Daddy Sized: The Complete Series

Slip into something spicy with the Daddy Sized Series, bursting at the seams with curvy, untouched heroines and possessive older daddies who can’t keep their hands to themselves. These novellas are fast and filthy age-gap instalove romances with no cheating between the hero and heroine or cliffhangers between books, and a guaranteed happy ever after. * * * Copyright © 2023 Margot Scott Edited by Kathleen Payne All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. All characters are productions of the author’s imagination. This work is intended for adults aged eighteen or older. Independently Published I'm the biggest motherfu**er you've ever met, in more ways than one. Most people find me intimidating and that's fine by me. I moved to the country for the solitude. But when the curvy cam girl of my dreams shows up on my doorstep looking for a room, I can't turn her away. April’s not just my tenant. She's my baby girl. She just doesn't know it yet. 1 JONATHAN The hairs on my nape stand at attention as I ease the electrical wires through the hole I’ve cut into the drywall. Someone’s watching me. I sense the weight of their gaze on my back as I reach into my toolbox for a boxcutter. “Are you a giant, mister?” says a small voice. I spy the pint-sized owner of the voice, peering through the doorway to what I assume will be her mother’s walk-in closet after I’m done installing outlets and light switches. The child stares at me with nervous fascination, clutching a bright-orange plush pony. Even kneeling on the carpet, I’m almost twice her height. “Only half giant,” I say with a wink. The girl’s mother, a blonde woman with thick-rimmed glasses, appears at her daughter’s side. “There you are.” She smiles apologetically. “Sweetie, don’t bother the nice man.” “It’s no bother, ma’am.” I note the way she eases her child behind her as I rise to my full height. At a whopping six-foot-eight, I’m willing to bet I’m the tallest man she’s ever found in her closet. Bigger, too, now that my metabolism’s slowed down after forty-five. I don’t work out as often as I used to when I was young, but surprisingly I haven’t lost any muscle. I’ve just cushioned my muscles beneath a layer of too much take-out. Mother and daughter are already out of sight when the woman says, “We’ll let you get back to work.” If I wasn’t already used to people’s reactions to my stature, I might be insulted. As it stands, I’ll take not-so-subtle distancing over bad jokes and inane questions. I return my attention to the electrical wire, removing the outer sheathing to expose the smaller cables inside. I attach the cables, install the outlet, and screw the whole thing into place. The wall plates won’t go on until after the wall’s been painted, but that’s a job for the next guy; I’m just the electrician. I pack up my tools and head downstairs where the head contractor, Austin, and his guys are hard at work renovating the kitchen. “Upstairs closet and bath are all wired,” I tell him. “Perfect timing.” Austin’s a big motherfucker in his own right, but I’ve still got a good four inches and forty pounds on his linebacker frame. “And, Jonathan, thanks again for taking this one on such short notice. I can’t fuckin’ stand working with wild cards.” “I appreciate the rec.” I don’t work for the construction firm Austin co-owns with his friend and business partner, Jonah. I was hired by the homeowner directly at Austin’s behest, because he knows I do quality, efficient work, and I clean up after myself. “I’ll be back tomorrow to finish up in here.” “Sounds good, man.” I slip out the back door and climb into my truck, grateful to be heading home while it’s light out. With the sun setting so damn early this time of year, most days I start and end work in the dark. I pick up a burger and fries for dinner, grateful for the advent of drive-thru takeout. It’s not that I hate all people. I just get tired of their wide-eyed stares and the jokes about joining the NBA or the weather up there. My burger and fries are long gone by the time my tires hit the driveway. That’s the thing about living in the country: it takes a while to go anywhere and back. I spot the orange tabby cat curled up on my front porch. He’s been hanging around the property since I moved in. I have no clue what his name is, where he lives, if he used to belong to the previous owner, or if he’s a stray. The cat stretches and yawns as I get out of my truck and set my toolbox on the steps. “How ya doing, bud?” I scratch the side of his face and behind his right ear. He purrs loudly. I didn’t used to feel one way or another about cats, but something about this little guy tugged at my sympathies. Maybe because it took a few days for him to warm up to me, like he was used to being on his own. Independent, solitary. “You hungry?” I ask. He chirrups and jumps off the porch, weaving between my legs. I follow him into the barn where I keep a folded blanket and bowls of dry food and water beneath a heat lamp set to low. I pour some kibble into his bowl and top off his water dish with what’s left in my bottle. “It’s supposed to drop below freezing tonight. Stick close to the heat lamp.” So far, the cat has yet to accept my invitation to enter the house, even on