Page 4 of Double Daddies (Dirty Daddies Anthologies #8)

Chapter Three

Nicole

Cozy. I’m so warm and cozy, and even though the sunlight is basically stabbing me in the eyes, I don’t want to get out of this soft, warm bed.

Have I ever felt this comfortable before? If I have, I can’t remember. It’s been so long since I slept on anything that wasn’t an old mattress with springs that poked me in the back, or the literal ground outside that it seems like that’s all I’ve ever known. And maybe it is.

So why am I so cozy now ? Despite my desire to simply stay snuggled in this impossibly soft bed, my brain is awake, wondering what’s going on. Last I remember, I fell asleep at the top of a stairwell in a building I broke into.

Alert now, I open my eyes but otherwise stay perfectly still. Cool mint-green walls are the first thing I see, along with what looks to be drawings of zoo animals.

Slowly easing the blanket down, I shift my gaze, intending to look around the room, but my vision is partially blocked by wooden slats of some kind.

Where the hell am I?

Heart pounding, I push myself up, and the more I see as I look around the room, the more confused I become.

It’s almost like a child’s nursery, except scaled up.

The rocking horse in the corner would easily hold a full-grown person, and even the wooden blocks stacked neatly beside the dollhouse seem far too large for a toddler to properly handle.

Across the room, a door opens and the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen steps inside.

Thick, dark hair is swooped back from his face and even from a distance I can see his eyes, so brown they almost seem black, boring into mine.

I've never had someone stare at me so intensely, and even though the fear is starting to overtake the confusion, I can’t look away.

“You’re awake. I trust you slept well, little one?”

Little one? My heart, already beating too fast, picks up pace as he slowly makes his way across the room. “Who the hell are you?”

The slight smile he’d worn when he first stepped into the room tilts down into a frown. “Good Little girls do not use such grown-up language. I will be happy to tell you anything you need to know if you ask politely.”

Seriously? Who does this guy think he is? “Fuck off. You’re going to tell me who the hell you are and where the hell I am. And maybe if you do that I won’t call the cops and have you arrested for false imprisonment.”

His smile returns, but it isn't the warm, welcoming one from before. This smile is, well, dangerous . Fear runs prickly fingers up my spine and it’s all I can do not to audibly whimper.

“Byron,” he calls without taking his eyes off me. “Our little one is awake and in desperate need of a lesson in manners.”

A moment later, another man steps through the door. Slightly taller, with a more slender build than his counterpart, but no less gorgeous. His hair is a few shades lighter than the other man’s and falls over his eye in a way that brings to mind images of surfer dudes from California.

Running a hand through his hair in an ineffectual attempt to tame it, the man I assume to be Byron grins down at his partner and then at me. “Good morning, little one. Did you sleep well?”

Why are these guys so obsessed with how I slept? And why do they keep calling me ‘little one’? It’s weird, but in a way that makes my stomach feel all fluttery.

“I slept fine. Now, tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Byron’s mouth forms a small O before he brings his hand up to cover his expression. He coughs lightly, and I get the distinct impression he’s trying to hide his laughter.

Apparently his brooding friend has come to the same conclusion because he glares at Byron. “There is nothing funny about Little girls using naughty language.”

“No, no, of course not. But you gotta admit, Ezra, she’s pretty damn cute. All rumpled from sleep and glaring at us like that. She’s got spirit.”

“There is nothing cute about a Little girl using such naughty words.” Shrugging out of his suit jacket, Ezra tosses it over the back of a nearby armchair before unbuttoning one of his sleeves and carefully rolling it up to his elbow. “She needs to learn some manners.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Byron says with a sigh as he crosses the room to stand in front of the strange bed I woke up in.

When he reaches for me, he drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“If you fight him, I promise he will make you regret it. Say you’re sorry and accept your punishment like a good girl and he’ll go easy on you. ”

“What punishment? What the fuck are you talking about? Let go of me!”

But no matter how hard I fight—which even I can admit is probably not that hard given how malnourished I am—his grip on me does not ease as he lifts me from the crib and carries me over to the single straight-backed chair Ezra has settled on.

Shaking his head, Ezra reaches for me, and it’s only then that I realize I’m not wearing the clothes I fell asleep in. I’m wearing some kind of bodysuit that snaps between the thighs.

“No! Don’t touch me!” My voice pitches up in fear as I kick out, my care foot connecting with Ezra’s hand.

Even that doesn't deter him, but it does earn me a sharp look from the dark-eyed man in front of me. “That’s five with the hairbrush for kicking Daddy.”

Daddy? What the actual fuck is going on?

Behind me, Byron sighs. “I told you not to fight him, little one.”

“I’m not going to let you sick perverts rape me without a fucking fight!” I scream, still struggling for all I’m worth.

To my surprise, they both go still and sympathy softens Ezra’s eyes. “We aren’t going to rape you, sweetheart.” His tone is oddly soothing, enough that I stop fighting and simply stare at him.

“You’re not?”

“No. I’m only baring your bottom to give you the spanking you’ve earned for your naughty language. Nobody is going to hurt you.”

