Daddy Loves You Series by Margot Scott – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Daddy Loves You Series by Margot Scott – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Sun, 09 Oct 2022 12:19:59 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=7.0 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Daddy Loves You Series by Margot Scott – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Run Baby Run (Daddy Loves You #1) Read Online Margot Scott http://www.ilovenovels.com/run-baread-online-run-daddy-loves-you-1-read-online-margot-scott Sun, 09 Oct 2022 12:19:59 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/run-baread-online-run-daddy-loves-you-1-read-online-margot-scott Genre: BDSM, Erotic, Insta-Love, Kink, Taboo, Virgin Authors: Margot Scott Series: Daddy Loves You Series by Margot Scott
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Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39689 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 198(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 132(@300wpm)

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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...

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!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Teagan

Mary, my social worker, slides her palm across her desktop’s faux-wood finish. “It’s okay to be nervous, Teagan. This is going to be a big change for you.”

I’m used to Mary worrying about me. She’s been my case worker for the past three years, so technically, it’s her job to worry. But today her concern is dialed up to eleven because it’s my birthday. I’m eighteen years old, which means I can legally discharge myself from the foster care system, and after far too many mind-numbing conversations about what’s best for me, that’s exactly what I’m here to do.

“You can stay on until you’re twenty-one,” Mary says for the hundredth time.

If my hands were resting on the desk instead of clasped tightly in my lap, I'm sure she would try to hold one of them. But they aren’t, so she can’t, and I’m not about to give her the chance to try.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re being abandoned. We could see if there are any beds available in the transitional homes. Somewhere with a bit less supervision, if that’s what you’re after.”

I’ll admit, she’s more than earned her paycheck laying out all the resources I qualify for. Programs to help me with budgeting, mentoring and counseling, even college prep. But the thought of being passed around from one living situation to another for the next three years is enough to make me want to jump off a cliff. I can couch surf on my own, thank you very much.

“Teagan?” Mary says. I look at her. “Are you sure you have somewhere to go?”

What Mary doesn't know—what I haven’t told anyone—is that I’ve managed to reconnect with a satellite member of my bio family. My dad took off when I was four years old, two years before my mom died from an overdose that punted me into the foster-care system. But before she died, my dad’s brother, my Uncle Craig, used to come around every couple of months, always with a coloring book or a stuffed bear for me, and a carton of cigarettes for my mom.

"Let me make some calls," Mary offers. "I can find you a bed for tonight, and maybe a more long-term living situation after that."

I shake my head. I don't need Mary’s help now, not that I ever needed it. I can take care of myself. Besides, I have zero interest in sticking around Knoxville. Or Tennessee, for that matter. My Uncle Craig’s invited me to tag along with him to Los Angeles. He has friends there who can hook us up with jobs and a place to live. Once we’re settled, he says he’ll see about getting in touch with my dad.

All I have to do is come up with my share of the funds.

I've managed to pull together over two thousand dollars designing tattoos for co-workers and stocking groceries at Trader Joe’s. I swear, I was never so happy as when I gave my two-week’s notice.

Goodbye minimum-wage grind, hello ocean breeze and California sun.

In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have quit so soon, but I’m itching to leave. And with the money I’ve saved, I bet we’ll be on the road by next week.

In the meantime, I’ll crash at Craig’s place. He hasn’t officially offered, but considering the cash I’ve already given him—six hundred toward a used car, plus all the free food from Trader Joe’s—it’s like I’ve practically made a down payment. I haven’t decided how I feel about seeing my dad after fourteen years, but I’d be lying if I said the idea didn’t give me butterflies.

Mary slides her hand back to her side of the desk, looking disappointed, yet resigned. I know she just wants to reassure me, and judging by the family photos all over her office, I bet she’s the sort of mom who hugs her kids all the time. But Mary’s not my mom, and as of today, I’m no longer her problem. Even if I was, there’s no way in hell I’d let her hug me.

