Daddy's Demands: Twenty-Five Steamy Daddy Dom Romance Novellas

by Madison Faye

  The first trip of the summer was generally taken with his brothers to open the place up after the long winter, but Tommy’s wife had had their first child in May. Her Irish temper would ignite to skin him alive if he’d considered the trip, and Michael had had last-minute business to tend for their family-owned firm, so Caden had come on his own. After months without time off, booking off work to an isolated cabin with some of the best fishing on the rock was far from a hardship.

  He waved to William O’Malley, the owner of the hangar where he’d stored the plane and his dog. Huge Rosie was a gentle soul, looking a little silly with the bright purple collar that Caden’s tiny cousin Janie had sent last Christmas, but the child’s mother had bred the champion Newfoundland and given him the pick of the litter. Besides, it was hard to say no to the cute eleven-year-old elf of a girl with the bright smile. He’d put the collar on his dog and spent the last year sending her selfies of the two of them traveling across Canada and the US on his extended business commitments.

  “You got a real clobber in that plane, Caden,” said William good-naturedly while Caden snuck a few bits of leftover fish to the patient dog. “Your mother’ll take you to task if she sees that mess. Maybe you need a good girl to help you out… I got a cousin—”

  Caden cut him off with a laugh. It wasn’t the first time an islander had tried to fix him up with a date, but his dark preferences were best left to the BDSM club submissives who understood his games and his secrets. “Don’t start with me, William. Go home to your wife and leave the matchmaking to the professionals.”

  “Fine, then,” laughed his friend as he loaded a case of the local beer into the plane. “You got your two-four here, and you’ll be living the life out there. The dog was pleasant company as always, and the plane’s ready to go. The weather says there’s a storm coming in tonight, but you should get there before it’s a problem, and we’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  These days, the tiny cottage on the northwest side of the island required the seaplane for access. It had been decades since the mud trail leading through the dense forests had been used by any kind of motor transportation. Caden could have made the flight directly from Toronto, but he enjoyed St. John’s well enough to make the detour each way. The case of Quidi Vidi beer was an added benefit to the side trip.

  The two-hour flight passed without incident, each mile taking him further from civilization until his tense muscles relaxed with only the steady hum of the plane engine for company. Five thousand feet above acres of untouched wilderness provided a bird’s-eye view of the green forests that stretched from the south until its abrupt stop at the edge of the chilly, gray waterfront. Even the dog was embracing the peace and quiet, curled up behind some boxes in the back of the plane with an occasional tiny whimper and a few heavy sighs.

  The landing in the small harbor was relatively smooth despite the hints of a dark, brooding storm over the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and Caden moved quickly to secure the plane to the dock before using a ladder to double-check the fuel supply on the wing. When satisfied with the plane’s security, he’d climbed up the steep hillside to deposit his first load of supplies on the front porch of the small, rustic cabin when he realized the dog hadn’t followed him. “Rosie,” he shouted as he jogged back down the hill. “Get your ass moving, or I’ll be leaving you in the plane.”

  Only it wasn’t Rosie who crawled ass first from his plane. It was the ginger-haired beauty who’d given cheek to his cousin Gracie back at the ticket counter. On her stomach with her legs kicking in a dramatic attempt to find the ground, her black dress shifted upward to reveal firm, smooth thighs and a hint of pink expensive panties snuggled around her curvy bottom. Bright red sandals were fastened at the end of a pair of legs that stretched forever. When it became apparent that she couldn’t quite reach the dock, she dropped the last few feet with an ungraceful thud.

  His cock rose in direct proportion to his temper, but he gave into the anger first. “What the hell are you doing on my plane?”

  Looking like a tiny girl who’d been wakened from her sleep, she slowly rubbed her bleary eyes, but when she leaned over to pick up the bag she’d dropped ahead of her, a whole lot of adult breast was exposed, right down to the pink areola, ripe with an attraction that was hard to fight.

