Page 196 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection

What? Do I have an invisible sign that says, “incapable of dating” hanging over my head?

“Did I fumble lunch that badly, sir?”

“No, you were delicious at lunch. I’ve had a semi-stiffy all day. But other than concluding the Doms at this club of yours are a bunch of fucktards, I can’t for the life of me understand why you’re not collared and branded already. Or why they left you thinking for a single second that you weren’t able to submit anymore.”

“Oh.” Heat rushes to my cheeks. And lower down. “I, uh, maybe I’m just not that much of a prize.”

“Yes, you are,” he rumbles, dropping his voice into that deep bass register again. I think I have a mini orgasm. “Last go, and then we’re going to play before bed. Prize is your hand on my cock until I come, because now I can’t get the image of your fucking sexy fingers on my dick out of my head. Here are my three. I’m allergic to peanuts. I can’t watch war movies. Christmas is my favorite holiday.”

“Gimme a minute,” I mutter, because my brain got stuck on him thinking my fingers are sexy. “Um, if you have a peanut allergy then you’d be dead after that soup, so that’s the lie. What kind of SEAL can’t watch war movies, sir?”

He grunts. “I wasn’t ever a SEAL. You finished your bath?”

“Yes, sir. How’d you know I’m in a bath?”

“I can hear the water lapping.”

“That’s some damn good hearing, Master Mac.”

“Something to remember if you’re tempted to mutter curses at me, bold girl. Get out and dry off. I want you in bed for the next part.”

Dayum. “Yes, sir.”

Usain Bolt has nothing on me as I fly out of the tub, dry off, and jump into bed. I’m still a little damp in spots, mostly between my legs, as I settle under my sheet, comforter, and BebeJ’s handmade quilt. I wriggle down against the sheets and set the phone on the pillow next to me.

“Sir, if we’re going to play, could we make this a video call? I’d really like to see you.”

Mac chuckles. “Sure. Sorry, I didn’t think of that. Still in the age of rotary phones. I’ll call you back.”

“I can switch it over.”

I tap my phone and bring up FaceTime. Mac frowns into his phone for a second, then flashes me a blinding grin. “Okay, I would not have known how to do that.”

“Well, you can’t do it on a rotary phone, sir.”

He shakes his head at me. “Smartass.”

I give him my best shit-eating grin.

“Careful, beautiful girl. We can play an edging game instead of a mutual masturbation game.”

My mind stumbles again. He thinks I’m beautiful? Sexy. Sure, men have called me that. Beautiful? Not so much. And I’d be totally happy with edging instead of mutual masturbation. Denial makes me crazy hot. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you have any toys handy?”

“Yes, sir.” A whole drawer of them right beside the bed.

“Grab your favorite vibrator. A rabbit if you have one.”

I do. I pull my bright purple rabbit and a bottle of lube out of my nightstand and lie back in the pillows.

He props his phone against something so I can see his head and torso as he reclines against a pile of snowy pillows and brass rails. I recognize that bed, since I’ve slept in it more than once: Logan and Emily’s guest bed. Mac’s wearing a black T-shirt, which stretches over his big shoulders and chest muscles, and hot-guy gray sweatpants. He should be too old to make that look work. Either he’s not or gray sweatpants work no matter what a guy’s age. He said he’s had a semi-stiffy all day, but unless the gray sweatpants are miracle-workers, he’s graduated to fullbloom. And what a pleasant-looking package it is. I feel my brain melting again.

As he smiles into the screen, he teases the edge of the T-shirt with his fingertips. His smile fills his eyes. Dayum. Plenty of guys smile with just a crinkle around the edges. Mac’s smile swells, making his eyes so intensely blue they burn.

“Will you be warm enough if you pull down the covers below your breasts?”

“Yes, sir.” I fold down the covers a few inches at a time, revealing my throat, my shoulders, the tops of my breasts, and finally my nipples. I tuck the folded material into the undercurve of my breasts and feel the heat of his stare play over my bared skin.