I’m no stranger to the kind of shit that can happen when you let your guard down.

The first time one of my foster dads tried to slip into my bed, I screamed so loud the neighbors called the cops. The second time, I jammed a pair of scissors into his shoulder. They moved me out pretty quickly after that.

My last case worker, Chester, ascribed my aversion to physical contact to being abandoned by my dad and neglected by my mom when I was little. He said we all crave touch from the time we're born to the day we die, and that denying ourselves this natural impulse is bad for our mental and physical health.

Naturally, when Chester laid his sweaty hand on my thigh, I responded by indulging in the natural impulse to stab him with his favorite pen.

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Stay Baby Stay (Daddy Loves You #2) Read Online Margot Scott http://www.ilovenovels.com/stay-baread-online-stay-daddy-loves-you-2-read-online-margot-scott Sun, 09 Oct 2022 12:19:56 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/stay-baread-online-stay-daddy-loves-you-2-read-online-margot-scott Genre: BDSM, Erotic, Insta-Love, Kink, Taboo, Virgin Authors: Margot Scott Series: Daddy Loves You Series by Margot Scott
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Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)

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Hold on, baby. Daddy’s got you...
I was on the hunt for a devil the night an angel fell into my lap. Before she'd even told me her name, my obsession took hold, aroused by a craving for her flavor of sweetness.

If I hadn’t been undercover, I’d have thrown her over my shoulder and carried her far from that poisoned playground. One of many gilded mansions where the scotch is aged to perfection, and the girls are young and disposable.

The devil I’m tracking is closing in. I’m determined to catch him, but until my cuffs are on his wrists, I’m keeping my angel close to me.

In my arms and in my bed where I can protect her.

Where I can be the man she craves.

And the Daddy she needs.

Brace yourself for one wild ride. Book two in the Daddy Loves You Series from Margot Scott is a standalone romantic suspense novel, bursting at the seams with filthy age-gap instalove. Absolutely NO cheating or cliffhangers, and a guaranteed HEA!

Content warning: This book contains scenes and descriptions of violence, rough Daddy play, as well as discussions of past abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Holly

The minivan is twenty minutes late to pick us up from the abandoned mall’s parking lot.

“You’re sure this is where Steph said to wait?” I ask my best friend.

“I’m sure.” Kenzie checks her phone again, the light from the screen washing her heart-shaped face in blue. I may have gone a bit heavy with her eyeliner tonight, but I doubt she’ll be the only girl rocking an overly smokey eye where we’re headed. At least her hair is on point. I’ve styled it in a loose French braid that ends halfway down her scalp and cascades into loose, spun-gold curls.

“Steph said the cops don’t start patrolling here until after eleven,” Kenzie says. “The van’s got to show up sometime in the next forty minutes.”

“That soon, huh?”

The dead mall looms behind us like a void in the night sky. A vast emptiness you could fall into if you got close enough. Only a handful of the parking lot’s lamps still shine, deterrents to those who’d seek to trespass or deface this concrete memorial to a pre-online shopping era.

“Since when are you afraid of the dark, Hollywood?” I can hear the smile in my best friend’s voice.

My name is Holly, but Kenzie’s been calling me Hollywood since we were fourteen, on account of the haircut I was sporting the day we met, courtesy of our foster mom who’d managed to tame my thick ginger waves into a sleek side bob.

The first words Kenzie ever said to me were, “You look like Marilyn Monroe if her head caught fire.” She’d meant it as a compliment.

“I just want tonight to be over with,” I tell her.

She nudges me. “I promise you’re going to have at least a little bit of fun.”

“If you say so,” I mumble, though I doubt it.

Kenzie’s the life of every party she crashes, sparkling and energetic, like a mirror ball. Whereas I’m stiff as a maypole, off-putting and aloof, something other people dance around.

Really, I’m just anxious. Parties, strangers, crowds. They make me nervous. I can’t help being constantly aware of how people are perceiving and inevitably judging me. Being around people is exhausting, which is why I try to avoid it.

