Page 126 of Double Daddies (Dirty Daddies Anthologies #8)

Chapter Eight

Clay

If someone tossed a grenade into a dirty laundry basket, there couldn’t possibly be a bigger fallout than the disrespect shown in this room.

He understood they were busy women who worked hard, long hours but there were what, twelve or sixteen of them living in the same space. How hard could it be for everyone to pick up after themselves, even if they didn’t clean up after each other?

Hell, the ranch hands were cleaner after a day of gathering, roping, castrating, and dehorning, for Christ’s sake.

The kitchen was marginally better; the bathroom not so much.

The open doorways gave a better insight into the women who lived here; one or two were reasonably tidy, one was an absolute bombsite, and the others were somewhere in the middle.

All aside from the room at the end, which was ridiculously neat.

It was there he found the source of his ever-growing worry.

Nasty visions of her being dragged away into the bushes and hurt had plagued him with every step.

All manner of tragedies which might have befallen her had crossed his mind, from being eaten by a bear to her tripping and falling, breaking something vital.

But here she was, safe and sound, oblivious to their presence.

Standing slightly askew in the doorway, Clay jerked his chin at the bed. “Found her.”

“Guess there was a good reason after all.” Expression sympathetic, Tristan cast a glance at him. “She’s exhausted.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Curled on her side in the fetal position, one bare leg outstretched, Avery slept with her hand under her cheek. The towel she wore had fallen open, exposing a lot of beautiful creamy skin and curves, while her hair spread out in thick, wet ropes.

“Order room service,” Clay said quietly, summing up the situation and adapting their plans for the evening. If Tristan wanted to be a Daddy, he was about to get a lesson in the fundamentals of taking care of a Little without sex being involved. “Then see if you can rustle up some pajamas.”

Blond eyebrows rose. “Does she look like a woman who wears pajamas?”

Clay grinned and stepped into the room, jerking his thumb at the selection of stuffies. “There’ll be something, trust me.”

As Tristan crossed the room to use the phone, Clay walked to the bed, dropping down on his haunches within touching distance of Avery. Bracing his elbows on the edge of the mattress, he murmured, “Avery. Wake up, sweetling.”

Nada. Nothing. Not even a twitch.

“Avery,” he repeated, this time in a sing-song tone he really hoped wasn’t as creepy as it sounded. He saw her eyelids flicker and reached out, stroking the back of his finger over her cheek. “Avery, sweetling. You feel like waking up anytime soon?”

The smallest whine was her reply, barely audible.

“That’s it. Need you to wake up for a minute so you don’t shoot out of a dead sleep and scare the shit outta all of us, sweetling.”

Tristan cleared his throat, covering the mouthpiece of the handset with his palm. “Are we allowed to swear around her?”

“Wait ‘til you hear what comes out of her mouth,” Clay advised, amused.

At least the younger Dom was taking this seriously; Clay had been prepared to come down on him, as hard as necessary, if he started treating Avery and the situation as a joke but, so far, he seemed to be nothing but attentive, respectful, and willing to learn.

Tristan snorted, then returned to the call, ordering god only knew what for Avery to eat.

“Maybe he’s got the bones of a good Daddy,” Clay whispered to Avery, still stroking her cheek. “Won’t know for sure until you give him a shot. Might need to let yourself fly first though.”

She whimpered, mumbling, “Daddy Clay?”

“Hey, sweetling.”

With a sleepy moan, she rolled onto her back, the towel shifting to expose a whole lot more of that delicious body. Dark, unfocused eyes opened slowly as she licked her dry lips. “Am I late for work?”

“No. Seems like you slept through our playdate though.” He reached down and flipped the towel so it covered her again. “Have you eaten tonight, Avery?”

“I… no?”

Clay tsked, unimpressed. “Naughty girl. Do you skip dinner a lot?”

More awake now, those sleepy eyes avoided making contact with his, sliding a few inches to the left of his head. “Occasionally?”

Shaking his head, he stood, then sat on the edge of the bed, gesturing to her body with a sweep of his hand. “And how occasionally do you fall asleep on your bed, still wet from a shower, with only a towel keeping you warm?”

Alarm widened her eyes and suddenly her attention was on her state of undress. Before she scrambled to rectify the situation, Clay set his hand on her chest, just below the hollow of her throat. “Relax. Neither Tristan nor I are here for that, Avery. We have more pressing concerns, apparently.”

She went still, her pulse bounding in the side of her throat, a stroke away from his thumb. “Like what?”

