Page 117 of Double Daddies (Dirty Daddies Anthologies #8)

“He said if you don’t go, he’ll stop all the other Littles from riding Bramble.

I’m guessing you know what that means,” Liam added with a rumbling laugh when her cheeks flared with heat.

“I’m only just getting to know the guy, Avery, but he seems like a good one.

Don’t know what happened between you two, but he’s got his sights set on you. ”

Avery looked away, squirming again as the hairs on her arms and nape stood to attention.

She frowned, glancing over her shoulder in case the cowboy in question had snuck up behind her, but there was just the man who’d been seated at the back of the room when she came in, walking toward the bar with an empty shot glass in his hand.

Tall, prowling, gorgeous. A golden-maned lion on the hunt.

His hair was burnt gold, a strange blend of brown and blond, cropped short. Odd, blue-gray eyes, heavy on the gray, were locked on her face as though he knew all her secrets and wanted to expose more. He looked young, carefree, maybe early thirties at a guess.

In a lot of respects, dressed in that suit, he reminded her of Adam.

Because it was polite, Avery flashed him a brief smile; she was, after all, an employee and he was a paying guest. Ducking her head, she turned to leave again.

“Avery,” Liam said firmly, using his Dom voice on her. “Come in here one night in the next few days. Don’t think the Masters haven’t noticed you hiding in the cabin.”

That was kind of true, but he didn’t need to know he was right. “Not hiding, Master Liam. My alarm is set for three o’clock every morning, no matter what.”

“Mmm-hmm, and you punch out in the afternoon. Make time for the fun stuff, sweetheart—life is a lot shorter than we think.” He gave her a wink to soften the sternness of his voice, then turned to the lion as he stepped up beside her. “Same again?”

“Please.” The empty glass clinked on the bar next to the boxes. The guy leaned forward, sniffing the stack of goodies, then lifted an eyebrow at Avery. “Are these your creations?”

Polished. Cultured. Wealthy.

The clothes he wore were a statement, his watch cost more than she earned in a year on her new salary, and his cologne screamed money!

“I… yes.”

After taking another deep, gratifying sniff, he straightened.

“I was hoping I’d get the chance to meet you.

I arrived about an hour ago and discovered a box of these in my cabin as a welcome gift.

” Those eyes stroked over her from head to foot and back again with the confidence of a man who knew how to push a woman’s buttons. “Delicious. Simply delicious.”

“I… thank you?”

“Would you be interested in a proposition?”

From a nameless stranger in a BDSM club? No, thank you. “I don’t trade cookies for sex.”

“Good to know. That wasn’t the proposition.”

“Oh.” She took a step back as Liam slid another shot glass over the bar and claimed the empty one. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me. I have things to do.”

The man reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a business card. Holding it between his index and middle fingers, he offered it. “I’m looking for a talented individual who might be persuaded to join me on my travels. If you want more details, give me a call.”

Sensing Liam’s displeasure, Avery snatched the card, her fingers brushing the stranger’s. The brief touch sent the butterflies fluttering in her belly again. “Thanks. I really have to go.”

As she hurried away, she heard Liam say, “We don’t like it when guests try to poach our staff…” before she got out of earshot. She didn’t want to be the cause of tension between a guest and the club; the faster she took herself out of the equation, the better.

Curiosity made her glance at the card in her hand—black, embossed with gold lettering—and read, Tristan Holdsworth. Entrepreneur. Aside from a phone number, that was all the information it gave.

Well, she wasn’t intrigued by his proposition.

God, she hated that word. How many women had Adam propositioned into her bed, her shower, her home?

How many more had he welcomed into his office, closing the blinds while he fucked them on his desk or that stupid little vanity couch he kept for clients?

Player .

It summed Adam up in a single word, and Tristan gave her the same vibes.

He could flash a charming smile, magically summon a couple of dimples, and spout poetry from that full-lipped mouth, but she was no longer a na?ve idiot blinded by loneliness.

If he was determined to pursue her, for whatever reason, he might find her willingness to be played was non-existent.

