Claimed by daddy, p.1
Claimed by Daddy, page 1
Claimed by Daddy
Nichole Rose
Copyright © 2024 by Nichole Rose
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Contents
About the Book
Content Advisory
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
Author's Note
Sweet Conviction
Daddy's Good Girl
Silver Spoon After Dark
Follow Nichole
Nichole's Book Beauties
Also by Nichole Rose
About Nichole Rose
About the Book
Her cabin wasn't supposed to come equipped with a gorgeous older man...and only one bed.
Carver Landon
When I left the military, I headed to the mountains.
All I wanted was peace and quiet.
I didn't expect to find a curvy angel sleeping in my bed.
She's the sweetest little thing I've ever seen.
I don't want much, but I need her. Desperately.
She claims my cabin is hers and that I'm "awful cranky."
If she wants the cabin, it's hers. But it's going to cost her.
And she'll pay the price on her knees…begging for me.
I just forgot to mention one minor detail.
When the week is over, she isn't going anywhere.
This little princess belongs to Daddy now.
Lena Burke
My cabin rental wasn't supposed to come with a cranky giant, but here we are.
And I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to want him in my bed, but…yeah, that happened too.
Now, he says I can stay, but I have to pay his price.
I should run in the other direction.
That's what a sensible girl would do.
But as soon as he tells me what he wants, I'm all in.
I don't care what people think.
If this man wants to be my Daddy, I'm not telling him no.
But I don't think I was supposed to fall in love with him, was I?
Content Advisory
The book includes breeding, somnophilia, primal play, anal play, age play, hand necklaces, rough sex, dirty talk, domination, praise, degradation, and a consensual age-gap relationship between an over-the-top, obsessed Daddy and his little. It also includes scenes of violence and references to military-related PTSD and loss.
This book is not a how-to manual, and it should not be taken as such. Please do your own research and keep play safe, sane, and consensual. Reader discretion is advised.
Chapter One
Lena
"Ouch!"
My car bounces through another pothole large enough to classify as a crater, sending me bouncing upward in my seat. I land with a jolt, the edge of the seatbelt catch gouging me in the thigh.
Whoever designed this tiny little road wasn't very good at it. Most of the gravel has washed away, leaving behind nothing but potholes and sorrow. Specifically, my sorrow. My butt already hurts, and my poor car is taking a beating.
My grandfather is going to lose his mind when he sees the scratches along the sides from the tree limbs currently brushing up against it.
The reminder of the cranky old man who rules my life steels my spine. I grip the steering wheel and press the gas. The car bounces out of the pothole like I'm in one of those demolition derbies and have nothing left to lose but the cash prize…and maybe a bumper.
I bounce again, laughing this time. I'd make a terrible demolition derby driver. But I bet my grandfather and Dalton would team up to stop me if I told them I'd decided to give it a try.
At this point, the plan has serious merit. My grandfather owns the biggest recording company in Nashville. Grady Records has been around since before Nashville was the country music mecca of the world.
My cousin, Dalton Grady, is set to inherit the keys to the kingdom when our grandfather officially retires this year. At least, that's been the plan since our parents were killed in a plane crash when we were both kids, leaving Gramps to raise us both. But I guess the plan changed because now Gramps has decided that unless Dalton marries a woman of his choosing, he won't be taking over the company he's basically been running for years.
Our house has turned into a war zone. Actually, it's the freaking Arctic Circle. Grandfather and Dalton only speak when they're arguing, and I somehow end up in the middle, trying to keep the peace.
They're both stubborn, intractable, and know exactly what verbal blows to land to make it hurt. Frankly, I'm tired of being caught in the middle, trying to talk one or the other down.
I love them both beyond reason, but if they're going to keep fighting, it's a war they're going to have to wage without me. Mostly because I happen to agree with Dalton. It's unreasonable to expect him to marry someone he doesn't love just to unite the two companies.
But if I tell Gramps that, I may very well end up on the chopping block myself. And there's no way I'm marrying a man of his choosing. Especially if it's one of his friends.
I'm twenty-four years old. Most of his friends are octogenarians or worse–perverts. Whenever he isn't looking, half of them try to pat me on the butt or look down my shirt.
There's no way I'm going to end up tied to one of them just to satisfy him, especially since I don't even want the dang company!
I'm far happier making music than pulling strings behind the scenes. I know I'll never be a big star, but that's okay. Maybe that's not what he has in mind for me, but my dreams have always been a little less lofty than his.
He and Dalton can conquer the world. I just want a tiny little corner of it to call my own and a family to share it with. That's my big dream—a family.
And a man who can't keep his hands off you, a little voice whispers in the back of my mind.
It's not wrong. Dalton may be allergic to love, and my grandfather may think marriage is a business arrangement, but not me.
