K.D. Robichaux

K.D. Robichaux – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Sun, 26 Feb 2023 20:50:33 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png K.D. Robichaux – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Plant Daddy (The Submissive Diaries #1) Read Online K.D. Robichaux http://www.ilovenovels.com/plant-daddy-the-submissive-diaries-1-read-online-k-d-robichaux Mon, 13 Feb 2023 18:42:28 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/plant-daddy-the-submissive-diaries-1-read-online-k-d-robichaux Genre: Romance Authors: K.D. Robichaux Series: The Submissive Diaries Series by K.D. Robichaux
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Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 137135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >147

It was only supposed to be for research.
My best friend and fellow romance novelist, Vi Lowe, told me I should join some dating websites to look around and get some inspiration for my next book–about a woman who joins a “sugar daddy” site to find someone to fund her plant addiction.
But then I spotted him, my gym crush, aka Gym Daddy, on a dating app for kinksters, and suddenly I’m struggling to identify what’s for book research and what’s for experiencing for myself.
Maybe I don’t need to compartmentalize.
After all, they tell you to stick to writing what you know, right?
And what better way to learn about something until you truly know about that subject than to fully submerse yourself in it?
Plus, I know I said I was a born-again virgin after my divorce and was saving myself for Dream Daddy—aka Sir Jeremy—at Club Alias, but the likelihood of that happening…? Zilch. Nada. None.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

SIENNA

The fact that I’m balls-deep in a full, smelly dumpster late on a Friday night, alone, does nothing to stop me from gasping aloud at what I discover at the bottom of it. Not that I don’t immediately regret the deep inhale of God only knows what I’m standing in—but exasperation wins out as top emotion in this particular moment.

“You have got to be freaking kidding me!” I whisper-yell, propping one foot against a broken display for flashlights and the other atop a pile of cracked cedar fence posts.

I wrap one gloved hand around a splintery slat that’s in the middle of a stack of five pallets, then carefully lean down and forward, reaching out with my other green gardening glove covered fingers to pinch just the very edge of the black plastic container I spotted.

“Ow! Fuck… shit!” I hiss as needles stab into my knuckles, but I dare not let go. This is one of the greatest finds I’ve made to date. Lord knows what I’ll be infected with, allowing something at the bottom of a dumpster to pierce my skin, but it’s freaking worth it.

At least that’s what I’ll continue to tell myself until I eventually end up in my bathroom, soaking in a tub of Lysol and peroxide.

My treasure is heavy as hell, and it’s a circus-worthy balancing act to keep from toppling in any one direction as I lift the bounty high enough so I can then stand up straight and let go of the pallet. Wrapping my free arm around the container, careful to avoid any more puncture wounds, I grin when I look closely to find the prize within it completely flawless. It makes me both do a happy dance and pisses me off that something so precious and valuable to me and many others, was just tossed like it was completely worthless.

And as usual, it breaks my heart that I feel more connected to and identify with something deemed “trash” at the bottom of a dumpster than I do with 99.999% of the human population.

“Mama’s got you now, big boy,” I murmur, shaking off the pain in the center of my chest and gently pulling a shredded napkin out of the dangerous spikes. As a wad flutters to the cavernous opening below my spread, locked legs, my eye naturally follows its descent, and I have to catch my balance when my shock sends my head jerking backward enough to make the rest of me bobble in my precarious position. “And you have a twin brother?” I let out the whimper of a proud mother who just witnessed her child do something she believes is extraordinary but is probably just some milestone every kid reaches at some point in their life. “Well, can’t leave him here all by his lonesome, now can we?”

I lift the heavy container high above my head, suddenly wishing I stuck to all the workout classes my friend Astrid made me take with her at our gym, as I prop the black plastic on the top edge of the dumpster and slide it slowly across the metal lip until it’s safely perched. Looking down, I allow my eyes to adjust to the dimness after having looked up toward the streetlight a second ago, and then I spot the second buried chest of gold—doubling down on my best night of dumpster diving yet.

