to find my voice. Then I stammer, “I-I would love that.”

“Good.” With a final kiss, Logan releases my hand. “Are you about finished? Would you like a cup of tea? I’m going to have coffee.”

“Yes, please. Were you going to order dessert?” I ask hesitantly. “Mistress Maude recommended the tiramisu.”

He grimaces. “Maude has a big mouth. But I doubt she’d steer us wrong about dessert. I’d be happy to order it, if you’d like to share it.”

“Just a bite. Could I have peppermint tea if they have it? If not, any herbal tea is fine.”

Logan nods. “No caffeine, or is it a taste thing?”

“Both. I kicked caffeine and cigarettes four years ago.”

“At the same time? You really are a masochist.”

“Yes, sir.” I laugh. “New life, new me. No caffeine, no cigarettes, no more weeks in my grungy jammies. That was when I finally agreed to meet Matthew. To try to whole thing for real. He put up with me being the grumpiest I’ve ever been, including finals week at college. I earned a lot of punishments, those first couple of months.”

Logan smiles. “How long were you with him?”

“Almost two years, but it was very much an every-other-weekend thing.”

“Then he showed up at the dungeon party with someone else?”

“Oh, no, that wasn’t him.” That was Ben—DFour—who was good in bed, and a complete asshole out of it. “Matty worked in structural engineering. He got this amazing job opportunity, but it was in Costa Rica.”

“You didn’t consider going with him?”

“He didn’t offer and I didn’t ask.”

I didn’t even consider asking. I thought my whole life was in Syracuse. I couldn’t imagine leaving. Looking back now, on the missed opportunity to live in Costa Rica for a couple of years, I can’t imagine why I didn’t.

We’re interrupted by the return of the waiter, who clears our empty plates and takes Logan’s dessert and drinks order. I feel that hot rush in my cheeks and groin when he orders for me. It’s such a little thing. A little, perfect thing.

“Sir,” I say when the waiter leaves. “We’ve talked all about me. Can we talk about you?”

Logan shakes his head. “I like that you’re opening up to me. If I’m going to top you, I need to understand what makes you tick. And we have talked about me. I’ve told you about my business and the Navy.”

“And the bodily functions of men on high-protein diets,” I quip, and he grins back at me. “I just don’t have a good sense of what you like.”

“What I like. Mmm.” Logan rubs his chin, pretending to consider the question seriously. “I like flowers. Long walks on the beach. Sunday mornings in bed—” He cracks the grin he was suppressing.

“You’re mean.”

“I can be mean.” The grin turns into a leer. “But most of the time I’m an indulgent top. I think that’s one of the reasons the stuff I read about being a daddy clicked for me. I love the idea of spoiling my girl. I’m all about creating a safe space for play, anyway, so letting you express your inner child in that space isn’t a big step.”

I would throw myself at his feet if we weren’t in a restaurant. I might, anyway, if he keeps saying things like that. “What did your other bottoms do in that space?”

“Different things.” He doesn’t elaborate and I wonder if he doesn’t want to talk about his previous subs. Maybe I’m just not asking the right questions.

“I guess I’m just wondering, if you haven’t been a daddy before, what you like?” I stumble over the words, like I’ve missed a step and have to throw my hands out for balance. I swear, I can write thousands of pages of snappy dialogue, but when I have to say something marginally intelligent to a real man, I sound like a kindergartener.

Logan taps his finger to his lips and I see the waiter returning out of the corner of my eye. I sit back in my chair, feeling like an idiot again, as the waiter sets down my tea, Logan’s espresso, and a plate of confectionary.

When the waiter retreats, Logan places the dessert between us and picks up his fork. He takes a bite, chews and swallows, before he says, “I like a lot of things. Mostly I like seeing my bottom go out of her head with whatever I’m trying to make her feel. I’ve done