Page 27 of Double Daddies (Dirty Daddies Anthologies #8)

Chapter Fourteen

DD Estate, Dreamer’s Cove, fifty miles south of the Cayman Islands

Elle

The helicopter descended toward a stunning Mediterranean-style mansion nestled against rocky cliffs.

The estate sprawled across manicured lawns, with its white exterior gleaming in the Caribbean sun.

A series of elegant arches lined the front, leading to an infinity pool that seemed to merge with the sapphire ocean beyond.

“It’s beautiful.” Elle’s breath caught as she took in the two-story structure with its pristine white roof and floor-to-ceiling windows. Palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze, and perfectly maintained gardens created a lush border around the property.

The sheer opulence before her made Elle’s stomach clench.

This wasn’t just wealth. This was dynasty-level money.

The kind of affluence that built empires and toppled governments.

Her small bakery, successful as it used to be and still could be, suddenly seemed insignificant.

These men bought and sold businesses worth billions without blinking.

The disparity between their worlds struck her hard.

Why would billionaires with unlimited options choose a simple baker from Texas?

She could name a dozen socialites who would kill for this opportunity.

Women who understood their world of privilege and power. Women who belonged here.

Feeling somewhat out of place, her gaze drifted to the opposite side of the island, where several cottages dotted the landscape with their white-washed walls, a stark contrast against the verdant foliage.

“I thought you lived here alone,” she said with marked curiosity.

“The smaller cottages house our staff. They’re locals who maintain the property all year round,” Drake explained. “The larger ones are guest accommodations for when we entertain friends.”

Elle’s lips curled into a sneer. “Let me guess, parties with like-minded people? A Little orgy festival?”

Damian’s expression hardened. “That comment shows how little you understand about being a Little. This isn’t about sexual exploitation, and unless it’s something you need, we will never force you to be with another Daddy.

Yes, we host gatherings with other Daddies and their Littles, but not for the crude purpose you’re implying.

If you’re expecting some kind of depraved sex party, you’ll be sorely disappointed.

Every interaction on this island is strictly consensual. ”

Heat crept up Elle’s neck at his stern rebuke. She pressed her lips together, thoroughly chastened into silence as they approached the helipad.

As the rotors wound down, Drake got out, opened the door, and reached in to lift her from the seat.

“I’m not helpless,” she said, slapping at his hands. “I can get out by myself.”

Ignoring her protest, he lifted her out as his steel-blue eyes met hers. “Maybe so, but now you don’t have to anymore.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine. More than any contract or agreement, that simple statement revealed exactly what these next three months would bring—a complete surrender of her independence, whether she was ready or not.

Elle’s heels clicked against the paved path as they approached the mansion. The setting sun painted the sky in brilliant strokes of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the property’s elegant facade. Landscape lighting began to twinkle among the palm trees and garden paths.

“We designed this place with the sole aim of being suitable for hosting the three generations of the family we aim to have, hence the nine bedrooms,” Drake said, his hand resting lightly on her lower back as they walked.

Elle stopped abruptly, turning to face them. “Nine? Just how many kids do the two of you already have?”

“At the moment, none.” Drake's voice carried a hint of suggestion. “But we hope to change that soon.”

Her cheeks flushed at the implications of his words as they entered through imposing double doors into a grand salon.

Her mouth dropped open at the soaring ceilings and walls of windows that seemed to bring the ocean inside.

Crystal chandeliers caught the dying sunlight, scattering rainbows across the marble floors.

“This is... overwhelming,” she whispered, more to herself than them.

“Come, let’s show you around.” Damian led her through the main floor. “The chef’s kitchen should interest you particularly.”

Elle’s professional interest piqued as they entered a kitchen that would make any restaurateur envious. She gawked at the gleaming stainless-steel appliances, double ovens, and a massive center island with a marble waterfall countertop. It was a baker’s paradise.

“Through those French doors is one of the loggias,” Drake pointed. “Perfect for morning coffee or afternoon tea.”

They moved through the house, each room more impressive than the last. Elle’s head spun as she struggled to take it all in. The feeling of misplacement firmly settled in her mind.

Through the window, the black mosaic tiles of the pool created a mirror effect against the darkening sky, capturing her attention.

“Wow, that’s amazing.”

Drake smiled at her fascination. “The pool is exactly one mile for every hundred laps,” Drake mentioned casually. “I’m an avid swimmer.”

“Of course you are,” Elle muttered under her breath, then louder: “Is there anything you two aren’t perfect at?”

Damian chuckled. “Oh, babygirl, you’ll discover our imperfections soon enough.”

The way he said ‘babygirl’ sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly very aware of how alone she was with these two powerful men in their private paradise.

“Would you like to see your room?” Drake asked softly as if he’d accurately read her unease.

“My room?” Elle raised an eyebrow. “You mean I don’t have to share with my... Daddies?” The word still felt foreign on her tongue.

“Not yet.” Damian’s voice carried a promise that made her pulse quicken. “We believe in earning trust first.”

Drake opened the door they had passed earlier with an expectant smile on his face... except she suspected it was one aimed at gauging her reaction when he said, “This, babygirl, is your nursery.”

Elle’s mind went blank as she stared at the room before her. This wasn’t just a bedroom; it was a fully equipped nursery designed for an adult. Her entire body went rigid as she stepped into the room, desperately trying to deny the reality before her.