In the past several months, I’ve lost countless hours on the TikTok app, falling down all sorts of rabbit holes during this… early midlife crisis I find myself in at the ripe old age of thirty-four. As an author of filthy BDSM romance novels, this crisis of mine includes, but is definitely not limited to, a going-on-nine-months bout of writer’s block.

So in the last year and a half, not only did I suddenly find myself single after being mostly happily married for eleven years, which meant I was no longer living in a dual, huge income household, but I also haven’t written a single word since my last book release nine months ago.

But hey, the divorce was amicable, so at least there’s that. We don’t have kids, and we basically just divided everything right down the middle and went our separate ways.

My lifestyle itself completely altered, and I’ve been watching my savings account shrink at an alarming rate. Yet the most shocking part of this period in my life, though, is that as my wealth dwindled, so did my list of “friends.” Women who I thought of as my ride-or-die besties, who would be at my fucking funeral after we were old and gray, suddenly wanted nothing to do with me. They befriended each other after I introduced them a long time ago, and at the time, it was amazing, finally having this group of girlfriends to do damn near everything with. I was an auntie to their children, attended every birthday party and weekend get-together, right down to being the emergency contact on school forms and doctor visits.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >147

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Plant Daddy – Part 1 – Blurred Lines Read Online K.D. Robichaux http://www.ilovenovels.com/plant-daddy-part-1-blurred-lines-read-online-k-d-robichaux Fri, 25 Nov 2022 12:33:15 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/plant-daddy-part-1-blurred-lines-read-online-k-d-robichaux Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Insta-Love, Romance Authors: K.D. Robichaux Advertisement

Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >66

It was only supposed to be for research.
My best friend and fellow romance novelist, Vi Lowe, told me I should join some dating websites to look around and get some inspiration for my next book–about a woman who joins a "sugar daddy" site to find someone to fund her plant addiction.
But then I spotted him, my gym crush, aka Gym Daddy, on a dating app for kinksters, and suddenly I'm struggling to identify what's for book research and what's for experiencing for myself.
Maybe I don't need to compartmentalize.
After all, they tell you to stick to writing what you know, right?
And what better way to learn about something until you truly know about that subject than to fully submerse yourself in it?
Plus, I know I said I was a born-again virgin after my divorce and was saving myself for Dream Daddy—aka Sir Jeremy—at Club Alias, but the likelihood of that happening...? Zilch. Nada. None.
Oh, and that guy who rescued me when my last dumpster dive for plant babies went a wee bit awry, who happened to set off all sorts of butterflies in my lady garden? I don't even have the lady-balls to go back to the store and find out Dumpster Daddy's real name, so no chance with him either.
No! I don't have a daddy kink. I just have a thing for older men. Especially those with salt-and-pepper beards, and tattoos, and big, muscly arms and—
Anyway. Let's hope Gym Daddy will find my weird awkwardness "endearing," and I can then seduce him into becoming not only my book muse, but maybe even my real-life Plant Daddy.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER

ONE

SIENNA

The fact that I’m balls-deep in a full, smelly dumpster late on a Friday night, alone, does nothing to stop me from gasping aloud at what I discover at the bottom of it. Not that I don’t immediately regret the deep inhale of God only knows what I’m standing in—but exasperation wins out as top emotion in this particular moment.

“You have got to be freaking kidding me!” I whisper-yell, propping one foot against a broken display for flashlights and the other atop a pile of cracked cedar fence posts.

I wrap one gloved hand around a splintery slat that’s in the middle of a stack of five pallets, then carefully lean down and forward, reaching out with my other green gardening glove covered fingers to pinch just the very edge of the black plastic container I spotted.

“Ow! Fuck… shit!” I hiss as needles stab into my knuckles, but I dare not let go. This is one of the greatest finds I’ve made to date. Lord knows what I’ll be infected with, allowing something at the bottom of a dumpster to pierce my skin, but it’s freaking worth it.

