DIRTY DADDIES: AN 18+ EXCLUSIVE BONUS COLLECTION

EMMA’S POV

The alarm clock blared at 6:30 AM, just like it did every Tuesday. I slapped the snooze button, groaning.

Another day, another fucking dollar.

I dragged myself through my monotonous routine: a lukewarm shower, a slightly-too-tight pencil skirt, and a blouse that always needed ironing.

I was just Emma, a low-level loan processor at Northwood Trust, dreaming of a life that felt less… beige.

I should have called in sick. I should have tripped on the way out the door. Anything to change the course of that day.

The bank was its usual quiet self at 8:45 AM. The smell of stale coffee and lemon-scented cleaner filled the air.

I was counting the minutes until my first break, already thinking about the sad salad in the fridge, when the world exploded.

The front glass doors shattered. A roaring, violent implosion. Men in black ski masks stormed in, screaming, their voices distorted and monstrous.

“EVERYONE ON THE FUCKING GROUND! NOW!”

A gunshot echoed, deafening in the tiled space. A woman screamed, a high, piercing sound that was cut short by a brutal “SHUT UP!”

My body moved on autopilot. I dropped, my knees cracking against the cold marble floor. My heart was trying to claw its way out of my chest.

I squeezed my eyes shut, praying to become invisible. This wasn’t happening. This was a movie. This wasn’t my life.

I heard the lead robber—a huge guy with a snake tattoo creeping up his neck—bark orders.

“Jax, clear the desks! Leo, watch the doors! Kade, get the manager, now!”

That’s when I saw him. Kade. He was different. He moved with a dark, lethal grace while the others stomped and shouted.

His mask was pulled down, and for a terrifying second, his eyes—a dark, stormy grey—locked with mine. They weren’t wild. They were focused, calculating.

He looked at me not like a person, but like a variable in an equation.

He grabbed the manager and forced him toward the vault. My manager, Mr. Henderson, was sobbing, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the code panel.

It took three agonizing tries, but the vault door finally groaned open with a heavy mechanical hiss.

The lead robber, Snake-Tattoo, shoved Henderson aside and barked at his crew.

“Load it up! Two minutes!”

That’s when his eyes landed on me. Unlike the other employees with their faces pressed to the floor, I’d been staring—watching everything, every face. I’d seen too much.

“You. Blondie. You work here?”

I couldn’t speak. I just nodded, tears streaming down my face.

He stalked toward me, gun raised. “She’s seen all our faces. Can’t leave her out here.”

“Wait. Marcus.”

The voice was low, but it cut through the chaos. It was Kade. He stepped between me and the mad man’s gun.

“We can’t shoot her here. Too loud, and the cops are already on their way. We need a hostage anyway—insurance in case shit goes sideways on the exit.”

Marcus glared, but he lowered the gun a fraction. “Fine. She’s your problem. Get her in the vault while we load up. She makes one sound, handle it.”

Kade’s grip on my arm was like iron as he yanked me to my feet. He didn’t speak as he dragged me into the massive vault, shoving me toward the back corner while his crew frantically stuffed duffel bags with cash just outside the door.

I stumbled, falling onto my hands and knees on the cold, hard floor. That’s when I heard the shouts from outside. Police. Sirens. A lot of them.

“Shit! They’re here! They’re early!” one of the robbers yelled.

Marcus’s voice was a snarl. “We’re blown! Abort! Everyone out the back—NOW!”

Kade was halfway to the vault door when Marcus grabbed it, his eyes wild. “You’re the one who fucked the timing, Kade. You stay in there with the bitch. Keep her quiet. We’ll lose the cops and come back for you. Twelve hours. Sit tight.”

“Marcus, don’t—”

The vault door slammed shut. The heavy, circular handle spun with a series of mechanical clunks, locking from the outside.

Kade lunged at it, but it was too late. We were sealed in.

The only light was a single, buzzing fluorescent strip overhead. The air was cold and smelled of metal and dust.

I scrambled back until my spine hit a wall of safety deposit boxes, hugging my knees to my chest. I was hyperventilating, my whole body shaking so hard my teeth chattered.

Kade stood in the center of the small space, his back to me. He ripped off his ski mask and ran a hand through his dark, messy hair.

