Strictly Yours: Hooded Pleasures, Book 3 (10 page)

She’d noticed his wincing every now and then when he rolled his shoulder, his lips pressed into a tight line as he put the pain to the side. Jen backed off without saying a word.

Maybe he noticed the change in her behavior, maybe he didn’t. She wasn’t going to give him the choice, make him consider safe-wording out or worse, injuring himself out of selfish pride.

It was up to her to know where the limits were.

A good Domme knew when to push and when not to push.

Jen allowed herself a satisfied sigh as her own sweat cooled. A quick tug brought the blanket up over them both, wrapping them in a loose cocoon as they recovered.

She reached behind and undid the lock on his collar, wrapping it into a tight leather circle before placing it on the table.

Nathan mumbled something before falling silent again. His closed eyes twitched, showing the light sleep he’d gone into.

Jen allowed her mind to wander.

Her entire world had changed substantially in the last month.

But nothing had changed.

She was still Danielle.

And Jennifer.

And everything in between.

“What are you thinking about?” The low heavy whisper brought her down to earth with a crash so loud in her mind she looked around the room for the source.

“I can hear you.” Nathan yawned and stroked her arm.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be thinking out loud.”

Nathan chuckled. “Excusable. Are things okay?”

“Yes. Thank you for asking.” Jen passed him a granola bar. “Eat.”

He tore the wrapper with his teeth and took a bite, talking around the nutty wafer. “I understand why you’d be nervous because things changed between us, that you told me things you haven’t told anyone else. But I don’t want anyone else.” He locked eyes with her. “Only you, Jennifer. Only you.”

The emotion smashed into her heart, stealing her breath.

Unable to speak, she pulled him close and hid her face in his hair to conceal the handful of tears breaking free.

* * * * *

Jen sung loudly and off-key with the songs booming out of her car stereo all the way home, her mind racing over possible future scenarios with Nathan. She might not be able to take him to the club, but there was so much she could do for him, with him that would duplicate the scene.

Give him what he wanted but couldn’t have.

Her life wasn’t perfect, but right now, it was damned good.

The shadows nagging the edges of her mind weren’t gone, but they were a whole lot dimmer than they’d been a day ago.

The phone rang as she pulled into her parking spot. A fast glance showed it was HP.

“Hello?”

“Danielle? Tracy, here.”

Jen frowned as she slid out of the car and turned to grab her backpack off the front seat. “I’m okay. Did I forget to—”

“Charles just called and canceled his contract.” There was no explanation.

There didn’t need to be.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jen murmured as she hefted the pack onto her right shoulder. “Did he say why? Did he have any complaints about me?”

Mentally, she ran over her last session with Charles, only a few days ago. It’d been a routine visit, and she hadn’t picked up any bad vibes. His place, his playroom and his secrecy assured.

“He didn’t say anything other than he wanted to cancel his contract with HP,” Tracy said. “You know how it goes. If he had a problem with you, he would have said something or asked for another Domme.”

Jen imagined the dispatcher’s neutral shrug.

“I asked for the record, but he said he needed to move on, and that was that. Sometimes they leave without saying much,” Tracy added. “I’ve had enough of those to know not to get upset when that’s all we can get. Don’t worry about it.”

Jen shook her head as she headed for the garage elevator. “I know. I just hate losing anyone.”

“Don’t think of it as losing a client. Think of it as he’s moving on to something better. Probably see him at the club in a few weeks at the end of some lucky woman’s leash.
” Tracy laughed softly. “You know they always leave in the end.”

The elevator lurched along with Jen’s stomach.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for the update.” She punched the floor button.

“Should I tell Wendy you’re open to taking on another client?”

The question jolted Jen out of her mourning for Charles.

“Tell her—” She paused trying to gather her thoughts. “Tell her I’ll have to think about it.”

“Roger that. Sorry for being the bearer of bad news. Have a good day.” Tracy hung up as the elevator settled on Jen’s floor.

