HIS Everything Read online

  His Everything

  Frankie Love

  Contents

  Copyright

  The HIS Collection

  His Everything

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  The HIS Collection

  More Titles by Frankie Love

  About the Author

  Excerpt: The Mountain Man’s Babies

  JOIN FRANKIE LOVE’S

  MAILING LIST

  AND NEVER MISS A RELEASE!

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  Copyright © 2017 by Frankie Love

  Edited By:

  Teresa Banschbach

  ICanEdit4U

  and

  Peppermint Editing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  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

  June 7th: His Obsession by Roxie Brock

  June 9th: His Rules by Dani Wyatt

  June 12th: His Temptation by Amber Barden

  June 14th: His Girl by Aria Cole

  June 16th: His First by Jenika Snow

  Find out more on the collection HERE!

  The moment we meet, I know she’s everything I ever wanted.

  And when she tells me her fantasies … there’s nothing that will stop me from making them come true.

  She asks me to play her baby-daddy and wants the role of my wife.

  I’ll give into her domestic kink … after all, she’s a virgin determined to get her cherry popped -- and with a body as delicious as hers, I know I’ll need another taste.

  We share one unforgettable night and make plans for plenty more … but then she disappears into thin air.

  No trace.

  No name.

  All I have is the memory of her innocence and the belief that what we had was real.

  Nothing will stop me from finding her.

  She's my everything ... and I’ll make sure she never forgets it.

  Dear Reader,

  This is a filthy-sweet story with kinky undertones … well, not really under … more like on top of and inside. Filled with, even. It’s got amnesia, oysters, and plenty of shucking.

  xo, frankie

  Chapter 1

  Liam

  My last shift was a motherfucking grind. Working the ER has been good for a decade, but I’m over it. I need a change of scenery. Especially tonight. The last thing I want to think about is work.

  That’s why when I got off the clock, I took a quick shower at the hospital, pulled on my jeans and headed to a bar. A bar where I wouldn’t find any co-workers. Because if anyone asks me about work tonight, I’m gonna change the goddamn subject. My life can’t just be about triage -- but right now, that’s what it feels like.

  I’ve thrown back a vodka soda and have just ordered a second. It feels good, and being at this rooftop oyster bar on the Seattle waterfront was a good call. It’s a gorgeous June night, warm for starters––the fucking rain of winter has finally passed. There’s nothing but the salty night air, the black sky lit by the giant Ferris wheel on the pier, and the lights of the ferryboats that crisscross the sound.

  The bartender hands me my second drink and I feel my shoulders fall, finally relaxing and remembering what it’s like to be out of scrubs. It’s about damn time. For the last few months, it’s been all work no play, and I’m exhausted by the monotony. I want more from my life than emergencies. I want to slow the hell down and remember to look up.

  And when I do, I see a gorgeous woman walking straight toward me. Her eyes are on the empty seat beside me, but my eyes? They’re only on her.

  My cock is hard in seconds. Damn, maybe I need more than a few days off. Maybe I need to get fucking laid.

  And when she slides into the seat beside me, I take in her perky tits and petite frame. She looks delicate and pure––like I could set her on my lap and she’d fit perfectly. I can’t help but stare, she’s a fucking goddess, sitting here with eyes full of longing and anticipation. As if she needs a night out as badly as I do.

  She sets down her purse and sighs audibly. Then she rolls her head as if releasing the tension in her neck and all I can think is that I have a few ideas of how I could relax her even more. I’d lay this girl on her back and show her how good I am at taking care of my patients.

  She reaches for a menu and scans it, not having noticed me.

  She pushes her lips forward as if overwhelmed and confused, muttering under her breath, “Penn Cove, Drayton Harbor, Hama Hama...what?”

  I can’t help but chime in. “You okay?”

  She lifts her eyes and looks over at me. I swear to God her eyes brighten as she takes me in. “You know anything about oysters?” she asks. “I’ve never been to an oyster bar and am a little overwhelmed.”

  I run my hand over my jaw, ready to help. “Sure, I can tell you anything you need to know.” She smiles at that and I can’t help but ask, “What made you come to one if you’ve never been before?”

  “My sister gave me a gift card for this place. Thinks I need to get out more, expand my horizons. She’s probably right.” She shrugs. “But I shouldn’t have come alone. I just ...” she shakes her head, sighing, “I just really needed a night off.”

  “From work?” I ask. When she nods, I tell her I need a night off too.

  “What do you do?” she asks.

  I raise a hand. “No talking work tonight. I promised myself I wouldn’t. But let’s just say it’s a grind.”

  At this, she lifts her chin in understanding. “I get it. I work so hard for people who don’t appreciate me. I’m not saying I’m amazing, but I’m good at my job. Sometimes it would be nice if they saw that too.”

  I smirk, understanding completely. I can work a 72-hour shift straight at the hospital and the director can still have the gall to ask when I’m going to speak at a conference to give the hospital free publicity.

