Page 127 of Double Daddies (Dirty Daddies Anthologies #8)
“Twenty minutes, maybe half an hour.”
“Plenty of time.” Taking the brush, Clay reached out and selected a long, thick clump of damp hair, patiently working it between his fingers until the bristles of the brush could pass through it without yanking her head. “Start at the scalp, be gentle.”
They worked together, using their hands to loosen the tangles and passing the brush back and forth. It was interesting to read both Avery and Tristan as a companionable silence settled over the room—well, aside from the throb of music and laughter from the cabin next door.
Tristan took to the task well. There was a fierce look of concentration in his eyes, and he kept the tip of his tongue between his teeth as his eyebrows rose and fell with the depth of complexity he found with each messy lock.
He didn’t complain once—Clay saw no evidence of boredom or disdain as the minutes passed.
Maybe there was hope for him yet.
Avery, on the other hand… obviously uncomfortable with two men touching her, she spent the first five minutes squirming and wiggling like a toddler waiting to see the doctor. The towel shifted and slipped several times, giving Clay quick peeks at her glorious breasts and, in turn, a hefty erection.
Once she became accustomed to their undivided attention, however, her restlessness faded and she quickly turned to putty as their fingertips stroked her scalp, smoothing through her hair.
Tension dissipated from her muscles, her face slackened.
Eyes fluttering half-closed, he was pretty sure she was almost asleep sitting up.
“Hello! Room service!”
Damn it. The peace was shattered by the shout from the front of the cabin, sounding miles away. Clay exchanged a glance with Tristan and decided the new Dom needed the practice more. “I’ll get it. Finish this up, you’re doing a good job.”
Avery blinked tiredly when he pushed his luck a little further, bending to brush his mouth over hers. He felt the quick, soft press of her tongue against his bottom lip before he pulled away and winked.
“Maybe later, sweetling. Food first, new plan after.”
Whistling under his breath, he went to meet the delivery boy.
Avery
God, she felt ridiculously tired.
The nap hadn’t done anything to alleviate the fatigue and now, after spending what seemed like eternity with two sets of hands teasing her head and hair, her body felt languid and aroused.
Tristan’s presence behind her wasn’t helping; the warmth radiating off him penetrated her bare skin where the towel didn’t cover, and his hands kept skimming over her shoulders as he untangled her hair.
A full body shiver of pleasure speared through her when he gathered her now-straight locks into one hand, his fingertips catching an erogenous zone between her shoulder blades, just above the material.
“Are you cold?”
“No.” Shit, was she supposed to call him Daddy? It rolled off her tongue more easily with Clay, but she guessed if they were both acting in that capacity, she needed to make a concerted effort to address them equally.
“Good. I, ah… I should probably apologize for coming on too strong yesterday, right? I’m kind of used to having women…”
“Throw themselves at your feet?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Figures.” She cast a glance over her shoulder. “Money bunnies.”
He laughed and gave her hair a light tug. “Hopping along after the stud with the biggest wallet. Unfortunately in that respect, mine is pretty fucki—I mean fluffing—big. Probably one of the biggest.”
“Are we using wallet as a euphemism for your cock? If so, I’ve seen bigger.”
“Wow, you are savage. Besides, you haven’t seen what I’ve got.”
She shrugged and turned forward, feeling the familiar mischievousness creeping out to play. Her voice was higher, lighter, when she retorted, “Still seen bigger.”
“Clay was right—you’re a brat.”
His faux offended tone made her giggle, then she gasped and twisted as he dragged his fingernails lightly over the spot she’d reacted to only a moment ago. Her whole being contracted, the pleasure so intense, it felt as though her skin would erupt with it.
She didn’t know whether to scream, belt him, or just orgasm.
Instead, she started laughing as she writhed, squirming out of the towel completely before landing butt first on the floor.
Stark naked, her skin twitching with the sensation still crawling between her shoulder blades, she almost crawled away until she realized how her private assets would be on display.
Clay stepped back into the room, a stack of insulated takeout boxes in his hands, and his eyebrows hit his hairline.
A slow, wicked grin bloomed as he flicked his gaze to Tristan, then stroked it over her.
“Looks like Tristan worked his magic on your hair, sweetling, but God created perfection with the rest of you.”
“Suck-up,” Tristan said with a laugh.
“ I’m the suck-up? Who ordered the triple fudge cake for dessert?”
Nakedness forgotten, Avery rolled up on to her knees like a nun at prayer. She’d made a pact not to eat her own products—her ass was prominent enough, thank you—but she always sampled a tiny bit for quality control.
The triple chocolate fudge was her favorite, even if she didn’t let herself indulge.
Clay’s gaze darkened as it roamed over her in the new position.
Lingering on her breasts and her traitorous nipples standing to attention, locking on the dark curls between her legs.
He stepped to the side of her, setting the boxes down, then loosened his belt and tugged his shirt free from his waistband.
Grasping the collar, he yanked the garment over his head, revealing a broad, muscular chest with matching shoulders and arms. A scattering of dark hair adorned his pectorals, arrowing down over his belly to disappear under his waistband.
“Stand up, sweetling,” he ordered, then smiled approvingly when she slowly obeyed. “Raise your arms.”
“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 sassy oh 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 and sundry 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, really nicely, 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.