Page 134 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

“Thank you.”

He sets the bottle down on the table, props Livvy up with a hand on her chest, and rubs her back. She lets out three, froggy burps and then coos.

Mr. De Leon chuckles before settling her back in the crook of his arm and offering her the bottle and his pinkie again.

“How are you liking being a mum?” he asks.

I could tell him I’m not Livvy’s mum; I’m Daddy’s best little babysitter. But I don’t feel like a babysitter anymore. Livvy’s as much my family as Daddy or Master Mac or my Big Sub Bestie.

“I love it,” I tell him honestly.

“How’s the balance of parenthood and littlehood?” he asks.

“Is ‘littlehood’ a thing?” I grin at him, which he must see in his peripheral vision, because he smiles down at Livvy. Littlehood is unquestionably a thing, I just like teasing him gently because he’s new to the lifestyle. “It’s good. Daddy’s schedule keeps everything balanced. I’m more of a middle anyway. It hasn’t been hard to wrap parenthood into my middleness.”

Mr. De Leon nods without taking his eyes off the baby. “Do you think it would be more difficult to balance if you went younger and couldn’t care for Livvy while you were being very little?”

“Probably,” I admit. “But I also think I’d have trouble sustaining a very young mindset for long periods of time. I might just ask Daddy to build in a block of time every day for me to be very young while someone else looks after Livvy.”

“That makes sense—” Mr. De Leon breaks off; his eyes slide toward the curtain. “Your daddy’s up.”

His hearing’s really good. Now that he mentions it, I can hear the slap of Daddy’s huge wolfy feet across the floor but I didn’t notice it until he brought it to my attention. Daddy pushes through the curtain.

“Myles? Sorry, I didn’t see your message until just now.”

“That’s because you were asleep when I sent it at four in the morning. Like a normal person.” Mr. De Leon’s mouth twitches. “You’re allowed to sleep, Logan.”

“Have you?”

Mr. De Leon’s smile dies. “Not yet.”

“How many days of ‘not yet’ is that?” Daddy asks.

“Two. I had trouble getting back on short notice. Had to do some hiking.” His mouth twitches again. “And steal a motorcycle.”

Daddy chuckles. “Baby, can I help with breakfast?”

The right answer is “no” because Bren and I have breakfast under control and anyone else in the kitchen just gets in our way. But Daddy’s wearing his frowny line this morning even though he’s only been up for five minutes: he hasn’t even brushed his hair or shaved yet. I can tell he needs to feel useful.

“Yes, Daddy,” I say, before rising from my chair and sinking down on my knees in front of him. I open my mouth.

Mr. De Leon swears softly. “I keep forgetting to ask for that.”

Daddy cups my face in his big, warm palm. “The beauty of a relationship with your submissive is that you don’t have to ask. Very good girl, Emily. Daddy’s going to take a rain check until after breakfast. We’ll take a shower together when Mac takes Livvy to daycare and then you can offer me your mouth. I love you very much, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

He offers me his hand and I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. “What can Daddy do to help with breakfast?”

“Can you get out plates and silverware and stack them on the island, then get out the warming plate and big tray for the sausages? I’ll put the sausages on the grill and then could you keep an eye on them and turn them every five minutes?”

“Yes, little girl, I can do all that.”

I give him a kiss on the chin before trotting off into the kitchen.

Dana and Austin are next up, emerging quietly from the basement. Dana has a bad shoulder, Austin’s told me, so sleeping on the floor, even on a pile of cushions and pillows and blankets and subbies, is out. Austin offers to help me inthe kitchen while Dana takes a turn feeding Livvy. I get Austin mixing biscuits, which he can do on the other side of the island so there aren’t too many butts in my kitchen, while I make gravy.

I hear Dana and Mr. De Leon talking quietly over the baby’s sucking noises. They’re using words like “drug withdrawal,” “extensive therapy,” “permanent scarring.” I know they’re talking about Fleur. Each word I catch makes my stomach whir horribly. I catch Austin’s eye. He gives me a worried nod.

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