Under His Discipline (Love Under Lockdown Book 18)

by Jamie Knight

  Under His Discipline

  Love Under Lockdown, Book 18

  A series of standalone quarantine romance books.

  Copyright © 2020 Jamie Knight Romance.

  All rights reserved.

  Jamie Knight –

  Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author

  Here are the books so far in the Love Under Lockdown series:

  1): Under Lock & Key

  2): Under Lockdown

  3): Under Strict Orders

  4): Stuck Together

  5): Under His Roof

  6): Under the Hawaiian Sun

  7): Under Wraps

  8): Under His Care

  9): Under the Sheets

  10): Dating During Lockdown

  11): Under His Protection

  12): Locked Down with Mr. Right

  13): Under His Watchful Eye

  14): Below Deck

  15): Under the Rancher’s Firm Hand

  16): Under His Suit

  17): Who Wants to Lock Down a Billionaire?

  18): Under His Discipline

  New books are always being added.

  Click here to see the entire series!

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 - Charli

  Chapter 2 - Max

  Chapter 3 - Charli

  Chapter 4 - Max

  Chapter 5 - Charli

  Chapter 6 - Max

  Chapter 7 - Charli

  Chapter 8 - Max

  Chapter 9 - Charli

  Chapter 10 - Max

  Chapter 11 - Charli

  Chapter 12 - Max

  Chapter 13 - Charli

  Chapter 14 - Max

  Chapter 15 - Charli

  Chapter 16 - Max

  Epilogue - Charli

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  Sneak Peek of Who Wants to Lock Down a Billionaire?

  Books in the Love Under Lockdown Series

  Chapter 1 - Charli

  An electric current jolted from my core, fizzing my nerve endings.

  How had I gotten so lucky?

  Sure, some graduates got jobs at important companies right out of college, but this was almost silly. At nineteen, zipping right through the two-year journalism degree I’d started when I was seventeen, I had already landed a job with the editor and publisher of Here and Now, the country’s biggest current affairs magazine.

  I pinched myself when I picked up the message just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I had dreams like that a lot. The phrase “daydreams and aspirations” was literal in my case. Sometimes, it was like I could see the future through my dreams.

  I didn’t understand what had made me stand out. I had done my best to get as far in the selection process as I could, but still, there must have been a million girls ready to throw puppies out of windows to have an opportunity like the one I’d been offered.

  Pride and anxiety fought a pitched battle in my mind. Pride in myself that I had landed such an outstanding role and anxiety that I’d secured such an important job—neither side seemed to get the upper hand. Along with the I.T. Department, executive assistants were the ones who kept things going at the larger organizations.

  CEOs were only human and therefore equipped with the standard-issue two hands and one brain (though the latter was debatable sometimes), so they needed help from paid underlings like me. Our job was to make them look good and to help justify their high salaries.

  To be fair, the greatest among them must have some skill in terms of management. Even the finest trainer still couldn’t herd cats.

  I felt a little twinge of worry when I thought about the particular CEO of the magazine I would be working for, who was known to be a player. I didn’t just mean in terms of always having a different girlfriend, but I also meant that he liked to have playthings—pets, as he called them. I had read an editorial he wrote in his own magazine in response to tabloid rumors alleging that he enjoyed BDSM.

  “Yes, I do,” he had written. “And there is nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to that. People have different tastes and proclivities, and I have very particular needs. BDSM can help us explore the world within ourselves. Through pleasure. Through pain. Through play.”

  There were some women who refused to even apply to work there thanks to that op-ed. But I couldn’t forget the words he had written because they excited me.

  I thought about working for a man who could so openly own his sexuality, who was so different from me—I had never even had sex at all and barely knew my own sexual tastes—in that regard, and I thought it could only be a good thing. A way to broaden my own horizons and gain confidence.

  What to wear for my first day left my stomach in knots. A small world of options lay across my mattress, and yet I stood paralyzed by choice. Should I go stuffy and professional or sexy and flirty?

  Well, maybe not sexy and flirty, but showing my femininity couldn’t hurt. That way, if I screwed up, my boss might keep me around just to look at me. Anything was possible. I chose something in between.

  I was plus-sized, and it was hard for me to find clothes that flattered my curvy frame without fitting too tightly or revealing too much. But I had managed to become pretty good at shopping for my body type and I had a small wardrobe I was proud of.

  I put on a sleeveless blouse that did pleasant things for my boobs and a pleated skirt that came halfway down my thighs. I looked at my reflection in my full-length mirror, liking what I saw. Showy, but not sexy. Professional but not prudish.

  The downside was the outfit demanded high heels. I had two pairs, but I hadn’t attempted to wear heels since prom.

  Throughout college, I lived in sneakers or flip flops. I placed a hand on my stomach, trying to calm myself. Surely, walking in heels would come back soon enough.

  I squeezed my feet into a black pair of three-inch pumps, took a deep breath, and wobbled toward my bedroom door.

