by Jamie Knight
I hoped my father did not see that sign. He was way over protective, especially about boys. If my dad even saw me talking to a boy this early into the college process, there was no telling what he’d do.
I didn’t think he had actually put it together right away that I was going to be stuck on campus with guys. I mean, you should’ve heard him when he found out the dorms were co-ed. I thought he was going to blow a gasket.
This was my last trip from the car, and I could feel my blood pressure returning to normal as I walked back. But when I passed a dorm room that was a few doors down from mine, I heard a familiar voice.
“Okay Dad, if you insist on bringing in the fridge, I’ll take it.”
I peeked in and couldn’t believe it.
There stood Seth Foster, my least favorite person alive.
Continue reading I Hate You, Move In
Continue reading I Hate You, Move In
If you would like to read more books in the standalone but connected Hate You series, listed below are the book in the series!
I Hate You, Move In: An Enemies to Lovers Accidental Roommate Romance
I Hate You, Remember Me: An Enemies to Lovers Amnesia Romance
I Hate You, Propose: An Enemies to Lovers Fake Engagement Romance
I Hate You, Marry Me: An Enemies to Lovers Fake Marriage Romance
Sneak Peek of Binding His Virgin
Enjoy this sneak peek of the first book in my Club Lush series, Binding His Virgin.
Chapter 1
Melissa
I’m standing as far back from all the lights and people as physically possible. I knew this would happen. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to enjoy myself as much as Samantha, Britney, Shay, Karen and Becky said I would. Because, as they’ve all often done ever since we were kids, they made the mistake of assuming I was them. That because they enjoy the music, lights and sounds of a dance club, that I will.
I’m watching them now, feeling more and more overwhelmed by the second. I’m standing with my purse clutched to my chest, wondering why I couldn’t have just had the birthday celebration I wanted. A few cocktails at home, to celebrate the big 21, a nice dinner that we all could’ve cooked together — before sitting down to watch some sexy movies.
But, no instead, I’m gasping for breath like a fish out of water, the proverbial fly on the wall who’s about to get smashed.
I hate being the way I am. I hate the fact that I’m so shy and easily overwhelmed. Especially when I know everyone’s having so much fun, and how they all just did this for my benefit. To make my big day into a big night of festivities, but I just can’t handle it anymore. I need to go somewhere else, before I pass out from all this stimulation.
I spot my friends dancing together, flirting with a few of the men in the club who have shown them interest. I don’t want to interrupt their fun, but I know I’m never going to get out of here if I don’t. So, mustering what bit of courage I have, I go over to them and try to get their attention.
Karen, a short hair-haired bundle of energy, is the first to see me. Followed by Becky. Full of curls and dark, flashing eyes, Becky enjoys the nightlife.
“Hey, birthday girl! So glad you finally decided to join us!”
I blush, feeling even worse about what I’m about to do: ask for a different venue, a different place to go to finish tonight’s celebrations.
Shay, with every color in the rainbow along her hair, and in her makeup (she’s always wanted to be a unicorn), gives me a comforting smile. She comes over, glomming on to me.
“You want to get outta here, don’t you, Mel?”
I don’t answer her, but feel myself going redder and hotter by the moment.
My eyes shoot over to Britney, the instigator of all this — who’s in the middle of flirting with a rugged looking guy with five o’clock shadow — hoping she’ll give me what I want. I take another deep breath, and decide to approach.
“Britney.”
The first time I say her voice, I don’t expect her to hear me. I am as quiet as a mouse most of the time, even without loud music blaring.
“Um, Britney?” I step a little closer, deciding to grab the sleeve on her slinky dress instead. “Britney, I’ve really got to get out of here. I can’t handle the noise.”
Letting out a breathy, amused laugh, she tells the guy that we’re all here celebrating my birthday what I’d just said, and Sexy Stubble turns to me and tries to make conversation with me. About my birthday, of course, whether he can buy me a drink. But I just turn my eyes down, before turning him down.
“No. No, thank you.”
I then turn my attention back to Britney, whose undivided attention I finally have.
“I really need to get out of here. I know you think this is a good time, but you know how I am!”
Britney sweeps back her chestnut brown hair, puckers her cotton-candy pink lips, and sighs. It’s not the sigh of someone who’s upset, just depressed.
“I know,” she says, drawing me aside with her, and telling the rest of our click to follow with a “come on, girls.”
She’s quiet a moment as we find our way out of the bustle, and then says, “I know, Mel. I was just…was really hoping you might enjoy yourself in a place like this, even with how sensitive you are.” We all keep walking out of the dance and lounge area, toward the main doors. “But I don’t really know where else we can celebrate.”
“Yeah, especially when we did already drive a few hours to get here,” points out Becky. “I mean, if you wanted to go somewhere quiet, we should have just stayed in our borough.”
I hang my head, feeling awful. It doesn’t help that the air outside is cold, or that now that we’re out of the club, there isn’t anywhere else I can think of to go, other than home.
Shay elbows Becky. I don’t have to see behind me to know. I can tell by the cursing that follows.
