Strictly Yours: Hooded Pleasures, Book 3 (6 page)

Mine.

The possessive rush threatened to pull her under. It would be so easy to take him in her arms and—

No.

Not here and not now.

“Okay.” She swallowed. “Sorry for putting this on you. It’s not fair. It’s not what you pay for—” Jen fell silent as Nathan took her hand and pressed it to his mouth, the light touch of his lips quieting her.

“I’m at your service. Both inside and outside of these walls.” He shot her an impish wink. “Besides it gives you something more to punish me for.”

She laughed, reveling in the humor. “I’ll remember that.” Jen reached up and tugged his ear. “The options certainly present themselves.”

Chapter Five

Nathan stood in his doorway and watched Jen —Danielle?— walk down the short path to her car. Usually he watched from the living room, looking out from between the blinds, but this time he wanted her to be able to turn around and see him, see someone standing right there if she needed help.

It wasn’t just to make her feel safe. He couldn’t be with her all the time, but he’d be damned if he let her out of his sight without doing all he could to protect her. It was a purely emotional response to what she’d told him, and he knew it. But it didn’t make it any less necessary for him to stand there, shivering in only his track pants, as she pulled out of his driveway and onto the street. A cool breeze raced into the house to snap against his aching back, a harsh caress on the marks she’d left on him.

Nathan scanned the street. A few unfamiliar cars, but that wasn’t a surprise—one of his neighbors had college-age kids, and they constantly had friends visiting and/or staying over.

No one leaped out of the bushes all dressed in black, screaming as he charged at Jen’s car.

Nathan grunted, silently wishing it’d be so simple.

That I could take care of.

This—I don’t like this other stuff.

He didn’t close the door until she’d driven around the corner and out of sight.

At least she’s safe for now.

Nathan backed into the hallway and closed the door, actively avoiding turning around. It was unlikely any of his neighbors were watching but he didn’t need to give them a free show of the hashtags on his skin.

His head kept spinning with the recent revelations.

He didn’t care about the name. It was easy to understand why she’d kept her real name from him.

And why she’d shared it with him now.

It was the other details that dug into his mind with iron claws, refusing to let up. He couldn’t shake the vivid images burrowing through his consciousness of Jen in her workplace being terrified by this asshole, Jen in the courtroom watching this bastard scream and swing at her before being dragged away by the bailiffs.

And now Jen worrying this monster would come after her because he’d kissed a few asses and played his cards right to get out early.

She’s afraid.

She needs me.

I have to do something.

The surge of possessiveness fought with the rough truth that she wasn’t asking him to do anything other than offer advice from his law enforcement point of view.

He’d told her the truth. If this guy was truly reformed, she had nothing to worry about.

He had to believe there was a chance this fellow had honestly realized his problems and dealt with them. It was a basic belief he needed to be a good cop—people could change.

And if he hasn’t?

If he’s the same bastard from years ago holding a grudge, ready to come after her now that he’s out?

Nathan leaned against the wall and winced. If Jennifer needed his help, she’d ask. And he’d deliver without hesitation. After all, he was a cop.

And, once a week, her willing submissive.

There was no reason he couldn’t combine the two personas outside of their official relationship. If it kept her alive and safe, he’d make it work.

However—

Trust but verify.

There was something he could do.

Hang the rules.

But first—

Nathan rolled his shoulders back and groaned, mentally and physically exhausted. The session had taken its usual toll, but this new information had drained him.

She needs me.

She doesn’t need a tired subbie who can’t make it up the stairs to get cleaned up. Get it in gear.

It took all his remaining strength to get to the kitchen and pour himself a shot of whiskey, then haul his ass up to the second floor. He watched the tub fill up, sipping on the smooth liquor.

Nathan flinched and cursed as he settled into the tub. A quick flick of his wrists and the running water was turned off, leaving him in silence.

He laid his head back and felt the cold ceramic bite into the back of his neck.

Jennifer.

Nathan mouthed the words as he took a deep drink.

Definitely a Jen. She was right, the name fits her much better.

Danielle was a nice name, a fluffy name, but Jen had some strength behind it. A tough lady who took no guff from anyone. She’d held her ground even when the creep had been armed and out of control.

He’d seen lesser men break and run when confronted with the same situation despite all the academy training. The fear had to be dealt with, wrestled to the ground to do what was right and what was necessary.

You either had it in you or you didn’t.

And his Jen definitely had.

She broke his nose.

It wasn’t hard for his imagination to kick in, seeing her standing her ground against one of the street punks he’d dealt with over the years.

Jen balanced her weight on the balls of her feet, keeping out of range of the crowbar. The idiot continued to yell and wave the steel bar around.

The rest of the staff were either behind the desk or dealing with one of their own who was injured.

Sirens in the distance signaled the end of the confrontation and the beginning of a long, protracted negotiation as the police would urge him to drop the weapon and come on out while he worked the system to get as much as he could for each hostage.

She wouldn’t let him do that.

His attention flashed to the window, to the parking lot for a second.

A second too long.

Jen stepped inside the danger arc and smashed her fist into his face, hard enough to make him drop the crowbar.

The injured idiot cupped his face in both hands, shocked at the way the tables had turned on him.

She hit him again, and he dropped to the ground as the police cars skidded into the parking lot and descended on the clinic.

Nathan grinned at the imaginary scenario, feeling himself growing hard at the fantasy.

That’s my strong woman, taking no guff from anyone.

My Mistress.

The asshole had probably been surprised to find she had a spine when it came to defending herself and her friends, the street fighter coming out.

She wouldn’t sit back and absorb anything you tossed at her, because she was a woman and expected to take it.

No wonder she was a Domme.

Nathan knew that side of her. The strong female who loved her job and loved dominating him. The woman who loved and accepted his gift for what it was—an expression of his trust.