“I’m glad you asked.” He held up his free hand, fisted it, then popped up his thumb.

“Being so tired you fall asleep in a very vulnerable position.” Index finger, up.

“Falling asleep still wet from a shower, in a damp towel.” Middle finger, up.

“Not taking care of your basic needs like eating and—” He released her chest and gently pinched her forearm.

“—staying hydrated. Would you like me to continue?”

She actually pouted; he wanted to bite that sulky mouth. “No.”

“Good. So, foregoing our original plans for this evening, Tristan and I are going to be taking over. Food is on the way. While we wait, we’re going to get you into something comfortable, and Tristan is going to tend to your hair before it dries into a tangled monstrosity.”

“I am?” The Dom in question sounded shocked as he moved closer to the bed.

“You are. Daddy-Little dynamics are based on trust, which requires a strong bond. Brushing Avery’s hair will give you both the chance to relax in each other’s company.

Now,” Clay continued, turning his attention back to Avery, “why don’t you save him some time and tell us where you keep your pajamas? ”

Pink kissed her cheeks. Eyes drifting to the side once again, she mumbled something.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

Avery chewed on her lip. “I don’t wear anything to sleep in.”

Barely restraining a groan, Clay grunted instead. With a fingertip, he flicked open the towel, baring her perfect body from full breasts with beautifully pert, rosy nipples to her adorable belly paunch and the curls on her mound. “Are you telling us that you sleep in the nude, little girl?”

She flushed when Tristan choked on his own groan. “Y-Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Daddies.”

“Good girl.” Though it pained him, Clay covered her with the towel again, then helped her sit up. While it might be considered moving fast—too fast for her, perhaps—he made a mental note to speak to Evander about relocating Avery into his cabin.

He knew several of the housekeeping staff were banging the hell out of the landscaping crew, and some of the kitchen team were on intimate terms with whoever was willing. The staff accommodations weren’t segregated, which meant the chance of people bedhopping all over the damn place was high.

All it took was a drunken mistake, for someone to wander into the wrong room and climb into bed with a naked woman, and shit would hit the fan.

“Why am I like this?” Avery asked quietly.

“Like what, sweetling?”

“Like this . Acting like a child, enjoying being the focus of two men. Collecting stuffies and riding rocking horses. All of this stuff that isn’t normal.”

Clay shot Tristan a look, which he correctly interpreted as he snagged Avery’s hairbrush from the small bedside table and climbed onto the bed to sit behind her. “Is that why you fight so hard to keep your Little locked down? Because you think she isn’t normal?”

“Don’t see many people prancing around in onesies, carrying a stuffie like it’s their firstborn child,” she pointed out dryly. When Tristan stroked his hand over her tangled hair, she jolted in surprise before her head tilted slowly back. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, you’re human for a start,” he said without hesitation.

“Our brains are complicated things. They know what we need, what we want, what we’re designed for as individuals—in your case, finding enjoyment in being a younger version of yourself and all the experiences that comes with it.

There’s no shame in being Little, Avery, any more than there is in being a Daddy.

It’s who we are; an intricate system dependent on the needs of one person being met by another with the right skillset. ”

“So you were born to be a Daddy Dom?” she asked skeptically.

Clay lifted a finger. “Cowboy Daddy Dom. If you’re a bad girl, I’ll chase you, rope and hogtie you, then fuck you senseless and brand your ass just to make sure you know damn well you’re mine.

” Smirking at her shocked expression, he saw Tristan’s face mirrored hers and grinned.

“Hell, if Tristan asks me real nice, I might even let him fire the irons.”

“That’s very permanent,” Avery stammered weakly.

“I’m ready for permanent. As for enjoying the attention of two men… I think after everything your ex put you through, exploiting the strong hands and big… hearts of two virile Doms dedicated to your happiness might be quite enlightening.”

She giggled. “You were going to say big cocks.”

“Was I?” He hummed thoughtfully. “I can speak for myself, of course, but Tristan…”

“No complaints here.”

“There you go. Strong hands, big cock, multiplied by two.” Clay chuckled when she blushed. “Enlightening.”

“I don’t need two cocks,” she protested.

He wiggled his eyebrows. “That doesn’t stop you being curious about having two.”

Snorting, Tristan scowled at the mess of hair. “How am I supposed to tackle this? Chainsaw? Scissors? Is there a magical secret?”

Amused, Clay held out his hand before Avery could flee from the hair-cutting maniac behind her. “Watch and learn, rookie. How long until the food gets here?”