Page 98 of Double Daddies (Dirty Daddies Anthologies #8)
Chapter Eleven
Wren
The rustling of sheets wakes me from the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in a long time.
I blink up at the ceiling, warmth lingering on my skin from the bodies that were here just moments ago.
I smile to myself. They have no idea how much I needed last night—or them.
I needed them. They are quickly becoming important to me.
I slip out of bed, stretching briefly before padding toward the en suite.
The moment I step into the bathroom, the lights glow to life, casting a soft, golden hue over the marble counters.
Beneath my feet, the tiles warm instantly, sending a comforting heat up through my legs.
It’s little luxuries like this that make me feel unexpectedly cared for, even by a space designed to be impersonal.
I turn on the shower, and steam coils into the air almost immediately.
The water is perfect—not too hot, not too cold—just right, as if it knew exactly what I needed before I did.
When I step in, jets spring to life, hitting me from all angles, a sensory overload of pressure and heat.
For a second, it feels like I’ve wandered into a futuristic spa—or a car wash built for humans.
I giggle at the ridiculous thought, running my fingers through my damp hair as the water soothes every lingering ache from last night.
For a moment, I just stand there, letting it all sink in—the quiet, the warmth, the surreal feeling of comfort that’s wrapping around me like a cocoon.
“Little bird? Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m just thinking. I’ll be out in a minute,” I shout back.
I quickly wash my hair and body and turn the water off. The shower door opens and the twins step in. My eyes rake over their naked bodies.
“What are you doing?”
“We are getting clean, little bird,” Elijah admits as he turns the water back on and begins to wash his chest.
“What’s wrong?” Ezra asks, noticing the look on my face.
“I’m just not used to sharing a shower with anyone. Richard never wanted to share a shower.”
Elijah growls at the mention of Richard’s name. I jump at the ferocity of the sound. “He is not allowed to have your thoughts. Ever .” He grips my chin and looks into my eyes. “Do you understand, little bird?”
“Y-yes.”
“Yes, what?” he demands.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Brava ragazza.” His voice is a low murmur, filled with quiet approval. He releases my chin, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary before turning off the water. A shiver runs down my spine—not from the chill, but from the moment itself.
I stand there, dripping wet, steam curling around us like a lingering embrace.
Elijah steps toward me, his hands deftly unfolding a towel before wrapping it around me, enveloping me in warmth.
The plush fabric clings to my damp skin, absorbing the water while somehow making me feel cocooned, protected.
Ezra follows seamlessly, his touch gentle as he presses another towel to my hair, rubbing in slow, careful strokes.
The rhythmic motion is soothing, almost hypnotic, like he’s done this a hundred times before.
The intimacy of it—the unspoken understanding, the quiet gestures, the effortless way they take care of me—makes my chest tighten with something I can’t quite name. I swallow hard, letting the warmth settle into my bones. Elijah kisses my temple then he’s out of the bathroom.
“Why don’t you wear my clothes?” Ezra suggests, his voice soft, yet full of quiet certainty. “Yours are still in the dryer.”
I nod, and he takes my hand, leading me back into the bedroom.
The sheets are still rumpled, a lingering reminder of last night.
He moves with effortless ease, opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of boxers.
Without hesitation, he kneels, slipping them up my legs, his fingers grazing my skin as he goes.
The fabric is cool at first, contrasting with the lingering heat from the shower, but his touch, steady, deliberate, adds its own warmth.
Then, he grabs a shirt, the scent of him clinging to the cotton.
It smells faintly of cedar and bergamot—something undeniably him.
He lifts it over my head, pulling it down in slow, careful movements, his knuckles brushing my shoulders before smoothing the fabric against my frame.
It’s oversized, draping over me like a protective shield, a silent claim.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The weight of his hands lingers, the quiet intimacy thick enough to settle in my bones. His touch is steady, grounding, yet there’s something else beneath it—something unspoken, something lingering in the space between us.
Slowly, he cups my cheeks, his thumbs tracing soft, deliberate circles against my skin.
The motion is featherlight, almost reverent, as if he’s memorizing the shape of me beneath his fingertips.