You didn’t let just anyone take control of you, put yourself at their mercy.

The first session with Kate had terrified him in a way, the naked truth that he enjoyed submitting to a woman suddenly in his face and he had nowhere to hide.

She’d dominated him, and he’d loved it.

But everything had changed when Jen took over. From the first day she’d shown up at his door with that pink backpack and sly smile to pluck the leather collar from his hands and order him down on his knees, he’d known she would be the only one for him.

She just—

An image flared in his mind’s eye of Jen standing there in his favorite outfit, her black leather and lace corset. The tall black nylons running off the garter to hide in matching tall boots that clung to her legs like a second skin. The tiny thong hiding just enough to let his imagination run wild.

He shuddered as a flash of heat ran down his spine, digging into his balls with heavy claws of arousal. All reasonable thinking slid away, replaced by the lust and arousal he had after every session.

With Jen.

I know her real name.

It was a gift to him, something to be treasured. He didn’t know anything else about his Domme, but this much he knew—none of her other clients had her real name.

He reached down with his left hand and touched himself, stroked himself to her image.

Jennifer.

Jen.

Damn.

He shuddered and shook as he came, his violent motions sending water slopping over the edge of the tub to pool on the floor.

The glass slipped out of his hand to fall into the water, the expensive whiskey gone.

Nathan rolled his head to one side and let out a weary grunt, watching the glass bobble as the ripples finally settled.

Damn.

* * * * *

Jen wasn’t sure if she’d been right to tell Nathan about Lucas, but she knew one thing.

Seeing Nathan wasn’t ever going to be the same.

She hadn’t decided yet if that was good or bad.

It pulled various emotions to the surface, feelings she wasn’t sure she could deal with right now.

Instead she focused on maneuvering through traffic, keeping her mind busy on anything, everything other than Lucas.

The morning sun brightened her mood during the drive, but as soon as she entered her apartment, Jen made a point of locking the front door and checking the windows.

I’m safe.

The simple routine helped settle her stomach somewhat, the talk with Nathan keeping her grounded.

He knows.

I’m not alone in this.

Jen put the cell phone down on the coffee table and headed for her bedroom. She changed into a T-shirt and track pants before placing her clothing in the sink to soak and setting up a fresh pot of coffee to brew.

She walked over to the punching bag set in the corner of her living room.

Jen stroked the soft leather, noting the worn patches from her continual practice sessions.

She reached for the special tape to set her hands up for another round.

Jen didn’t look at the clock, didn’t try to guess how long she spent working the heavy bag.

Jab jab right hook.

Jab jab left hook.

Rinse and repeat.

She switched it up by throwing in a knee, the impact drawing a grunt from her as she managed the swinging target.

Right hook.

Left hook.

Jab jab.

The familiar routine helped calm her nerves, the impact of the thick leather under her hands a soothing balm.

It took her away from the present and back to another punching bag and the man who taught her how to box.

The basement had smelled musty when he’d first brought her down there, still weeping from being bullied by a kid in her class. The punk had pushed her down and taken her lunch away.

The teacher intervened and retrieved her lunch with a stern warning to the boy who sneered and walked away. Jen came home crying and afraid to return, despite her parents telling her it’d be fine, the teacher and school would protect her.

Her grandfather had stayed silent until he could spirit Jen away under the pretense of going out for ice cream. Instead, they’d gone back to his house and into his basement.

She couldn’t remember the bully’s name, but she remembered the smell of leather as her grandfather slipped oversized gloves onto her hands and pointed her at the heavy bag. She’d sniffled and began punching the bag halfheartedly to make him happy.

It hadn’t.

The elderly man shook his finger at her and told her anyone who laid a finger on her without her permission should regret it.

This was a way to make that possible.

He told her to imagine the bully’s face on the bag, then to punch it as hard as she could.

Jen did and felt the rush of power, the sense of accomplishment.

Her grandfather had been a decent boxer in his day, accumulating a few trophies and awards before settling down to work as a welder. She worked with him until his death nearly a decade later, despite admonishments from her parents it’d make her too boyish and thus not appealing to the men in her life. After her grandfather passed, she hadn’t kept up her boxing, choosing instead to pay more attention to her makeup and appearance.

The fight had changed all that.

When Tanner had looked away from them, focusing on the police car arriving in the parking lot she’d taken the chance and swung at him, a tough right hook that had broken his nose.

It’d floored him even as the cops poured through the front door, yelling and screaming at him.

They’d told her she was lucky. If Tanner had come around with the crowbar, she could have died.

One senior cop had given her a wink while warning her not to do this again.

She got the message.

Within a week of the incident, she’d gone out and bought the punching bag with a fresh pair of wraps for her hands. Her knuckles had been sore and her hand aching from the single punch, evidence she’d let herself go over the years.

It’d been the one thing that had kept her going through the trial and sentencing.

No one will ever hit me or anyone I care for if I
can do anything about it.

She slammed her fist into the soft leather, feeling the shudder up her arm. Despite being tired from her session with Nathan, she had a nervous energy that had to go somewhere.

In another time, another place she would have dragged Nathan to his bedroom and had her way with him, feeding off the sexual tension between them. A quiver of need shot through her system, and she wondered, not for the first time, what he’d be like in bed.

Not now
, her conscience bleated.

If not now, when?
another tiny voice shot back.

She had no answers.

Instead, she punched the bag again and wondered at how much her life had changed in only a few days.

Finally she stood back, breathless and exhausted.

Enough.

For now.

A long hot shower had her relaxed and recovering, the steam pulling the ache out of her muscles and soothing her nerves. She changed into a loose gray track suit before getting a fresh cup of coffee and curling up on her couch.