“Spankings hurt.” Ugh. I sound like a pouty child. I feel like a pouty child, a realization that has my entire body burning with humiliation.

A smile curves Ezra’s lips. “I suppose they do. But that is rather the point, I’m afraid. How would naughty girls ever learn their lesson if the spankings didn’t hurt?”

“I don’t need to learn a lesson. Just let me go and I’ll get out of your hair for good.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen, little one.” With a look for the man behind me, Ezra nods slightly. And before I can blink, I find myself draped over his knees, the cool air of the room caressing my bare skin.

A sharp swat lands on my ass, and I freeze, stunned that this is actually happening to me. That I am half-naked over some strange man’s lap, getting spanked like a naughty child.

It takes half a dozen stinging swats to jolt me out of my stupor. “Stop! You have no right to do this!”

“We have every right, little girl,” Ezra growls, and I howl as an even harder spank lands on my upper thigh.

“Anyone else would have called the cops on you for breaking a window and snooping around private property. Instead, we gave you a comfortable bed to sleep in and you repay our kindness with rude, naughty words.”

Guilt digs its claws deep into my chest, shocking me even more than the fact that I’m being spanked. Because he’s right. I should be grateful that I spent the night in this weird little room instead of a jail cell.

“I’m sorry!” The words come out as a miserable wail. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be good I promise!”

Unfortunately, my apologies don’t seem to be enough to stop the spanking. Ezra’s hard hand continues to connect with my burning flesh, over and over until every inch of my bottom feels like I’ve been sitting on a hot stove.

Finally, when I’m slumped over his lap, sobbing uncontrollably, his hand comes to rest on my aching bottom. “We would be done right now if you’d been a good girl and accepted your punishment with grace. But you weren’t a good girl, were you, Nicole?”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder how he knows my name. But that seems like a far-off concern compared to the more immediate threat to my backside. “I w-was j-just scared,” I confess brokenly through my sobs.

“Understandably so. But good girls don’t lash out just because they’re scared or worried or upset. Am I making myself clear, little girl?”

“Y-yes.”

“The correct answer is, ‘Yes, Daddy’.”

Oh, fuck no. There is no way in hell I’m calling this guy Daddy. But I’ve learned enough during our brief encounter to know that arguing is likely to just earn me another spanking, so I keep my mouth shut.

Which, unsurprisingly, does not work in my favor.

The hand resting on my ass tightens as Ezra sighs. “If I have to punish you for refusing to follow directions, it will be with the hairbrush and not my hand.”

Movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention and I watch as Byron crouches in front of me, his playful smile taking on a sympathetic edge as he cups my cheek in his hand.

“I suggest you do as he says, princess. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner this can be over and the sooner you can get cuddles from your Daddies to make it all better.”

“Don’t w-want you to t-touch me.”

“Too bad. Cuddles are a non-negotiable part of a spanking, especially for our Little girl. Now, say ‘Yes, Daddy’ so Daddy Ezra can finish your punishment.”

I don’t want to. The absolute last thing I want to do is to give into them and their fucked-up demands.

But my ass is on fire and the thought of enduring any more punishment than necessary shatters the last of my resolve. Meeting Byron’s sweet, pale gaze, I sniffle back my tears and nod. “Y-yes, Daddy.”

“Such a good girl. Isn’t she the sweetest, Ezra?”

“Yes. Our precious little princess. Just five with the hairbrush and then you can have your cuddles with your Daddies.”

Something hard taps against my ass and I freeze, my gaze locked with Byron’s. Still crouched in front of me, he takes my hands in his and gives them a hard squeeze a moment before hell explodes across my ass.

Howling, I rear up, but between Ezra’s hold on me and Byron gripping my hands tight, I can’t go anywhere. I can only kick my feet and sob as four more equally blazing swats cover my ass.

“Shh. It’s all done, little one.” Lifting me up onto his lap, Ezra cradles me gently, rocking me back and forth as he murmurs sweet words of praise, telling me what a good job I did, what a good girl I am.

And even though I know he’s lying, because I know I am the farthest thing from a “good girl” there can possibly be, his words calm something inside me. As if he’s reached deep down into my soul and soothed some long-forgotten ache.

“Poor little princess,” Byron murmurs, wrapping his arms around us both. “You let Daddy Ezra finish snuggling you while I run you a bath.”

I know I should fight the idea of a bath. Of being stripped completely naked by these strange men. But I’m too lost in the comfort of their arms to do anything other than nod.

“And after your bath, we’ll have some breakfast brought up,” Ezra says, tightening his arms around me. “Do you want pancakes or waffles, little one?”

“Waffles. With lotsa whipped cream.”

“Waffles with a whole mountain of whipped cream it is,” he answers me with a low chuckle that seems to vibrate my entire body.

I remember reading once that a cat’s purr is on a frequency capable of healing broken bones.

Which sounded like a load of bullshit to me when I heard it.

But when Ezra laughs, everything inside me goes quiet, and I wonder if maybe his laugh is on that same frequency, because it certainly seems to be healing something inside me, something I didn’t even know was broken until right now.