Yards of pink chiffon and lace cascaded from a circular canopy, draping over an adult-sized crib complete with ornate spindles and— dear god —safety rails that could be raised and lowered. A matching changing table stood against one wall, its size making its purpose unmistakable.

The walls, painted in the softest shade of pastel colors, featured delicate butterflies and fairies.

Twinkling lights created patterns across the ceiling, casting a nursery-like glow over the entire space.

A rocking chair large enough for two adults sat in one corner, complete with pink cushions trimmed in lace.

Her stomach lurched as her gaze drifted to the open walk-in closet. Rows upon rows of frilly dresses hung in perfect order. Tulle, lace, ribbons, and bows in every shade imaginable. Below them sat shelves of what appeared to be... adult-sized onesies.

“No…” The word escaped as barely a whisper. Her chest constricted as she backed away. Her heel caught on the plush pink carpet as she spun around and stumbled onto the adjoining patio, where she gripped the balustrade until her knuckles turned white.

“I can’t be what they want,” she whispered in a voice that cracked. “I can’t be this person… this babygirl!”

The ocean breeze did nothing to calm the panic rising in her throat.

She had grown up climbing trees and playing in dirt.

Irrespective of the color scheme of Elle’s Delicacies, the closest she had ever come to wearing anything pink was the mandatory uniform at her first waitressing job, and she’d hated every second of it.

“What’s wrong, babygirl?” Damian’s concerned voice came from behind her.

Elle whirled to face them. Her voice trembling was trumped by how badly her body shook.

“What’s wrong? Are you serious? I knew about the whole Daddy Dom thing…

theoretically. But this?” She gestured wildly toward the room.

“This is... I can’t... I’m not some delicate little princess who plays dress-up! ”

“Elle—”

“No!” She cut Drake short. “I’m a baker. I work with my hands. I don’t do,”—she waved her hand frantically at the frilly wonderland behind them—“That!”

Her breath came in short gasps as she pressed her back against the balustrade. The internet searches she had done hadn’t prepared her for this level of commitment to the lifestyle. She had naively thought it would be more... symbolic. Not this complete transformation.

“I know this comes as a… surprise, but it’s a lifestyle we enjoy.

It offers us the opportunity to take care of another human being in every way possible…

something both of us were denied by absent parents.

” Drake’s lips compressed. “We learned the hard way that throwing money at a problem doesn’t make it disappear; it creates a festering wound if not nurtured.

We want to be that for you, Elle.” He didn’t move closer but looked at her with disappointment. “You said you’d try, Elle.”

She spun around to stare out over the ocean, her mind running a mile a minute. She had no idea why the thought of disappointing him hurt so much, but it did. And she did promise, only… God! How am I going to survive three months of this?

The alternative was worse, so Elle knew she had to dig deep and find a way to adapt.

Struggling to even out her breathing, she turned. “And I intended to, but this…” Her throat tightened as she glanced at the pink monstrosity behind them. “Look, there has to be some sort of compromise.” Her voice cracked with desperation.

“I understand how someone already in the lifestyle could adapt to,”—she gestured at the nursery—“what truly is a gorgeous room. But I…” The words stuck in her throat as panic clawed at her chest. “Those drapes are going to suffocate me, and those dresses? Oh god, I shudder just thinking of putting them on. I’ve never worn frilly dresses in my entire life.

In fact, I was a tomboy until I turned eighteen.

To this day, I very rarely wear dresses. I’m a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl.”

She wet her lips as her mind grasped for solutions.

“Could we…” Her gaze darted between them in a pleading look.

“Would you consider moving the clock ahead a year or two? Let me be that tomboy at first? Maybe it would be easier to transition if I’m eased into,”—she pointed at the room—“into that kind of Little.”

The two men exchanged glances. Elle’s chest tightened with every silent second that passed. Her pulse thundered in her ears. With bated breath, she prayed they would understand.

“Being a Little is a commitment you can either make or not, Elle. It’s not a negotiation and?—”

“I know, and I?—”

“But since it’s important for us that you do make that transition…

” Drake's expression softened slightly. “We will consider your request... over the course of tonight. You’ll have our answer in the morning.” His voice dropped lower.

“However, you will sleep in here tonight, dressed in that polka-dot onesie laid out on the bed.”

Elle’s eyes darted to the crib, its pink chiffon canopy looming like a cotton-candy nightmare. Suddenly, the victory of them not saying no outright to her proposal dimmed at the prospect of the night ahead.

“You’re not serious,” she said in a voice thinning with panic.

“We’re willing to consider your proposal. Sleeping in the nursery is not negotiable.”

The finality in Drake’s voice sent ice through her veins. One night. She just had to survive one night in this chiffon and lace prison, and maybe, just maybe, they would agree to her compromise.

“God, I’m going to have nightmares,” she mumbled as she stared at the mountain of pink frills and lace. Even one night seemed like an insurmountable challenge.

“Very well,” she acceded with an elaborate sigh.

“Very well, who?” Drake’s brows drew together in subtle warning.

In light of the bigger problem at hand, Elle didn’t hesitate as she offered her response with a saccharine smile. Sometimes, pretending was a walk in the park.

“Very well, Daddies.”