Page 12 of Daddy Devious

Nobody has called me by my full name like that since my mom died. The memory brings tears to my eyes that havenothing to do with the ache in my bottom and everything to do with the sudden ache in my chest.

“Yes, Daddy,” I manage to whisper, too tired, too sad to keep fighting.

“Good girl. We’re about to take off, so you only have a little while longer to sit.”

Because I don’t want to have anything to do with him, I look out the window, wiping the tears from my eyes as discreetly as possible.

Soon, though, I’m distracted from my grief by the rumble of the tarmac beneath our wheels as the plane begins moving. Slowly as we move out of the hangar, but then faster and faster.

It hits me then that I have no clue what comes next. I’ve never been on a plane before.

The ground beneath us disappears and my stomach drops. A whimper escapes my lips before I can stop it.

But instead of being scolded, I find my hand wrapped in Mr. Stone’s much larger one. “It’s all right, little one. Daddy’s right here.”

“We’re so high,” I whisper, torn between terror and awe as we rise higher into the sky, the world below us turning into ant-sized versions of itself.

“Have you never flown before?”

“No, Daddy.” The “Daddy” part slips out without me even thinking about it, but I’m too distracted by what’s happening outside my window to think about it.

“I’m sorry, little one. I should have told you what to expect.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

An almost companionable silence falls between us as we climb higher and higher. By the time we reach the clouds—and isn’t that a weird feeling, being above the clouds instead of below them the way God intended—the seatbelt sign has been turned off. Mr. Stone unbuckles mine for me, and I immediately jumpto my feet, even though in reality I can barely feel the pain from my spanking anymore.

Chuckling softly, Mr. Stone undoes his own belt and gestures to one of the flight attendants. “A whiskey for me, apple juice for Victoria, please.”

“Wine would be lovely,” I say, flashing the attendant a smile.

But the pretty blonde simply raises a brow and glances down at Mr. Stone, who shakes his head.

“One whiskey and one apple juice coming right up, sir.” Without even bothering to look at me again, she saunters off.

Annoyed at being treated like a child yet again, I glare down at Mr. Stone. “Why can’t I have wine?”

“Little girls don’t drink wine.”

“But I’m not a little girl!”

His smile is smug, with a hint of danger that immediately has me taking a step backward. “As a matter of fact, you are. For the next thirty-one days, you aremyLittle girl, to be more precise.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Our agreement, Victoria. The second you signed that contract, you agreed to spend a full month with me, living as my Little girl.”

That fucking contract. Ireallyshould have tried to read it better. “What does that even mean?”

“It means, while you are in my care, you will be treated like a child. You will be clothed, fed, and disciplined as my Little girl. You will have rules to follow, and if you break those rules, you will be punished.”

“You mean spanked.” I have a feeling I’m going to be spending a lot of time finding excuses not to sit down.

“Among other things. Believe me when I tell you that I have plenty of tricks up my sleeve when it comes to naughty Little girls.”

“What if I change my mind? What if I don’t want to be your… whatever this is?”

He shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter to him one bit if I change my mind. “Then we can go back to New York and let the police handle your embezzlement.”

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