  Three steps were all it took until I damn near face-planted. The hardwood floor gave my knees a good bash, but it could have been worse.

  I assessed the damage. Everything looked okay. Not even a bruise, which was surprising. Usually, bruises bloomed like flowers on my fair skin.

  Compromise was always my strong suit. Rather than risking my knees or neck to wear heels while going for the bus, I changed into a comfy pair of sneakers for the trip. I would switch back to the stylish torture devices when I got to work.

  Taking the stairs two-by-two with an untasted Pop-Tart still in my mouth, I shoved through the glass doors to a beautiful fall day outside my rundown apartment building. It was the best I could afford and much preferable to the ‘suite’ my parents had set up in the basement while I attended college.

  I’d wanted to go away for college and experience everything on-campus living had to offer, but they wouldn’t hear of it. The term helicopter parenting could have been created with them in mind.

  They were determined to keep watch over their precious little girl, which was part of why I was still a virgin at nineteen. That, and the fact that I was a nerd.

  I loved facts, particularly math. I’d wanted to major in it, but Dad wouldn’t allow it, decreeing that math was a man’s discipline.

  It wasn’t sexism per se. It was more that he didn’t want me surrounded by hot, young guys. As if all math nerds looked like the two Brians—Cox, the British physicist and Greene, the American physicist—both of whom I had posters hanging on my bedroom wall throughout h
igh school. While other girls had Bieber, I had the Brians.

  Following my dad’s wishes, I found something more ‘girly’ to major in; I studied journalism, focusing on business and finance. The degree just said B. Journo, so he was none the wiser. He was just happy and proud that his little princess had graduated with honors.

  One drawback to being an only child, let alone the only daughter, was that my parents refused to let me drive. Now that I was free, I would learn and get my license, but, for now, I took the bus to get where I had to go.

  Over the years, I’d learned to love public transport. Mom and Dad didn’t mind paying for that because they considered buses far safer than cars, and it could be a math kid’s dream trying to figure out the exact schedules, which I did.

  I often knew them better than the drivers themselves. At least, that was how it used to be before I moved to Brooklyn.

  My parents hadn’t been happy when I said I was moving, but they couldn’t stop me since I was an adult who no longer needed their help with college tuition. While they didn’t give me their blessing, they didn’t stand in my way, either. My grandmother had unfortunately passed away, leaving me enough money to help cover rent and living expenses for quite some time.

  Crap. Now I missed the bus. Making my way to the vacated bench, I tried to calm my mind. It couldn’t be that long before another one came along.

  Time was a funny thing. It seemed to fly when you were enjoying yourself and ground to a near halt when under stress. I only had to wait twenty minutes according to my watch, but it felt a long longer than that.

  It was my first day, and I’d wanted to get in super early. I had only one chance to make an initial impression. I knew from hard experience that that first impression could last forever.

  Once I finally got on and then off the bus, I was in such a hurry to get to the office that I forgot to change my shoes before entering the building. Opting for an empty elevator instead of the stairs, which would have been faster, I swapped over.

  When the elevator doors opened, I looked put-together and professional as I strode up to the reception counter, hoping I appeared a lot more stable than I felt.

  “Shit,” the woman behind the reception desk muttered.

  “What?” I inquired, despite myself.

  Without a word, she came steaming toward me. Taking me by the hand, she led me to a small office beside the copy room.

  “I’m Charli,” I tried to say, although it came out in a squeak.

  “I know,” she said, glancing all around. “Sorry about that, I just didn’t want him to see you when he arrives.”

  “Who?” I asked innocently.

  “Mr. McInnes.”

  “Oh.” My forehead furrowed at the mention of the CEO’s infamous name. “Why don’t you want him to see me?”

  “He’s wonderful at what he does and not vindictive in any way. He can just be a bit intense when he isn’t happy. And at the moment, he’s super pissed. He cycles to the office every day and was cut off more than a few times this morning. People are in a panic over the pandemic and are treating everyone as the enemy.”

  Great. Exactly what I needed, a pissed-off boss.

  I had heard of bosses being total assholes, shouting at their assistants, and even throwing things. I was mentally prepared for that, but what she was saying sounded almost sinister.

  “So, you know who I am?”

  “I do.” She nodded, seeming to relax a little. “I reviewed your application and had you fully vetted. We had about a million girls wanting the job. Vetting them all fell to lucky old me. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I love my work. There are just some particular pitfalls. Like with anything, I guess.”

  “I don’t think I caught your name.”

  “I didn’t give it. I’m Elsa,” she said, offering a hand, “and if you even think of singing ‘Let It Go,’ I’ll slug you.”

  “Never even occurred to me,” I told her.

  But I wouldn’t confess that I had the urge to ask if she wanted to build a snowman.

  “Good. You’re going to need friends around here. The publishing world can be a shark eat shark world.”

