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Locked Down with Mr. Right

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Jamie Knight

Language:
English
Book Information:

I didn’t think my midlife crisis would go quite like this.
I’m a reluctant participant, but he wants to rock my world.

Second Chance Bachelorette.
It’s a reality dating show for women like me.
I’m 40, a single mom, and I’ve had no luck in love.
The show gives female contestants a makeover.
And then sets them up with billionaires.
Whoever finds the right match wins.
The audience must be convinced it’s the real thing.
My friend signs me up for the show behind my back.
Since my ex has custody of our son for the spring.
She thinks I could use a new start.
But mostly I could use the prize money.
So, I’m flown to a big city for the whirlwind trip.
And I decide I can fake the perfect “love connection.”
Without actually falling in love.
Since that’s not something I do.
Except, apparently, with the one guy in all of New York City
that I’m not supposed to fall for.
Our forbidden fling will have to stay our little secret.
Or it will ruin the show, and each of our goals.
But then a pandemic strikes and everything’s on lockdown.
I have to leave the hotel the show is paying for.
My new mystery man says I can move into his mansion.
We’ll have a lot of time to explore our feelings…
and each other’s bodies.

But could we really end up together when this is all over?
Is our love destined to fail or can we risk everything to be together?

Books by Author:

Jamie Knight

Chapter One

Addie

The machines made their music. The industrial cacophony echoed over the dark water. Long Island wasn’t Manhattan, though it could be like herding cats to convince people of that.

I focused on the crank and grind, trying to make a song out of it. I had been a fan of Industrial back when it was first popular. But I hadn’t been old enough to actually go to the shows. Taking the aching thrum as a base, I added the guitars and vocals in my head. It was difficult not to hum along.

I already wasn’t super popular at work, even though I had been there a good decade longer than most of my co-workers. I tried not to think about it. Easier thought than done, though. No matter how hard I tried to push the thoughts out of my head, the more they came rushing back. I guess it only made sense that it would be hard not to think about him. He was my son, after all.

I hadn’t seen him in nearly two weeks. He was 12 and able to make his own decision about such things, even if his dad did just appear out of the aether after letting me do all the parenting for just over a decade. He always was a selfish prick.

Even so, he was also a determined prick. If I fought him, we would end up in court and, since the lawyer I had consulted with said I wasn’t likely to win when the courts allowed children 12 and over to weigh in on what they wanted to do, it wasn’t worth the upset. Especially not to Duncan.

I did my best to let it go and convince myself that a boy needed his father, but I didn’t believe it was true in every case. A father figure, perhaps, but not necessarily their biological father. Especially one like Dave.

The whistle added its contribution to the tune, bringing the movement to a definitive end. The dull few dozen marched in conditioned unison toward the punch-clock. The lockers had a rhythm all their own. Clunks and clicks accompanied by high squeaks.

The drawing that was hung above the clock was surprisingly good. I had never suspected that there might be budding artists among my colleagues. The spurt of cum was a bit much, but the cock had been rendered in vivid detail, the black sharpie standing out against the industrial orange of the locker. Ignoring the leers and jeers of the men around me, some of them young enough to be my children, I started on the lock.

I was only forty, but the management didn’t seem to have any qualms about hiring high schoolers, particularly if they were related by blood. Nepotism was alive and well in the 21st century.

Technically, I should have had my own locker room, but the factory was built in the days before women in the workforce were commonplace. Because the work overalls didn’t require me to actually get undressed, just get in and out of coveralls, and the because the owners were fucking cheapskates, I was put in with the men.

The pain of the hand swatting my ass wasn’t too bad. I hadn’t really seen it coming. I’d been a bit too occupied with making sure no more notes asking for lurid sexual favors had been dropped through the slots in the door.

He had also already taken off his boots, so I hadn’t heard him coming. I sure felt it when he passed, though. I consoled myself with the fact that they had gone from pinching, which really hurt, to spanks.

The thick material of my overalls absorbed most of the impact. I couldn’t quit because I needed the money. They knew I couldn’t complain because I was hanging on by the skin of my teeth as it was. The threat of a discrimination lawsuit was the main reason I wasn’t turned down out of hand.

It wasn’t like it was my dream job. I actually wanted to be a painter. I’d gone to art school and everything. I even got some of the highest marks in my class. A teacher who was notoriously difficult to please, part of his first day speech including a bit about how it was against his religion to give out As because such perfection was reserved for the Lord, took me aside and commended me on my work.

I got a B+ in the class, which I considered to be high praise. Then I met Dave. Tall, handsome, charming Dave. Master of his own universe and King in his own mind, who came walking into the art supply store where I was working, just waiting for the galley show that I knew was just over the horizon and told me he was there to rescue me.

Sadly, the guy I thought was a prince turned out to be a villain who, as soon as we were wed, took over every aspect of my existence until he discovered our six-times-a-day sex sessions, always without protection, led to me getting pregnant.


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