  She looked around the quiet cove with confusion, and her eyes grew wide when recognition finally set in. “What the hell are you doing here? Where the fuck are we?” she asked warily, looking around at nothing but woods, water, and the single seaplane connecting them to the rest of the world.

  “My name is Caden McDonough, and you’re getting off my plane, on my family’s land, on the island of Newfoundland. And I’ll ask you again, what the hell are you doing here?”

  “I… I thought this plane was going to New York… the big Asian guy… the one who owns that dog. He pointed to this plane… and…”

  “That’s my dog,” Caden growled as Rosie jumped from the plane to gently rub her nose into the woman’s hand. This was clearly Al Kim’s passenger. He’d seen the private jet next to his and had even shared a beer with the man down on George Street before heading back to the airport. “You couldn’t have asked Al which was his plane?” he rumbled incredulously. “Do all planes look alike to you? It’ll take me half a day and a hell of a lot of fuel to fly you back to St. John’s tomorrow.”

  The earlier scene was clearly not an isolated example of her temper. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she snarled, fighting the drowsy slumber with another rub at her eyes. “I’m not staying here. You can just turn this piece of crap plane around and take me back. Now.”

  She’d been a brat at the ticket counter, too, and his hand gave a tiny twitch for the second time that day as he allowed his fantasies to put the leggy, dark-haired beauty over his knee for the attitude adjustment she clearly needed. He was a founding member and a master dominant at the private BDSM club on Yonge Street. Sometimes it was hard to turn off the alpha-male gene, but a stowaway on his plane easily inspired the tiny dream of taking her to task, even if he didn’t go around spanking strange women’s asses beet red.

  “It’s not a piece of crap,” he retorted through gritted teeth. “It’s a vintage 1967 fully restored, single-engine de Havilland DHC-2 Beaver with a Pratt and Whitney engine. I know because I am the one who restored it. And you can mind that mouth before I teach you the manners I promised back in St. John’s.”

  “You didn’t promise shit,” she snarled. “Turn this plane around and take me back. I’m not asking here.”

  The incoming storm sent dark, angry clouds in circles across the bay to match her temper, and he cursed softly. “Nobody’s going anyplace tonight. Come away from the plane and watch your step. I’ll give you some dinner and take you back tomorrow. Just don’t try my patience, and we’ll get along just fine.”

  “No fucking way.” She pushed her unruly hair away from her face. “I’m not leaving here until you take me back.” To make her point, she grabbed her bag and leaned her ass against the plane, her lower lip framing a small, childish pout.

  “Suit yourself,” he said with a sigh. “See those clouds? You’ll be a wet mess in ten minutes. Just don’t go touching my plane—” Before he could finish the sentence, she kicked the pontoon with the high-heeled weapon strapped to her foot. “Stop that.” He fought to control his anger, taking another step closer to her. “Or I’ll paddle your ass right here.”

  Her eyes grew wide, but her mouth continued to run. “Leave me the fuck alone, or I’ll have you arrested. I’ll just call my father. He’ll come and get me, even if you won’t take me back. And… and I’ll have your license pulled too.”

  “Those clouds have all the signs of a screecher, and nobody’s coming from anywhere in a storm.” It was time to just take control, and he planned on throwing the little brat over his shoulder and hauling her ass as far away from his plane as he could get. At least in the small cabin, he could keep an eye on her.

  The closer
he got to her small frame, however, the further away she moved until she had no place to go but up the ladder that led to the wing. “Stop,” he demanded, his tone as firm as he’d ever used with his submissives back in Toronto. “Stay where you’re at until I comes where you’re to.”

  “What the fuck does that even mean?” she shrieked, climbing further up the ladder to stay out of his reach. “And get away from me with that look… or… I’ll… I’ll scream.”

  “Yer already screaming, little girl.” The dog barked happily at all the signs of excitement, and the foggy drizzle increased its persistency to leave a silky wet dew across her exposed skin. “And there isn’t a human soul besides me around for kilometers to hear you. Now get down from there before you break something.”

  Skillfully climbing the ladder behind her, he closed the gap between them while she continued to scream. “Go away, you… you asshole.” With her panic level clearly growing, she slipped slightly on the wet airplane but quickly caught her balance.