  What did she mean by that?

  Was she saying she was my friend or could be?

  Or was it just a more general statement?

  That I would require allies if I was going to survive?

  I sat in the little office as requested, waiting for my boss to summon me, and wondering what the future might hold. Though nothing that flitted through my naive mind even approached what would shortly come to pass.

  Chapter 2 - Max

  The alarm sprang to life, unleashing the metal songs I had set up to blare at the correct time the night before. Darkest Black Metal from deepest Norway blasted from the speakers like demonic voices through a medium.

  Lifting my head from my many-feathered pillows, I silenced the device and let out a pensive sigh. There was nothing wrong with the day in particular. It was life in general.

  My thoughts turned as dark as the music. If the government didn’t get the virus under control and find a workable vaccine, the economy, and society as we knew it, would fall apart.

  The music continued to reverberate around the room, and my thoughts continued to whirl. After a few moments, I shook my head. There was too much important work ahead of me. I didn’t have time to get caught in an existential stupor.

  Stiff-legged and stiff-cocked, I made my way to the bathroom, shedding my boxer shorts on the way. Basking in the freedom of my morning wood standing at full attention, I started my morning routine—showering and jerking off.

  After drying, I sauntered back into my bedroom and pulled on a pair of shorts. The door to the closet that held all my toys caught my attention. It’d been way too long since I’d had someone to play with.

  No one came close to catching my attention these days. None of the women I’d met or dated recently were true subs. They thought they were, but to them, following my orders only went as far as the bedroom. That and they saw the lifestyle as a fun role-playing game for one-night-only.

  I ached for someone who would follow my orders 24/7. Someone I could mold and train for life. But I doubted a woman like that existed.

  In all areas of my life, I demanded organization and control—there was a place for everything, and everything had its place. The clothes in my wardrobe were labeled and organized by season and color.

  Taking down a suit, an Italian, charcoal gray three-piece, I dressed, going slowly to make sure I looked immaculate. I’d learned early on that in my industry, appearances were vital.

  I wasn’t born into money. I’d worked for every cent I earned. Growing up, we weren’t rich, but we didn’t struggle either.

  My parents did okay financially. My father was a sanitation worker, and my mother a teacher before she died when I was eight. A few years later, he married Elsa’s mom, who had stayed at home to raise us.

  My stepsister Elsa was one of the few women in my immediate circle I didn’t have carnal knowledge of. Not that she wasn’t my type. Truth be told, thanks to her curvy figure and petite stature, she was, but she just wasn’t into me that way and vice versa, considering that we were step siblings, of course.

  In many ways, she was my backbone. She was the highest-paid office manager in Manhattan, and for the past few months, she’d taken over as my personal assistant—something she detested. I wasn’t an easy man to work for. I demanded perfection in all areas.

  Finding an assistant who didn’t run screaming after a few weeks was proving difficult. I had been through six in the past year. Most had fine experience and references, but they’d all quit. They served their two weeks’ notice like it was a prison sentence before disappearing without a trace.

  It was hard not to feel rejected, especially after the third or fourth time. Something about me always scared them away, but I was hard-pressed to imagine what it could be. After the fifth one resigned, I had asked Elsa, but she just suggested
that I “tone it down a bit.”

  After breakfast, I lifted my custom-made bike from its rack in the hallway, threw my backpack on, and pushed off in the general direction of downtown. Cycling to work gave me time to clear my head and let me start the day off on the right foot—or, well, pedals, anyway.

  The sun was barely up, and the city still slept. At dawn, Manhattan was the most serene city in the world, but I ached to spend more time in Montauk at my private beach house—perhaps this weekend.

  The land cost twice as much as the house itself, the latter of which I had custom-built from the ground up. It was a quirk of my perfectionism that I needed to oversee every of each project I was involved in, whenever possible. The rest I assigned to trusted and talented managers like Elsa.

  The rock of my business and my life was there when I arrived at the office on the fifteenth floor. Many people wondered why I’d chosen a small, windowless office to work in when the penthouse offered a stunning view of the city. I didn’t like distractions, and windows overlooking the city meant I’d never get anything achieved.

  “You’re alive,” Elsa said, taking my bike.

  I frowned.

  “No thanks to the sanitation trucks trying to mow me down.”

  I removed my tie from my backpack. Elsa took it from me and draped it around my neck. Her hands were practiced and gentle as she smiled.

  “One of these days, you’ll learn how to do this for yourself.”

  I grinned.

  “Why would I, when you can do it for me?”

  Necktie knots never had been and never would be my forte. I was eighteen before I had to wear a tie for the first time, but I never truly took to them.

  “Is my new assistant here?” I asked.

  “She is.”

  A look of concern flickered across her face.

  “That bad?”

  “She’s a bit greener than I expected. Maybe too self-conscious just starting out, but I think she’ll get there.”

  I blew out an exasperated breath.