They always leave in the end.

Chapter Ten

Jen walked down the hallway, forcing herself to put her feelings for Charles away. He’d been a good man, a lovely man who pined for the day he’d have the nerve to go to a club, and she’d been lucky to have him.

She guessed today was that day.

Maybe she’d see him at Boots ’n’ Chains. She wouldn’t show she knew him, of course—it was a standing rule at HP when a client moved on, they weren’t to openly acknowledge knowing him if they met him or her in a social setting—but she’d be glad to see him happy and secure in his own skin.

Jen opened the apartment door and headed straight for the kitchen, feeling the familiar ache in her muscles.

The emotional crash after a session wasn’t a new thing for her, but this was much stronger, the combination of losing Charles and Nathan’s confession creating an internal roller coaster ride for her.

The harsh truth was she wasn’t heartbroken over losing Charles. It was almost as if she’d taken a step back from him, away from him during the past few weeks.

Jen wondered if it’d shown during her visits and if that was why he’d canceled their arrangement. Maybe her feelings for Nathan had come out, influencing her time with Charles. She was glad he’d found the strength to move on but at the back of her mind a niggling worry started—she’d pushed him out of the nest too soon because of her feelings.

The truth was she wanted to be with Nathan, loved being with Nathan, and he loved being with her.

The question was if she wanted to take it to the next level.

Was she ready to make more of a commitment? Was he? Just because he’d said so wasn’t a promise—and she’d seen and experienced many such statements while people were recovering, coming out of subspace.

She couldn’t hold him to it.

But there had to be something to it, and if she could build on that—

Jen dropped the pink backpack on the floor and began to set up the coffee machine.

Energy drinks might be fine for recuperation but there was nothing like a good cup of strong coffee. She had a small meal waiting in the refrigerator, fish and chips from a local fry shop that got the crispy batter just right.

Working nights had given her the usual problems with rushing to eat breakfast. To her stomach it was late in the day even after her appointment with Nathan.

Eggs and bacon seemed wrong.

Fish and chips sounded perfect.

She put the two pieces of fish and french fries on a plate and slipped it into the microwave, then set the timer. A flick of a switch turned on her coffee machine, and Jen left to unpack her toys and get changed, the routine helping to settle her thoughts.

It was sometimes a concentrated effort to leave a client and get back to her apartment, to settle herself down and deal with the desires and needs churned up during a visit.

Tonight the best recovery was a good strong cuppa and a good meal.

The coffee was ready when she stepped out of the shower, the thick, lovely scent drifting through the apartment. She liked her coffee like her men—strong and delicious.

The microwave beeped for attention, signaling the rest of her meal was ready.

Jen pulled down her largest mug and filled it. She added a dash of milk to the coffee and plated up the fish and chips with a squirt of ketchup on the side for dipping. A few steps brought her into the living room and the soft comfy couch she adored.

She swept the magazines on the coffee table to one side to make room for the plate and mug, focusing on the stone coasters. They’d been a present from her mother, and the full set of four rotated through the living room on various side tables. The Native Canadian images were supposed to be some spirit animals, but years of soaking up excess liquid had turned them into weak ghosts of the original images.

As her meal cooled, Jen picked up her remote control and clicked through the television stations. It was early in the day, and she’d try to stay up as late as she could to keep her schedule going.

Sunday night was her shift off from work, but she didn’t want to break her routine by going to bed no matter how tired she might be after her sessions with Nathan. Best to stay up as she would regularly and then go to sleep, waking up on time to spend her night with whatever movies or television series she could stream directly from her computer.

Jen lifted her mug to her mouth to drink.

The local noon news was finishing up.

The anchorman talked about the weather, the traffic, the crime blotter—

She almost jumped off the sofa.

The hot liquid sloshed over the ceramic edge and dripped onto her cream-colored robe as she stared at the screen.

