Run Baby Run by Margot Scott
Series: Daddy Loves You #1
Publication date: August 20th, 2020
Synopsis:
DADDY LOVES YOU, BABY...
I never thought I'd fall for a man like Jonah. A former cop has no business being with someone like me, a lonely unwanted girl with no address or family.
But for some reason, he wants to take care of me.
When I needed a place to stay he opened his doors, and as soon as I stepped inside, it felt like home. For the first time in my life, I feel safe enough to stop running.
He wants to give me a second childhood, better than the one I've known.
A chance to be the little girl I've always been in my heart.
Jonah's baby girl.
Daddy's angel...
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Introducing book one in the Daddy Loves You Series from Margot Scott. This new series is bursting at the seams with fast and filthy age-gap instalove. Absolutely NO cheating or cliffhangers, with a guaranteed HEA!
Available at:
Free in Kindle Unlimited!!
Excerpt
Wringing excess water from my hair, I ease the shower door open and realize too late that I left my towel on the other side of the room. Mouthing the word fuck, I step out onto the bathmat and pad across the dark tile.
Halfway to the sink, my wet foot skids, and I drop.
My ass smacks against the floor, followed by my elbow. A blast of pain explodes at the base of my spine and in my right arm. I yelp, the sound coming out loud enough to shock me, and I'm the one who made it.
Footsteps thunder down the hall. There's no time, and I'm in far too much pain, to cover myself before the door crashes open.
"Teagan," Jonah says, and I realize then and there that I'm in love with the sound of my name on his tongue. He kneels beside me, his gaze wild with concern. "Did you slip?"
"I forgot my towel." I wince as he lifts my arm to check my range of motion. My elbow throbs, but my skin where he's touching me feels... normal.
No, better than normal. No shocks, no jolts. Just warm tingles.
"Can you bend it?" he asks.
It hurts like hell, but I can manage.
Jonah scans me for further bruises, his gaze hitches on my mouth as my tongue slips out to wet my lips. My pulse races. He looks down at my body and it's like he's just now realizing that I'm naked.
I should be nervous, but I'm not -- not in the way most people would be if a stranger barged in on them in the bathroom. I'm nervous because I like the way he's looking at me. Because I love the feel of his hands on my skin.
Jonah brushes the wet hair from my cheek and leans forward as if he's going to kiss me. I hold my breath in anticipation, wondering if I'll like it. Instead of kissing my mouth, he kisses my forehead.
"Grab onto me," he says. I hook my good arm around his neck, as he wraps his strong arms around me, lifting me like I weigh as much as a kitten.
It's not until we pass the door to the guestroom that I realize he's bringing me to his bedroom, full of his things. Where everything smells like him: men's bar soap and the subtle spice of his cologne. The bed he sets me down on is enormous, fitted with dark-blue linens and a soft gray comforter that makes me want to roll around like a cat in the sun.
"Don't go anywhere," he says with a wink.
He disappears into the attached bath and returns a few seconds later with a big blue towel, which he wraps around my shoulders. I sit still and quiet as he rubs me up and down. My clit tingles. Every swipe of the towel is a reminder of all the ways I imagined Jonah touching me in the shower.
He kneels on the floor in front of me, and he's so damn tall that we're still practically eye level. The concern in his gaze makes me feel fragile and transparent like glass. But there's something behind the worry that makes my heart beat faster. He begins drying my front body, starting with my face and working his way down.
I gasp as his hands cup my breasts over the terrycloth.
His expression doesn't change. I can't tell if he's just trying to take care of me, or if he's as turned on by the situation as I am. Why can't it be both? Again, I'm struck by the image of myself in a frilly pink dress with Jonah's hand up my skirt.
My nipples harden against his wide, calloused palms. It feels so good to be touched, so good that I almost start crying. I've never wanted anyone to touch me like this, and I can't find the words to tell him not to stop. I inhale deeply, puffing out my chest, hoping he'll get the message. His thumbs circle my nipples through the terrycloth.
"Does that feel nice?" he asks.
I nod. The tenderness in his gaze is quickly eclipse by an intensity that makes my pussy throb.
"And this?" He squeezes gently. "How does this feel?"
"Good." My breasts aren't huge, and they feel even smaller in his hands, but he doesn't seem to mind. If anything, his touch is too careful, like he's afraid he's going to break me.
Slowly, he works the towel down my chest and stomach. I hold my breath as he reaches my belly button, waiting for him to slide lower, between my legs. But he doesn't. Instead, he dries my feet, one at a time, before working his way back up my calves.
I'm practically vibrating by the time he reaches my inner thighs.