“Don’t be mean, Becky. She really didn’t want to go in, but we made her. You, more than anyone else, actually. So you don’t get to complain when she does exactly what we all knew she would.”
Shay closes the distance between us, and slings her arm around me.
“Don’t worry about it, girl. We’ll find something else to do. Somewhere else to go.”
Chapter 2
Melissa
After making our way some distance away from the neon signs and dark windows, we have come to a stop under some streetlights. Not a stone’s throw away, there is a map of the surrounding area. It gives you some idea of nearby shops and restaurants, but we’d already consulted that.
And at that time, there weren’t many things open. There were certainly not going to be many options now, either.
“We’ll end up going home,” says Becky, sounding disappointed.
“Not unless we end up seeing something interesting,” answers Britney, sounding as though she’s already found that “something interesting.”
Without even waiting for us to see what she sees, she yells at us to come on, to follow her, so we do.
“Interesting clothes like that don’t just come out of run-of-the-mill restaurants or bars,” I hear her breathe.
Against my shy and unsure nature, I look up to see what she means. And there, just getting ready to turn a corner, is a woman dressed in a red and black corset. She’s wearing thick black and red boots as well, and enough belt buckles traveling the length of her legs and thighs to accentuate her smooth, white skin underneath.
While I’m embarrassed for the young woman (I would never be caught dead in clothes like that; my dad would kill me), I’m a little intrigued. I hate to admit it, but since Britney’s already dragging us after her, I’m interested in seeing what rabbit hole she might be scurrying back to.
I don’t know how long we’re running for, following this young woman, but we quickly end up in a part of town we are not used too. Not that any of us are paying much attention, but I’m starting to get nervous about that fact. And scared, since our car is now at least ten
city blocks away, and this part of town isn’t as well-traveled.
We watch the corset-wearing woman pick her way across the street, and confidently join up with a dapper-looking man in a suit. They stand in front of the large, mansion-like building, before going inside.
The building is Colonial in some aspects, but also reminiscent of the frat houses around my college campus. Club Lush, reads the fancy, old-timely plaque above the doors.
I’m not sure what kind of club it is, or whether I want to even go inside, but Britney says for all of us to come on, and to see what fun can be had, despite this place looking way too fancy and way too exclusive to just allow for walk-ins.
I want to object to this plan, but I’m too shy.
Shay makes sure I follow, and Becky, Samantha and Karen bring up the rear, making sure I don’t flee.
Hustling across the street, Britney pulls open one of the large dark-stained wooden doors, and we all sneak inside.
Sneak.
That really is an accurate depiction, since, the moment we get on the other side, it’s clear we don’t even belong in this breezeway, let alone whatever establishment is beyond the other set of double doors. The dapper gentleman and his corset-wearing lady are speaking to a bouncer. While he’s wearing a fancy suit and tie, the bulge and bulk in his muscles are clearly visible, as are the other well-dressed couples around, no doubt waiting for their turn to be let in.
The bouncer immediately sees us, and no doubt our less-expensive clothing and accessories.
“It seems we’ve lost our way tonight, ladies,” he says. “I’ve never seen you around, and this establishment isn’t open to all. You must have an invitation or a membership to get past me.”
The dapper gentleman unlaces his fingers from those of his lady.
I don’t know what it is about him, but he screams money. Obscene amounts of it, as well as influence.
Maybe it’s the way he carries himself. Maybe it’s the fact that he has more money on display on one of his fingers than I have in my whole bank account.
He looks at all of us, but particularly at me, and says, “Let them in. I forgot to mention I was bringing guests tonight, Lyon. My apologies. If anyone has issue with them, tell them to come talk to me.”
With that said, he takes the hand of his lady, gives us a bow of the head, and retreats into the second pair of double doors.
The intriguing couple gone, and with no other option, the bouncer says, “My mistake, ladies. Any guest of Mr. Ainsworth is a friend of ours. Please, make yourselves at home.”
With that, Britney urges the rest of us inside. Adding, “quick, before he changes his mind!”
I don’t really want to go any further inside of the club, now that I realize how much money all of these people seem to have, and that we really should’ve had an invitation to poke around, but it’s too late. We’re already through the last barrier, the set of double doors, and in the body of the club.
Immediately, I see that this one isn’t like the one we just left. Instead of dance floor areas and a large bar, there are open spaces with naked people on display. Some are being strapped to walls, with roiling carts full of gadgets nearby; others are being whipped with actual flogs and other implements.
“Oh shit,” giggles Britney, “I’ve heard rumors about places like this, but to actually stumble upon one? Holy fucking God,” she breathes. “Now this is perfect for birthday celebration!”
As she is whispering, I’m watching in a confusing mix of horror, excitement and embarrassment as other couples are threading through us: for one pair, one is in a collar, while the other is holding the leash. Some even are wearing hoods.
I’m so embarrassed by the surroundings, I can’t get myself to focus on anything. I keep following Britney, barely realizing that we are being taken to a table close to the bar/kitchen. Our waitress is scantily clad, but between my discomfort at all the weird noises (people seem to enjoy getting flicked with leather), I don’t care.