The news report was short and simple, the reporter droning over the still images of Charles Litten, prominent Toronto business lawyer, who had been mugged last night. The images were horrifying enough; the fact she knew him sent her stomach into convulsions.

Charles.

Her Charles.

He lay in the hospital bed and tried to smile at the camera capturing every moment of his agony, failing horribly.

The list of injuries was short but powerful.

Concussion.

A black eye to go with his broken nose.

His broken left arm sat in a cast, fingers sticking out on the hospital sheets.

No suspects at this time.

As the news anchor skipped to the next report, Jen put the mug down before she dropped it, the strength gone from her hands.

She shook her head in disbelief, trying to match up the injured man on the phone with the sweet, gentle one she’d seen only a few days ago.

How horrible. I hope he’s better soon.

Jen sighed and finished off her meal, noting the news had changed to a cooking competition show. The variations on a grilled cheese sandwich diminished to a low murmuring as she replayed recent events in her mind, focusing in on Charles.

The timing was odd. Charles canceled his contract within a few hours of his being assaulted.

Coincidence or—

She carried the plate and mug into the kitchen. The coffee was still hot as she refreshed her mug.

It could be nothing.

Or it could be something very, very important.

You could call Wendy—

Jen pulled the milk from the refrigerator.

And how much do you tell her? About Nathan? About the two of you?

About—

Her mind began to spin sideways with the possibility she was somehow responsible for this.

Tanner’s ghost chuckled from the shadows of her mind.

Jen gripped the counter, refusing to give into her fear.

Let’s think this over.

Was the mugging an isolated incident, or had he gotten in over his head in some club? Had he thought he was ready to deal with another Domme and forgot his safe word?

This doesn’t involve you
, her inner voice yelped.
Once he canceled his contract, it was all over. You’re not allowed to contact him.

Bullshit
,
she snapped back.
He might have cut you loose, but you were friends, good friends for almost a year. Charles doesn’t owe you an explanation for going his own way, but there’s nothing wrong with being concerned for his wellbeing. Nothing wrong with at least making contact and letting him know you’re worried and sending good wishes for a fast recovery.

Especially if it could be your fault.

She felt nauseated.

Could it be—

She shook her head in an attempt to banish the thought.

It didn’t work.

The only way you’re going to know is if you talk to Charles. Get more details.

Find out what happened.

Jen walked back into the living room and sat down. She tugged at her robe, unsure what to do.

I can’t go see him in the hospital. It wouldn’t be right—I could trigger something even worse happening to him. Family, friends, who knows who could be there?

I can’t call Wendy. She’ll tell me not to go and they’ll handle it themselves.

If they even know he’s hurt… What if they don’t? Would someone at HP make the connection?

I have to make sure he’s okay.

I have to find out what’s going on.

A wisp of an idea crept into her mind, slowly evolving into a full-fledged thought.

She picked up the phone.

There was one other option.

She just wasn’t sure he’d agree to it.

* * * * *

He’d enjoyed his drink and his bath and now lay on his living room couch in his underwear, wanting nothing else than to relax with his mind filled with lazy, dozy memories of his session with Jennifer.

The phone rang.

Nathan plucked it off the side table and brought it up.

Caller ID blocked.

He smiled. He was in the right mood to deal with some silly telemarketer.

“Hello?”

“Nathan?”

The familiar voice on his phone snapped his calm relaxed world to pieces.

“What’s wrong?” He sat up, the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight. “Are you in trouble?”

“No. Yes. Not yet.” Jen sighed. “I couldn’t think of anyone else to call.”

It wasn’t the most comforting thing he’d ever heard but it’d have to do.

“What’s going on?” Nathan knew this was against the rules, so against the rules as to shatter them into a thousand pieces. He stood up and headed for his bedroom. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” The words helped calm him as he reached for his jeans. “But I need your help.”