  “Get over here, you little brat,” he grumbled. “I’m not playing.” He missed her wrist in the split second she slipped a second time in her ridiculous shoes. With a very unladylike lack of grace, she grabbed at a long, thin piece of tubing to prevent herself from sliding into the chilly water, bending the tube at a thirty-degree angle and landing on her ass.

  “Oh, that’s not good, is it?” she asked quietly, staring at the bent pipe.

  Any small sense of patience he’d been practicing was gone. “What the fuck did you do to my plane?” he thundered, drawing next to her on the wing. “Get the hell away from there before you break something else.” Having lost any sense of propriety, he slid his belt from the loops of his jeans. “Or I’ll give you a thrashing right here…”

  With his fist clenched around his belt, he turned on her with an icy, angry glare, slapping the worn leather firmly against his thigh. A tiny bit of fear came to her eyes, but he saw the sparkle of something else. Something deeper, darker, usually reserved for the quietest submissive in his playroom.

  With a whimper, she finally obeyed, slowly backing down the ladder while he assessed the damage. When he realized the extent of their problems, he turned to face her, but the girl was halfway up the trail to his cabin, her legs wobbling dangerously on the high-heeled shoes over the rough terrain.

  Rosie continued to bark happily before he glared at his dog, a tiny rumbling of thunder and a steady, cold drizzle cementing his mood. “Some watchdog you are. A two-hour flight, and you cuddle up with her like a teddy bear.” The dog looked a little guilty before chasing after the brat of a woman, leaving him with a bent pitot tube and no spare parts.

  Chapter Three

  Anything was better than facing that bent part thingy accompanied by his icy glare and the thick leather belt so firmly twisted around his big hand. She’d hit the ground running with the sinking feeling that her retreating ass was nothing more than a target for his anger. Climbing up the slippery slope toward the relative safety of the small cabin, she fell twice, scratching her knees and hands. The cold rain pounded her body in earnest, leaving her ruined dress stuck to her skin to create another layer of misery.

  The front door was unlocked, and the huge, wet dog pushed past her. The solid timber-framed room was filled with natural light from the many windows and dwarfed by a large fireplace nestled with uneven tones of brown, gray, and tan stones. A few rustic wooden rocking chairs, a couple of ancient chests, a battered dining set, and a double-sized mattress on a simple metal frame completed the furnishings. That was it. With no sign of a closet or even a doorway that could be a bathroom, she recognized her newest level of hell just as the dog shook its massive body, spraying her with dirty water. “Stop, you idiot,” she yelled. The beast lay down on an oversized blanket with a bored sigh.

  A quick glance toward the waterfront revealed her nemesis stalking up the hillside, all six-plus-feet of muscled, angry male. Fists clenched around an armful of packages, his chiseled jaw was set in stone. His hair was dripping from the increasing effects of the thunderstorm, but working-class boots with thick, heavy soles kept a firm grasp on the muddy terrain. A small package fell from his overloaded arms, and he kicked it off the path with a snarl, making his horrible mood apparent to even the most oblivious observer.

  There was no lock on the damned door, so she slid the rocking chairs and kitchen table in front of the potential entrance and stood against the farthest wall possible, shivering with a frightening mixture of cold and anxiety. Her mini-barricade slowed him down for a frightening few seconds before he shoved his way into the room, leaving several wet packages and her overnight bag on the deeply scratched table and a trail of water dripping across the worn wooden floor.

  Still backed into her corner, she nervously met his gaze. The two of them were silent for a long few seconds, his deep breaths contrasting sharply with her shallow, faint gasps. The dog stood in the middle of the room, staring at both of them with all the signs of confusion before breaking the frozen scene to happily chase its own tail.

  It was clearly time to play the polite card. “I… uh, really need to get back to St. John’s tonight. I’ll pay you for your time and expenses though, and I’m really sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

  “You broke the plane,” he responded without emotion. “Nobody’s going anyplace tonight.” From the top of one of the packages, he picked up the leather belt that had caused her retreat from the dock.

