Clean Welds Dirty Mind – Good With His Hands Read Online M.K. Moore

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Insta-Love, Virgin Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 68(@200wpm)___ 55(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
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Kent Beaufoy

From the moment she texted me, I wanted her. She didn't feel the same as any other woman. I tried to be her friend first, craving her in a way I never had before. I'm good at my job, but my mind wanders. All I can think about is her. All the thoughts I have of her are dirty. Filthy. Depraved. There are many, many creative ways I'm going to use to make her mine.

Belle Fisher

I was determined to have a career in fashion, but that was just a dream. The only job I could get was in a Baton Rouge construction office. Most of the guys in the office are just awful, but there's one I can't get off my mind. My dirty, dirty mind. I know I should stop this and push him away, but he's soooo good with his hands, among other things...

Will Kent and Belle make it? I mean, yeah, M.K. Moore wrote this, but in this case, it's about the dirty journey to get there.

Whether they're construction workers, carpenters, roofers, plumbers, welders, mechanics, electricians, factory machinists, metalworkers, trash collectors, cement workers, movers, heavy-equipment operators, tow truck drivers, oil rig workers, or canoe builders, these blue-collar heroes all have in two things in They’re good with their hands, and they’re not afraid to get dirty. Really, really dirty. Join your favorite instalove authors for 15 steamy love stories featuring blue-collar men who work hard and fall hard when they meet the women who steal their hearts.

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

Chapter One

Kent Beaufoy

a

“Marla, you’re going to be late for school!” I shout to my youngest sister as I pull my work boots on. I have five younger sisters that I’ve raised for the last ten years. I was twenty when my parents died in an accident where they were hit by a drunk driver. Marla was in the car with them. She had six broken bones and is scarred inside and out from that night. My sisters still live in the home I bought back when I had no business buying more than a fucking loaf of bread. My sisters are my life. Everything I did was for them. There was no way in hell our family was being split up. The twins, Tasha and Marsha, are now twenty; Alisha is nineteen; Portia is eighteen; Marla is sixteen and the only one still in high school; At twenty-three, I was two years out of college and still living at home. I always knew I wanted to own my construction business, but that hasn’t happened so far. I had a Bachelor of Science in Construction Management from LSU but hadn’t found a job yet. All that changed quickly, especially once Marla was released from the hospital. Once upon a time, we lived in a huge house in the good part of town. Hurricane Katrina destroyed it, and their homeowner's insurance didn’t cover everything. So they downsized and moved us all across town. My parents rented the house we lived in, and the property manager said the leaseholder had to be older than twenty-five, so I went on the hunt for a house that would accommodate us all for years. Buying was my only option because New Orleans is a party town. Everywhere I looked for a rental, it was twenty-five and up. Desperate, I applied for a mortgage and got it, but it was at ten percent interest, well above the national average of four percent at the time. Beggars can’t be choosers. I will be paying this house off until I die. I know that. My parents had managed to save up about twenty-five thousand dollars which was in their savings account that went to me, but they had about six thousand in their checking account. Their life insurance payouts paid for the funeral and left me about a thousand dollars. I used the twenty-five for the down payment on a house. However, looking back, I realize that without their hard-earned savings, I would have lost custody of my sisters. It was all on me until two years ago. I didn’t mind the hard work. Then Tasha turned eighteen and started working at that time, right when she first started college. She told me she was waitressing, but a buddy of mine told me the truth. I made her stop when I realized she was stripping. She forked over her tips for bills; I couldn’t have that, especially after she told me she hated the way her customers treated her. She liked the dancing and the money, but what kind of brother would I be if I let her continue doing something that made her feel awful? I figured out how to get food stamps real quick as well as any other government assistance I could; as soon as I was able, I got off all that, and we’ve thrived as a family. I finally found a job in my chosen field, and I’ve been there for nine years now. My specialty is welding but specifically underwater welding.

The great thing about my job is that my jobs get sent to me via text. I show up at various construction sites in Baton Rouge, New Orleans, and anywhere between the two cities. I rarely have reason to go into the offices of the Baker Brothers Construction company, which are in Baton Rouge, but I know I have to sometime this week. I need to fill out several forms for my insurance, but today won’t be that day. I have to be at four different sites by six tonight. At least they are all in New Orleans.

“Stop yelling at me,” Marla says, coming into the living room, plopping down next to me, and grabbing her chosen shoes for the day. We don’t wear shoes in the house; it cuts down on how often we need to mop, which is something we all hate doing. I designed most of the furniture in the house, including the shoe bench we’re sitting on by the front door. I learned to be frugal; the only large purchase I’ve made besides the house was two used Hondas Accords for Marsha and Alisha. I drive my dad’s truck which was brand new in 2013, so it’s still going strong. My mom’s car was the one totaled in the accident that claimed their lives, so the insurance company replaced it with a model year newer, so it’s a 2010 Honda Accord that Tasha drives. Right now, Portia hates to drive, though she can and does when necessary. She mostly catches rides with her sisters or her boyfriend. I’m afraid Marla will never drive. She can barely tolerate being a passenger in a car, let alone driving one.



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