At least that’s what I’ll continue to tell myself until I eventually end up in my bathroom, soaking in a tub of Lysol and peroxide.

My treasure is heavy as hell, and it’s a circus-worthy balancing act to keep from toppling in any one direction as I lift the bounty high enough so I can then stand up straight and let go of the pallet. Wrapping my free arm around the container, careful to avoid any more puncture wounds, I grin when I look closely to find the prize within it completely flawless. It makes me both do a happy dance and pisses me off that something so precious and valuable to me and many others, was just tossed like it was completely worthless.

And as usual, it breaks my heart that I feel more connected to and identify with something deemed “trash” at the bottom of a dumpster than I do with 99.999% of the human population.

“Mama’s got you now, big boy,” I murmur, shaking off the pain in the center of my chest and gently pulling a shredded napkin out of the dangerous spikes. As a wad flutters to the cavernous opening below my spread, locked legs, my eye naturally follows its descent, and I have to catch my balance when my shock sends my head jerking backward enough to make the rest of me bobble in my precarious position. “And you have a twin brother?” I let out the whimper of a proud mother who just witnessed her child do something she believes is extraordinary but is probably just some milestone every kid reaches at some point in their life. “Well, can’t leave him here all by his lonesome, now can we?”

I lift the heavy container high above my head, suddenly wishing I stuck to all the workout classes my friend Astrid made me take with her at our gym, as I prop the black plastic on the top edge of the dumpster and slide it slowly across the metal lip until it’s safely perched. Looking down, I allow my eyes to adjust to the dimness after having looked up toward the streetlight a second ago, and then I spot the second buried chest of gold—doubling down on my best night of dumpster diving yet.

In the past several months, I’ve lost countless hours on the TikTok app, falling down all sorts of rabbit holes during this… early midlife crisis I find myself in at the ripe old age of thirty-four. As an author of filthy BDSM romance novels, this crisis of mine includes, but is definitely not limited to, a going-on-nine-months bout of writer’s block.

So in the last year and a half, not only did I suddenly find myself single after being mostly happily married for eleven years, which meant I was no longer living in a dual, huge income household, but I also haven’t written a single word since my last book release nine months ago.

But hey, the divorce was amicable, so at least there’s that. We don’t have kids, and we basically just divided everything right down the middle and went our separate ways.

My lifestyle itself completely altered, and I’ve been watching my savings account shrink at an alarming rate. Yet the most shocking part of this period in my life, though, is that as my wealth dwindled, so did my list of “friends.” Women who I thought of as my ride-or-die besties, who would be at my fucking funeral after we were old and gray, suddenly wanted nothing to do with me. They befriended each other after I introduced them a long time ago, and at the time, it was amazing, finally having this group of girlfriends to do damn near everything with. I was an auntie to their children, attended every birthday party and weekend get-together, right down to being the emergency contact on school forms and doctor visits.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >66

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XOXO – ABCS of Love Read Online K.D. Robichaux http://www.ilovenovels.com/xoxo-abcs-of-love-read-online-k-d-robichaux Sat, 01 Oct 2022 08:38:32 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/xoxo-abcs-of-love-read-online-k-d-robichaux Genre: Angst, BDSM, Erotic, Romance Authors: K.D. Robichaux Advertisement

Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >63

From Doc’s Notes:

Cheating. Infidelity. Unfaithfulness.

If you look up the definition of these words, they all relatively hint at the same thing—the act or fact of having a romantic or sexual relationship with someone other than one's husband, wife, or partner.

But no other words with a finite definition actually mean something completely different to every single person on earth.

Some people feel cheated on if their partner watches pornography.

On the other end of the spectrum, there are some who don’t feel cheated on, even when their partner has intercourse with someone else. They don’t count that as infidelity… until maybe emotions get involved.

How about just kissing?

Or what if the “other man” turns out to be another woman instead? Is that less unfaithful?

What about flirting online with someone they’ll never meet in real life?

How does one truly feel about their significant other having a “work wife”?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

SAVANNAH

From Doc’s Notes:

Not everything is as they seem.

