Strictly Yours: Hooded Pleasures, Book 3 (2 page)

After finishing up, Jen waved at the doorman and checked her mailbox before going upstairs. She unlocked the apartment door and walked in, sorting through her mail. Pizza fliers and fitness center ads made up the majority of the stack along with a letter from her mother.

Jen shook her head as she read through the pages. She’d set up an email account for her parents and knew they had the computer skills to use it, but her mother insisted on handwriting long, lengthy letters. To her, it was keeping a tradition alive—as soon as they’d moved from Toronto to Vancouver, the tomes had started arriving every few weeks, detailing their retirement adventures. She’d only gotten one or two emails from her mother in the months they’d been out West.

Her father, on the other hand, was a notorious online word-game fanatic. She’d played him once and been thoroughly beaten within the hour, her humiliation only made worse by him posting the game and their scores for everyone to see.

She put the letter down on the kitchen counter to be read later when she had gone through her usual routine after visiting one of her men.

She was mentally and physically exhausted.

A job well done
, she complimented herself as she headed down the hall.

Jen tossed the backpack into the corner of her bedroom before stripping down and hopping into the shower. The tang of desire she usually had when leaving Nathan or any of her other men had disappeared, tamped down by her mother’s note. No matter how old you were, there was still something about anything to do with your parents that could kill a libido dead in its tracks.

She shivered even though the water was scalding hot. Her parents might have moved to Vancouver and there was a whole country between them, but they could still affect how she felt with a single note. The last time, her mother had detailed her recent hip surgery with all the gory details, and Jen hadn’t been able to eat for an entire day.

After wrapping herself in a thick, fluffy white robe, she unpacked her gear and filled the sink to handwash her clothing. She placed a tray of macaroni and cheese in the microwave to reheat and settled in to clean her outfit.

Ah, the life of a Dominatrix.

You don’t read about this in those hot romance novels.

Jen laughed as she carefully hung her stockings up to dry. The bra and panties would take a little longer—she’d worked up quite the sweat in Nathan’s basement.

While other men might have built a man cave or a place to have the boys over to watch football, Nathan had decided to create his own personal dungeon.

He’d invested in a lot of lovely decorations, making her job easier when it came to setting the scene. A couch and coffee table sat in their usual places, giving her a staging area like every other living room she’d had to use.

But Nathan had moved on from the obvious. He’d added erotic art to the walls, all sensual and tasteful prints showing dominatrixes and their men.

He couldn’t afford a lot, but what he did buy was of high quality, and Jen knew he took pride in his ownership of what stood in the corner—a six-foot-high whipping post, the solid hardwood column standing on a black platform. The single metal ring set at the top was wide enough to run a chain through it, and he’d bought a lovely set of cuffs, leather padded ones that buckled tight around his wrists.

It’d taken her breath away the first time she’d seen it.

Jen was used to improvising with her other clients, making do with what the furniture would allow and what she could set up utilizing various props.

Having such an expensive toy ready for use thrilled her. The post wouldn’t have been out of place in any BDSM club, and she knew it must have cost him a pretty penny.

She made sure to use it as often as she could.

When she had first started visiting him, she’d discreetly looked around to see if he had a wife or girlfriend but hadn’t seen any evidence of either. It wouldn’t have changed their arrangement, but she would have made a note to be more careful when arriving and leaving. HP had briefed her on Nathan’s single status, but it still paid to be observant—some people didn’t want to be fully truthful when it came to what was still perceived in certain quarters as deviant urges.

Even if he’d been married and all parties concerned were fine with a Domme visiting, it could get darned awkward, according to what she’d heard. Better to avoid the situation altogether.

But Nathan lived alone, and it made it easier for her to visit without any fear of interruptions.

Nathan was a man who knew what he liked.

And she knew he liked her.

Jen grabbed a cup of coffee and the hot meal before heading to the living room with her mother’s letter. It took a minute to turn the television set on and find the classic-movie channel—they were running a day-long marathon of old musicals.

She eyed the punching bag hanging in the corner of the room, taking up a good quarter of the space available. Her workout area was small but efficient, her daily boxing routine helping her to stay in shape and to burn off any energy left over from either her night job or her work for Hooded Pleasures.

Jen settled on the sofa and balanced her bowl on her lap while handling the letter.

