Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Read Online Books/Novels: | Single Daddy Scot - Hot Scots |
|---|---|
Author/Writer of Book/Novel: | Donna Alam |
| Language: | English |
| Book Information: | |
#1 Rule of nannying? Don’t screw the daddy. It doesn’t matter that he’s single. Or that he’s more God-Bod than Dad Bod. Or that he’s got that whole rugged Scottish thing going on. He’s off limits. Gruff and complicated. And he recently rearranged his life for a son he never knew he had. Plus, he might be in love with someone else—someone he can’t have. The last thing he needs is a twenty three year old virgin lusting after him. So if that’s the case, why does he look at me like he’s about to tear off my clothes? | |
| Books by Author: | Donna Alam |
1
Mac
‘Your eyes are closed.’ Her wine-scented words whisper across my cheek. ‘Do you always keep them closed?’
I still. My body, my mouth against her neck, and my fingers freeze on her round arse—every part of me grinds to a halt immediately. Everything but my cock, that is, which, pressed between us, strains to grind.
And my eyes, which are clenched tighter now.
‘No, don’t stop.’ Her hands grasp my shoulders, pulling me closer, even as her words push me away. She sighs quietly as my mouth disconnects, her dress fluttering against my fingers as I straighten. Is it strange that I’ve only known her a few hours, but I feel like her sigh and I are intimately acquainted?
‘I don’t know what to tell you, hen.’ I bite back my frustration as I press my forearm against the wall and stare down at the confusion growing in her languid blue gaze. Such lovely blue eyes, though not quite the same as—Nope. Not going there, even if I’ve done it again. It’s pure coincidence, I tell myself. Blue-eyed blondes are what I’m attracted to. And Christ knows I’ve known plenty of them lately.
‘Maybe I was just lost in the moment.’ I lean in, grazing her hairline with my lips, my lids closing automatically. Again.
Fuck. Do I always close my eyes? When I’m kissing? Fucking?
You know you do, arsewipe. And you know why.
‘It’s just . . . ’ Her hand reaches out to touch my cheek as I straighten for the second time. ‘You never looked at me last time, either.’ Her words are slightly shaky, her shoulders lifting in a tiny shrug. ‘Not in the face, at least,’ she adds wryly, her change in tone barely concealing her embarrassment.
There was a last time? I fight to keep my expression passive as I scan my brain for some recognition of the girl pressed between my bulk and my living room wall. But it’s no use—all the images blend into one. Blonde. Blue eyes. Skirts hiked around waists. Knickers pushed to the side, dangling from one ankle, or abandoned to the floor. Bodies spread out across my bed or the sofa. Pressed against doors and walls. Pretty. Available. Temporary. They all look the same. But it doesn’t have to mean anything, does it?
Except when it does.
‘Are you not feelin’ it?’ I ask softly, running my thumb over her kiss-plump bottom lip. But the issue’s not with her—or any of them. It’s with me. ‘Darlin’, you’re . . . Ungph.’ My knees almost give way as she suddenly grazes the head of my knob with her fingers, simultaneously sucking my thumb into her mouth.
‘Well, I was definitely feeling it up until a moment ago,’ she says, her words turning sultry, her gaze dipping from my face to the bulge in my pants. ‘Wanting it. Feeling it pressed against me. Wondering when I would get to wrap my lips around it.’ From under her lashes, her gaze tracks up my body. ‘All while remembering what you look like when you come.’
‘Then I don’t see the issue,’ I reply, trying to rein in my smile. ‘That’s some picture you’ve painted. Very . . . vivid.’
‘When I saw you earlier,’ she begins, her eyes falling to my zipper momentarily. ‘I thought maybe you didn’t recognise me.’ I keep my expression blank; confirmation won’t help anyone. I’m not in the habit of cock blocking myself. Or hurting feelings, incidentally. ‘But you know what? I decided I didn’t care because this,’ she says, pressing her palm flat against the length of my dick. ‘I’ve been thinking about this since we last hooked up.’
‘So you’re sayin’ you only want me for my body?’
‘Does that bother you?’ She pouts softly, her fingers working their magic across the head.
‘Not at all. On you go, darlin’.’ The words come out gravelly, my body instinctively pushing into her hand. ‘Objectify away.’ She giggles softly, but as I begin to lower my head, she places a stilling hand against my chest.
‘I don’t mind that you don’t remember last time, but I want you here with me now . . . not somewhere else.’ She seems to take my furrowed brow as confusion, clarifying the point for me as her hand cups my cheek. ‘I know that look. I’ve been there; we’ve all been there. But you need to put her aside, whoever you’re thinking of. For tonight, at least.’
Oh, Rhianna. Brianna? If only that were possible.
My chest moves once in some semblance of a laugh—as if it were possible to lose myself in someone else. Resentment suddenly tightens my jaw because I’d like nothing more than to put it aside. To not think of the email I’d received earlier—to avoid the news that came with it.
What the fuck am I doing here in this situation again? I hadn’t meant to bring someone back tonight. I only went out for a couple of pints to stop myself from staring at the email attachment. The tropical backdrop, her body wrapped in the arms of that arsehole. Her absolute happiness. Their wedding bands glinting in the sunlight.