He let out a long, frustrated breath that sounded like it was torn from his soul.

He shrugged off his tactical vest, and then, to my utter horror, he laid his rifle down on a stack of cash-filled bags.

He was unarmed. We were trapped. Together.

For what felt like an eternity, the only sounds were my choked sobs and the hum of the light.

I could hear the muffled, tinny voice of a police negotiator through the thick steel, but I couldn’t make out the words.

“Stop crying,” Kade said, his voice flat. He didn’t even turn around.

“You... you kidnapped me,” I stammered, the words sounding stupid and small.

Finally, he turned. His face was all sharp angles and shadow in the ugly light. He had a cut on his lip, and his grey eyes were tired.

“Yeah. And you’re alive because of it. Marcus would have splattered your brains all over the lobby floor and not thought twice. So shut the fuck up and be grateful.”

He leaned against the opposite wall, sliding down to sit on the floor. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, and took a long drag.

The smoke curled in the stale air. The casual, normal act in the middle of this nightmare was somehow more terrifying than the gun.

The hours crawled by. We didn’t speak. I watched him.

I studied the way he held his cigarette, the way his jaw tightened when a particularly loud noise came from outside, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.

He was a criminal. A monster.

But he had saved my life.

And that’s when the feeling started. A low, traitorous electricity under the paralyzing fear. It was the adrenaline, I told myself. It had to be.

But my eyes kept drifting to his hands. They were strong, capable hands, with scars across the knuckles.

I imagined them on my skin, and a hot, shameful flush spread through my belly.

My nipples tightened against the lace of my bra. I squeezed my thighs together, but the pressure only made it worse.

I was getting wet. Here, in this tomb, with this man. I was losing my mind.

“You’re staring,” he said, his voice a low rasp that vibrated right through me.

I flinched. “You are my kidnapper.”

He took a final drag and crushed the cigarette under his boot. A dark, knowing smirk touched his lips.

“Yeah. And you’re the one who hasn’t stopped looking at me for the last hour like you’re trying to decide if I’m gonna eat you or fuck you.”

My face burned. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Liar.” He pushed himself up in one fluid motion, closing the distance between us.

He moved like a wolf—silent, powerful. The heat of his body radiated against me, and the scent of him—gunpowder, sweat, and that faint trace of smoke—filled my head, dizzying.

His fingers, calloused and rough, hooked under my chin, forcing my face up.

“You’re scared. But not of me. Not really.” His thumb brushed my lower lip, and a jolt of pure, undiluted lust shot straight to my clit. I hated how my breath hitched. “You’re scared of how bad you want this. Of how fucking wet your little pussy is getting for the man who ruined your day.”

“T-That... That is not true,” I whispered, but I didn’t pull away. My body was betraying me, leaning into his touch. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah. I am.” His mouth crashed onto mine.

His tongue forced its way past my lips, burning in its desperate, devouring intensity. I should have bitten him. I should have fought.

But the moment his teeth grazed my bottom lip, a wanton whimper escaped me, and my hands, of their own volition, fisted in the fabric of his black t-shirt, pulling him closer.

He groaned into my mouth, a feral, hungry sound, and his free hand slid down to grip my ass through my skirt, hauling me against him so I could feel the hard, thick ridge of his cock straining against his jeans.

“Fuck,” he growled against my mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to shove my skirt up around my waist.

His fingers found my sensible cotton panties, and they were drenched, the fabric clinging to my swollen pussy.

“Look at this. Pathetic. A fucking hostage, getting her pussy this soaked for the man who’s probably gonna get her killed.”

He didn’t tease. He yanked the lace aside and drove two thick fingers inside me without warning.

“OH—GOD—!” I cried out, my back arching off the cold metal wall, my nails digging into his shoulders.

He was rough, his fingers curling, ruthlessly stroking that spot deep inside that made my vision blur and my knees buckle.

His palm ground against my clit, the pressure perfect and brutal.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips against my ear, his voice a dark, filthy promise. “Take it. You know no one’s saving you from this, baby. Not the cops. Not your boring little life. Just me.” His fingers pistoned in and out, the wet, squelching sound of my own arousal echoing in the quiet vault. “You’re mine until that door opens. And you’re gonna let me use every single hole.”