The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost E J

Author:Frost, E J
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: E. J. Frost
Published: 2021-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Logan

There are good scenes, and there are great scenes, and then there was that.

Fuck, my head’s still orbiting somewhere around Jupiter. I’ve topped plenty of times without fucking my bottom. I did it routinely while I was in charge of training the house subs at my club. But I’ve never connected to my bottom so deeply without sex. Never felt each wave of sensation pass through her body just from looking into her eyes. I’ve never applied the word “exquisite” to a scene before, but that was fucking exquisite. I cannot get enough of my little girl.

And what I have planned for our last edging scene, flogging her pussy and ass with a rubber flogger coated with peppermint oil, should be even better.

I stagger through my cabin to the bar, take some water out of the fridge, and chug it down. The cold steadies me. I hate to lose this high, this phenomenal buzz, but I have to focus. On something other than my baby girl and her exquisite submission.

I wash up, scrubbing every trace of ginger off my hands, before I change and take out my laptop and notebook. I don’t anticipate showing the chief purser any pictures. I doubt he had any contact with the victims, but it’s better to be prepared.

As I wait for a knock on the door, I think back on my interview with Jason Merullo. I’m certain he’s hiding something, but is it the brick? I told Ed Isaak I was sure, and instinctively, I am, but if I can’t find the brick, how else can I prove it? And what about Rod McCall? Again, it’s only a gut feeling, but I’m sure he knows about the brick, whether or not he supplied it. What’s the link between McCall and Merulla? Is it just coincidence? It doesn’t feel like it. I’ve learned as both a Dom and as an investigator to trust my instincts, but the insurance company isn’t going to be satisfied with what my gut is telling me. They’re going to want proof.

I need to find the brick.

The chief purser, Kofi Palmer, knocks as I’m wondering what I’ve missed, what other avenues I could go down. I open the door to a smooth-faced, black man. I hear a hint of a Jamaican accent when we exchange greetings. His smile is brighter than the lightning crashing outside my window.

He gives me the master key Ed Isaak promised, differentiated by the other key cards I’ve been given by its dull orange color. I tuck it away in my breast pocket while I ask about the delivery and storage of medicines. Palmer echoes what the security guard told me.

“Officer Ashton mentioned you have some system for keeping track of how many non-prescription medicines each passenger has been given.”

“It’s actually by cabin number, not passenger,” Palmer explains. “Staff log the meds into the system, and it flags me if any room has had more than a certain number in a twelve-hour period. If I get an alert, I check in with the cabin and see if a guest needs medical attention.

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