Who Wants to Lock Down a Billionaire? (Love Under Lockdown Book 17) by Jamie Knight

Author:Jamie Knight [Knight, Jamie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-09-30T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven - Adam

The rhythm of my feet was steady as I ran along, a thumping that matched that of my heart as I tried to get my adrenaline going. The view wasn’t quite the same as at the club but was still nothing to sneeze at. Thick green forest, dropped off into a vast ocean vista.

The music was the same, however. My workout playlist was set long ago, arranged alphabetically, from Annihilator to Hammerfall. There were few things better than metal to get the body moving.

Sufficiently jacked up on brain chemicals, it was to the kitchen to make breakfast for the two of us. Morgan was still snoozing softly when I vacated the bed. I thought it best to let her sleep. She’d had a big night.

I’d learned to cook from my mother, a skill she had picked up as the oldest of eight kids, expected to basically be a back-up mom to the other seven. That fact went a long way to explaining why she herself had only had one kid – me – and even that one was more or less by accident. She never seemed to regret it, though.

“It seems odd, right?” I asked the camera humming in the corner of the west wall, up near the ceiling.

The producers, up to that point, honestly thought I didn’t know about them. To the contrary, though, I knew where they all were and had already removed the ones from my bedroom and the bathroom.

“Shouldn’t my pet be cooking for me? I must say, that shows a narrow mind on the subject of S&M. It’s not your fault really. Shit media ruined it for everyone. Fact is, the job of a Dom, a real Dom, not a disguised psychopath or a poser, is to take care of their submissive. Domination requires a duty of care, part of which is making sure the sub is eating properly. In fact, regular meals, often under supervision, are often a major part of power exchange relationships.”

I paused for dramatic effect, letting my paradigm shattering words really sink into the hearts and minds of the audience. Assuming it all made it into the final cut. I had no such hope for the producers. Their hearts were made of ice and their heads were largely composed of high-grade concrete.

“You may ask yourselves when a manly man such as I learned how to cook like a French gourmet chef. If so, I can only suggest you hop back into your time machines and return to the Victorian era.”

It was a little game I thought to play. The producers claimed to want “reality” but were really only interested in the juicy stuff that would thrill the audience while also confirming their preconceived notions.

So, I would go to where I knew the cameras were live and plant what I had come to think of as ‘truth bombs.’ Little bursts of damaging facts meant to pepper the regular footage, often in hope of potentially ruining an otherwise perfectly usable bit of footage.

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