Page 56 of Double Daddies
Damian chuckled. “Oh, babygirl, you’ll discover our imperfections soon enough.”
The way he said ‘babygirl’ sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly very aware of how alone she was with these two powerful men in their private paradise.
“Would you like to see your room?” Drake asked softly as if he’d accurately read her unease.
“My room?” Elle raised an eyebrow. “You mean I don’t have to share with my... Daddies?” The word still felt foreign on her tongue.
“Not yet.” Damian’s voice carried a promise that made her pulse quicken. “We believe in earning trust first.”
Drake opened the door they had passed earlier with an expectant smile on his face... except she suspected it was one aimed at gauging her reaction when he said, “This, babygirl, is your nursery.”
Elle’s mind went blank as she stared at the room before her. This wasn’t just a bedroom; it was a fully equipped nursery designed for an adult. Her entire body went rigid as she stepped into the room, desperately trying to deny the reality before her.
Yards of pink chiffon and lace cascaded from a circular canopy, draping over an adult-sized crib complete with ornate spindles and—dear god—safety rails that could be raised and lowered. A matching changing table stood against one wall, its size making its purpose unmistakable.
The walls, painted in the softest shade of pastel colors, featured delicate butterflies and fairies. Twinkling lights created patterns across the ceiling, casting a nursery-like glow over the entire space. A rocking chair large enough for two adults sat in one corner, complete with pink cushions trimmed in lace.
Her stomach lurched as her gaze drifted to the open walk-in closet. Rows upon rows of frilly dresses hung in perfect order. Tulle, lace, ribbons, and bows in every shade imaginable. Below them sat shelves of what appeared to be... adult-sized onesies.
“No…” The word escaped as barely a whisper. Her chest constricted as she backed away. Her heel caught on the plush pink carpet as she spun around and stumbled onto the adjoining patio, where she gripped the balustrade until her knuckles turned white.
“I can’t be what they want,” she whispered in a voice that cracked. “I can’t be this person… this babygirl!”
The ocean breeze did nothing to calm the panic rising in her throat. She had grown up climbing trees and playing in dirt. Irrespective of the color scheme of Elle’s Delicacies, the closest she had ever come to wearing anything pink was the mandatory uniform at her first waitressing job, and she’d hated every second of it.
“What’s wrong, babygirl?” Damian’s concerned voice came from behind her.
Elle whirled to face them. Her voice trembling was trumped by how badly her body shook. “What’s wrong? Are you serious? I knew about the whole Daddy Dom thing… theoretically. But this?” She gestured wildly toward the room. “This is... I can’t... I’m not some delicate little princess who plays dress-up!”
“Elle—”
“No!” She cut Drake short. “I’m a baker. I work with my hands. I don’t do,”—she waved her hand frantically at the frilly wonderland behind them—“That!”
Her breath came in short gasps as she pressed her back against the balustrade. The internet searches she had done hadn’t prepared her for this level of commitment to the lifestyle. She had naively thought it would be more... symbolic. Not this complete transformation.
“I know this comes as a… surprise, but it’s a lifestyle we enjoy. It offers us the opportunity to take care of another human being in every way possible… something both of us were denied by absent parents.” Drake’s lips compressed. “We learned the hard way that throwing money at a problem doesn’t make it disappear; it creates a festering wound if not nurtured. We want to be that for you, Elle.” He didn’t move closer but looked at her with disappointment. “You said you’d try, Elle.”
She spun around to stare out over the ocean, her mind running a mile a minute. She had no idea why the thought of disappointing him hurt so much, but it did. And she did promise, only…God! How am I going to survive three months of this?
The alternative was worse, so Elle knew she had to dig deep and find a way to adapt.
Struggling to even out her breathing, she turned. “And I intended to, but this…” Her throat tightened as she glanced at the pink monstrosity behind them. “Look, there has to be some sort of compromise.” Her voice cracked with desperation.
“I understand how someone already in the lifestyle could adapt to,”—she gestured at the nursery—“what truly is a gorgeous room. But I…” The words stuck in her throat as panic clawed at her chest. “Those drapes are going to suffocate me, and those dresses? Oh god, I shudder just thinking of putting them on. I’ve never worn frilly dresses in my entire life. In fact, I was a tomboy until I turned eighteen. To this day, I very rarely wear dresses. I’m a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl.”
She wet her lips as her mind grasped for solutions. “Could we…” Her gaze darted between them in a pleading look. “Would you consider moving the clock ahead a year or two? Let me be that tomboy at first? Maybe it would be easier to transition if I’m eased into,”—she pointed at the room—“intothatkind of Little.”
The two men exchanged glances. Elle’s chest tightened with every silent second that passed. Her pulse thundered in her ears. With bated breath, she prayed they would understand.
“Being a Little is a commitment you can either make or not, Elle. It’s not a negotiation and?—”
“I know, and I?—”
“But since it’s important for us that you do make that transition…” Drake's expression softened slightly. “We will consider your request... over the course of tonight. You’ll have our answer in the morning.” His voice dropped lower. “However, you will sleep in here tonight, dressed in that polka-dot onesie laid out on the bed.”
Elle’s eyes darted to the crib, its pink chiffon canopy looming like a cotton-candy nightmare. Suddenly, the victory of them not saying no outright to her proposal dimmed at the prospect of the night ahead.
“You’re not serious,” she said in a voice thinning with panic.