“Okay.” Nathan tapped the speakerphone function and put the cell down as he continued to dress. “Talk to me.”

“I saw a news report about a lawyer. Charles Litten. Got mugged pretty badly and he’s in the hospital.”

Nathan tugged on a black sweatshirt. “Okay. Bad thing to have happen, but he’s alive, and that’s a good thing. Hospital’ll take good care of him. Is he a buddy of yours?”

“In a way.” The hesitation in her voice dragged the sentence out for days. “He’s one of mine. Like you.”

Nathan froze.

Like you.

Another submissive.

“He canceled his contract with HP a few hours ago. I got the call driving back here from your place.” Jen paused. “He told Tracy it didn’t have anything to do with me.”

The pangs of jealousy dug deep into his skin. “He’s a fool for leaving you. He’ll never find a better Domme.”

Jen chuckled, and he felt the claws start to lighten up. “You’re not an unbiased source for these things.”

“And that’s not a bad thing.” Nathan cleared his throat. “But that’s not the problem. You’re wondering if one has anything to do with the other,” he said. “The mugging and his canceling the contract on the same day.”

“Yes. I’m not a big fan of coincidences. I’d go to the hospital myself, but I don’t know if they’ll let me see him, not being family and all. And I don’t know what sort of mood he’ll be in if he sees me.” Jen drew a shallow breath. “I don’t want to ask you to do this, but you’re my only option.”

“You think it’s connected to Tanner?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I know I need to find out more.”

“I understand. I can’t blame you—it smells a bit fishy to me.” Nathan reached for his shoes. “I assume this isn’t approved by HP.”

“No,” she said softly. “I don’t want to call the office when it might well be nothing. I’m already over the line by asking you to go see him. But the only one who can tell us is Charles, and I can’t think of any other way to find out the truth.”

“In for a dime, in for a dollar.” He couldn’t help chuckling. “But we’re going to be snapping the contract in half no matter what happens.” He listened to the silence on the line for a long minute before continuing. “Because as soon as I tell Charlie I know you, that
we
know you, it’s going to break the contract all three of us signed. Confidentiality gone.”

“Damn it,” Jen said. “But…” She fell silent.

“This doesn’t have to be as bad as it looks.” Nathan walked back to the living room and sat down to finish tying his shoes. “It might be exactly what it seems with no connection between the two. I hate to say it, but muggings happen all the time. Nothing more than bad luck on Charlie’s part.” His cop’s instinct blared full volume that there was something horribly wrong here, but he couldn’t burden her with a guess based on his feelings.

“Let me go and see what I can dig up. My badge will get me a whole lot further than most people. I’ll…” He paused and looked at the phone display again.

“I wanted to say I’d call you back, but your number is blocked,” Nathan said.

“Company rules.” Jen let out a half-laugh. “You’re not supposed to know who I am outside of the basement, remember?”

“Then how about you call me back?” He spoke without thinking, his mind already on the forthcoming interview and how to handle it. “Give me three hours to get the info. I should be able to get to the hospital and back by then.”

She hesitated for only a few seconds. “Okay. Be careful.” The line went silent.

He reached for his leather jacket hanging on a peg by the door.

It might be a total coincidence.

But if it wasn’t…

* * * * *

St. Joseph’s was a landmark hospital in the downtown area. The old main building had sprouted almost a dozen branches over the decades it’d been in existence. Nathan knew it well from his rookie days when he drove by it on patrol and visited it at least once a week to deal with bar fights or domestic violence calls. The little bit of green lawn in the front had long been trampled under by commuters, the attempt at gentrifying the area an utter failure and now home to a growing crop of cigarette butts. Nathan drove on by without pausing, the small lot already filled with vehicles from emergency patients and staff.

He found another lot a block away, the attendant watching television on a small set inside the ill-insulated booth. Nathan tossed him a handful of two-dollar coins and stuck the small fluorescent orange square on his dashboard before walking back to the street.