Series: Paige Michaels
Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Could her frustrating next-door neighbor be the one man who discovers her Little side?
No-nonsense detective Nicoya Stevens doesn't tolerate any shenanigans at the police station or in her personal life. And after a disastrous work day, the last thing she needs is to find the landscaper planting a neighbor's cherry tree on her property.
Axel Jennings never grew out of two things: his love of playing in the dirt and his incredibly laidback attitude. That's why he can't understand the fire flashing in the eyes of the woman confronting him over a simple, and fixable, mistake. But when he catches a glimpse of something he recognizes in Nicoya's steely glare, he's sure there's a Little beneath her tough exterior just waiting to be nurtured by a patient and loving Daddy.
Little Cakes is a sweet and satisfying series, but dare to taste only if you like delicious Daddies, luscious Littles, and guaranteed happily-ever-afters.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
It was just awful. Everything about today was awful. Nicoya grumbled to herself as she slammed the front door and stormed through her house toward her bedroom.
She needed to shed her day job as fast as possible. As a police detective, she often had stressful days, but not usually as bad as this one. Not only had someone spit on her face, but she’d had to hold a bloody paper towel to an older gentleman’s head wound while waiting for an ambulance, and a sick child had thrown up all over her.
Nicoya was a cop, not a medic, but she encountered all sorts of things out in the community, and she was often the first to arrive on the scene, so her job was sometimes messy. But today was the worst.
Taking a deep breath, Nicoya locked her weapon in her safe, kicked off her shoes, and started stripping on the way to the bathroom. She eyed the bathtub with longing. Baths always made her feel better. Bubbles and bath bombs and her rubber duckies could erase any crappy day’s events.
But she didn’t have time for a bath right now. Nor did she want to let herself slide into a deep Little space. She was going to Blaze tonight. She’d save her Littlest feelings for after she arrived in that safe environment.
She was going to have to take a shower, not only because of the amount of time she usually wanted to spend in the bathtub, but also due to the amount of yuckiness she needed to wash off her body instead of sitting in the water with it.
The day’s gross events started running down the drain as soon as she stepped under the spray. She sighed and closed her eyes, enjoying the waterfall as the grime rinsed out of her hair. Blindly, from memory, she reached for her shampoo and pushed a squirt into her palm.
By the time Nicoya was shampooed, conditioned, washed, shaved, and squeaky clean, she almost felt like a human again. Almost Little.
Like most evenings, she was slowly skirting the edge of her Little. Normally she would put on her favorite PJs, fix something for dinner, and curl up on the couch with Ruffles, her stuffed German Shepherd.
Maybe she was silly, but it seemed like a lot of cops owned a large-breed dog like a German Shepherd. Nicoya lived alone, and she didn’t think it would be fair to any dog to leave it for such long hours, so she’d gotten herself a stuffed one. Ruffles. He was a great guard dog. In her imagination.
Since she was going out tonight, however, she wouldn’t put on her PJs. Instead she headed to her closet and perused the left side. Right side—adult. Left side—Little. It was so hard to choose. She wished she had a Daddy who could choose for her and take away the options and responsibilities.
Nicoya sighed. Like she was ever going to find a Daddy. Right. Sure. For one thing, it wasn’t like there were dozens of good Daddies lined up in town looking for a Little. Plus, even though there were an inordinate number of people living in town who practiced some form of age play, they were surely all taken.
The hardest hurdle was Nicoya’s job. She was a cop, for heaven’s sake. That was intimidating for most men. What sort of Daddy wanted to take on a Little girl who worked in law enforcement?
“Avery has a Daddy,” she reminded herself, thinking about another female officer who worked for the same precinct. Granted, she was in a relationship with the one man in town who was more powerful than her—the police chief, Trace Barnes. Nicoya sighed.
Shaking herself out of her meandering depressing thoughts, she chose a pair of purple leggings and a matching shirt that said “Girls Rule” on the front in sparkly gold letters. She giggled as she headed for her dresser to grab a matching bra and panty set.
Five minutes later, she was dressed, including her sparkly gold tennis shoes. She headed back to the bathroom to tackle her hair. It was unruly to say the least. Too curly and a boring brown. She’d never managed to tame it in her life, mostly because she didn’t have the patience for it and probably didn’t use the right hair products.
If she weren’t a cop, she’d probably cut it at her chin and let it go wild, but she preferred to wear it in a tight bun at the back of her head when she was working. With her baby face, freckles, and lack of interest in makeup, she looked about twelve instead of thirty-five when her hair was loose. The only way to ensure people took her seriously was to put it in a severe bun, and to do that, it had to be long enough.