Page 47 of Daddy Devious

“What do you mean?”

“The local farm had strict orders to grow the biggest, juiciest strawberries they could manage. Just for you.”

It’s another one of those little things that nags at the back of my mind even as I accept another bite of fruit. Honeydew this time, another of my favorite fruits.

How does Mr. Stone know all this? And how long has he been planning on bringing me here?

The questions do nothing to improve my mood, and by the time I finish the bowl of fruit, it’s as though a dark cloud has settled over my head. And when Caleb lifts the bottle to my lips, I’m tempted to refuse, but his warning is still fresh enough in my mind to win my obedience.

Right up until I actually suck on the nipple, and an odd taste fills my mouth. Shoving the bottle away, I spit the milk out, splattering Caleb’s face with the cold, white liquid.

“I don’tlikethis milk!”

The words come out as a scream, and I instantly know I’ve crossed a line. But before I can apologize, I hear Daddy’s voice behind me and my blood runs cold.

“Gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse me. I have some family business to take care of. Angelique, would you mind rescheduling this meeting at our guests’ earliest convenience?”

I can’t hear what the others are saying, but Daddy wishes everyone well and apologizes for the interruption before hestands and removes a set of earpieces. Beside me, Caleb sighs as he wipes his face clean, and the sound might as well be a scream for as quiet as the room has grown otherwise.

Surprisingly, Daddy doesn’t simply pull me from the chair and immediately begin spanking the way I expected. Instead, he lowers himself to the chair on the other side of me, his expression full of disappointment that has my tummy twisting itself into knots.

“Explain yourself, Victoria Rose.”

Daddy’s voice is hard, harder than I’ve ever heard it and I can barely force myself to speak past the sudden tightness in my throat. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask for an apology. I asked you to explain to me why you felt the need to spit your milk all over Caleb’s face and interrupt a very important business meeting.”

Now that the moment has passed, I’m not sure Icanexplain myself. Because I genuinely have no idea what got into me. All I know is I was upset and then my milk tasted wrong somehow, and it was all just… too much.

But how do I explain that to the man sitting beside me, watching me with those cooly furious eyes? I can’t, and so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “I don’t feel good.”

It’s notcompletelya lie. At the moment, my stomach very much feels like I might empty it all over the table at any given moment.

Daddy’s mouth turns down in a frown. “You feel ill?”

Okay, it’s a little harder to convince myself that’s not a lie, but I find myself nodding anyway. “Uh-huh.”

Pushing to his feet, Daddy unbuckles me from my highchair and lifts me into his arms. Playing up my lie, I sniffle and drop my head to his shoulder, doing my best to look and sound as pitiful as possible.

“Poor little thief,” Daddy murmurs as he carries me from the room. “Let’s go check your temperature.”

Uh-oh. I may not feel so good, but I definitely don’t have a fever. “I don’t think I’m that kinda sick.”

“Daddy will check, just to be safe. I don’t want my sweet little girl falling ill on my watch.”

My mind races as we climb the stairs and my stomach clenches at the thought of what will happen when he discovers my lie. “I think I just need a nap, Daddy.”

“You can have a nap after we check your temperature, little one.”

He sounds so determined, and kicking up a fuss is bound to just get me in even more trouble. So I keep my head on his shoulder, and try to keep my breakfast in my tummy as he carries me to my nursery

Strapping me down onto the changing table as usual, he strips the diaper away and lifts my legs high in the air. Heat rushes to my face as he preps my bottom for the thermometer, sliding a single slippery finger in between my cheeks. Clenching them only earns me a stern look from him, so I relax with a sigh and wait for the cold glass to be pushed into my bottom hole.

“Tell Daddy what’s wrong,” he says as he pushes the slender tube inside me. “Do you have a stuffy nose?”

“No, Daddy.” The best lies contain a kernel of truth, right? “It’s my tummy. Hurts.”

Again, I make myself sound as pitiful as possible, and Daddy frowns. “Hmm. Perhaps you need another cleaning.”

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