Page 21 of Daddy Devious

I will be her entire world.

Victoria

The sight of my favorite comfort food is such a shock, for a moment I forget I’m wearing a diaper and a onesie, perched on Mr. Stone’s lap like a literal baby.

How thehelldid he know about this? It’s not something that has ever come up in conversation at work, as far as I can recall. Perhaps I’ve told my friends about it at some point, but I can’t wrap my mind around him caring enough to talk to my friends about me.

Again, I wonder how long he’s been planning all this. Long enough, apparently, to learn things like my favorite foods from childhood, my favorite colors, my love of unicorns. Suddenly, my exhausted brain is in overdrive, trying to put the pieces together. The answer feels like it’s hovering just on the edges of my mind, but I can’t quite see it.

Or perhaps, my brain is keeping it from me on purpose. Perhaps the truth is so sinister, so devious, my brain has decided it’s better for me not to know.

You’re being dramatic, Victoria. Just appreciate the gesture.

“This is… thank you.” For what seems like the millionth time in the past few hours, tears well in my eyes. “It’s lovely.”

“You’re welcome, little one.” Leaning forward, he scoops spaghetti onto a plate in front of us. With me still on his lap, hesomehow manages to cut one of the little sausages up into tiny pieces.

And then he spears one of the tiny pieces with his fork, scoops up some noodles, and lifts the fork to my lips.

Instinctively, I open my mouth, welcoming in the delicious meal. The sauce is incredible, certainly better than anything I could buy at the store, and the noodles are cooked to perfection. It’s the taste of the sausages, however, that has me swallowing hard so I don’t burst into tears right at the table. Just like my mom used to make, a comfort I didn’t know I needed. I cling to it as I accept another bite of spaghetti, and another.

As I eat, my brain struggles to come to terms with the fact that I am on a remote island, thousands of miles from home, sitting on the lap of one of the richest men alive while he feeds me my mother’s spaghetti.

How is this my life?

While my brain grapples with this new reality, it is also yelling at me to tell him I can feed myself. But I can already hear his voice in my head, telling me that while Icanfeed myself, I may not. So I don’t even bother to protest as he feeds me another morsel. As I chew, he feeds himself a few bites, then switches back to feeding me. We eat in silence, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable or heavy. It just feels… nice.

When my stomach feels like it might burst, I shake my head at the fork he’s holding to my lips.

“All done, my little thief?”

“Full.” The response sounds childish, even to my own ears, but it doesn’t seem to bother Mr. Stone.

“Are you too full for dessert?”

I sit up straighter, excitement humming along my skin at the suggestion. “Dessert?”

“Yes. I have something very special for my sweet Little girl tonight.”

There’s an undertone to his words that has me narrowing my eyes at him. “It’s not your cock, is it?”

I half expect to get tossed over his lap again, but to my surprise, he throws his head back and laughs, long and loud. “Didn’t you have your fill of Daddy’s cum on the plane, little one?”

“I did. That’s why I’m hoping it’s something else.”

“It is. If you’re not too full, of course.”

“There’s no such thing as too full for dessert. Everyone knows dessert goes to a separate tummy.”

Laughing again, he rises from the table, effortlessly swooping me up in his arms. “Is that so? I must have missed that lesson in anatomy class.”

“Maybe you weren’t paying attention. Naughty Daddy. Maybe you need a spanking.”

Glancing down, he raises an eyebrow, and though his eyes still dance with amusement, my breath catches in my lungs at the warning in his gaze. “Don’t even think about trying it, little girl.”

“It was just a joke,” I mumble, dropping my gaze to his chest.

“Well, in my experience, Little girls often find ways to turn jokes into naughty behavior, so it’s best to cut it off at the pass. You aren’t in trouble, little one.”

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