“Dear Jennifer,” she read aloud as she speared a thick creamy piece of elbow macaroni. Her mother never failed to write as if she were still teaching English, setting an example for anyone who might poke their head in over Jen’s shoulder and see how to construct a perfect sentence.

Her parents might be retired, but they were keeping busy. The stories of their extracurricular activities filled the page, along with people they had met and experiences shared.

Dancing, poker tournaments, cooking classes…

“Son of a—” she cursed out loud.

She picked up her cell and bashed at the screen. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the phone and waited. It rang five times before her mother picked up.

“Jennifer!” The bubbly laugh grated on her ears. “How lovely to hear—”

She didn’t have time for niceties. “Why didn’t you call and tell me you broke your leg?”

“Don’t take that tone with me. I told you in the letter. Your father said—”

“I don’t care what Dad said. This deserved a phone call.” Jen forced herself to speak slowly, pulling back her anger. “You should have called me.” She snatched up the letter and studied the date before shaking it in the air. “This is old news. You broke your leg two weeks ago?”

“Piffle. Nothing for you to be worried about. I only mentioned it because I thought you’d be interested.” She could see her mother making a dismissive hand motion.

“How did it happen?” Jen rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand.

“It’s nothing—”

“How?” she demanded.

“I missed a step on the stairs. Your father was right there. He called the ambulance and everything.” Her mother paused. “My leg’s quite itchy under the cast.”

Jen choked back her angry words. Fighting with her mother hadn’t ever resulted in anything other than a sore stomach. “Use one of those backscratchers you like to collect to get down there and scratch.”

“That’s a good idea.” The bright chirp hurt Jen’s ears. “So how’s work? Are you still at the clinic? Working nights?”

“Like I’ve been for the past three years.”

There was a sigh on the line, and Jen knew exactly where the conversation was going.

“Mom. It’s perfectly safe.”

Maybe a preemptive strike would keep her from—

“It’s still dangerous. You could have been badly injured, maybe killed.”

“But I wasn’t,” Jen replied. “I’m fine. He’s in jail, and I’m fine.” She repeated the word again.

“I don’t like you working overnight all alone.”

“I’m not alone. I’m there with the other employees, and the company put a security guard at the front after it happened. You know this.” Jen knew she was fighting a losing battle. Her mother constantly harped on the one incident.

She couldn’t blame her for being upset. Having a crazed man hold the staff at bay with a crowbar wasn’t something Jen would wish on anyone, much less her work friends.

But he’d done so, and they’d dealt with the situation.

Quite masterfully
, she said silently.

Her mother continued. “I know. But I’m still your mother, and I’m going to be concerned about these things.” She paused. “Your grandfather would be real proud of what you did. To save your friends. He would be. Proud of you taking his training to heart and using it like you did.”

The sentence set Jen aback.

“Thank you.”

It was all she could say.

“I just—” Her mother drew a sharp breath. “Some nights I just think about you and that man, that angry man—”

Jen swallowed back the lump in her throat, pushing the bad memory into the shadows of her mind. “We’re all okay. We’ve been okay for yea
rs. You know that. Don’t worry about me. Okay?”

“All right,” her mother conceded. “I’ll try.”

The rest of the conversation revolved around Jen’s single status, dotted with commentary on her father’s discovery of a local word-game club and once again asking Jen to take a vacation and come out West.

Jen promised to think about it and begged off, noting the different time zone as a reason to cut the call short. She added a deep yawn to help her argument.

Her mother told her to write letters.

It’d save money.

Jen cut the connection and stared at her cold cup of coffee.

Good grief.

She got up and reheated her mug in the microwave, sending up a silent prayer for her father, who was now at her mother’s beck and call for the next month until that leg healed.

It was impossible not to trip into the memory pond, recall the incident as if it were yesterday.

I’m fine, Mom.

It wasn’t a total lie.

It wasn’t exactly the truth.

Jen sighed and opened up her laptop.

The bookmark was still there, the website listed at the bottom of her links.

She couldn’t bring herself to delete it.

The lawyer had given her the link at their last meeting, when Tanner had been sentenced.

“Don’t share it too freely,” he warned. “It might be a public access site, but it’ll slow down if everyone starts checking on their buddy who got busted for a bag of weed. This way you’ll know when he makes parole.”

“How likely is that?” Jen asked. “Five years is five years, right?”

The short stout man shrugged. “Maybe. Depends on how many fights he gets into while inside, how he does in therapy and how he presents himself to the board.” He pressed the slip of paper into her hand. “I wouldn’t worry about it for quite a few years myself.”

