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

He twisted the thick oval latch to shoot the metal rod into the doorframe.

“Done, Mistress.”

Nathan turned to face her, eyes down.

Then Danielle did something she’d never done before on any of her visits over the past few months.

She stepped by him to unlock the door and then lock it again.

Nathan’s cop senses kicked in, overriding the sensual pleasure he’d been craving.

Something was wrong.

“Mistress,” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

She faced him, and for a second, he saw her eyebrows pull together, the slightest sense of fear invading her usually reserved look.

Something was wrong.

“I’m fine,” Danielle replied. “Better to be safe than sorry, right? But thank you for asking.” A soothing smirk appeared. “Now let’s go downstairs.”

Nathan held back the words.

A week earlier, she would have taken the opportunity to punish him for speaking out of turn, for staring at her.

She was letting this slide, and he didn’t know why.

He did know now wasn’t the time to ask.

A few minutes later, they were in his basement, his sanctuary.

His safe place.

Danielle had chosen to skip the role-play uniform this time, going for nothing but pure Dominatrix.

Nathan wholeheartedly approved.

Especially when she stripped off the trench coat and showed him the new corset she’d bought. The leather and lace held her breasts tight in place, with the fresh leather scent sending his libido into overdrive.

But he couldn’t come while she was there.

He knew the rules.

Hooded Pleasures made it very clear in the contract he’d signed. In order for the visiting Dominants not to be guilty of prostitution, there had to be no actual sexual acts performed—the descriptions of what could and couldn’t be done filled up the better part of a page, but it came down to simply not coming while the Dominant was present.

Nathan also knew it was unlikely anyone would ever get past the security checks with the goal of arresting the HP employees, but he understood why the threat was there.

It set boundaries, and Nathan understood the necessity of setting up boundaries.

The rules were created to protect both the clients and the employees. In a way, it wasn’t necessary. Anyone who did their homework would know what BDSM was all about, and it wasn’t necessarily a sexual act. It wasn’t about getting off. It was about the experience.

But the warning helped with the experience.

In other words—look, enjoy and hold on until after the appointment was over and the Domme well on her way.

Which was what he wanted. What he needed.

He needed to give his control to a woman, to a strong woman who would take charge of his life if only for a few hours a week. A woman who would take all decisions from him and dictate everything from how he stood and sat to pushing him to his physical limits. Someone who would let him relax and not be in control, not be the one calling the shots like he did at work all day, every day. Someone who would let him not be a policeman, a damned good one had who protected and served to the best of his ability for years.

He wasn’t going to get that from a high-priced hooker.

He was going to get that from Danielle.

Jen mentally berated herself for showing her concern about the front door not being secure enough. It was unprofessional, and it wasn’t what she wanted Nathan to see.

Nathan deserved her best, and she was going to give it to him no matter what.

To try to calm herself, she ran Nathan through his usual exercise routine—calling out numbers, each of which represented a pose. Some had him standing up; some had him on all fours. Aside from giving her a chance to admire his well-toned body, it was a lovely workout that offered her the chance to set up discipline options if he forgot what he was supposed to do and assumed the wrong position.

Like now.

Jen smiled at the opportunity presenting itself.

“I said position one.” She drew the riding crop down the inside of his left thigh and saw his muscles quiver at the light touch. “This is not position one. Position one is down on all fours, presenting yourself as a table or for whatever I see fit to use you for.”

“Sorry, Mistress.” Sweat dripped from Nathan’s chin. He was at position three—standing upright, hands behind his back. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his brown eyes were wide and unfocused.

Perfect.

“Don’t move,” she admonished him. “Stay still.”

Jen strolled around him, making sure he didn’t make eye contact with her as she studied his body. It was an opportunity to allow her to look him over and make sure he was physically up to her visit. In theory, Nathan should say something if he wasn’t able to perform certain activities, but she knew pride could keep someone’s mouth shut and put them both in a bad place. It wouldn’t be such a worry if Nathan were a lawyer, but as a policeman, he was more at risk for injuries, and he might keep them secret from her.

That wasn’t acceptable.

It wasn’t all about the pain. It was the carefully applied mixture of pain and pleasure he wanted and she could deliver.

Besides, she loved checking out a naked man.

His short black hair brushed the tops of his ears and she knew he’d be getting a haircut soon to maintain his professional image. Jen pulled the leather crop across his shoulders as she orbited him, seeing the tension in his muscles.

Tight. Lean.

The crop landed at the hollow of his neck and started southward, sliding along tight abdominal muscles. No tattoos.

She flicked the edge of the crop at his navel, studying the light black hair forming a natural road south and drawing her eyes down.

His cock bobbed with what she knew to be a combination of desire and fear.

Jen clucked her tongue in disapproval. “You’ve done this enough times to get it right. I believe that mistake warrants five strokes. Bend over and grab your ankles.”

He did so without comment, displaying even more fine tight muscles as his legs and ass tightened in anticipation of his punishment.

Jen poked his ribs with the edge of her crop as she walked by. “You’re in rather fine shape for a man your age.”

The answering grunt told her she’d hit a sore spot.

Not on his skin.

“Hmm?” The riding crop went up under his chin to get his attention. “That sounded like you had something to say.”

Nathan stayed silent.

“Speak up. I want to hear your thoughts.” She was genuinely curious as to what she’d said that had triggered his minor revolt.

“I’m not that old. Mistress.” He said the last word like a curse, his grumpiness showing. “Maybe five, seven years older than you. Still got a lot of years left in the tank.”

“Stand up.” She locked eyes with him as he rose, not letting him look away. “How old do you think I am?”

Shit.

Nathan swallowed, realizing he’d stepped in it big time. One of the first things he’d learned from his late father was when it came to women never,
ever
discuss their age.

