Chapter 10
Getting attached wasn’t my style at all.
In fact, I often went through so much to not get attached.
It wasn’t like there was a line of men outside my bedroom door who all fit the criteria I was desperate to fill, but the only criteria that actually mattered and even for a second counted was that they had to be into Daddy play.
I didn’t care too much about their style, as long as they could put up with me being a bit of a brat sometimes.
I think my lack of care for the type of Daddy came from my style of play as a little, which often changed with the wind, and sometimes I was all innocent and would cry at a stern voice.
Logan Pierce had that thing about him. I didn’t want to be questioned on what it was, or even how it affected me, because I wouldn’t be able to tell you.
All I knew was that it was something I didn’t want to talk about with anyone.
It was embarrassing to have all these big feelings for someone I didn’t know very well.
Apart from seeing him on the TV, I suppose.
And in my family, if we saw you on TV, you were practically a family friend—don’t ask my mom about Vanna White, she’d tell you she was her sister. She wasn’t.
I woke in my bed on Christmas morning, after all those big feelings last night.
I’d never had so many erections and used them in one night.
Daddy Logan was a bit of a horndog, and his touch brought it out of me.
I’d had nothing left in the tank last night after he’d expelled it all out of my cock. In the nicest way possible that was.
The chocolate shop was closed today, since it was Christmas Day. I think it was the only day of the year we actually closed the place for the full day and not just a half day.
My mom knocked on my door and told me to come open my presents.
In the middle of the living room, under the tree, I had a pile of perfectly wrapped gifts with the cutest bows. Peter had a pile beside mine. He was all groggy when he walked in, muttering about the so-called lie in he was going to have.
I saved opening mine until I grabbed the small gift bags I’d already prepared for my parents. I’d bought their stuff during the Black Friday sales. It wasn’t much, but I knew they were things they loved.
My father sat in his arm chair with my mom occupying the arm of it. Peter had opened his gifts—the usual underwear was piled alongside some comic books and a new pair of sneakers he’d had wish-listed.
“Open yours first,” I told them.
“Jamie, you should open yours,” my mom said, taking the gift bag, her eyes widening at the weight. “Oh.”
I’d bought them their favorite alcohol. My dad loved scotch, and would probably use it in something down in the chocolate kitchen.
I’d also bought him some golf passes and balls.
My mom got a rose wine and glass set that was some expensive celebrity influencer brand, and with it, a fruity perfume I knew she was running low on.
It was easy to buy for her, she couldn’t keep a secret about what she wanted to save her life—it’s all she’d been talking about.
“Now I have two bottles of it,” she said. “Your father got me one.”
Peter raised his hand. “Make that three,” he snickered. “Sorry to spoil it. I’ve still got the receipt if you—”
“Don’t you dare,” she said. “It means I can be a little bit more liberal with it now. And I don’t care if you complain.”
“I actually like it,” I said, to my father’s unchanged hard face. He’d once called it an offense to the senses, and needed his nose too much to smell it so often. That was a couple of years back, so maybe he’d changed his mind.
I opened my presents and there was underwear and some thick winter socks.
I also had some planners and pens, as well as one of those hefty coffee table books filled with chocolatiering recipes and sculptures.
I half wondered if that had been meant for Peter, but no.
I had my strengths elsewhere in the chocolate kitchen.
“Is your—your friend still coming for dinner later?” my mom asked.
My father perked up in his chair. “Good question,” he grumbled. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold my tongue about the team.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to,” I said. “Logan is just as stressed as the rest of us, in fact, more so. Don’t even mention the team, unless he brings it up, but he’s a nice guy, and I really like him.”
“I support whatever it is you’re doing,” my mom said.
“As long as it gets us tickets,” Peter chuckled. “Isn’t that right, Jamie? I know your game. We wanna be right by the glass in one of the sponsor’s boxes.”
I rolled my eyes, although they couldn’t roll hard enough for what I was trying to convey. “Just don’t even mention that either,” I said. “And yes, he’s coming over later, and I want everyone to be on their best behavior. If possible.”
My father laughed. “You know it’s a bit of a commute from here to Burlington,” he said.
“Richard,” my mom said. “It’s Jamie’s life. And I’m sure whatever he decides to do, we’ll support you.”
“Season tickets,” Peter said again.
My father smirked a little. We clashed so much because we were alike with our sass to each other. “Of course, whatever you decide to do, we support. And if that means the Maple Kings actually get some wins, I’ll accept that as well.”
