Page 263 of Double Daddies
“Maybe I need one.”
The unhappy admission made him cuddle her closer. Yesterday, he’d learned she was a snuggler; she preferred to be pressed against him, as much of her body touching his as humanly possible. With the sass spanked out of her and her curvy ass bearing the brunt of her punishment, she’d been docile as a bottle-fed calf, taking chocolate squares from his fingers and drinking from the bottle he held to her lips.
It was, he thought with a smile, a peacefully productive end to the impromptu scene.
He watched Tristan’s face, saw the yearning flash over his features before it was replaced with confusion. He probably couldn’t work out why he suddenly felt the urge to be monogamous after God only knew how many years of sowing his oats here, there, and everywhere. The emotions were real, however.
Clay sighed. What was that saying…
In for a penny, in for a pound.
“Lucky for you, Avery, you have two Daddies at your disposal.”
Chapter Seven
Avery
Her mouth was still open several hours later, frozen in an exclamation of shock.
Clay, the asshole, had known what he was doing when he dropped that Double Daddies bombshell on her. She’d just stared at him, unable to comprehend the sudden leap from one Daddy to two in a heartbeat, with her vocal chords noticeably silent.
He’d tucked Daddy Deer—her reindeer—back into her waistband, his fingers stroking her skin briefly, before telling her to be at The Nursery by nine. It was another order, not a request, and she’d learned her goddamn lesson about taking orders from him.
She could fight, she could throw the mother of all tantrums, she could physically assault the man… but she would never be able to beat him. That thick underlayer of dominance beneath his skin was integrated so deeply, she wasn’t sure if he was two halves of a whole like her, or just one utterly dominant man.
And as for Tristan…
She still wasn’t sure about him. The cockiness he’d exuded in the bar hadn’t been present in the restaurant. In fact, he’dalmost been dumbstruck when she introduced herself at Clay’s behest. He’d actually kissed her freaking knuckles before he and Clay left her standing there in the restaurant, like she was some kind of fancy lady.
Apparently, now she was stuck with them both, all because she’d agreed—in a weak moment when the other half of her, the crazy and irrational half, stupidly admitted—that she needed a Daddy Dom.
She’d broached the subject of Littles with a few submissives who enjoyed that kink, and it was difficult to deny she possessed some—okay, alot—of the same tendencies. When she admitted she had an obsession with SquishMallows and shown them photos of her collection, the brief conversation she’d intended to have soon turned into a long, in-depth discussion on which stuffies were theabsolute best, and which just didn’t cut the mustard when it came to Little standards.
Callie and Sierra had sympathized with her when she confessed she was prone to temper tantrums, and that she had no control over them. There’d been a great deal of sympathy, but they’d both said the same thing.
You need a Daddy, Avery.
Christ on a crutch, if she heard that thrown at her one more time, she was going to have it tattooed on her ass so she could moon the next person who dared speak those cursed words.
Carefully, she slid her half-decorated cake onto a shelf in the refrigerator and closed the door, breathing a sigh of relief. Every minute her creation was out in the open, she anticipated a disaster striking, and she didn’t have enough time to start again if something terrible happened.
Honestly, the thought of anything bad befalling this project made her want to throw up and hide under the covers for a week. Her first big, solo commission needed to be perfect down to the last layer of fondant.
It was almost eight, which meant she had an hour to get back to the communal staff cabin, shower, change, and drag her tired, tender ass back outside rather than falling into bed.
Maybe she’d just blow Clay and Tristan off.
Her bed was calling her, telling her it was too long since they’d last been together, and she was in full agreement. The 3 am starts were brutal, but she loved the peace and quiet of early morning when she walked through the dusky dark, watching the sun break over the horizon.
By this time of night, however, she was flagging.
Passing through the kitchen, she waved goodnight to the dinner crew and slipped out the back door, ignoring the lingering smell of someone’s breaktime cigarette. She followed the path that cut through the forest to the staff quarters—a path monitored by security cameras and wasn’t accessible to club guests.
The direct route saved her a twenty-minute walk.
The heat, after a long day in the bakery, made her itchy and irritable. She wanted to drown herself in a warm shower, wash away the day’s sweat, and tumble into cool sheets.
Operative word of the day:cool.