He’d put his foot into it with his ego leading the way. It was the way she’d spoken about his age.

He was only in his early thirties. Hardly over the hill, and he knew he was still damned attractive. He’d seen the women glancing at him, weighing him up.

Except right now, the only woman who mattered was waiting for an answer.

No matter what he guessed, he’d be in trouble.

He looked direct
ly at her, enjoying the opportunity to stare at her openly and without chance of punishment.

His cop side kicked in, documenting every slip of information he could gather to form a final opinion.

Very few crow’s feet around her eyes.

No visible gray roots at her hairline.

No obvious body surgery.

He was going to pay for this slip of the tongue no matter what he said.

“I’d say early twenties. No more than twenty-five.”

The answering smirk both warmed his heart and cranked up his arousal another notch.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart.” The crop drew up the inside of his thighs again and pressed against his balls, making him flinch. “That’ll do for twenty strokes. Plus the original five for screwing up the positions. Bend over.”

He frowned in disbelief. “Higher?”

I couldn’t have been that far off.

She shook her head.

“Lower?”

She shook her head.

“But—” He realized his mistake too late.

There was no right answer.

He hid his grin as he bent over and prepared to receive his punishment.

Never underestimate a woman.

Especially one in leather and lace.

* * * * *

He’d taken the strokes without comment, not moving as the riding crop left nasty welts across his bare ass.

Jen hadn’t held back. Between his impertinence at asking if she was fine and his smirk when he’d realized there was no right answer to her question, she had enough to punish him for.

And he enjoyed it.

He hid his smile well, but when she ordered him to the flogging post, she’d seen a hint of a grin telling her he’d savored every single flick of the crop.

The muffled sigh of enjoyment when she’d wrapped the leather cuffs around his wrists hadn’t gone unnoticed, along with his obvious arousal as she spread his legs out, displaying his bare back and ass for easy access.

Nathan flinched as she worked his back over with the lightest flogger in her collection, using the thick deer-hide strands to warm him up.

He was soaked with sweat but glowed as she continued on, crisscrossing his back and ass with rhythmic strokes.

She’d moved from the light to the heavy floggers, keeping a careful eye on the red hashtags rising on his bare skin. Short breaks brought both pleasure and pain to Nathan, allowing his skin to react to the exercise and for his arousal to rise and wane.

There was a certain skill needed to bring a man up to the peak and leave him there, poised on the edge of orgasm.

Jen prided herself on being somewhat of an expert, having dealt with Nathan long enough to know how to make him surf the waves, never quite cresting.

His hips bucked against the varnished wood. It glistened with pre-ejaculate, telling her she was doing the right thing at the right time.

She knew her Nathan well.

He knew she’d push him right to the edge.

Jen leaned forward as he gasped, trying to catch his breath as she paused. There was always the chance he was going to safe-word out and she’d miscalculated—

“Thank you, Mistress.” The soft whisper punched through her barriers with an astonishing emotional burst.

She blinked away tears.

What—

The soft chime snapped her out of her introspection, signaling time was limited and she needed to slowly bring him back down.

* * * * *

Nathan flinched as he shifted position on the couch, his ass aching and sore. His shoulders burned, and he knew he’d see marks there for a day or two, the scarlet stripes hidden under his uniform shirt.

He felt fantastic.

His internal clock told him it was near the end of his session and he was coming down from his self-induced high, the endorphins slowly draining out of his system as they sat together on the sofa, both recovering.

Except it wasn’t the same this time.

Nathan eyed Danielle, afraid of how to approach the next topic. He’d dealt with angry drug dealers, enraged pimps and mile-high addicts. He’d stared down wild-eyed men prepared to shoot it out over a handful of dollars.

Now he had to figure out how to ask a simple question.

He’d never been so nervous in his entire life.

“What is it?” Danielle tugged playfully at his hair. “You look—” She paused. “Are you okay? Is there anything wrong?”

The concern in her voice almost stopped him. He was used to taking care of others, relieving their pain and suffering as much as he could with his badge so often that it felt odd being on the other side, being the one cared for.

He knew she was asking if she’d done her job right, if he’d had the experience he had asked for and paid for.

He also knew he was about to tread into the danger zone as far as their relationship went. It was supposed to be professional, the personal aspects of their lives left outside of this appointment.

But he had to ask.

“Just fine.” He patted her knee, relishing the feel of the sleek nylons. “I wanted to ask—” His mouth went dry as he tried to shift gears. “I want to ask—”

She stroked his cheek. “Nathan. You should know by now you don’t need to be embarrassed about asking me anything. There’s nothing too kinky, too weird, too—”

“I saw the way you acted upstairs, at the front door. What are you worried about?” The words tumbled out. “You looked out of sorts, you know. Like something had gotten under your skin, something you couldn’t get out.” He squeezed her thigh. “I’m a cop. You know that. If I can help you in any way…”

“I’m fine.” Danielle rubbed her eyes. “A little tired, that’s all. Nothing I can’t deal with.” She smiled. “You’re not supposed to do cop stuff when you’re with me. Other than the role-play, and I’m the one wearing the badge.” Her finger poked him in the chest, tangling with his light chest hair. “Don’t worry about it.”

He heard the words but knew her heart wasn’t in it.

Pushing her wouldn’t do any good.

Nathan took hold of her hand. “I may be your client, but I’d like to think we’re friends. I want you to know I’m always here for you if you need someone to talk to.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a second, he thought she was about to cry, the mental armor slipping long enough for him to see through it.

Then Danielle was back in full force.

She cleared her throat with a rough cough. “I have to leave soon. You need to rest. No more talking.” She patted the blanket over his shoulders. “Close your eyes and relax.”

Nathan closed his eyes, catching the last bits of the emotional rush.

Her words came through the haze. “But thank you.”