“…and I kept hearing his phone vibrate as I was drying off. The light was still on in the bedroom when I came out of the shower, so I fully expected him to be waiting for me… naked and ready in bed. It was New Year’s, after all. We had gotten home from Club Alias’s celebration, not too long after midnight, because he said he was tired.” My heart pounds painfully in my chest as I think back to that night eight months ago. I squeeze the tissue in my hands, which had disintegrated several minutes ago full of tears, but I’d molded it in my palm, giving it new life as a stress ball.

“What did you find when you came into the bedroom, Savannah?” Doc asks gently, and I let out the breath overfilling my lungs.

I close my eyes to escape the image, but it only brings it into better focus. “Roman was asleep on his stomach, his phone continuing to vibrate in his hand. He was out cold after all the drinking and celebrating we did, snoring away.” I let out a humorless laugh. “When I took the phone out of his hand, I expected to find texts from our friends and family members wishing us a happy New Year.” More tears spill over my bottom lids, agony spearing through my very soul when I remember what I’d found instead. I lift my eyes to stare past Doc’s muscular shoulder that is unable to be hidden in his dark-blue button down, as I recall the exact words I’d found.

“The text thread was with someone named Pete. But right away, I could tell the contact was labeled falsely. After all, my husband, being the successful businessman he is, knows one of the first things they teach you is to use a person’s name while speaking to them. It makes things more personal, makes them feel like they really matter instead of being just another a-account,” I say, the last word interrupted by a hiccup.

My kind-eyed therapist makes notes on his pad of paper, then leans forward, speaking low in his deep voice. “How did you know it was labeled falsely?”

I stare into his laser-blue eyes, my voice flat as I force the words out. “Because the text read, God, Farrah. I keep looking out at the dance floor, wishing I’d spot your face in the crowd. And immediately, my heart absolutely dropped into my stomach.” My tone wavers then when I continue. “I… I had no clue who this person was, had no idea my hu-husband… could consider even talking to another woman. We… we were perfect, Doc. Like, you don’t understand. We. Were. Perfect. The couple everyone wished they were.”

“And still do,” he adds.

I flinch as if he smacked me. “What?”

“And still do,” he repeats but goes on to elaborate. “No one on the outside knows any of this. The two of you still come to the club, seeming as in love and affectionate as always. At least, until you disappear behind the curtain of a private playroom.” He watches closely for my reaction to his observation.

By day, Doc is an internationally renowned and awarded psychologist who specializes in couples counseling, sex therapy, and PTSD, particularly in sexual assault survivors. By night, he is one of the owners and a Dom—albeit only with his wife, Astrid—at Club Alias, the highly exclusive BDSM club my husband Roman and I are members of. With a five-figure membership fee and a slew of requirements before you even step through the door, only the most elite citizens gain entry.

“Behind the curtain though, it hasn’t been the same… has it, Savannah?” he prompts, his tone gentle but stern enough to coax a response.

I shake my head, looking away from his intense eyes. It doesn’t surprise me that he knows this about us. We signed contracts allowing surveillance videos to be recorded inside the main area of the club and in the private playrooms. Footage is kept in order to insure the safety of the guests.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >63

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Until Cece – Happily Ever Alpha World Read Online K.D. Robichaux http://www.ilovenovels.com/until-cece-happily-ever-alpha-world-read-online-k-d-robichaux Sun, 28 Feb 2021 09:51:00 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/until-cece-happily-ever-alpha-world-read-online-k-d-robichaux Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Authors: K.D. Robichaux Advertisement

Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >109

Read Online Books/Novels:	Until Cece - Happily Ever Alpha World
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	K.D. Robichaux
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B08W1YRPR5
Book Information:
“Never lose yourself while trying to hold on to someone who doesn’t care about losing you.” Advice I heard over the years while acquaintances had gone through breakups and divorce, but I never thought I’d one day be applying it to myself. The past decade spent being the perfect stay-at-home mom and doting housewife, I never pictured my husband coming home from work one night and admitting to having an affair. But without him and my place at home, who am I? With no college or work experience to speak of, what will I do? Step One: Call in reinforcements—my sister Mia. Step Two: Find a job to support me and my three little girls. Step Three: Start finding myself again. “The fastest way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” More advice I side-eyed over the years. My ex is the only man I’ve ever been with. The thought of being with someone else is both terrifying and… exciting. But that man should most definitely, a hundred percent certainly not be my savior, my real-life hero, my boss who took a chance on me at my all-time low. Rebounds are bad news. Everyone knows that. But Winston doesn’t feel like a rebound. He feels like home. He makes me feel things I’ve never even imagined before. It feels like our timing is just... off. Especially when I realize the ultra-delicious chef and bar-owner dad has baggage of his own. Until Cece is part of the Aurora Rose Reynolds' s Happily Ever Alpha World. If you loved Until Talon, then you will want to read Until Cece.
Books by Author:	K.D. Robichaux

1

Cece

“I slept with another woman, okay?”

The words thrown at me so carelessly, so callously, almost accusatory in their tone, reverberate throughout my beautiful kitchen. Or maybe it’s all in my head. Because my magazine-worthy kitchen, with its gray wood flooring, glass-fronted white cabinets, and pristine white marble countertops, is full of homey accents, stocked with food, dishes, and appliances, and full of memories of love and laughter—at least up until a moment ago. We always saved our marital spats for the privacy of our bedroom where the girls wouldn’t hear. No, the kitchen isn’t hollow or cavernous, so the words my husband just shouted wouldn’t echo the way it continues to do inside my mind.

“I slept with another woman, okay?”

“I slept with another woman, okay?”

“I slept with another woman…”

“…slept with another woman…”

“…another woman…”

I swallow, frozen, unable to even drop my hand that’s midair holding a whisk, my other arm wrapped around a mixing bowl as I was in the middle of whipping up a batch of my three little girls’ favorite peanut butter chunk cookies.

I’m stuck. Unblinking. Did I hear him correctly? The look on his face—a mix of anger and resignation—tells me I did. But inside my head, as I try to actually process what he just told me, it’s the blue screen and spinning circle of death. I need someone to Control, Alt, Delete me. Am I a Mac? Please, Force Quit my programs and give me a restart. My entire system is malfunctioning and needs to be rebooted.

Hell, it doesn’t even feel like those simple measures would work on the devastation working its way through my consciousness. Looks like I’ll need a factory reset, because once this actually registers in my brain, I don’t think there will be any coming back from it. A bowl of uncooked rice is not going to make everything all better either.

I’m already crashing. Why am I making electronics references? I’m a stay-at-home mom, a Susie freaking homemaker. The only reason I know how to reset a computer is because of that time my laptop froze up while I was making a Pinterest post on the best solution to get gum out of carpet—a plastic bag of ice cubes, and once the gum is frozen, you can scrape it out, and then use soap and a drop of white vinegar.

I hear my name.

“Cece…”

But it sounds so far away, as if it’s from a great distance. Or maybe muffled, like there’s something over the speaker’s mouth.

“Cece… are you listening to me?” comes the voice again, but I can’t answer. My mind is starting to catch up with Mike’s words, and it’s choosing to portray a slideshow of our entire marriage behind my eyes. They say your entire life flashes before your eyes right before you die. Is this what happens at the death of your marriage?

The moment we met—me, just days after graduating high school, and him about to graduate college. He was dreamy, seeming so much older and more worldly to my eighteen-year-old libido.

The moment he proposed—down on one knee at dinner in front of his parents.

Our beautiful wedding, paid for by his loaded family, since my dad is a piece of shit who left my sister Mia and me with nothing but a bunch of daddy and abandonment issues. And while my stepdad is truly the greatest man on the face of the planet, he couldn’t afford the extravagance the Willimsons required to keep up with their hoity-toity appearance.

