Page 10 of Ruin Me, Daddy

A move she obviously regretted as she immediately slapped a hand over her eyes and let out a pained groan. “Oh, god. Shouldn’t have done that. Make it stop spinning, Ice.”

Not even bothering to sigh, he turned and guided her toward the hidden elevator in the back of the club. No way was he taking a chance on her stumbling her way down the stairs.

Braden followed him, Lottie and Frankie in tow, the latter thankfully not nearly as drunk as her friends and able to walk on her own. They parted ways when the valet brought his and Braden’s cars around, with Braden retaining custody of Frankie, most likely to save his own ass. If he sent her home without making sure she was safe, Holden’s wrath would be… unpleasant. The giant Daddy Dom didn’t give two fucks that Frankie had dumped his ass months ago, and though he more or less kept his distance it was clear to everyone in the club that Frankie was still his. Much to Frankie’s continued annoyance.

Which left Ice to figure out what to do with Silver. The smart, sane thing to do would be to figure out where she was staying, drop her drunk ass off at the hotel, and head back to his rental house.

But what if she passed out? What if she got sick in the middle of the night? What if he wasn’t there, and something happened and she got hurt? Or worse.

Cursing himself silently, he navigated through downtown with her snoring softly from the passenger seat of his car, and headed toward his rental on the coast. It was a bit of a drive from ‘his’ house to the club and everything else in the city, but once he’d decided to stay for a bit, he’d wanted the ocean. The stretch of beach where he’d camped out was a good bit quieter and less crowded than back in California, but the ocean was the ocean. Waking up to the sound of waves and the smell of salt in the air soothed his soul no matter which side of the country he was on.

Silver, who had passed out cold the second he’d buckled her seatbelt, sat up when he killed the engine, blinking owlishly at the house in front of them. “Where are we?”

“My place. Sit tight and wait for me to come and get you.”

A grin split her face as she relaxed against the seat. “Lookit you, playing the gentleman.”

“Just stay there, brat.”

He climbed out of the car, slamming the door on her giggles before jogging around to open her door. They managed to make it up to his front door and into the house without any mishaps.

“I’m starving,” she whined, sounding so unlike herself he almost did a double take to make sure he’d brought the right brat home with him. “Feed me, Daddy.”

Daddy. Before he’d come to Charleston, he wouldn’t have considered himself the Daddy Dom type, though he’d had a couple of his submissives use the term playfully in the past, much like Silver was doing now.

But with those women, he’d never felt his heart trip in his chest. Or his cock jerk painfully against his jeans. Even when Silver had teased him about being a Daddy in the past, he’d never had this reaction.

Maybe it was just the fact he’d spent the last few months surrounded by Daddies and their babygirls, and he’d found himself wanting someone to care for, someone to pamper and coddle—and someone to punish as often as he pleased.

Or maybe it was because now he knew what it could be like, having all those things with the only woman who’d ever really mattered.

Shaking off those uncomfortable thoughts, he guided her into the kitchen. “Sit at the table, I’ll make you a sandwich.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said with another of those sloppy grins that made his chest ache just to look at her.

“Careful with that word.” The order came out harsh and gravelly, and he watched her eyes go wide as she dropped rather ungracefully onto a chair. “You’re asking for things Drunk Silver has no business asking for.”

“God, I love it when you get all growly. Especially when you’re being all… that-word-I’m-not-supposed-to-say about stuff.”

Deliberately ignoring her, he turned away and began pulling out what he’d need for sandwiches. He’d eaten at the club, but Silver had a bit of a hangup about eating when nobody else was. If he didn’t make himself a sandwich, she’d end up just picking at hers and not actually eating it, and he needed to get something in her stomach to hopefully soak up some of that alcohol so she wouldn’t completely hate herself in the morning.

So he made two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches—her favorite—and carried them to the table.

“Mmmm. These look delicious.” Picking up half her sandwich, she bit into the bread and made a low sound in her throat that sounded so much like the noises she made when she came, he nearly tripped over his own feet on his way to get them each a glass of water. “Oh man, this hits the spot. Wait.”

Brows knitting together, she took another bite, this time chewing more slowly. “Is that grape jelly?”

“Yeah. What about it?” He placed a glass of water in front of her before taking the seat across the table and picking up his own sandwich.

“You hate grape jelly.”

“I don’t hate grape jelly. It’s just not my favorite.”

“Then why did you buy it?”

“Maybe it came with the house.”

Her head tilted to the side, and despite her drunken state her eyes were sharp enough to have him fighting the urge to shift uncomfortably in his chair. “Did it?”

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