  “Before we get the oysters, I think you need a drink.”

  She nods. “Definitely. I usually order white wine. But tonight I feel like I should have a cocktail.”

  “I agree.” I raise my glass. “What are you having?” I ask, getting the attention of the bartender. I hand her the list of drinks, and she points out the clever names.

  “The Mustache Ride,” she laughs. “Cute. But I’m thinking Tall Tales sounds better. Champagne with lemon ... though I don’t know what Singani63 is.”

  “It’s a brandy,” I tell her, ordering her the drink. “So, what Tall Tales are you planning on spinning tonight?”

  Her eyes light up. “Hmmm... should we have some fun?” she asks.

  I nod. “I need some fucking fun after the week I’ve had.”

  She tilts her head, her hand resting on mine. “Has it been bad?” she asks.

  It’s hard to concentrate with her hand on mine, her skin is soft, but
more than that, when we touch there is a current of electricity between us.

  She feels it too because she leans closer, close enough for me to breathe in her shampoo. I swear she smells like a piece of coconut candy. Warm and sweet and it brings me back to college spring break. Which makes me give this gorgeous girl with waist long blonde hair and blue eyes another glance, wondering how old she is.

  But then the bartender brings back her drink, but before he gives it to her, he asks for her ID just to be sure. She reaches into her pocket and takes out her identification. Satisfied, he hands it back to her. I’m satisfied too. We are both grown-ups and can flirt with whomever we like.

  And I plan on doing a hell of a lot more than flirting tonight.

  “I don’t want to talk about anything bad, tonight. Tell me your name,” I say, my eyes drinking her up as she sips her cocktail.

  “Tall tales, tonight, right?” she says.

  I laugh. “Sure.”

  She licks her lips. “Then my name is Lolita.”

  Damn, this woman is getting me hard as fuck. “Just how old do you think I am?”

  She sits up straighter, her perfect tits on display in her tank top. She lowers her chin, lifts her eyes. “Old enough to teach me how to eat an oyster.”

  I take a hard look at her, trying to figure out if she even understands her innuendo.

  She laughs and shrugs. “I’m messing with you.” She rests her hand on my arm. “Kinda. I’m twenty-two.”

  “And I’m thirty-five.”

  “Married?” she asks.

  “Never.” I narrow my eyes, wanting to understand her angle. Because my mind is set on one angle, and one angle alone. “You?”

  “Nope.” She tosses her hair over her shoulders. “But I’ll tell you something.”

  “Is this a tall tale, Lolita?”

  She shakes her head. “No. This part is the truth.” She swirls her bubbly drink and reaches for the cherry at the bottom of the flute. Picking it out, she puts it in her mouth, pulling at the stem with a pop. “I’d love to be married. Have a family. A bunch of babies.” She sighs, seemingly unaware of the fact that these words would send most guys running for the door. “I’d eat oysters every day with my husband.” She swallows the cherry in her mouth, licking her pink lips. “And I’d beg him to teach me everything there is to know about shucking.”

  I almost spit out my drink at that. I’ll teach her something about shucking all right.

  “What?” She grins, her words those of an experienced woman, but honestly, I think she’s an innocent, unpopped cherry.

  “I have an idea of a few tall tales we could tell tonight, is all.” I call over the bartender, ordering several dozen raw oysters. Then I turn back to Lolita. “What do you say?”

  “You haven’t even told me your name.”

  “Tonight, baby, you can call me daddy.”

  She bites her bottom lip, grinning. “Is that your fantasy?” she asks, blushing.

  “Parts of it,” I say. Then, leaning closer, I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and breathe hot air on her already peaked skin. Her body responds, and she moans nearly inaudibly. But I hear her. And I whisper in response, “The other part of the fantasy is meeting a gorgeous woman in a bar and fucking her until she screams my name.”

  She leans back, and I swear to God her knees part ever so slightly, her body language telling me she wants this tall tale as badly as I do tonight.

  “In my fantasy,” she says, taking my hand again, and lacing her fingers through mine. “You aren’t a stranger. And you aren’t my daddy. You’re my baby-daddy. In my fantasy, I’m out with husband, and he plans on filling me with his baby gravy.”

  “Baby gravy?” I ask a smile on my lips, loving how candid she is. So many women hear that I’m a doctor and immediately try to be a certain sort of woman. The kind of woman they assume I want.

  But what I really want is out of the rat race. I want a life where I coach my kid’s baseball team and do the late night bottle feedings. I want to work Monday-Friday and come home to a woman who deserves a long bath with a glass of wine while I put the kids to bed. I want more than the bullshit of the city. And the fake-ass women who want more, more, more.

  I want less. I want to slow the fuck down and make love to my wife while the baby is napping.

  So, when this woman at the bar tells me her fantasy, all I want is to make her goddamn dreams come true. Baby-gravy and all.

