Under His Suit – Love Under Lockdown Read online Jamie Knight

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors:
Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Under His Suit - Love Under Lockdown

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Jamie Knight

Language:
English
Book Information:

My new boss is to die for. But can I risk my prestigious award to be with him?
I’m thrilled when I win a graphic design award. It means flying to New York City for an acceptance ceremony. Then I meet Harlan, CEO of the company sponsoring the event.
He’s a lot older than me, and too cocky for my tastes. But he’s also handsome, rich and ripped. His chiseled muscles are visible even under his suit.
A pandemic strikes and my flight back home is canceled. Harlan says those of us who are stranded can stay at his hotel. And we can even work for his company as interns during quarantine.
It’s a great opportunity but I can’t stop staring at his hot physique. And then we all go swimming together in the pool. I finally get a chance to see him with a different kind of suit on—his bathing suit.
I can’t help but think he wants me as badly as I want him. But that would put my award, and his career, in jeopardy. Is our fling too dangerous to survive?
Or will we risk it all to stay together even after lockdown?
Books by Author:

Jamie Knight



Chapter 1

The AirTrain whisked above stagnant streams of traffic on the Van Wyck below, carrying a few passengers traveling from JFK Airport into New York City, barreling over rows of dark Uber cars flecked with the bright yellow and green lights of regular cabs. As the modern monorail passed through the suburban sprawl of Nassau County, the sky was clear enough to allow the gleaming heights of Manhattan in the distance to bound into view.

Victoria Stadler stood with her carry-on bag at her feet, gazing out at what lay ahead with a degree of expectant mirth. A junior majoring in graphic design at the University of Wisconsin, she had been invited to NextThing.Net’s Headquarters to receive an award for a Virtual Media Design Contest she’d won for a multimedia presentation she’d been working on ever since high school.

Contest winners had reservations at the W Hotel in midtown. Tory planned to check in, have dinner and get some rest. In the morning, she and the other winners would be joining NextThing.Net’s design team for a series of interactive workshops. The next day they would recreate their presentations for the media and marketing design firm’s elite team of designers and CEOs during the day and then attend an awards ceremony in the evening.

It was her first trip to New York City without family and Tory, as she preferred to be called, had been given some warnings about men and New York City, first by her mother and then by Jude Coleman, whom she had known ever since freshman year.

She had dated him but was done with that. She found him boring and hadn’t given up her virginity to him. She wanted a real man – an older, experienced, handsome, exciting man – to be the one to take it.

At 5’8” and blonde, Tory was hard to miss. She was a robust and curvy size 14, which always seemed to draw a lot of attention to her ample bust and buttocks. Her eyes were a light blue green, her lashes practically translucent, often invisible in the afternoon sun.

Although she merely wore a pair of blue jeans, a light blue suede jacket and her favorite boots, she could feel the shameless gaze of a man whose eyes followed the slightest movement and shift of her curves as if he were deriving something essential to life merely by looking at her. This was nothing new, though; Tory was used to it.

At the Linden Blvd. Station, a driver took her bag and walked her out to his car after she found him holding up a small dry erase board, which had “V Stadler” written on it in boxy green capital letters. She felt like an important person, a successful professional woman – and this was not something she was used to.

As the car got closer to the city, Tory became excited seeing the hustle and bustle of New York City as soon as the black car emerged from the Midtown tunnel. It was late afternoon and already she could see the bars opening, happy hour signage being propped up, groups of friends laughing. In slower traffic, she’d gaze out at the confident stride and trendy heels worn by her much more fashionable peers.

At red lights, her eyes would linger upon the gestures of effective-looking successful men as they gave orders remotely to people by phone while strolling the city browsing bargains and people watching.

There had been talk of the Coronavirus back at Bascom Hall on her college’s campus. Apparently, the epidemic was spreading rapidly in New York City, making her wonder how she’d spend her free night and day before going back to Madison.

Living at home through her college years didn’t often afford her the kind of space for serious personal exploration that she’d prefer to have. There were many parties to go to on campus, but she had often preferred the solitude that allowed her to focus on her work.

In many ways, she considered the private time the trip itself presented her with as some small recompense for the years of studious pursuit and valued the prize, her hometown’s accolades and the lavish ceremony to come more than she valued getting drunk or stoned with a bunch of frat boys. She often felt out of place in college and believed that New York City would be a more fitting place for her.

Her check-in process went smoothly, and she loved the room. Careful not to mess up the sharp appearance of it, she stripped and showered. She felt completely relaxed and began to wonder if, now that she was far away from Jude, if she might meet a man worth of her many fantasies.

Enjoying the water’s warmth and fragrances of tiny products provided by the hotel, Tory closed her eyes and softly began to rub three of her fingertips between her thighs and then over the soft tiny protrusion that made her moan. She pictured the faces of some of the businessmen on the street, the power in their shoulders, the boxy squareness of male hands exploring her body.

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