"You're an angel, Teagan," he says. "My angel. That means, from now on, you never have to worry about feeling sad, or scared, or hungry."
His words sink in. I can't stop the tears from welling at the corners of my eyes. Earlier tonight, Jonah told me I was home, and as crazy as it sounds, I feel like he meant it. I'm so used to running. So use to being bumped from place to place that I don't know how to stand still. Everything about Jonah feels solid and permanent.
Have I finally found something to hold onto?
Halfway to the sink, my wet foot skids, and I drop.
My ass smacks against the floor, followed by my elbow. A blast of pain explodes at the base of my spine and in my right arm. I yelp, the sound coming out loud enough to shock me, and I'm the one who made it.
Footsteps thunder down the hall. There's no time, and I'm in far too much pain, to cover myself before the door crashes open.
"Teagan," Jonah says, and I realize then and there that I'm in love with the sound of my name on his tongue. He kneels beside me, his gaze wild with concern. "Did you slip?"
"I forgot my towel." I wince as he lifts my arm to check my range of motion. My elbow throbs, but my skin where he's touching me feels... normal.
No, better than normal. No shocks, no jolts. Just warm tingles.
"Can you bend it?" he asks.
It hurts like hell, but I can manage.
Jonah scans me for further bruises, his gaze hitches on my mouth as my tongue slips out to wet my lips. My pulse races. He looks down at my body and it's like he's just now realizing that I'm naked.
I should be nervous, but I'm not -- not in the way most people would be if a stranger barged in on them in the bathroom. I'm nervous because I like the way he's looking at me. Because I love the feel of his hands on my skin.
Jonah brushes the wet hair from my cheek and leans forward as if he's going to kiss me. I hold my breath in anticipation, wondering if I'll like it. Instead of kissing my mouth, he kisses my forehead.
"Grab onto me," he says. I hook my good arm around his neck, as he wraps his strong arms around me, lifting me like I weigh as much as a kitten.
It's not until we pass the door to the guestroom that I realize he's bringing me to his bedroom, full of his things. Where everything smells like him: men's bar soap and the subtle spice of his cologne. The bed he sets me down on is enormous, fitted with dark-blue linens and a soft gray comforter that makes me want to roll around like a cat in the sun.
"Don't go anywhere," he says with a wink.
He disappears into the attached bath and returns a few seconds later with a big blue towel, which he wraps around my shoulders. I sit still and quiet as he rubs me up and down. My clit tingles. Every swipe of the towel is a reminder of all the ways I imagined Jonah touching me in the shower.
He kneels on the floor in front of me, and he's so damn tall that we're still practically eye level. The concern in his gaze makes me feel fragile and transparent like glass. But there's something behind the worry that makes my heart beat faster. He begins drying my front body, starting with my face and working his way down.
I gasp as his hands cup my breasts over the terrycloth.
His expression doesn't change. I can't tell if he's just trying to take care of me, or if he's as turned on by the situation as I am. Why can't it be both? Again, I'm struck by the image of myself in a frilly pink dress with Jonah's hand up my skirt.
My nipples harden against his wide, calloused palms. It feels so good to be touched, so good that I almost start crying. I've never wanted anyone to touch me like this, and I can't find the words to tell him not to stop. I inhale deeply, puffing out my chest, hoping he'll get the message. His thumbs circle my nipples through the terrycloth.
"Does that feel nice?" he asks.
I nod. The tenderness in his gaze is quickly eclipse by an intensity that makes my pussy throb.
"And this?" He squeezes gently. "How does this feel?"
"Good." My breasts aren't huge, and they feel even smaller in his hands, but he doesn't seem to mind. If anything, his touch is too careful, like he's afraid he's going to break me.
Slowly, he works the towel down my chest and stomach. I hold my breath as he reaches my belly button, waiting for him to slide lower, between my legs. But he doesn't. Instead, he dries my feet, one at a time, before working his way back up my calves.
I'm practically vibrating by the time he reaches my inner thighs.
"You're an angel, Teagan," he says. "My angel. That means, from now on, you never have to worry about feeling sad, or scared, or hungry."
His words sink in. I can't stop the tears from welling at the corners of my eyes. Earlier tonight, Jonah told me I was home, and as crazy as it sounds, I feel like he meant it. I'm so used to running. So use to being bumped from place to place that I don't know how to stand still. Everything about Jonah feels solid and permanent.
Have I finally found something to hold onto?
About the Author:
Margot Scott likes long nails and short, sexy reads, rainbow sprinkles or vanilla ice cream, and rainy days spent in bed with her furbabies. When she's not writing forbidden-love stories about bearded older men, you can find her browsing Pinterest for pictures of pink things.
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