I can barely believe what I feel happening between my legs, either. I’m feeling tight and hot. Like I might actually be finding this interesting, the surroundings to my liking. This is a fact that my military upbringing squeals and cries against, but that only succeeds in making me even more hot and tight.
We are shown to our seats as I have that realization, and it’s not long before the same scantily-clad waitress takes our orders for drinks.
Within seconds of her disappearing, we are approached by a tall, sinfully-gorgeous woman. Think Marilyn Monroe, but with slightly longer hair. She smiles generously at us, particularly paying attention to me.
“Glad to have you with us tonight, ladies. I am Lady White, the owner of this slice of paradise. But please do be aware.” Long, dark eyelashes size me up. “If you’re going to stay, ladies, if you desire to be our guests, you will need to participate in tonight’s festivities. Not just giggle or gawk.”
And this is when I feel something worse than panic. The need to make a nervous, stress-related trip to the bathroom.
Continue reading Binding His Virgin
Continue reading Binding His Virgin
Here is the reading order for the Club Lush series, which can be read and understood alone but are best enjoyed all together!
1): Binding His Virgin
2): Silencing His Virgin
3): Riding His Virgin
4): Masking His Virgin
See all the titles in the Club Lush Series
Sneak Peek of Office Pet
Enjoy this sneak peek of the first book in my His Pet series, Office Pet.
Chapter One
Reese
I stopped in front of a garish canvas called Apocalyptic Sunrise and tilted my head to the side. Perhaps I wasn’t cultured enough to understand the concept, but the oil painting looked like something a five-year-old on a sugar high would paint.
“You could at least smile, Reese.”
Simon lowered his head until his lips were a whisper away from my left cheek. A severe case of halitosis billowed from his mouth. My stomach roiled and the leftover pizza I’d wolfed down before I met him for our “date” threatened to make an exorcist-style reappearance.
I stepped away from him and feigned interest in the splashes of orange and yellow smeared across the canvas.
So much for my seven years of bad luck coming to an end. I’d had nothing but shitty dates since the day I’d broken my handheld mirror.
Almost seven years ago, on the day I’d graduated from college, I’d discovered that my then boyfriend was the campus Lothario. When he came groveling and begging for my forgiveness, I picked up my mirror and hurled it at his head. He ducked. The mirror slammed against my dorm room door and shattered.
To reverse my bad luck, a Wiccan website suggested grinding the broken mirror shards to dust and scattering them in the wind. That bright idea had left me with a scratched cornea and bits of ground up glass in my hair for weeks.
Since then, I’d had nothing but bad luck in relationships, and was superstitious about everything. I avoided walking under ladders, I knocked on wood, I never opened an umbrella inside, and I always threw a pinch of salt behind my shoulder when I cooked.
And, if I could have, I would have hidden beneath the covers every Friday the 13th until it became Saturday the 14th. But since I had bills to pay, that level of strict adherence to anything and everything that could help me avoid bad luck was out of the question.
I’d tried every old wives’ tale that had come up in Google search results in an attempt to change my luck with men, but nothing had worked.
Cleansing my chakras hadn’t worked, neither had visualizations, love spells, crystals, or burning sage and incense.
Over the past few years, I’d given up on men and had focused on building my career instead of my personal life. Accounting compliance wasn’t glamorous, but, being an OCD freak, I enjoyed designing and implementing programs, policies, and procedures.
I also loved, loved, l
oved internal investigations and uncovering potential breaches of policies and procedures. Most people thought I was more than a little weird about work.
I didn’t disagree. But I also didn’t really care. Numbers didn’t require luck. They required logic and they were something I could control.
I’d met Simon Harper through work. A month ago, McKenzie Technologies had gobbled up Hillock Accounting Services, the small investment firm I’d been with since graduating college. I’d worked my way up from lowly accounting clerk to compliance manager.
I was better than good at my job and being part of a massive company like McKenzie Technologies was a challenge I’d grasped with both hands. But McKenzie Technologies already had several compliance managers, both senior and junior, with more waiting in the wings.
Until I proved myself, I was stuck maintaining a database on state and federal statutes and regulations for investors.
“Most women would be thrilled to be on a date with someone who earns as much money as I do,” Simon bragged.
Sidling up to me, he slid an octopus arm around my waist. If he told me one more time how much money he had in the bank, I’d rip the framed and very heavy looking Apocalyptic Sunrise off the wall and slam it over his fucking head.
He was trying way too hard to impress me. I was less than impressed, but men like Simon were too self-obsessed and arrogant to notice any disinterest.
“I guess I’m not most women.”
I stepped away from him and moved onto the next painting— Dark Days. Again, I didn’t understand what the artist was trying to achieve with this creation. The canvas was filled with red and black splodges.
Maybe I wasn’t cultured or creative enough to understand abstract art.
“You’ve got that right,” Simon said with a snicker.
The pizza in my stomach churned at the innuendo lacing his words, and I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes and say that most women would have run away from him by now. But instead of blurting out something bitchy, I glared at him and hoped he’d get the message.