Getting pregnant on our wedding night—with twins, no less. Now nine-year-old girls, they came into this world before we even reached our one-year wedding anniversary. And trust me, the rumors spread like wildfire, people thinking it was a shotgun wedding, as if we only got married because I was knocked up. But thankfully anyone who could do math and remembered we’d spent months planning the wedding would shut the other assholes down.

Then our sweet troublemaker Ruby came three years later, and our little family was complete. Well, according to Mike, after he read an article about how if the same mom and dad have two babies that are the same gender, then the likelihood of the third being the opposite gender is less than 20 percent. And if that same mom and dad have three kids of the same gender, then the likelihood of the fourth being the opposite gender is less than 10 percent. If his chances of getting a boy were that low, then he was done making babies.

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To Have and to Hold Read Online C.C. Monroe, K.D. Robichaux http://www.ilovenovels.com/to-have-and-to-hold-read-online-c-c-monroe-k-d-robichaux Mon, 08 Feb 2021 19:09:08 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/to-have-and-to-hold-read-online-c-c-monroe-k-d-robichaux Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Romance, Virgin Authors: C.C. Monroe, K.D. Robichaux Advertisement

Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 110(@200wpm)___ 88(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >24

Read Online Books/Novels:	To Have and to Hold
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	C.C. Monroe, K.D. Robichaux
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B08S7VNDW4
Book Information:
We were warned about the seven-year itch. It never came —thank God. But nobody warned us about what can come between man and wife when life gets in the way. Kids, jobs, jealousy, and more. I was afraid the new woman he hired was going to fuel that jealousy inside me. She wanted him, and I knew it, felt it. I couldn't miss those green eyes looking him over as if he were prey. He was the most prominent plastic surgeon on the Vegas Strip; he saw beautiful women every day. But would this one, the leggy brunette who so obviously wanted to wreck the home I wasn't sure was already broken or not, snake her way in? Now I had to compete for the love of my life on the eve of our last attempt to save our marriage—our vow renewal ceremony. It was time to remind my husband I wasn’t just a mom and housewife. I was the woman who tamed the beast, and I’d do it again.
Books by Author:	C.C. Monroe, K.D. Robichaux

Chapter 1

Scarlett

Eight years ago

“Pretty is the beginning. Perfection is the goal,” I whisper to myself in my visor mirror outside of Pierce Plastic Surgery Center located on the Las Vegas Strip. It’s a hot summer day, the blistering heat sitting at a thirst-inducing 106 degrees. I look my face over one more time, knowing I plan to have a consultation on my nose and my lips today.

The city of sin is what most people call it, but really, it’s the city of sin and beauty, and to make it here or find someone worthy, Mother always said, “You must do whatever it takes.” She tells me that daily with gusto. I’m only twenty-two, and I don’t think I look that bad. I’m no beast to look at, but I guess there are some things I could… fix up, if you will.

I have piercing blue eyes that most people compare to the Mediterranean Sea. My nose seems fitting for my face, but Mother points out the tip and how it curves up a bit too much. My lips are not small, but they’re not large and voluptuous. My blonde hair is mid-length, recently touched up at the roots, like I do every six weeks. I don’t dare go past the scheduled time or my mother will notice, and noticing me not keeping up with her ageless beauty isn’t something a Wells woman would do.

I would like to say I know where this all comes from—this deep-seated need to chase outer perfection, but Mother says it’s a choice, not a burden. Maybe her parents talked down to her? I don’t know; my grandparents passed when I was too young to remember.

Maybe my biological father? Who knows. He walked out the moment my mother said she was pregnant. Or maybe it really is just about timeless beauty and grace. Has this created heavy tension and strain in my relationship with my mother? Yes. But that wouldn’t matter to her. She’s too busy bouncing from husband to husband, the richest of the rich on the Las Vegas Strip.

Climbing out of the car, I’m greeted with instant heat, and not the humid kind; more like a blow dryer straight to your face. Adjusting my Louis Vuitton sunglasses, I grab the same brand purse and look myself over in the reflection of the car window. I went with a white bodycon dress and nude Louboutins.

