Page 272 of Double Daddies
“Why?” she asked, even though she was already complying.
“Because you don’t own any sleepwear and if we don’t cover you up, you’re going to be tag-teamed all night by two appreciative, enthusiastic Daddy Doms.” Chuckling when Tristan hummed in agreement, Clay slipped her arms into the shirt sleeves, then worked the warm fabric over her head and down her body until it hit her mid-thigh. “There, now we might be able to control our primitive urges.”
“Speak for yourself,” Tristan muttered, shifting to sprawl out on the bed. “I’m going to see that ass in my dreams.”
“If you ask nicely, Avery might grace your lap with her ass,” Clay fired back. He gave her a tap on the chin with his knuckle. “Be a good girl and play nice with Daddy Tristan.”
“Does that mean give him a lap dance?”
“Please, thank you, and praise Jesus,” Tristan said eagerly.
“No,” Clay replied with a thread of laughter in his voice. He picked up the boxes, lifting his chin toward the bed when her stomach gurgled hungrily at the smell of food. “Priority one is making sure you don’t fade away from starvation. Not eating will be a spankable offense from here on out, and you now have two Daddies to hold you accountable.”
The brat peeked out with a sassyoh really?stare. “I get busy.”
“You will make time,” was his immediate response. “A little girl who passes out from hunger while getting fucked by her Daddies will be a little girl with a very sore bottom.”
Was it really bad that she was hungrier for something more carnal than food right now? There was a half-naked man in front of her, a fully dressed one behind her, and both of them were physically, stunningly gorgeous. Not to mention their personalities were equally attractive, and they’d both expressed an interest in intimacy with her.
It probably was, right? Very, very bad. Slutty even.
Pfft, Adam hadn’t been concerned with bedhopping, had he? Luckily, her tests had come back negative for everything, so if her promiscuous ex was a disease-carrying prick, he’d been gracious enough not to infect her with his nastiness.
But the idea of letting herself go enough to sleep with not one but two men—one of them being almost a complete stranger—gave her a case of nervous nellies. What if she did the deed and they both turned out to be assholes, proclaiming to all andsundry around the club what a needy, greedy little whore she was? Her reputation would be in tatters and she… well, she didn’t want to leave this place where she loved her job and actually felt at home.
Clay’s shirt wasn’t helping matters. Every breath she took filled her nose with his scent, adding to her body’s physical response. She was wet, wetter than she’d ever been with Adam, and things were tingling. Aching. Yearning.
She dropped her gaze to the big hands cradling the food boxes. He had wonderful hands, strong and rough, with long, thick fingers. A sinful thought struck her, bringing a giggle bubbling up her throat.
Just one of Clay’s fingers was more impressive than Adam’s entire erection.
Clay’s hands were the things fantasies were built from—Adam’s dick was a meme.
Maybe, if she asked really,reallynicely, Daddy Clay might let her borrow that finger…
“Get your food before it goes cold, sweetling.” Sitting on the bed, Clay patted the mattress and handed Tristan a box. He placed the rest by his hip and waited for her to take her place beside him. “Tristan’s lap or mine, Avery?”
Decisions, decisions. She decided fighting her Little was simply pointless now; she was taking over, thought by thought. Crawling onto Clay’s lap because Tristan looked comfortable in his inelegantly sexy sprawl, she snuggled into Clay and, after a slight hesitation, allowed him to handfeed her the juicy burger.
Once she and Tristan were done, Clay passed her over to her other Daddy so Tristan could feed her cake, while Clay ate his own meal. It was an oddly soothing evening with no stress, no chasing after an ungrateful asshole who expected her to dedicate all her time taking care of his every need.
Instead, it was her needs being met, her mind slowly switching off systems until she was running on basic mode. The easy, companionable rumble of the men’s voices was like a lullaby once her belly was full and her primal desires to be cared for were fulfilled.
She laid her head on Tristan’s shoulder, listening to them talk about their lives, asking questions she should really have asked herself. Nevertheless, it didn’t matter, because they were giving her the answers anyway.
“I think it’s time to put the princess to bed,” Clay murmured.
Something light brushed across her cheek, startling her from the soft doze. She blinked slowly, appreciating the view as he stood and unbuckled his belt, toeing his boots off at the same time, then stripped his lower half down to a pair of navy boxer shorts that did not leave anything to the imagination.
When he rounded the bed and tossed back the covers, she automatically reached for him, rolling off Tristan to be welcomed into those powerful arms. He tucked her against his side, her head resting on his chest. As she absently trailed her fingers over his bare, warm torso, she realized there were thick, hard lines running through the otherwise smooth skin.
Scars. A lot of them.
From the accident with the cow or something else?
She caressed a long one scoring his ribs, wondering if the cow had teeth and claws to create such injuries; the scar was thicker and wider in the middle like something had gouged deep.
“Think she’s scared of the dark?” Tristan asked quietly.
