Page 23 of Double Daddies (Dirty Daddies Anthologies #8)
Chapter Ten
Double D Acquisition’s private plane, heading toward the Caribbean
Elle
Elle found herself in the most ridiculous position of her life— crawling, for fuck’s sake !—across a private jet’s plush carpet. Her knees protested the unfamiliar movement while her dignity screamed in outrage. On all fours like some wayward toddler!
Generally, that’s what crawling means. On all fours on the floor, and technically, this is exactly what you signed up for, her inner voice chirped helpfully.
Oh, shut up! she sneered back.
The command to crawl had sparked an internal war between her pride and raw desire, a primal hunger that made her breath catch every time Drake’s eyes darkened with that particular look.
The businesswoman in her was horrified at the mere suggestion, while another part—a part she really needed to have a serious talk with later—found the idea disturbingly appealing.
The whole situation bordered on absurdity since here she was, a business owner, now reduced to crawling at the behest of two admittedly impressive but utterly maddening men.
And they expected me to call them Daddy. The thought almost made her laugh out loud. Almost. When hell freezes over , she continued her inner tirade.
Not that all of this came as a surprise.
The contract hadn’t detailed everything, but there had been enough hints to paint a picture.
Like any self-respecting person, she had done her research, dismissing half of what she found as dramatized fiction and exasperation for clickbait.
Those late-night internet searches now seemed less far-fetched and more like previews of coming attractions since they corroborated what Drake had so eloquently voiced before ordering her to crawl.
“This is absolute bullshit,” she muttered under her breath, fighting the urge to look back at her newly appointed guardians . The sound of their measured footsteps behind her sent shivers down her spine. Not fear exactly, but rather more like anticipation mixed with a healthy dose of trepidation.
“How is embarrassing me in front of their staff nurturing me in any way or form, I wonder?” she mumbled as she reached the informal lounge.
Her chin lifted in subtle defiance as she watched Drake and Damian settle into the plush chairs through her lashes.
Of course, they did it with the ease of men accustomed to commanding any space they occupied.
She was increasingly cognizant of her awkward position on the floor.
She trembled with the sensation of hundreds of creepy crawlies scattering all over her skin.
Her mind raced through possible scenarios, each more outlandish than the last. The business owner in her wanted to negotiate terms, while another part, a part she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge, felt an odd flutter of excitement at their promised care and protection.
A wayward thought flashed through her mind at how she had missed that since her parents’ death.
None of her foster families ever truly cared about her, not like one of their own flesh and blood.
The memory of her last encounter with the two men in their office made her shift uncomfortably. They clearly meant business, and that this was just the beginning of her education in their particular brand of nurturing.
“I suppose this is what you would call character building.” Her sarcastic remark earned her two identical, knowing smirks and expressions that suggested they had extensive plans for building her baby girl character, whether she liked it or not.
“Ah, she’s starting to see the light.” Damian’s face brightened with a lopsided grin.
Elle sat back on her heels as her mind whirled with Drake’s earlier words about taking care of all her needs. The way he had said it, all smooth authority wrapped in velvet, made her stomach do an odd little flip—not that she would ever admit that under torture.
Oh please, like you need anyone to take care of you , her inner voice scoffed. But another voice, smaller and quieter, negated her own vehement response to Drake as it whispered, Wouldn't it be nice, though? Not to have to handle everything alone?
She squashed that thought immediately. Thirty-one years of self-reliance couldn’t be undone by a couple of admittedly gorgeous men with their gilded promises, no matter how tempting they made it sound.
I am not a fucking Little girl! The denial sounded hollow inside her head since it was indisputable that Drake’s voice did things to her insides when he called her little one or little baker .
When Damian had stepped forward, all controlled power and stern authority, Elle’s pulse quickened.
The way these two moved in perfect sync, finishing each other’s thoughts and complementing each other’s actions, was unnerving as much as it was fascinating to experience.
Like watching two predators working in tandem—which probably wasn’t the most comforting analogy her brain could have supplied.
“We don’t want you to view this punishment in the wrong light, little one, but it’s important that you realize the need for clear communication and proper expression,” Drake’s deep voice rolled over her.
“Not to mention listening and following our instructions. Pouting and blatant defiance will always invite repercussions.”