I notice men looking at me as I make my way around the sleek all-black glass building, and I ignore the catcalls. I don’t want attention from men; it’s not my top priority. I have goals that live outside Mother’s demands that I maintain an appearance of straight perfection. I want to go to school, earn a degree in business, maybe own my own one day. Who knows. I bartend for now, four nights a week at Coyote Ugly, and I stash away those tips to hopefully get through business school without my mother’s help.

Mother would never let me go to school. Wells women don’t lift a finger; men do it for them. But that’s not me. I’m no shallow woman. I would like to distance myself and get a life of my own. Be free from this idea that I’m not allowed to step out of the squeaky-clean bubble Linette Wells created for me—better yet, forced me to climb into.

Entering the lobby, I enjoy the distinguished sound when the heels of my expensive shoes hit the even more expensive flooring. Straight ahead, I see the glass doors with the elegant writing Pierce Plastic Surgery Center. The heels clack on the floor, and with my head held high, I walk in the room as if I own it. That’s also something a Wells woman must do—command the room.

“Welcome! Are you Ms. Wells?” the receptionist summons me, and I give her a sweet smile.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Perfect. We see you filled out the new patient paperwork online, so all I will need is a copy of your license.” Her name is Rose, according to her name tag. Surprisingly, she doesn’t look at all like a receptionist who works here. Beautiful, of course, because all women are, but she’s older. Dare I say her sixties? It doesn’t look to me like she’s had work done, but I will say she’s aged beautifully.

Now that?

That is elegance to me.

Handing her my identification card, I wait patiently as she scans it in. Giving it back to me, she offers me some sparkling water, which I decline with a shake of my head.

“No, thank you. I’ll just have a seat. Thank you so much, Rose.”

She seems shocked at my politeness. “Well, you are very welcome, my dear. Dr. Pierce is with a client and should be finished in a moment. I will bring you back when he’s ready.”

“No rush.” With one more soft smile, I tuck my blonde hair behind my ear and take a seat on the plush white seat in the modern waiting room.

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A Lesson in Blackmail – Black Mountain Academy Read Online K.D. Robichaux http://www.ilovenovels.com/a-lesson-in-blackmail-black-mountain-academy-read-online-k-d-robichaux Sat, 10 Oct 2020 19:16:50 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/a-lesson-in-blackmail-black-mountain-academy-read-online-k-d-robichaux Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Romance Authors: K.D. Robichaux Advertisement

Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)

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Read Online Books/Novels:	A Lesson in Blackmail - Black Mountain Academy
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	K.D. Robichaux
Language:	English
Book Information:
I’ve made it my life’s mission to make the school librarian squirm. This school is mine—literally, my family built Black Mountain Academy generations ago—and I own everything in it. And I, Nathaniel Black IV, won’t stop until that includes her. She just started this year, my senior year, her first job right out of college. She calls it her dream job, but I’ve had the sick pleasure of making my study period with her every day more a nightmare. I’m fixated on her, obsessed with her, and all I want is to feel the skittish little mouse beneath me. I can’t get her out of my head, not even while partying at my friend’s house, every girl vying for my attention. But they don’t stand a chance, not when my focus is on Ms. Evelyn Richards. She makes me feel… things I don’t understand. Possessive yet… protective. I can f— with her, but no one else can. Compulsion strikes, the other half of my disorder, and that night I set out to find where she lives. And what I discover changes both our lives. The perfect information for blackmail. The perfect secret to hold over her head to get what I want. Her. A Lesson in Blackmail is a full-length novel in the Black Mountain Academy series. It is a crossover standalone with KD Robichaux's Club Alias series.
Books by Author:	K.D. Robichaux

Chapter 1

Nate

Skittish little mouse. That’s what she is. With her thick-rimmed glasses perched on her cute, slightly upturned nose. Her light-brown hair falls around her face, and she doesn’t bother pushing it back, instead using it as a curtain to shield herself. When someone approaches her circulation desk here in the school library, Ms. Richards quietly helps them with a small smile on her face, her full lips slightly twitching in the corners with nervousness, even though she’s supposed to be the authority figure here. This is her domain, as Black Mountain Academy’s librarian. Yet, she reacts to us students as if we’re the boss of her.

