Page 128 of Double Daddies (Dirty Daddies Anthologies #8)
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.
“If she is, she doesn’t need to be tonight. Turn the light off—maybe we’ll get some sleep before the partygoers make their undoubtedly noisy return.”
“Are we allowed to sleep in employee quarters?”
“If you’re concerned Evander will storm in and beat the hell out of us, relax. The only other option I’m willing to consider is hauling Avery and her stuffies on a twenty-minute hike back to my cabin, and I’d rather spend those additional twenty minutes here in bed with her.”
“Good point.” The light flashed off, leaving the room awash in the faint glow from next door’s festivities. A few moments later, after a muffled bump and curse, the mattress behind her shifted, dipping under Tristan’s weight. “Is there a specific way you come up with pet names?”
“Pet names,” Clay repeated dubiously.
“Yeah. I mean, you call Avery sweetling . Did that just come to you or do you have a list of acceptable pet names for Littles?”
Clay’s laugh rumbled through her, deep and thoroughly amused. “Dude, stop overthinking the small stuff. I call her sweetling because it was the first thing that came to mind when I saw her, and it suits her down to a tee. You’ll think of something that reflects how you see her and that she loves.”
Heat pressed against her back as Tristan shifted, trying to get comfortable.
Unsurprisingly, the bed wasn’t built to contain two big, broad men and a curvy woman.
If they were planning on sleeping with her here, things could get interesting by morning—she was not a quiet sleeper; Adam had often complained about her restless energy while she was asleep, her cover-hogging tendencies, and her occasional outbursts of babbling sleep-talk.
“You said it was time to put the princess to bed,” Tristan mused, obviously unable to let the topic go.
“I did.” Clay’s fingers stroked up and down her back lazily, over the shirt.
“Think she’d object if I called her princess?”
“I think she’d like that. I get the feeling she’s been underappreciated a lot over the years.”
A long, thoughtful pause silenced Tristan, then, “Think she’d mind if I cuddle her?”
“What did I just say about overthinking? Be a Dom, Tristan. Be her Dom. If you want to cuddle, do it. She will tell you in no uncertain terms whether she’ll allow it, then you go forward from there.”
More heat snuggled up against her back, a wide band of it that fit snugly from her shoulders to her butt. Warm legs tucked in behind hers, and a hard arm sneakily looped around her waist.
The pair of them were like space heaters.
“Happy now?” Clay asked dryly.
“Oh yeah.” Tristan sighed contentedly. “A little freaked out at how fast this is moving, but… I’ve had a lot of women in my bed, Clay. A scarily substantial amount, but none of them have ever made me feel…”
“Like you’ve come home?”
“Yeah.”
Oddly enough, as she teetered toward the edge of sleep, Avery couldn’t deny that sense of home was within her as well.
She’d never felt this accepted, this… loved, she supposed, although that was a ridiculous concept given the suddenness of how this scenario was panning out, but that was how she felt.
Chances were it wouldn’t last, the good things never did, but for now…
She’d bask in the sensation of being cradled between two beautiful men and the joy of finding a temporary home.