She’d gone there weekly after the sentencing. Then it stretched to months, and now she hadn’t gone there for over a year.

Jen scanned the government website, noting the design changes since she’d last visited.

The basics were the same—it allowed a visitor to look up a person in the system and see where they were. A caveat warned it did not cover guilt or innocence, just if they were in the system.

She typed in Lucas Tanner’s name and clicked through to the proper link.

The result punched the air from her lungs.

Paroled.

The quibble of fear dug into her belly until she could grip it in invisible hands.

He’s out.

But he’s not an idiot.

He wouldn’t dare come after us.

She blinked, mentally running down the list of names on Tanner’s imaginary list.

He wouldn’t.

The tiny splinter of terror whimpered before she put it away.

Would he?

Suddenly the flat tire became much more than just a flat tire.

Chapter Two

“No.” Nathan shook his head as his new partner stared at the dashboard. “I know that’s how you think you should handle the situation, but this is how it goes out here in real life. Watch and learn.” He rolled down the window and waved one of the streetwalkers over. “Macy. How’s it going tonight?”

The busty woman grinned. The leopard-skin dress had seen better days, the hem ragged and worn where it stuck out under the threadbare jacket. “Going good, Nate. You?” She peered at the rookie. “Got you a sweet young thing.” She licked her lips as Henry blushed. “Delish.”

Nathan laughed. “He’s married.”

The pale woman shrugged. “So’s most of my business.”

Nathan jerked a thumb at the nearby all-night convenience store. “Clark there says you’ve been bothering his customers. Giving them a hassle when they come out.”

She pursed her lips. “Clark and his boys been the ones giving me a hard time. Wanting me to go elsewhere.” She stomped her foot, the thin black straps faded and worn. “This is my corner. Has been for three years. Long before they bought the place from Eddie.” Her face brightened for a moment at the memory. “He knew how to treat a lady.”

“I know. I was sorry he retired too.” Nathan smiled. “But you know if they start filing official complaints, we’re going to have to do a street sweep and you’re going to lose business. Everyone gets nervous and doesn’t show up for a few days, weeks, months, and then you got to start from scratch.” He pointed down the street. “How about you shift down there to the next corner for the next week, make them happy and make them feel like they’ve won. Give them some time, and then you can come back as long as you keep quiet. I’ll make sure no one else takes this spot,” he added with a jaunty wink.

The frizzy blonde wig bobbled in the dim streetlights. “Okay.” She pointed a sparkle-encrusted fingernail at his partner. “See, this man knows how to respect a working woman. You could learn from him.”

Without waiting for a response, she strutted off on six-inch stilettos into the night.

Nathan glanced over. “Honey versus vinegar.”

“But she’ll be back in a week.” Henry McDaniels shook his head. “It’s not solving anything.”

“There’s very few perfect answers out here.” Nathan gestured at the convenience store. “Owner knows if he files a complaint, he’s going to get his ass kicked some night by the pimps who run the girls. They’ll wait and jump him, harass his delivery men or key his car, basically make his life miserable. But he doesn’t want his customers getting solicited right in front of his door and doesn’t want the pimps to think they run the street. This way, everyone takes a step back and gets to save face.”

“Then we’re back here in a week.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Nathan nodded at the retreating streetwalker. “If she’s trying to hustle casual pedestrians, then maybe this corner’s not as lucrative as she says. And if there’s no money—”

“She’ll move on to the next one.” His partner nodded, a sly smile rising. “I get it.”

“And dragging her ass into the station is only going to get us hours of paperwork. Slap her with a fine, and she’ll be back out and recovering from the cost of said fine before we finish our shift.” Nathan tilted his head and eyed McDaniel. “When you’re in charge, it’s your call. You can take her in and try to shake her down, chase her pimp around Parkdale or sit here and chase off the johns. This is what I do, and it works for me and right now for the community. You understand?”

The rookie nodded. His short-cropped black hair showed his inexperience, his intense stare his enthusiasm for the job.

Nathan smiled. “Now go on in and get us some coffee. You can tell Clark the good news.”

He watched his partner head into the convenience store before glancing after Macy, who was still walking.

It’s not a perfect world.

In a perfect world, he’d be able to be honest with his friends and family about his love of being a submissive, of giving himself wholeheartedly over to a woman’s control. He’d be able to walk into a BDSM club and have no fears about being recognized, of the rumors that would start and follow him for the rest of his career.