Elle was hard-pressed not to roll her eyes. Obviously, pouting and manipulation were beneath her sophisticated self. Except... hadn’t she just tried exactly that? The slight sting in her bottom reminded her of how well that had worked out.
Great job, Elle. Really mature , her sarcastic inner voice chimed in. She could practically hear it slow-clapping.
“This is not how I pictured my weekend to start,” she muttered under her breath, earning a surprising guffaw from Drake and a chuckle from Damian that suggested they knew exactly what was running through her head.
Those matching expressions of amusement and authority made her realize she had just signed up for more than she could handle.
Then again, Elle Fitzgerald never backed down from a challenge. Even if said challenge involved two dominant ancient men who seemed determined to turn her world—and her concept of control—completely upside down.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” A peculiar calm settled over Elle the moment Drake extended his hand. “Come, babygirl, over Daddy’s lap. It’s time for your first official lesson.”
Her mind was at war with itself as she stared at the proffered hand.
She knew she was at a crossroads. This was more than an extended invitation; this was a test to see if she intended to honor the commitment she had made.
The dour reality of what awaited her if she reneged now ran through her mind like a movie reel.
Images of a prison cell, even a minimum security one, sent chills down her spine.
Her fingers trembled as she placed her hand in his much larger one.
“Good girl.”
The praise washed over her, bringing an unwanted flush to her cheeks. Her momentary contentment shattered when he guided her over his lap, pushed her skirt up over her hips, and proceeded to tear her panties from her hips.
“You won’t be needing these on the island, anyway,” he said in a matter-of-fact voice.
“What do you mean I won’t be… oh!” she gasped as his palm briefly brushed over her cheeks. It was warm and heavy, much like the sensations sparking to life deep inside her. Then the first strike landed, and like the first spanking, he didn’t start slow.
Crack! Crack!
“Fucking hell!” she screamed as the initial shock stole her breath. Stars exploded behind her eyes as his hand connected again, alternating between cheeks in a steady rhythm. Each impact sent waves of heat coursing through her body, igniting an unexpected fire low in her belly.
“Oww! Please stop,” she sobbed, convinced that he had already planted a hundred strikes.
More than the pain, she was shocked at how her body betrayed her further with each stinging slap.
The pain blossomed into a deep throb that radiated through her core, awakening parts of her that had no business responding to punishment.
Her hips shifted involuntarily, seeking friction against his thigh.
The mortification of being spanked like a child dissolved into an ache for more. More than just contact or intensity, her body yearned for full possession, to firsthand experience their earlier threat… to be fucked into kingdom come, sandwiched between them.
“When we give an instruction, we expect immediate compliance,” Drake lectured, punctuating each word with precise strikes.
The tender spots where her thighs met her buttocks received special attention, drawing desperate cries from her throat.
Each strike sent dual signals of pain and pleasure coursing through her nervous system until she could no longer distinguish between the two.
“P-Please,” she begged pitifully as her skin blazed under his ministrations, except the heat wasn’t confined to her posterior.
It spread like wildfire through her veins, making her acutely aware of every point of contact between their bodies.
The firmness of his thighs and the strength of his hand at her waist only served to add fuel to the inferno building inside her.
“Please stop! No more. I’m sorry, Drake. I’m sorry for being disobedient.”
“No.” His stern voice carried over another series of strikes. “What are you supposed to call us?”
“No!” Even through the waves of pain and arousal, Elle couldn’t bring herself to drop that low.
Calling him Daddy was just not going to happen.
“I’m not... you’re not... I can’t!” she wailed as the pace increased.
Her resistance was at war with an overwhelming desire to submit and do as they wanted, if only to finally feel their hands on her in ways that her mind was conjuring up with each additional strike. “Please stop, Drake!”
“Wrong name, again. I’m not stopping until I hear the correct one, babygirl. Come… it’s not that difficult… Daddy… Say it, Elle… Daddy.”
Her resolve crumbled with each impact until, finally, she surrendered, both to the punishment and to the burning need coursing through her body.
With a catch in her voice, she cried, “D-Daddy! I’m sorry, Daddy! Please stop.”
“Now, was that so hard, babygirl?” Damian’s voice carried notes of warmth and approval that resonated through her entire being as Drake pulled her upright onto his lap.
Despite her predicament, Damian’s tone wrapped around her like a protective blanket, soothing the sting of her wounded pride while stoking the embers of desire that now smoldered beneath her skin.