Page 6 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

I let her release, the delicious spasms around my plunging cock, the snap and wrap of her legs around me as she shudders out each wave of pleasure, pull me over the edge. A half-dozenhammering thrusts and I’m there-I’m there-I’mthere, pouring everything that’s in me into her. All the light and dark in my soul. It dives into the well of hers, ignites, and burns like a star.

With my release still firing behind my eyes, I roll us over so Emily’s not trying to take my weight and hold my little love to me so tightly she knows her Daddy will never, ever let her go.

two

LOGAN

In the end,I have enough votes for Mac’s membership but it’s a near thing.

I sit at the oval committee table, tapping my pen on my notepad, while I listen to Ten rant. It’s the first time I’ve seen the usually stoic, secretive Master of Rope lose his shit. By the silence and slack jaws of the other people sitting around the table, I gather it’s a first for them, too.

“And then there’s the issue of you working over in Jersey,” Ten growls at me, crossing his burly arms over his even burlier chest.

Despite the fact that it’s early November, and much cooler than yesterday, Ten’s shirtless, wearing just low-slung leather pants and scuffed boots. The numerous X tattoos over his neck, chest, and arms that give rise to his club name stand out starkly against his fading tan. During their blanket-fort gossip sessions, Emily’s learned from Brenna that there’s a running bet among the house subs as to what the X tattoos mean.

I’ve thrown a tenner on “X marks the spot” just for the heck of it.

“How is Logan working at our sister club relevant to Mr. MacNally’s application?” Maude asks from where she’s sitting to my left. Her voice is cool and neutral. If she’s surprised, or annoyed, by Ten’s rant, she doesn’t let it show.

“They live together,” Ten says with a glower at me.

“And?” Maude asks.

While everyone’s eyes go back to Ten, Maude curls her French-manicure over my pen. Guess I’m tapping a little too loudly. Maude pats my hand when I set the pen down on my notebook.

“Not sure either of them got Blunts’ best interests at heart if Logan’s working there,” Ten grumbles.

I start to answer that piece of bullshittery but Maude’s fingers tighten over mine.

I shut my mouth.

Javier, who doesn’t hold a title but has been sitting on the management committee since some point in the sixteenth century, if the rumors are true, shoots the cuffs of his Huntsman suit. I’ve seen him do that often enough before he goes into battle that I almost feel sorry for Ten.

“Is there a problem between Blunts and Sacrum?” Javier asks. “Something of which I’m unaware?”

Ten grunts. “He’s got one foot here and one foot there. Divided loyalties.”

“I fail to see the issue,” Javier says. “Sacrum’s our sister club. Other than this security matter that Logan’s helping them with, Mistress Jaimie and Master Olaf haven’t informed us of any problem at the club. Certainly nothing that would create a conflict of interest.”

All eyes swing back to Ten. He grunts but says nothing more.

“Excellent,” Javier says drily. “Shall we vote? The morning’s wasting and asses are going unsmacked.”

That draws a chortle out of my friend, Bull, who is sitting on Maude’s far side. His hand is one of the first to shoot into the air when the chairman calls the vote. His hand is followed by nine more. Enough for Mac’s membership. The hard knot my gut squeezed into during Ten’s tantrum relaxes a fraction.

I half-expect Ten to kick off again when my roster for the month’s Monday theme nights goes up for a vote. For the first time, I’ve included an age-play night. Other than glowering at me, Ten doesn’t comment and my roster passes, with Ten and the Three Cs abstaining.

My pen begins a staccato tapping again before Maude reaches over and silences it.

“Do you need a Xanax, dear?” Maude asks under her breath as Chess moves to the next point on the agenda.

“Bandages,” I grunt. “And an alibi.”

Maude chuckles but leaves her fingers resting on my wrist. I give up any attempt at taking notes, laying the pen down and biding my time until the end of the meeting.

As soon as the Chairman taps his gavel to close the meeting, I’m up and out of my chair. Across the table, Ten rises and crosses his arms over his chest, clearly expecting a confrontation. Instead, I head to the top of the table, where the Three Cs sit. Chess and our Master of Coin, Cris, have already vacated their seats, leaving the woman I want to talk to sitting in her leather wing-chair, watching me approach with eyes that swallow the light.

“Did you have a change of heart?” I ask as I approach. I don’t loom over her chair. That’s a dick move whether the person I’m looming over is a top or a bottom but doing it to another top is just a blatant challenge. As annoyed as I might be at the waifish woman in the chair, I’m not to the point of challenging her.

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