He was a good cop. A damned good cop.

He just liked
not
being one at times.

Two more days until Danielle visited again.

Nathan smiled as his partner came back cradling two massive cups of coffee.

Only a few more days.

* * * * *

Jen pushed the clipboard forward. “Please fill out the forms here, and the doctor will be with you as soon as possible.”

The bleary-eyed mother nodded, her forehead furrowed with worry. “He’s been sick all night. Can’t keep anything down.” She gestured at her young son lying across the seats, wrapped in a thick blanket. The colorful blue-and-white images of snowmen were stained with yellow blotches.

“I didn’t know what to do. The hospital said we’d have to wait hours, they’re filled up—” She paused, and Jen saw her assessing the clinic’s appearance. “They gave us a list. You were the closest.”

The child whimpered, eyes fixed on his mother. Sweat dotted his chubby face, and he licked his lips.

“You made the right decision. We’ll take good care of him.” Jen nodded toward the refreshment area. “Please help yourself to something. There’s teabags there and hot water if you’re afraid of the evening brew.” She gave a knowing smile. “What we don’t drink, we use to resurface the parking lot.”

The woman chuckled as she headed back to sit by her ill son.

Colleen came out of a back room. “Pretty quiet tonight.” She looked at the waiting mother and child. “I was expecting a rush with the latest flu estimates. Pleased to see so few patients. As soon as she finishes signing in, I’ll see them. April’s in the back making a fresh pot of coffee.” She scrunched up her face. “Evening crew left about a thimbleful. I’ll have to talk to Dale again about his staff.”

She wore a white medical coat, her name embroidered on the breast pocket. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun, but a few strands had worked their way free, trickling over her shoulder in an effort to escape their confinement.

Jen nodded. “Third time this month we’ve gotten indirect walk-ins. Hospital bumped them to us. They’ve got to be pretty busy when they’re giving out referrals.” She covered her mouth as a yawn broke free. “Excuse me.”

“Too much early evening clubbing, and then you come into work at midnight,” her boss said with a grin. “Party girl.”

“Not really.” Jen paused, unsure how to phrase the news. She gave up and just said it. “Lucas Tanner made parole.”

It took a second for the name to register with Colleen. Jen couldn’t blame her. The incident had happened before she’d taken over at the clinic.

“Oh. I see. No wonder you couldn’t sleep.” Colleen put her hands in her pockets. “When did you find out?”

“This morning. Got curious after my mother brought it up for the millionth time. Went to the website and looked it up.” Jen sighed. “He’s been out for a month now.”

“They had to let him out sometime. He didn’t kill anyone, thank God,” Colleen said. “He can’t be thinking about coming back here. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that.” Colleen gestured at the front door where the security guard sat. “And if he did, we’re ready for him.”

“I hope so.” Jen rubbed her arm, feeling a chill creep through her veins. “I really hope so.”

Colleen put her hand on Jen’s shoulder and squeezed. “Odds are he’s long gone by now. After five years in jail, he’s probably cleaned up and gotten on with his life. We should do the same.” She shook her head. “We can’t let him dictate our future.”

Jen nodded, feeling the strength in Colleen’s words. “Okay.” She paused, the fear nibbling at the corners of her mind. “I had a flat tire yesterday. I found it when I got home.”

Colleen looked at her. “And?”

“Do you think it was him?” Jen felt foolish even as she said it.

The blonde woman chewed her lower lip for a minute before shaking her head. “I had my side mirror knocked off last week when I went out to leave. Guard didn’t see anyone. Can’t blame him for that—he’s not here to guard the parking lot. I figured it could have been that angry fellow who got annoyed when I wouldn’t give him antibiotics for a viral infection.” She sighed. “He was a mouthy bastard.”

Jen couldn’t help smiling at the memory. “I remember him.” She looked at the closed door behind them. “Do you think we should call Daisy?”

“No.” Colleen’s tone left no room for discussion. “She’s enjoying her retirement in Arizona. Let’s let her be for now.”

“Gwen?”

“Last time I heard about her, she’d settled into a nice little practice down in Florida and was raking in the dough.” She smiled. “Living the dream in the United States of America.”

“So I’m all that’s left,” Jen said.

“Technically.” Colleen nodded. “You and his ex-wife.”