Skittish little mouse.

I sit at a long wooden table surrounded by five other chairs filled with fellow upper crust students in my class. My six-three frame takes up more than my half of this side of the table, my arm laying across the back of Lindy’s chair next to me. She’s talking across me to Reese Trenton, who’s pretty much the only true friend I’ve got in this place. Everyone else just wants a piece of me, being Nathaniel Jacobson Black IV, great-grandson of the founding father of Black Mountain Academy. Hell, our family founded Black Mountain—period. Lindy’s hand frequently brushes against my abs, even as she tries to flirt with Trenton, leaning over me to get closer to the both of us. Fucking ho. She’s slept with three quarters of the swim team, me included.

I allow a second to think about if she knows we all call her an initiation to the team, not that she’d care. She wears her skank status like a badge of honor.

But my mind quickly turns back to who I’m actually infatuated with.

Ms. Richards.

Ms. Evelyn Richards.

Evie to her fellow staff members.

She’s younger than the rest of the teachers. Twenty-two, maybe twenty-three. Yet she seems so much younger than even my eighteen years. She radiates purity, innocence, and it calls to the darkness inside me that wants to dirty her up.

My favorite part of the day is study hall, when I get to come to the library and fuck with her. I live for the hour in which I get to make her squirm. Nothing is better than leaning far over the circulation desk, forcing her to meet my eyes, only inches away from her delicate features, and asking the virtuous Ms. Richards in a low, gravelly voice where I can find a book on the Kama Sutra. And then hearing her stutter trying to get the words out that nothing like that can be found in the academy’s library.

I’m sure half the things I say and do to her could be labeled as sexual harassment, but who’s going to turn me in? The descendant of the very people she works for.

So I sit here and stare at her, like I always do, watching her try to ignore the heat of my gaze I know she feels, because every once in a while, she can’t help but to look up and check to see if I’m still staring.

“Stop being a creeper,” Trenton tells me when Lindy finally gives up and turns to face Megan in the other direction, and he punches me in the arm closest to him. “You’re going to make that poor woman piss herself one of these days.”

“It’s just too easy,” I murmur, catching her purse her lips as if she heard my voice but is still fighting not to glance this way.

“I’ve done some fucked up shit in my day, but this? This is low, man. Pick on someone your own size. She’s like… half of you.”

I can see him shake his head in my peripheral vision, never taking my eyes off Ms. Richards.

I smirk. “There’s just something about her. She’s nothing like the girls we’ve grown up with. The hos we’re surrounded by,” I tell him low enough only he can hear. “She’s so innocent-looking. So quiet.”

“Well… she is a librarian. It’s kind of in her MO to be quiet. And innocent? I don’t know about all that. Don’t they say it’s the quiet ones you need to watch out for? I bet she’s a freak in the—”

Two things happen simultaneously at that moment. Ms. Richards turns a startled expression our way, having clearly heard Trenton’s assessment, and the bell rings, cutting off what he was about to say and indicating study hall has come to an end.

But I don’t move. My eyes narrow on her flustered features. What was she so startled by in his words? That two young men were talking about her in a sexual light, or was it that Trenton hit the nail on the head with his warning about the quiet ones?

She whips around to face away from us when she sees my measuring look, and I finally glance away from her to gather my books and stuff them in my backpack hanging on the back of my chair as I stand. I stick my pen behind one ear and lace my arms through the straps of my bag before shoving my seat under the table like a fucking gentleman, rolling my eyes when everyone else besides Trenton just leaves theirs out for anyone to trip on, for Ms. Richards to do their dirty work. He knows this shit makes me crazy and is a good enough friend not to fuck with me.

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