A single day without his touch was too much to bear.
“Made me the happiest man alive today, baby girl,” he murmured, fingers digging into my waist as his teeth grazed my neck. “I can't wait to have my next hundred lifetimes with you. We’ll have first dates and first kisses, more babies and more love. So much love, Morgan. You fill me up inside,” he gritted out, legs going rigid just as long jets of come emptied into me. His hand pushed between my thighs and rubbed at my swollen clit, sending stars shooting behind my eyelids as another orgasm ripped through me.
Gasping for breath, sweaty from the humid night air and our bodies pressed together, I came down, draped around him and so completely in love.
Everything about this man was love.
“Jesus, I hate that we have to go back there. I want to unwrap you, take my time, and lick every inch of your skin.”
“That sounds like heaven.” I smiled, kissing his earlobe. “I can’t believe I had two orgasms on my wedding day.”
“Say thank you,” he ordered, hand slipping between my thighs again. “Say thank you, and I’ll make it three.”
“Mmm,” I hummed. “Thank you, Daddy.”
His eyes darkened, gaze focused on my lips. “I want to fuck that smirk right off your face, baby girl.”
“That might have to wait for the honeymoon.”
“Not waiting that long,” he huffed.
“How long? Where are we going?”
His grin deepened before he set me on my feet and caught my hand in his. “A yacht.”
“A yacht?”
“On the Mediterranean.”
“On the Mediterranean! I can’t leave the baby for that long—”
“Only a week, baby. Got it all settled with your mom. We’ve got a private flight tonight, and I plan on getting real familiar with the mile-high club.”
“Oh my God, Hawk.”
“Say it again, baby.”
I flipped him the bird, his laugh following closely behind me all the way out of the garden.
God, I loved that man.
I was his girl. Always had been, always would be.
He hadn't known it then, but from that first kiss under his parents’ oak tree, I was his girl.
The End
The HIS Collection
What does it mean to be HIS? From baby making to babygirls, you'll find a bit of whatever melts your panties in this ode to Father's Day. From five of your favorite steamy, safe authors (and one hot newbie) come a group of six stand alone books dedicated to Daddy's everywhere. You will get your fill of everything from alpha men focused on securing a baby in their woman to filthy Daddy Doms who know how to care for their princesses. So, hold Daddy's hand and see what's in store!
Out Now: His Everything by Frankie Love
Out Now: His Obsession by Roxie Brock
Out Now: His Rules by Dani Wyatt
Out Now: His Temptation by Amber Barden
Out Now: His Girl by Aria Cole
June 16th: His First by Jenika Snow
Find out more on the collection HERE!
One
Hudson
“Two fingers of top-shelf Scotch,” I murmured at the bartender, anxious for the dark liquid to quiet my head. He poured a few ounces, sliding the glass across the bar with a nod. I tipped the glass of amber amnesia to my lips, the booze easing a little more of the tension out of my shoulders. My neck. Fuck, I’d been wound tight in the weeks before I even had to make this trip.
I finished the glass, setting it back on the bar and nodding to the bartender. Another upstate asshole—why did my mother always find herself around these types of people?
I swear, sometimes she tried to find herself by marrying someone new. This was her fourth wedding, not that I was judging, but she’d picked some real losers before.
I’d had my fair share of shitty stepdads, so when she’d called a few months ago and told me she was getting married—again—I’d shoved it to the back of my mind.
If I could have avoided this wedding, I sure as hell would have.
But she was my mother, despite all the dysfunction, and I wasn’t the kind of man to leave my own mother flapping in the wind.
Thankfully, she and the new beau weren’t going traditional with a wedding party—I’d been forced to step into a monkey suit at the age of fifteen when she’d married the last one, and I’d fucking hated every minute.
She was lucky I was here; that was about all the enthusiasm I could muster.
The bartender replenished my whiskey, nodding at me before tapping on the wooden bar to my left, a grin crossing his face that could only be reserved for a woman. A good-looking one.
I knew men, and I knew there must be one helluva piece standing next to me.
I took a sip of my drink, glancing out of the corner of my eye to find a woman next to me, waves of auburn hair falling around her shoulders and eyes so big and wide I nearly swallowed my own tongue.