I want butterflies and the kind of passion you read about. I want someone who loves me for me, not for what my family can do for them, someone who touches me and sets my blood on fire. Maybe that's naive or unrealistic; I don't know. But I've never dated, partly because I've never found anyone who makes me feel alive like that. I don't want to go through the motions. I want to be consumed by love.
Deep down, I want something else, too. I just don't understand what it is or what it means. But something is missing, and I can't figure out what it is. I just need something…more. I'm desperate to figure it out, to understand what this ache means, but I haven't been able to do it.
It drives me crazy sometimes.
"Oof!" I cry as the car descends into an unexpected crater, and my stomach turns a flip. I grip the steering wheel and hit the brake, carefully navigating through it as the loud squeal of metal scraping against gravel reaches my ears. "That's going to be expensive."
I'm so focused on getting through the pothole in one piece that it takes me a minute to realize that I've made it through the gauntlet to the other side. But when the car lands on level ground, trees no longer press in from every side. There's a small clearing ahead, with tall grass waving gently in the breeze. The adorable cabin I rented for the week nestles at the edge of the meadow before the forest starts again on the far side.
I pull right up to the cabin and throw the car in park before scrambling out to get a better look.
The beautiful single-story log cabin looks as if it tumbled out of the pages of a fairytale. A large porch wraps around the tiny structure, with rocking chairs and swings scattered around, just begging to be tested out. Big windows with blue shutters and a bright blue door add a pop of color that has me falling in love with the place, exactly like I did when I saw the photos online.
"It's mine for a whole week," I whisper to myself, a crazy smile on my face. I can't remember the last time I had this much privacy. Actually, I can. It was never. I've never had this much privacy. Dalton and Gramps are always breathing down my neck.
I pop the trunk and grab some of my stuff, hauling it up onto the porch before I punch in the code to the door.
I barely have a foot over the threshold before my phone starts ringing.
Dalton's ringtone.
"Crap," I groan. It's like they have a sixth sense for when I'm doing something they aren't going to like. As soon as I start doing it, one or the other of them appears to ruin my fun.
I briefly consider ignoring the call, and then quickly decide against it. If I don't answer, he'll keep calling. Eventually, he'll hunt me down. They always hunt me down.
I juggle my bags and fish my phone out of my pocket, swiping to answer.
"Hey," I say, slightly out of breath. Maybe I brought too much stuff.
"Hey." Dalton pauses. "Are you trying to run again? You sound out of breath."
"We agreed we weren't going to talk about that, Dalton," I remind him. Last year, I decided to take up running. I don't know why. Mistakes were made. I hate running. I'm not a runner or a track star. I'm a big girl. I've always been a big girl. But I decided I wanted to be a thin girl.
I lasted one run. Dalton found me with a sprained ankle, gasping for breath on the side of the road not even half a
I apologized to my body profusely for trying to change what my mama gave me, rewarded myself with ice cream, and never ran again. I don't need to be thin. I'm healthy. That's more than enough for me.
"Right," he says, amusement in his voice. "It never happened."
"Precisely!" I cry, making him chuckle.
"If you aren't running, why are you out of breath?"
"Who says I'm out of breath?" I push the door closed with my foot, trying to avoid answering the question as I look around.
The inside of the cabin is far less impressive than the outside. Honestly, it's a little rundown. The furniture is faded, and the rugs worn. There is no artwork or personal touches. It's very rustic. The kitchen and living room are one big room with a door to the bathroom on the right of the living room and a door to the bedroom on the left. But it's nice and cozy, and it's all mine for an entire week.
"Why are you calling me?" I ask. "I thought you had a meeting or something this morning."
"I did," Dalton growls. "But something came up, so I canceled it."
"What came up?" He never misses meetings. If he canceled it, whatever came up must be serious.
"Why are you avoiding my question, Lena?" Suspicion trickles into his voice.
"I'm not avoiding anything," I lie like the wind. "Why are you avoiding mine?"
"You're a shit liar, baby cousin. Where are you and what are you doing?"
"I'm somewhere minding my business."
"Lena."
"Dalton."
"Tell me where you are before I send security to find you."
"No." I drop my bags on the worn sofa, stomping my foot like a toddler. Sometimes, he makes me feel that way. He's ten years older than me and completely infuriating. "I'm where I want to be and I'm staying here until you and Gramps work out your issues, Dalton James Grady. I'm tired of being dragged into the middle!"
"You aren't in the middle."
"Yes, I am! You complain to me about him. He complains to me about you. And the whole house is miserable all the time," I cry. "I hate it! So I'm taking a vacation from both of you."
"We're family. You can't take a vacation from family."
"Um, yes, I can."
"Where are you?"
"I'm safe, and I'll be home in a week. Please leave me where I am," I plead quietly. "Just this once, don't be an overprotective crazy person, and let me have a little peace."
He hesitates, his silence speaking volumes. He's always been responsible for me, like an older brother. He loves me like crazy, and I adore him. But I need space, and he and Gramps need to figure this one out themselves. I can't do it for them.
