Logan strokes Peter Aloha Bunny’s head, then hands him back to me. “It’s nice to meet Peter Aloha Bunny. Would you like to keep him on your bed or mine?”
I shake my head, unable to answer.
“Why don’t you put him away for now, and when you decide, you can unpack him. If you want him in here, he goes on the right pillow. Left side’s mine.”
“Yes, Daddy.” I blink hard and swallow my tears, then hold out my arms.
He sweeps me up and cuddles me against his chest. “Easy, baby. Too much?”
I shake my head and whisper into his warm throat. “Just emotional.”
“You know it’s okay to be emotional with me. We’ve talked about that before. I’m proud of you, baby, for the trust you just showed me. I wouldn’t ever hurt your bunny or take him away from you. He’s yours. Little girls need their lovies.”
I nod. I’m going to cry. I can’t help it.
“Oops.” He catches the first tear on his fingers as it spills, wipes it away and kisses my forehead. “You’re safe with me, Emmy. This is a safe place, right here, in Daddy’s arms. You can show me anything. Tell me anything. I’ll keep it safe, right here.”
That does it. I grab two handfuls of his T-shirt, bury my face in them and bawl.
He holds me, rubbing my back, as I blubber into his shirt.
My tears don’t last long, thank goodness, maybe because they’re from letting go of little fears, rather than the deep catharsis of yesterday. Or maybe I’m just dehydrated. I take a few shaky breaths and wipe my face, then realize what a mess I’ve made of his shirt.
“Daddy, I’m sorry.” I hold his tear–and oh, God, is that snot?–stained shirt between my hands.
He chuckles. “No problem. I was going to change after I showered anyway. Let’s get these balls in you if you still want to wear them to lunch. If it’s too much today, just say so.”
I shake my head. “I’d like to wear them for you.”
His warm “good girl” makes me shiver all the way to my toes.
* * *
Logan holds my hand as we walk up the wide staircase from our cabins to the Lido deck. The weighted, silver balls he’s put inside me shift slightly with each step but are so much nicer on stairs than Morris-the-purple-butt plug, which he’s told me I’m wearing to dinner. I’m not sure I’m looking forward to that.
I’m definitely not looking forward to lunch. I really dislike groups of strangers. I’m okay one-on-one, but in groups I just want the floor to open up and swallow me.
We stop at the sliding doors leading to the Rose Murex Lounge to use the dispenser of hand sanitizer that’s at the door of every public area on the ship. While we were boarding, the pursers asked us to use the hand sanitizers liberally. Since I don’t want whatever the other couple hundred people on the ship are carrying, I do.
When I finish rubbing the gel into my hands, Logan holds his arm out. I tuck myself into his side and let him lead me through the sliding doors.
The lounge is already full of women, even though we’re ten minutes early. There are two lines of booths along the windows of the lounge, and platforms on each end where there are larger tables. Some of the tables are already occupied. Waiters in the ship’s uniform–a pink thong for men and an iridescent cream bikini for women–circulate among the tables, offering champagne, mimosas, and sodas. One of the waitstaff bounces over to us: literally bounces on her cream-and-gold Nikes.
“Hello! I’m Jemma. Can I help you find your place card? Once you’re seated, there will be a short presentation, then we’ll take your order. Would you like a complementary glass of champagne?”
She’s too bubbly for me. I draw back against Logan’s side, shaking my head.
“Let’s find your tag, sweetheart,” Logan murmurs into my hair.
I almost beg him to let me return to the cabin with him, but he wanted me to do this. I can do it for him. I nod mutely.
We find my place card at a table for four on the far end of the lounge. Logan seats me and drops a kiss on the top of my head. My back’s to the open deck and pool beyond the doors behind me, but I have a nice view of the ocean out of the panoramic window to my left, and there’s a magnificent ice sculpture of Poseidon and his foam-maned horses slowly melting a few feet away that I can admire. Poseidon bears a distinct resemblance to Jason Momoa, which makes me smile.
I draw my Kindle out of my bag and set it next to the cream and gold place setting in front of me.
Logan leans down and kisses my forehead. “At least say hello to the other girls at your table before you bury your nose in your book, baby. If you’re not having fun, you have my permission to rock back and forth in your chair and think of Daddy.” He winks at me. “I’ll see you back at the cabin.”
I smile up at him. “Ta very much.”
“I just want you to have a good time, baby. See you soon.” With another kiss and a gentle pass of his hand over my head, he leaves me at the table. I watch him cross the lounge, his shoulders back, ass tight under his jeans. He attracts attention: several women—and men—watch him go. He turns at the far door, looks back at me and smiles when our eyes meet, warming away my lingering anxiety. I wave at him. He tips his chin and grins before he strides through the sliding doors.
Within five minutes, I wish I’d followed him. No one else sits at my table; maybe I scared them away. The presentation