She didn’t want to be someone’s toy until they became bored and ransacked the nearest store for a new plaything or ten.

She didn’t want to be a notch in a bedpost, a point on a scoreboard, a goddamn thing to be discarded.

This was her fresh start, her leap into the unknown.

A man hadn’t been necessary in her life before Adam, and she hadn’t particularly needed him during their sham of a relationship. She sure as hell didn’t require one after she got rid of the cheating asshole.

Was she exuding some sort of scent that told men she was vulnerable? A pheromone that sent out a broadcast to their primal senses, demanding they go on the hunt?

Maybe she should find a stronger deodorant.

Repel . Made for women by women.

Flipping the card into the reception trash can, Avery stomped into the dining room and back through the kitchen, indulging herself with a little temper tantrum.

“Avery—” Allan called out.

“Not now, Allan.” She could feel her control slipping, the almost immature anger rising up to take over and spew forth over anyone who got in her way. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt the urge to throw things and scream, but this was the first time it had ever hit her so strongly.

Storming into her small slice of sanctuary, she was not impressed to find a tall, dark drink of water leaning his tight ass against her spotless countertop, munching on the remnants of a peanut butter cookie.

Was she supposed to just give and give and give while the men in her life took and took and took without permission? Did she not have the right to privacy in her own space, to not have people helping themselves to her things?

Beyond furious, which the logical side of her brain registered as ridiculous because she liked it when others appreciated her gift, Avery marched straight up to Clay and smacked the last fragment of cookie from his hand.

At least, that’s what she intended.

The sting of her fingers lashing over the back of his hand, his quick hiss of pain and consequent darkening of his eyes warned her she might have just overstepped her bounds.

Preservation instincts kicking in swiftly, she whirled, intending to make a hasty exit and hide until the anger and frustration bubbling in her veins dissipated, but a huge hand clamped on the back of her neck, long fingers curling around the side.

“Calm down.”

Maybe it was the order, maybe it was how calmly it was given, but his voice popped the lid on her alter ego’s prison like a jack-in-the-box, unleashing a temper tantrum unlike anything she’d ever suppressed in the past.

Heart hammering, snarling like a feral kitten trapped in a corner, Avery spun and broke his hold, slamming her hands against his broad chest. Christ, how many muscles did he have under that black silk shirt? “Don’t tell me what to do!”

Clay’s eyes were rapidly growing darker and more foreboding.

Her shove hadn’t shifted him an inch, but he was controlling his temper a lot more efficiently than she was handling her own.

“Take a breath, Avery. Take a deep, slow breath and consider your actions here. Didn’t I warn you about letting your Little out to play before this happened? ”

Her scream of frustration was high and shrill. “I am not a fucking Little!”

If she was smart, she’d shut her mouth. If she was wise, she’d heed the darkness in his eyes. If she had any desire to save herself, she’d walk away from the situation before it escalated.

Unfortunately, in this moment, she was none of those things.

She felt like a tumbleweed blowing around in the desert, gathering emotions around a core of confusion and denial.

“Strike two,” he rumbled ominously. “Don’t go for a third, Avery.”

As though taking it as an invitation, her foot connected with his shin.

“Three strikes and you’re out.” Clay stepped forward and to the side, hooking an arm around her waist and hauling her off her feet.

Ignoring her curses and thrashing, he used his other arm to clear a section of her counter, then dumped her unceremoniously over it, face down.

“I read your paperwork. Did you read it before signing it?”

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you .

“I’ll take that stream of profanity as a no , sweetling.

You might want to have a word with your Little and explain that she probably shouldn’t vocalize your thoughts.

” Pressing his hand between her shoulder blades, he pinned her effortlessly.

“Assaulting members of staff falls under the code of misconduct in the club rules, Avery. Cursing me out falls under my code of misconduct. The papers you signed give you two options here.”

Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

“I can take you to Eli and let him deal with this mess, or I can handle it myself.”