“Free champagne and all the fancy hors d'oeuvres we can fit in our stomachs? Yeah, I’d say tonight’s going to be fun.” She scrapes the bottom of her heel against the cracked concrete. “I know what you mean about the wait, though. I forgot how fucking creepy this place is at night.”

The only good thing about the mall being so desolate is that it’s not heavily policed, or tough to break into, making it popular with drug dealers and those in desperate need of a fix, shelter, or both.

Last time Kenzie and I were here, we slept on the floor of what used to be a popular make-up and jewelry store. That was back before we had jobs and a place to stay. Still, money was and continues to be extremely tight, hence our thirst-trap getups.

Kenzie’s peach-toned dress is practically see-through in the right lighting. And the dress she loaned me is short, black and strapless. My boobs are bigger than hers, but her ribcage is broader, resulting in a fit that’s somehow too tight and too loose on me. She’s also a good three inches shorter than I am, putting me in the position of having to decide whether I want to leave my tits or my ass uncovered.

Contrary to what our clothes might suggest, Kenzie and I aren’t prostitutes. Not in the stereotypical sense. Tonight’s the closest I’ve ever come to any type of sex work, and Kenzie’s style of commodifying affection always favored a subtler approach. She’d pretend to like a guy more than she really did if it meant he’d buy her McDonald’s or let us crash at his apartment for a few nights.

Eventually, I got an under-the-table housekeeping job at a cheap motel in exchange for reduced rent on one of the rooms, which Kenzie and I now call home. She was able to pick up a few shifts a week working as a waitress at a dive bar.

All things considered, we’re in better shape now than we’ve ever been. But all it’ll take is one small slip-up, one lousy twist of fate to toss us back onto the streets of Knoxville. Which is why we’re out here tonight, waiting for the van that will take us to a very exclusive, very hush-hush party, where we’ll supposedly be paid two hundred dollars apiece for the mere pleasure of our company.

In case it isn’t glaringly obvious, none of this was my idea.

Two nights ago—technically, early morning—Kenzie got back from her shift at the bar, immediately stripped down to her bra and underwear, and flopped down onto my bed.

“Can you do my hair and makeup Saturday?” she asked. This wasn’t an unusual request; I do Kenzie’s hair and makeup for work and for fun all the time.

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Hush Baby Hush (Daddy Loves You #3) Read Online Margot Scott http://www.ilovenovels.com/hush-baread-online-hush-daddy-loves-you-3-read-online-margot-scott Sun, 09 Oct 2022 12:19:54 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/hush-baread-online-hush-daddy-loves-you-3-read-online-margot-scott Genre: BDSM, Erotic, Insta-Love, Kink, Taboo, Virgin Authors: Margot Scott Series: Daddy Loves You Series by Margot Scott
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Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)

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Hush, little baby. Daddy’s here...

I could tell McKenzie Sommers was a fighter from the moment we met. Two broken ribs, countless bruises, her bare feet scraped to hell. She’d stared Death in the face and lived to describe him to a sketch artist.

Now that the danger has passed, she’s straining to pick up the pieces. But some terrors linger in the wake of the threat. They take up residence inside you like bad houseguests—a feeling I know all too well as a US Army Vet.

The monsters under McKenzie’s bed tell her she’s tainted, spoiled, broken. But broken never bothered me. I didn’t buy a fixer-upper so I could pay someone else to repair it. With me, she can shatter into a thousand glittering pieces.

Don’t be afraid to fall apart, baby girl. Trust Daddy to put you together again.

Author’s Note: The third book in the Daddy Loves You Series contains spoilers for previous books in the series, and is best enjoyed after reading Stay Baby Stay.

CONTENT WARNING: This title contains sensitive themes and tropes, including Daddy Dom/baby girl kink within a 20-year age-gap relationship, in addition to discussions of violence, PTSD, and sexual assault. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

prologue

Austin

There’s a girl in my bed.