  I’m ready to take her to my place and spread her legs, to lick her pussy until she comes all over me. Then I’ll fill her pretty cunt with my hard cock, giving her exactly what she wants.

  “Is that right?” I ask.

  “It’s exactly right, Daddy. You are gonna put spoonfuls of it right here.” She presses my hand to her belly.

  The oysters appear, but we can’t take our eyes off one another. I’ll let her live out her fantasy tonight, I will give her everything she wants, and then some. I intend to do more than give her baby gravy in her belly. I plan on filling her mouth with it too, letting it slide down her throat, just like these oysters.

  “You know legend has it that oysters are an aphrodisiac,” she says, looking at the platter of shellfish.

  “I’ve heard that,” I say, picking one up, and squeezing lemon juice on it. “Open up, baby.”

  “I’m nervous.” She grimaces.

  “About the oyster?”

  That makes her smile. “A little. But I’m more nervous about this whole thing...”

  I raise an eyebrow. “About me being your baby-daddy tonight?”

  She nods. “I’m a virgin.”

  I nod, my cock hard as hell, betraying me. Damn, this perfect thing before me is a virgin? She wants us to play a filthy game of make-believe?

  I take her cheek in my hand, turning her face toward mine. “Okay, then we’ll take it nice and slow.”

  She likes what I say because she opens her mouth like a good little Lolita, and I pour the oyster right in. She swallows, her eyes on mine, and I remember my very first oyster. It surprised me, it was better than I expected.

  But I think tonight is gonna be better than that.

  Tonight is going to be nothing short of a tall tale that I will never fucking forget.

  Chapter 2

  Avery

  When I took the ferry over to Seattle tonight, I thought I would leave the stress of my live-in nanny job for a few hours and enjoy some me time.

  I did not expect to meet a man within minutes of stepping off the ferry boat. A man who looks like my every fantasy brought to life. His biceps pull on the cotton tee-shirt he wears, his eyes steel grey––hard at first look, but I swear they start melting the moment I tell him what I really want.

  Him.

  Tonight.

  This is out of character in every single sense of the imagination. But this week has been a doozy. Maria, my employer, has had me running her eight-year-old daughter to orchestra recitals, soccer games, swimming lessons -- and that isn’t even accounting for the fact I am trying to potty train her two-year-old son. “You get an M&M if you go in the toilet!”

  It’s a job. A paycheck. And I am grateful. I love Maria’s kids, so much, but it’s hard when the one thing I want is a baby of my own. And I know I’m young, but I want a lot of babies ... and I will never meet a man to give them to me if I’m driving another woman’s minivan around all day and baking brownies for someone else’s PTA bake sale.

  When “Daddy,” asks me my fantasy ... I can’t help but tell him the honest truth. A man who could take me as his own, give me a home and family. I would wife him so hard it would hurt. And I’m not ashamed of it for one single second.

  People––ahem, my sister Tina––think my dreams are ridiculous. She thinks getting married and having kids really young is something I would regret in ten years’ time. But what if I met the one? My soul mate. The person who completed me and loved me and I loved back? Who cares how old either of us might be if we had one another? />
  My dreams are small, but they are mine. And after getting my AA degree at community college in Early Childhood Development, I knew it more than ever––I wanted to be a mother. And until that time, I will take care of Maria’s children.

  And ... in my spare time ... I will fantasize. I will “pin” my make-believe life on Pinterest––complete with how I’d fill my container garden and what crafts I’d do for the holiday and what colors I’d decorate a nursery (grey and white––gender neutral, but very classic).

  I do these things shamelessly.

  Why should I be ashamed? Women my age are allowed to say they dream about going to law school or becoming an accountant. Why can’t I say I want to be a mom and the best wifey ever? #Mrs. #isaidyes #trophywife #bridevibes #marriedAF

  Look, I know this may come off as crazy … but I moved out when I was seventeen. I had a few years of independence and they aren’t what I want anymore. I want a man who wants to take care of me … chooses me. A man who wants to spend his life with me.

  So, here I am. Swallowing oysters with the stranger who I just told I was not only a virgin but wanted to be married and pregnant, ASAP.

  And he didn’t run.

  HE DID NOT RUN.

  I wish I could pull out my phone, text Tina and tell her in all caps that I found a Baby-Daddy, if even just for one night. She knows my not-so-secret fantasy of growing old with the man who took my virginity. Old-fashioned, sure. Romantic? I like to think so.

  But I’m not going to call my sister. Mostly because I would drop my phone. I can barely concentrate because my body is on fire, my pussy is wet in a way it’s never been before. I’m hot, bothered, and pretending to be Lolita––aka a girl with a hell of a lot more confidence than I actually have.

  But this is a night about tall tales. This isn’t real. This is pretend. A pretend fantasy where the man next to me is my husband.