Page 82 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

“I am a little.”

“I always want you to tell me what you’re feeling. Anger is a normal emotion. You get angry so rarely. I know it can be harder for women to express anger. It’s not as socially acceptable as it is for men. But you’re safe with me and if you’re angry, this is a safe place to express it.”

I rub my cheek against his collar and open up my heart to everything I’m feeling. “I am angry at her. She thinks I’m a weak link. She thinks she can turn me against you after she failed to run me off. I’m not weak. I hate that she thinks I am.”

“Good girl,” Daddy encourages me. “Let it out.”

“I hate that I let her get to me. I hate that she knows my insecurities. I hate that she saw those moments of weakness.”

I pant a little after I let that all out. I hate things about what’s between me and Miranda but in this moment, I let go of my hate of the woman herself. She doesn’t deserve that much emotion from me. She doesn’t deserve that much of my time and energy. It’s time for me to let the tangle of my feelings for Miranda fade. She only feeds off my attention like an emotional vampire. Daddy’s told me to ignore her and he’s right. All she deserves is indifference; that’s what I’m going to give her from now on.

“They’re not weaknesses anymore, though, are they?” Daddy asks.

They’re really not. Everything we’ve been through, the good and the bad, has convinced even my skeptical little heart that I can trust my Daddy. He’s not perfect. No one is. But he loves me. Really loves me. Unconditionally and without limits. I didn’t understand what unconditional love was before I met Logan. I’d only had conditional love from my mother, my brother, my ex-husband, my other Doms. When I did things they didn’t like, their love for me dimmed. Sometimes it died completely, likewith Ash. They all tried to “fix” me, which really meant they were trying to get me to change the things they didn’t like about me. Daddy accepts all of me. Daddy wants me to be the best, happiest version of myself. But he’s left it up to me to discover and determine who that is. Because he loves me, and he always, always will.

“No, Daddy.”

“I’m a zillion times proud of you, my little wonder.”

“Love you, Daddy. Thank you for making me a bigger person, even though I’m very little.”

Daddy tips his head down to rub noses with me. “You’re very welcome. Ready to go see the Rexes?”

“Always!”

Daddy chuckles at my enthusiasm and lets me slide off his lap.

twenty-three

LOGAN

My little girl is a miracle.

Somehow, in the two hours that I napped, not only did she mobilize the entire playgroup to join us at the Museum of Natural History but she also broke through to True.

When I come downstairs, True’s sitting at the dining room table between Theo and Maude. They’re on a video call with True’s social worker and the biker Mac pulled out of his back pocket who is somehow law enforcementanda certified foster parent. I take in the expressions of the three people I can see—amused, defiant, and out-for-blood—and decide I don’t need to be involved right now. Mother Maude is on the war-path. My work here is done.

Instead, I intercept my little miracle-worker as she’s heading into the kitchen to make lunch for everyone. I send her off to pack a day-bag for Livvy, which takes her all of two seconds because she’s so organized but at least it prevents her from preparing another seven-course meal.

I thumb over to the caregivers chat and post that we’re going to the Deli at West 76thto pick up sandwiches before we headinto the museum. Everyone quickly agrees on the Deli as a meet-up point. Warrin organizes sandwich orders to call in so the Deli’s not overwhelmed when we descend on them. Bravo says he’ll bring chips and snack packs for the littles since he’s got an industrial supply. Henry offers to bring drinks for everyone who is non-dairy or no-carbonation, which is the majority of the littles. Emmy, reading over my shoulder, volunteers a bag of oatmeal cookies, so I throw that into the chat.

I’m used to how things get done in large groups of people because of my years in the Navy and at Blunts but the playgroup is a different experience. Maybe it’s because we’re caregivers. Maybe it’s because Blunts is something of a rich man’s club and the members are used to being catered to instead of caring for their subbies. But it’s a completely different mindset. The mommies and daddies of the playgroup just get shit done. There’s no waiting for a committee vote. There’s no delegating to an assistant. Someone gets an idea and they do it.

I haven’t felt as confident in the competence of a group of people since my days serving under Mac.

Although I’d planned to take the train up to West 79thand then walk back to the Deli, somehow Manny and his limo have been conscripted. Probably Emily. True’s eyes nearly swallow her face when the big, black limo pulls up and we all climb in. Theo death-glares the kid when she starts opening the cubbies across from her seat but I wave him off. If she wants a can of pop, she can have one. She should have the complete limo experience. Manny doesn’t stock alcohol in the limo except when it’s been pre-ordered, so there’s nothing she can get into that will hurt her.

We stop in Hell’s Kitchen to pick up Cappa and Fleur, who seem to have become honorary playgroup members. Brenna pulls Fleur into her conversation with True and, before we hitthe edge of Central Park, I can see True’s got another friend among the subbies.

Warrin’s waiting for us outside the Deli with a sandwich for Manny. Once we all climb out of the limo, the group of caregivers and littles staying warm inside the shop emerge. There are hugs all around for Aggie, Amy, Robyn, Yummy, Sammi, Henry’s little Leda, red-headed Matty, and a reserved, black-haired newcomer named Saoirse.

We’re our own crowd as we start off down the street toward the museum. Sandwiches in crinkly butcher paper get passed around along with warm drinks. I steer Livvy’s stroller so that Emmy can enjoy her sandwich. She reserves meat for dinner, usually, and rarely eats red meat but the hot roast beef from the Deli on West 76this an exception. I’ve gotten it, too, souped up with horseradish gravy. The Deli’s rare roast beef is so good it should be its own food group.

Emmy’s eyes roll back in her head with her first bite and I wrap my free arm around her waist to keep her from bumping into anyone.

She chews ecstatically ten times and smiles up at me with her eyelids fluttering. “Omigosh, Daddy, sooo good.”

“Orgasmic, baby doll?”

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