Page 261 of Double Daddies
“That was kind of rude,” Tristan mused.
Clay frowned. “Really? I’m sure you’ve said and done worse, but please, tell me what about that was rude in your eyes.”
“He was only relaying information; your response was a threat.”
Oh, Tristan was going to learn a lesson or two. Whether he retained any knowledge was another matter, but the lesson would be given regardless.
“Littles spout excuses like confetti from a cannon when they want to get out of doing something, including punishments. Let them get away with it once, they’ll take advantage of it. Avery is working hard, no doubt, but she’s also avoiding me and using that an excuse.” Lifting his cup, he breathed in the scent of rich, dark coffee. “If you think my reply was threatening, Tristan, maybe you’d be better off as a sub than a Dom.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I informed him of a fact—my patience also has a time limit. There is no threat in that. My tone was firm, brooked no bullshit, and gave him no avenue to use another excuse.” Clay jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the subject of conversation. “He’s not a Little, but he is submissive. Seems to me you reacted the same way he did.”
“I’m not a submissive,” Tristan fired back, incensed.
“You’ll have a chance to prove it. Being a Daddy is different than just being a Dom. Actions and words have the same impact, castigation hits harder, but a Little is unique. One woman, two personalities. A good Daddy sates the adult needs while keeping the Little satisfied.” Clay sipped his coffee. “That means being firm without cruelty, maintaining rules without weakness. You need to find your sense of humor, your imagination, and be prepared for fucking anything, especially with a brat.”
“Is Avery a brat?”
Now he smiled. “Oh yes, she is.”
“Is that what happened yesterday?”
“It is. She pushed several limits and earned the consequences.” Clay tilted his head as the waiter approached, his head bowed and hands clasped. “Hello again.”
“She’s not happy, Master Clay, but she’s coming.”
A wise decision on her part, he thought, meeting the young man’s shuttered eyes and offering a pleased smile. “Good boy. Thank you.”
The blue brightened instantly as a result of the praise. Nodding, he backed away, and with a little skip in his step, hurried off to serve another customer.
“Learn how to use praise effusively. It’s often a more gratifying reward than candy or stuffies.Good girlis a magic phrase for a reason. Everyone wants to feel appreciated, Tristan. They want to be seen, acknowledged, cared for. A woman likeAvery who, for her own reasons, lacks self-confidence and self-worth, will be harder to appease.”
The angry stomp of sneakers heading in his direction alerted him to her presence. Letting his gaze slide from Tristan’s thoughtful face to the approaching siren, he wasn’t surprised to see her feet weren’t the only part of her radiating with temper.
Smile widening as though she wasn’t attempting to skin him alive with her dark, furious stare, Clay kicked out the chair to his right and waved a hand at it. “Take a seat, sweetling.”
“No. Thank. You.” Avery bit off each word with a snap.
Oh good, the game was on. Sipping his coffee leisurely, he raised his eyebrows at her. “You’re mistaking an order as an invitation, Avery. Take a seat.”
She really wanted to take a bite out of him, he mused. Her lip curled slightly, showing those beautifully white teeth clenching against what was probably a spanking-worthy retort. “No offense, Master Clay, but I’m too busy to put up with your hijinks today.”
“It was Daddy Clay yesterday,” he reminded her in a soft murmur.
Heat flushed her perfect complexion into a dusky shade of red. “That was yesterday, and yesterday is not going to be repeated.”
“That’s a shame. How’s your ass today, sweetling?”
Dusky red became fiery red as her gaze shot to Tristan. “Fine.”
“Good. Then you won’t mind sitting down.”
Avery glared at him, taking a half-step back and turning to leave. A suspicious bulge beneath her shirt made him reach out and hook a finger into a belt loop on her pants, gently tugging her back toward him. When he lifted her shirt and a certain reindeer peeked at him, Clay grinned.
“We need to talk, Avery. A civilized, adult conversation if you can control your Little long enough to remember your manners.”
“I’m not—” Bristling, she yanked the chair out further and sat, gingerly. “There, happy now? When I said I’m busy, it means I don’t have the time or inclination for chatting. I’ve got an entire cake to decorate, and it needs to be perfect. So start talking,sir.”