“So what do you want to do?” Jen asked.

“I think we should take a neutral view, at least for right now,” Colleen said. “While I won’t say it couldn’t be Lucas Tanner, I’m not willing to say it is. Not in court, anyway.” She eyed Jen. “He should have been banned from the property. I’ll check with the higher-ups and if he has, I’ll put a note on the front desk with his description and the info that the second he puts one foot on this property we call the cops. But unless we have something a bit more concrete than a flat tire and maybe a smashed side mirror, I don’t think we can go to the authorities and say he’s harassing us.”

Jen nodded, feeling foolish. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Colleen patted her shoulder. “I remember reading about the case and hearing about it firsthand from Gwen when she brought me in. He was one angry son of a bitch, and you should be careful. Now I’m going to be checking behind me on the way home. Thanks.” She rolled her eyes dramatically.

“You’re welcome,” Jen said.

“Maybe you need a distraction.” Colleen perched herself on the edge of Jen’s desk. “I do know some nice guys.”

Jen laughed. “I’m sure you do. But I’m not looking for anyone right now. I enjoy playing the field.”

Colleen smiled. “Whatever works for you. But if you ever want to stop making the rounds and settle down, I can give you some good names. Decent fellows, all of them.”

Except I suspect they wouldn’t like me to bind and gag them
, Jen thought. The image of Nathan appeared in her mind’s eye as he stood at the flogging post, sweat glistening on his skin while she worked him over. He stood there, proud and strong, accepting whatever she gave him without complaint.

So handsome. So strong. So—

She squeezed her thighs together to try to suppress the rush of desire flowing at the recent memory.

Not here.

“Thanks. Again.” Jen gestured at the sick child waiting. “If you’re finished trying to play matchmaker—”

Colleen stuck her tongue out. “Bitch.”

“Bet Suzanne calls you that a lot,” Jen shot back, enjoying the casual banter.

The doctor snorted and reached out for the returning mother’s clipboard. “Only when I forget to turn the crockpot on and we end up going out for dinner after her shift finishes. Which is usually my plan.” She grinned and motioned the woman onward, raising her voice. “Hi, there. Bring the little fellow on in, and let’s see what we can do for him.”

Jen didn’t tell Colleen she’d driven around the block twice coming into work that night, scouring the darkness to make sure there was no one standing in the shadows, waiting for her to arrive.

She already planned to do the same when she left in eight hours in the daylight for her morning appointment with Nathan.

* * * * *

Nathan toyed with the leather collar as he waited in his living room. The collar lay on the table, unlocked and open—ready for his Domme to put on him and complete the shift from alpha male to submissive man, at her command. He was naked with his clothing neatly folded on the couch beside him. Another set of clothing was already down in the basement, ready for him after their session.

Kate had taught him that routine.

She’d been his first Domme and, according to Danielle, had taught him well.

He missed her at times. She was one hell of a woman, and when she’d left Hooded Pleasures, Nathan had felt a twinge of jealousy for the man who had managed to spirit her away.

He hoped they were very happy together.

But he had Danielle now.

And he was very happy with her.

The sound of a car pulling into his driveway had him walking to the front door. He unlocked it and returned to the living room to kneel in the center of the carpet, hands behind his back as he’d been instructed. Nathan bowed his head and waited.

The door opened, and he caught the distinct perfume, the light flowery scent stirring his senses.

A cold wind swept over him, shocking his skin. Goose bumps rose as he heard the door close.

Danielle strolled into the room and stopped in front of him.

He saw only her feet, clad in tight black leather bands crisscrossing the delicate skin.

“Nathan.” The words rolled down his spine and centered in his cock, bringing it to full attention. “I believe we have some work to do downstairs. Your form still isn’t perfect.”

Nathan waited, his pulse soaring in anticipation.

She strolled around him, out of sight. He imagined her picking up the collar from the table.

The cool leather slid around his neck and tightened as the lock snapped shut.

The whisper came from behind. “Are you ready to begin?”

She moved around to stand in front.

He stared at the black nylon stockings and grinned.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Get up and lock the door.”

It was the usual routine—a simple task to begin the session. She could have done it herself after entering, but he was at her beck and call for the next two hours.

This would be the simplest of her commands.

She followed him to the front door, now closed.

No free show for the neighbors
, Nathan said silently.

His front door lock was a simple dead bolt, the heavy metal mechanism holding the entrance secure.