"Worrying about you isn't being crazy, Lena," he finally mutters. The protectiveness in his tone is evident. It also drives me nuts.
I know he and my grandfather mean well. We're billionaires. I'm too trusting. It's a dangerous world. Yadda yadda yadda. I've heard it all before. But at some point, they have to loosen the reins and let me breathe.
"Maybe not from your perspective, but from mine, it's Crazyville, and you're the mayor," I say, only slightly teasing. "You can't just track me down like I'm a fugitive every time I decide to live a little. It's ridiculous."
"And running away, isn't?"
"I didn't run away. I took a vacation," I mutter defensively. Maybe I snuck out, but I wouldn't have had to do that if they wouldn't try to send security with me every single time I leave the house. "Which I wouldn't have had to do if you and Grandfather could learn to get along."
"We get along."
I snort like a crazy person.
"We do." He pauses. "Most of the time. But he can't just fucking dictate my life to me and expect me to obey."
"Well, if it isn't the pot complaining about the kettle," I say sweetly. "You're doing the exact same thing to me right now, Dalton."
Silence stretches between us. For a moment, I worry I might have pushed too far and hurt his feelings. My mouth tends to run away with me sometimes. And Dalton has always meant well. He's my rock and my best friend. I don't want to upset him. I just want him to stop bugging me for five minutes.
"Point taken," he finally growls. "I'll leave you wherever the fuck you are right now." He pauses. "If you tell me where you are."
"You swear you won't try to come here?"
"Yes," he growls.
"And you won't send anyone here?"
"I swear, Lena."
My heart leaps, excitement firing through me. He never goes back on his word. "I rented a cabin in the mountains," I say.
"Where?"
"In the mountains near Oak Ridge."
"I want an address, baby cousin."
"No way," I say. "I told you where I am. I never agreed to give you the address."
"Fine," he sighs. "But I swear to God, Lena, if you come home and only one of us is still alive, I'm blaming you."
"You can't kill him, Dalton," I say with a soft laugh. "You do actually love him."
"Oh, I'm not thinking about taking him out," he grumbles. "I'm more concerned with him taking me out. The old man is fucking merciless."
"He loves you."
Dalton sighs again as if he isn't sure that's true. "Behave, baby cousin. And call me or I will hunt you down like—what was it you said? Oh, right. A fugitive."
"I will. Love you."
"Love you too, little bird," he growls, using the nickname Gramps gave me when I was a little girl. "Now hang up before I change my mind."
I laugh quietly, hanging up before he can spout off any more threats. Taking a deep breath, I glance around at the cabin once again.
Honestly, I don't know what he's so worried about. It's not like there's much trouble for me to find way out here on my own.
Chapter Two
Carver
"Son of a bitch," I curse under my breath as my truck bounces through yet another pothole on the narrow lane leading to my cabin. If I hit one more of the fucking things, I may never have kids. My balls already ache like a motherfucker.
I lean forward to peer out of the windshield, but trees press so close to the truck, I can't tell if I'm nearly to the end of the old lane or not.
It'll be the first damn thing I fix come daylight. But it's after ten at night, and I'm exhausted after a hell of a trip from base in Washington. The potholes will have to wait until I get some sleep.
If I manage that. It doesn't come easy anymore. I've spent the last twenty years of my life in the military, dragging my ass to every hellhole on this side of creation. My last mission was the worst.
I barely made it out in one piece…and I was one of the few lucky ones. We lost far too goddamn many men, and it still haunts me. I'm not sure it'll ever stop at this point.
I turned in my paperwork as soon as I was stateside. That was almost six months ago. I've been through all the fucking therapy, but I still feel stretched thin, as if my goddamn skin is too tight over my bones. I still hear their screams at night.
All I want is some peace and quiet, which is why I bought the damn cabin at auction. It's in the middle of nowhere in the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee. Fresh air, wide open spaces, and no goddamn neighbors. The perfect place to get lost while I deal with my shit.
I finally escape the last of the potholes, only to spot a small passenger car parked in front of the cabin. Annoyance immediately flares, but I shrug it off. It's probably hikers. The agent who helped facilitate the sale warned me that there are plenty of those out here.
I'll post a few No Trespassing signs and run them off the property until they get the fucking hint that this is no longer a free parking spot for their little adventures. I don't want to deal with people. I just want to be left the fuck alone. It's not too much to ask.
I kill the engine, grab my duffle, and head toward the cabin, too tired to deal with the rest of my shit—not like there's much of it. I'm not the kind of man who needs much in life.
My needs at the moment are simple: a shower and sleep.
At least, that's the plan until I step over the threshold. The smell of sugar and sunshine mixed with vanilla hits me like a fist in the gut. The scent is so intoxicating, so fucking sweet, it turns my cock to stone. I rock back on my heels, groaning as my balls throb.
