Page 361 of The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The Second Collection

Because I knew our play today would be messy, I reserved a room on the third floor. It’s the “pink boudoir” room and has all the elements of a terribly cheesy Vegas honeymoon hotel, right down to the heart-shaped bed. Most importantly, though, there’s a two-person hot tub in the attached bath.

Emily clings to me like the cutest baby koala as I carry her to the bathroom, dropping our overnight bags by the door. I’ll unpack later. I strip off our paint-covered overalls and the street clothes we’ve worn beneath. Some of the paint is still wet, so I make sure to use it to daub hearts on my baby doll’s butt-cheeks while I’m taking off her white knickers. That gets me a cute squeal that I muffle with my mouth as I pick her up and climb into the hot tub with her.

Kissing my little girl is an addiction I don’t want to break.

Once we’re in the hot water, I turn Emily around in my lap and braid her hair, taking my time to rub my fingertips over her scalp. She dissolves into a floppy koala, still clinging to me with her foot adorably hooked behind my calf. I love the points of connection she always creates between us.

I nibble her neck and the soft shell of her ear as I rub my hands over her. Sure, it gets the paint off but I’m really sensitizing her skin, warming her up for our lovemaking. Emily reciprocates sweetly, rubbing her foot up and down my calf, wriggling when I find a particularly sensitive spot on her neck so her soft bottom grinds over my lap.

“Who is this clean little girl?” I ask when I’m ready to move from the bath to the bed.

“You, Daddy,” my clean, floppy koala answers, lazily trailing her toes up and down my calf.

“Confident I’m not a clean little girl. I might be a wolfy Daddy who’s about to get down and dirty.”

A soft giggle out of my floppy koala. “My bottom should be safe from you.”

“Why is that, silly baby?”

“Cause I shot you dead at paintball. Only winners are allowed to get down and dirty with other people’s bottoms.”

I poke her in the ribs, eliciting a squeal and a squirm across my semi.

“I’ll remind you that my team won.”

“Afteryou were dead,” Emmy points out.

“You are a menace. Was it your idea to set up that ambush?”

A wilder giggle.

“You’re in so much trouble. Right, little insurrectionist. I know how to deal with you.” I slide out from under her and make sure she’s steady on the rim of the tub before I climb out and gather towels. Blunts’ towels are thick, soft, and smell like watermelon. I help Emmy out and wrap her in the towel, taking my time rubbing her pink skin. Every time a curve emerges from the cloth, I lean in to kiss and nip. Emmy gets increasingly weak-kneed. I sit on the edge of the tub with her straddling my thigh as I dry her. When I cup her breasts in the terry-cloth and take my time nibbling and kissing her nipples to tight peaks, the part of her spread over my thigh gets wetter instead of drier.

I pretend to dab at her wet patch while really getting my fingers into her. Bending her back over my arm, I worship her breasts. I encourage her to grind down on my thigh until she catches a rhythm, then help her along by rubbing her clit until she clamps her thighs around mine and comes in a long series of sweet jerks and soft moans.

I gather my baby doll and our bags and drag them into the bedroom. As I pass the mirrored alcove over the sink, I catch my reflection. My grin is feral. Doesn’t matter. Emily’s not scared ofher Daddy, no matter how crazy our play gets. She’s always been happy to follow me down the most twisted path.

Her trust and faith in me lights up my chest brighter than Times Square at Christmas.

I deposit my floppy koala on the heart-shaped bed, plant my hands on either side of her, and loom over her.

“Hi, little girl.”

She blinks up at me. Such big baby eyes. “Hi, Daddy. You’re looking very wolfy.”

“I’m feeling very wolfy, my baby. Can you take some pain for me?”

“Always.”

I kiss the tip of her nose.

Our play bag yields a juice box that I get Emily sipping while I unpack our toiletries, night clothes, lube, and a surprise for my little masochist.

“Um, Daddy? What is that?”

I work hard to keep my face straight as I hold out the paddle I commissioned for Emily from Fleur, who makes incredibly wicked toys. This one is clear silicone, swirled through with pink and black glitter. One side is flat. The other side has rows of short humps rising from the surface. It’s going to give my babysomuch thump.

“This?” I turn the paddle around in my hand so she can see both sides. “Just something I saw and thought was pretty for my beautiful baby.”