I haven’t had a woman in my bed, asleep or otherwise, in a good long while. But this girl—McKenzie—isn’t here because she wants to be. She’s here because she’s been through hell, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her laying her head anywhere but my pillow.

As for me, I’ll be perfectly content on the couch downstairs. I had hoped to slip into the ensuite bath with clean towels before she went down for the night, but the day’s stresses got the jump on my plans to be a good host.

Standing in the doorway, I watch her chest rise and fall with her breathing. I could leave the towels out here in the hallway, but the path to the bathroom is short and clear. I served four tours in Afghanistan, two in Special Ops; I can sneak a stack of towels past a little girl without waking her up.

I tread lightly into the bedroom, avoiding floorboards I know to be vocal. I watch for movement on the bed and see only stillness. I make it into the bathroom without incident, closing the door before switching on the light. Aside from the spare toothbrush I left out for McKenzie, there isn’t anything in here to indicate that I’ve yielded my space to a woman.

The way her best friend, Holly, tells it, McKenzie had nothing but the clothes on her back when they found her at the abandoned mall. While I’m sure Holly’s more than happy to let her friend use whatever items she packed for herself, I make a mental note to ask the girls for a shopping list in case they end up having to stay a while. As far as I’m concerned, they’re welcome to stay as long as it takes for the police to find the motherfucker who’s hunting them.

The reminder that the girl in my bed was nearly murdered by a serial killer crystallizes my anger like ice. I feel it scrape against my insides like an itch I can’t scratch.

When I saw McKenzie for the first time, she was wrapped in a light-blue blanket on my buddy Jonah’s couch. My gut clenched as I took in her ashen face and tangled blonde hair. She wore the same hollow look I’d seen on the shell-shocked faces of soldiers and fellow vets. She’d been through the ringer, and to an untrained eye, she might’ve appeared defeated.

But when I honed in on her sea-green gaze I recognized a warrior’s resolve. This scrappy little girl, half my age, had stared Death in the face and lived to describe him to a sketch artist.

I couldn’t help but be impressed.

I hang two clean towels on the rack in my bathroom and grab the used ones to throw in the wash. Switching off the light, I ease the door back slowly—

And lock eyes with a wide awake and upright McKenzie.

“Sorry.” I tip my mouth apologetically, stepping fully into the room. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She rubs her red-rimmed eyes. “I wasn’t sleeping. I can’t sleep without my meds.”

I spy the orange pill bottle on the bedside table, next to an empty glass. I toss the damp towels on the floor and pick up the glass, pretending not to notice the way she tenses at my approach. I’ve caught bits and pieces of McKenzie’s story over the last few days, starting with the detail about her and Holly living in a motel. Thanks to last night’s very friendly and perfectly legal conversation with Russell King at his house, I know all about the sex parties, as well as the killer targeting the girls who attend said sex parties. Thanks to McKenzie, the cops now have a description of the guy.

But that knowledge came at a price.

I fill the glass with water at the bathroom sink and then bring it back out to her. She accepts the glass with a mumbled thanks and pops one of her pills. I wait to make sure everything goes down smoothly, watching the purple bruises on her neck shift as she swallows.

Fury rises inside me. The thought of anyone putting their hands on McKenzie triggers an involuntary primal response. I don’t realize I’m glaring at her throat until she reaches up to cover the bruises.

“Does it look that bad?” she asks.

I blink to reset my features. No point in drawing attention to wounds she’s already well aware of.

“I’ll let you get to sleep,” I mumble, gathering up the damp towels.

“Wait, Austin,” she says, pauses. “I really appreciate you letting Holly and me stay here. But you didn’t have to give me your room.”

My gaze lingers on the folded hem of her pajama pants—on loan from Holly, I assume, who’s a few inches taller. I shrug. I’m no stranger to putting my life on the line to protect the nameless and faceless. Offering McKenzie my bedroom was a no-brainer.

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