The warmth of his hands seeps into me, chasing away any lingering chill, and I find myself leaning into his touch.
“I like having you here,” he whispers, his voice hushed, intimate—a confession meant only for me.
I swallow, my breath catching. “Really?”
His lips quirk in the faintest smile, something tender, something certain.
“Very much so.” He leans in slowly, giving me just enough time to catch my breath, to register the way his eyes search mine, like he’s waiting for something unspoken.
Then his lips brush against mine, featherlight, tentative at first, like he’s testing the moment, savoring it.
Heat pools between us, the space shrinking to nothing as he presses in closer. The warmth of his breath mingles with mine, his scent, clean and familiar wraps around me like a second skin. His hands tighten slightly against my face, anchoring me there, and pulling me deeper into him.
I rise onto my tiptoes, my arms slipping up around his neck, pulling myself closer. The movement feels instinctive, like my body knows exactly where it belongs—against him. His hands find my waist, firm yet careful, steadying me as I press into him, our bodies molding together effortlessly.
Ezra’s lips linger for just a breath before pulling away, his forehead coming to rest gently against mine. His breath is warm, steady, and the space between us is still charged, humming with something unspoken. My fingers tighten slightly against the nape of his neck, unwilling to let go just yet.
Then, movement. A shift in the air.
Elijah steps into the room, his presence effortless, commanding, as if he’s always meant to be here at this exact moment. His gaze flickers between us, something unreadable passing through his eyes before a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Ready for breakfast?” he asks.
I nod. “I guess I could eat.”
“Good. We’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready, uccellina .” Ezra kisses the tip of my nose and follows his brother.
When they are gone, I let out a deep sigh.
Last night was incredible. The way they touched me, held me, made me feel cherished and wanted.
But now, in the light of day, I can't help but feel a pang of uncertainty.
I'm falling for both of them, and the thought is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.
I walk into their massive kitchen and find them standing at the stove. Elijah is flipping pancakes while Ezra chops fruit. They look so at home here, so comfortable in their domesticity, and it makes my heart ache with longing.
Ezra looks up as I enter, his eyes softening as he takes me in. “Ah, there she is.” Elijah pauses, spatula hovering mid-air as he turns toward me, his smile easy, effortless—like I’ve always been meant to be here.
“Come sit, merlotta . Breakfast is almost ready,” he says, his voice warm with invitation.
I move hesitantly, still adjusting to the intimacy of it all.
Elijah sets a plate of steaming pancakes on the table, and I can't help but notice how perfectly round and fluffy they are.
He catches me staring and chuckles. “I may have used a little too much baking powder,” he admits sheepishly.
I grin, feeling some of my tension ease away. "I love fluffy pancakes," I say, taking a seat at the table. Ezra joins us, carrying a bowl of freshly chopped fruit, and we dig in. The pancakes are light and perfectly sweet, the fruit adding a burst of freshness to each bite.
After breakfast, we clean up together, the three of us moving in a rhythm that feels natural. I scrub the dishes, the clatter of plates echoing in the silence. Ezra stands too close, his presence a smoldering heat at my back. I can feel the tension thickening the air between us, electric and heavy.
“You know, you’re a natural at this,” Elijah says, glancing at me with a teasing smile as he closes a cabinet. “Maybe we should keep you around.”
I laugh, my cheeks flushing. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of commitment.”
“Why are you trying to run away?” Ezra’s voice is low, almost a growl, sending shivers down my spine.
I glance over my shoulder, meeting his gaze. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that makes my heart race. “I’m not running away,” I reply, but my voice trembles, betraying me.
“Liar,” he says, stepping closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re scared of what you feel.”
I grip the edge of the sink, my knuckles whitening. “I’m not scared,” I insist, though I can’t ignore the way my body responds to him, the way my skin prickles with awareness.
Elijah leans against the counter, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches us. “What’s this? A little showdown?”
Ezra’s gaze doesn’t waver from mine. “Just reminding our little bird that she’s not as free as she thinks.”
Elijah’s smirk widens, and he steps closer, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe she needs a little incentive to stay.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, a mix of curiosity and trepidation swirling within me.