That gave her a hitch in the belly. Elias was a decent guy by all accounts, but she doubted the sadist in him would appreciate her behavior… or maybe he’d appreciate it too much. Add in the fact he was a Daddy himself… she wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.

The Daddy Doms around here had their own set of rules.

Infuriated she’d backed herself into a corner, Avery bucked and kicked.

“Me or Eli. What’s it gonna be?”

Stupid, stupid alter-ego. As soon as this was over, she was taking the irrational, immature, irresponsible part of her and forcing it into the deepest hole she could find in her brain before filling it with mental cement, never to see the light of day again.

“Make the choice, Avery. Now.”

“You,” she spat.

“Probably the best decision you’ve made since you walked in here.

” Without ceremony, Clay gripped the waistband of her stretchy workpants and yanked them down one-handed.

Before she could protest, her panties followed, leaving her bare ass hanging in the wind.

“Ten for the shove, ten for the swearing, ten for the kick. You’ll apologize after each set with an, I’m sorry for being a bad girl, Daddy Clay . ”

That stoked her fire even higher until she swore smoke curled from her ears. “Like hell I will!”

“You will, because what you haven’t realized yet is that being a good girl is what drives you, Avery.” He gave her a moment to let that sink in, then added, “Crying is allowed, encouraged even. Swearing will earn you an additional set; so will kicking at me.”

She didn’t need to ask sets of what—her naked ass hanging over the edge of her pristine counter gave her a clue, and from her limited interactions with the others, she knew a Daddy’s preferred method of punishment was spanking.

Pfft . How bad could it be?

The answer, it turned out, was pretty fucking bad.

Clay’s hand felt huge as it landed on her right cheek like a pizza board. Flesh smacked sharply on flesh, her butt rippling with the force of the blow. Pain struck deep, followed by a rush of heat arrowing straight to her core.

Avery bit her lip to stop a cry from giving her away. She refused to react, to show him an ounce of contrition. She was a grown adult, for God’s sake! Swearing was hardly the biggest sin in the world, and it wasn’t like she was on par with a sailor—at least, not out loud.

In her head was a different story.

Whack, whack, whack . His hand continued to beat her butt, alternating cheeks yet maintaining that same heavy pressure. Her skin warmed quickly, growing sensitive and prickly, and it only got worse as the smacks overlapped.

Clay seemed content to let her keep her noises to herself. Her breathing was unsteady, hitching with gasps and restrained whimpers. When the tenth strike landed, he rested his hand on her hot bottom, gently stroking her heated flesh.

Only, it wasn’t soothing. The soft, circular motions were rubbing the discomfort deeper into her muscles, pushing the heat into her ass to simmer like embers beneath her skin.

“I’m waiting, Avery.”

He could wait in hell, she thought viciously. She was not going to apologize for being a bad girl and there was a greater chance of someone pulling the plug on the ocean than there was of her calling him Daddy Clay .

He waited thirty seconds. Thirty long, tense seconds of silence where the only sound was her harsh breathing as she fought to control her tongue. “Silence has consequences, sweetling. Sure you want to find out what they are?”

She couldn’t help herself.

“Bite me, Daddy ,” she snarked.

He laughed, but it wasn’t humorous. He didn’t say another word, but he didn’t need to—the snap of his hand between her legs, the flash of fire as his palm clapped down on her pussy, told her exactly what he thought of her rudeness.

The wet squelch brought humiliation roaring to the surface, especially when he chuckled darkly, obviously enjoying her mortification.

“Naughty, dirty girl,” he purred. “No coming for you, Avery.”

What the hell was happening to her?

Mind reeling, her alter ego trying so hard to do what he asked, Avery gritted her teeth. The little bitch had caused enough problems today without playing into Clay’s twisted game.

The next juicy smack on her pussy was sharper, sending a frisson of pleasure ricocheting through her. “I-I’m sorry for being a bad girl, Daddy Clay.”

Christ on crutches, where had that voice come from?

Quiet, repentant, young .

“Good girl. Stop fighting and let her out.”

Avery nearly laughed; one of them was going to regret this.

She just wasn’t sure who would regret it more.