In the pocket of my onesie, Logan had messaged me. Merry Christmas, baby. Let me know what time you want me to come over today, and I’ll be there.
Smiling into my phone, I wasn’t listening to a single thing happening around me. I was just imagining him here, at the family dining table with the full Christmas feast out, but the star of the show was my mom’s ham covered in pineapple slices.
I’ll see you then. I’m lecturing them all now about what not to say, I messaged him back.
* * *
It was all systems go in the house. Dinner was ready, places at the table were set.
My father was complaining about my sister not being here, and my mom was telling him that all the kids would eventually flee the nest. I couldn’t wait to leave, and now I might be able to leave for the arms of a man who lived .
. . I don’t know, distances confused me, all I needed was a length of time.
Two and half hours. It was doable to visit him for a long weekend, right?
At the door, Logan stood with a large plastic bag slung over his shoulder. There was a morphed and misshapen Santa face on it, and he was dotted with snowflakes. We stood there for a moment, staring at each other. I was in a pair of sweats and one of my oversized T-shirts that was drowning me.
“Are you going to let me in?”
I shook my head.
He cocked a brow. “You know that’s one spank,” he offered in a low whispering growl.
“I best say no again, then, to make it even.”
“That’s right, you know I like it evenly spread.”
We shouldn’t have been flirting at the front door like this, or right now. I giggled and leaned in, giving him a kiss. He pulled the bag up on his shoulder a little more and then asked again. I didn’t want to make it three spanks—or did I?
“I brought presents,” he said. “For everyone.”
“Everyone?” My eyes narrowed. “They should all be for me.”
Daddy shook his head and shivered, amplifying the shake. “Nu-uh.”
My mom called me from upstairs, telling me to stop letting all the heat out, and it was at that point I made room for Logan.
It wasn’t like I wanted him to overpower me, bulldoze right through me, and just take control.
He did that, softly sometimes, but right now I think he was more catering to this place being my parents’ house.
My mom greeted us at the top of the stairs with her over-the-top “Merry Christmas,” and Logan repeated it with just as much enthusiasm.
She’d done her hair up into her tamed curls—a feat I was never able to manage because my hair was growing out a little, very thick and very unruly, much like myself.
She was, as promised, doused in her new perfume, which Logan complimented immediately, and my mom was putty in his hands.
“I brought you and Mr. Cooper gifts,” he announced as my mom direct him to the coatrack and snow-boot caddy.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“Yeah, you could’ve just bought them for me,” I said.
“Jamie, don’t be rude to your guest,” my mom said.
“It’s okay,” Logan said as he got out of his coat. “I think it’s part of his charm.”
My mom giggled, and I wondered if that was how I sounded.
In the dining room, my father was standing behind his chair at the head of the table. He’d been sitting at it before I went to answer the door. He looked me up and down, shaking his head when I walked through with Logan. “Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sweatpants because of the stretch, and an old Goodwill T-shirt because I’ll probably make a mess.” There was absolutely no arguing with my reasoning.
“Fine, I guess,” he said. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Pierce.”
“Logan is just fine,” he said, carrying the bag through, dragging it slightly on the floor.
“I think I’ll stick with Mr. Pierce. I’ve seen you on the TV, so you’ll be addressed with respect,” he said.
My eyes couldn’t roll any further back. “Dad, you know you can tone it down.”
Logan came in before I could begin an argument with my dad—and Christmas wouldn’t be complete with an argument.
My only hope was that it wasn’t me who ended up in my bedroom crying this year.
The gifts were swiftly handed out to my parents, and there were some left in the bag.
“Sorry, I didn’t get anything for you, Peter,” he said to my brother who was lurking in the corner waiting for an argument.
My father was silenced when he opened his gift.
An expensive bottle of scotch—much more expensive than the one I’d bought him.
Aged a whole bunch or something. I was too busy whacking Logan’s arm asking him how much he spent.
He’d bought my mom a bottle of champagne too—she was happy about it.
Something about it being more expensive than the one they’d served at her wedding.
“And what about me?” I asked.
There was clearly something in Logan that didn’t want to touch me. He was doing his best not to grab me and kiss me, so there had to be, otherwise why hadn’t he done so yet?
“If you two want to go somewhere private to do that, you should,” my mom said as she staged the bottle of champagne amongst her table setting, snapping photos on her phone.
“My room,” I said. “Let’s go to my room.” Thankfully, I’d known he was coming, and it was very clean—well, clean enough.