  She shuddered with an emotion she couldn’t quite identify, but her bottom gave into the very strong desire to push harder into the corner. “I… I’m sorry. But I really do have to get back. I’ll just call my father, and he’ll arrange for somebody to come out here… and I’ll pay for any damages. Just… Just…” She pointed at his hand. “Just put that thing back around your jeans, and we should be all set.”

  He looked at his belt, and she could swear he surveyed her ass as though he were contemplating some sort of satanic-styled ritual before dropping his weapon on the mattress. Slamming several of the packages around the small room, he angrily began to unpack his supplies. The wind picked up in a haunting, relentless howl, driving the rain in sheets against the windows and roof, and a low rumble of thunder completed the chilly scene.

  “I said you’re not going anywhere,” he repeated with a softer tone that ironically sounded even more dangerous. “I’ve radioed my buddy back to St. John’s. He has to order the part you broke. He’ll get it out here by Monday or Tuesday, and you can get your blasted ride from him. Nobody else is coming out in this storm tonight, so sit down and hush before I forget that I’m a gentleman.”

  “That’s insane,” she said, her hands waving in a blind panic around the one-room cabin. “This is only Saturday… I mean, I’ll just call somebody, and… there has to be a taxi or something to get me the hell out of here.” She rummaged through her bag to find her cell, but there were no bars. Not even a sign of civilization. She couldn’t resist the panicked urge to shake it. Nothing.

  His smirk almost defeated his angry expression. “Did you see a cell phone tower out there? There aren’t a hundred people around for kilometers, and that’s down an overgrown trail that hasn’t been used in twenty years. Even if you could get to Bonners Bay in that outfit, there sure as hell isn’t a taxi waiting for the likes of a misplaced tourist and you’d never get a lift to St. John’s before Monday. Just sit your ass down, and we’ll haves a solution in a few days. The weather will break, and William will find the part. And a plane to fly it out here.”

  “The word is have, for God’s sake. Learn how to speak. And I can’t stay here. I… I have family and commitments. People will miss me. You can’t do this to me.”

  “Fine, we’ll go back to the plane as soon as the storm slows and radio somebody to call your kin. But no matter how much you stomp your feet and hold your breath, you broke the pitot tube and only a fool would fly without a wind speed gauge.”

  “That’s it? Speed?” she thundered incre
dulously. “You were talking like I broke a wing or something serious. Are you trying to keep me here like some sort of a prisoner? I can drive a car without knowing how fast I’m going. You can fly the fucking plane… you’re just being a dick.”

  The icy cold glare added another unfathomable shiver across her skin, and she involuntarily stepped further away from his chilly exterior. Clinging to her body, the wet cocktail dress suddenly seemed insufficient to protect her curvy bottom. If he was correct about the remoteness of their location, he could do anything he wanted and nobody would ever know. The thought mixed a brief shiver of excitement with a spark of true fear.

  “Take that blasted look off your face,” he dismissed her with a growl. “I’m not going to hurt you, and I sure as hell am not going to endanger you by taking you in a plane without knowing the wind speed. The gauge doesn’t measure how fast the plane is traveling; it measures how fast the wind is moving around your plane, which is part of a basic physics calculation used to keep the plane in the air. You’re stuck, by your own childish move, plain and simple. Now, if the two of us are going to survive a few days up here, you’re going to mind what I say. Get out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia and sit down while I get us some dinner.”

  Her survival instincts kicked into full gear, igniting more childish anger. “You aren’t going to order me around, or I’ll… I’ll just walk down to that stupid town and stay with somebody else until I can get out of this hell-hole. You aren’t going to stop me. I’m not ten years old, and you’re not my father.”

  “If you act like a ten-year-old, you surely need a father. You’re not going to traipse around these mountains with nothing except fir and spruce trees for kilometers. I don’t want to have to come looking for what the bears leave behind. Now, mind what I say before I take you over my knee and give you the paddling you deserve.”