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.
Speaking about honest—be honest to yourself.
She didn’t regret talking to Nathan. It’d been technically against the rules but s
he had to say something, vent her fears and feelings after that phone message.
And after all he was a cop.
Someone who knew what she was thinking, what she was worried about.
Someone who knew her.
Almost intimately, her inner voice whispered.
Almost.
Jen squirmed, squeezing her thighs together at the delicious memory of his submission. He’d been beautiful, sweaty and strong, allowing himself to be totally at her mercy and letting her do whatever she wanted to.
Not completely.
Play with your toys, but don’t let it get out of control.
Don’t let yourself get out of control.
She sighed and thought about a visit to her bedroom, her vibrators at the ready in the side table.
It wasn’t the only decision she’d have to make if she did choose that route.
It was an ongoing battle whether to satisfy her needs with an imaginary lover or to see herself with one of her men.
A specific man.
Nathan.
The urge swamped her with desire, and she stood.
Nathan.
He sat next to her, the sweat drying on his body as he kissed the palm of her hand, swearing his devotion to her.
The recent memory overwhelmed her, and she went to the bedroom, reliving his gentle touch on her cheek and his insistent demands to know how he could help her.
She knew exactly how he could help her.
Or at least her fantasies of him.
She pulled the drawer open and looked over her various toys. One, a small vibrator, fit easily over her finger.
Jen lay back on the bed and writhed on the sheets as she turned on the slender pink bullet and slid it over her belly.
“All yours,” he murmured as he worked his way over her body with his mouth, kissing and nipping her bare skin. “All you have to do is ask.”
Her fingers stroked his dark hair before taking a firm grip. “All I have to do is tell you what to do.”
“Yes.”
She circled her navel twice, imagining his tongue licking an erotic circle before heading south.
It didn’t take long for the vibrations to shake her to the core, the heated flashes drawing long groans out of her.
Nathan.
Jen reached up with her free hand and pinched her nipple, rolling the nub between her fingers as the toy moved below the waistband of her sweat pants.
She was soaked already.
She could see his face, that gentle smile hiding all sorts of hidden potential. He’d come so far as a submissive, his underlying strength showing through. His ability to serve and obey on command was magnificent, his choice to surrender control to her a glorious gift she’d been entrusted with.
And yet he could be a strong man, ruler of his domain when he needed to be. When he had to be in order to do what he did—help people and save lives.
The vibrator slipped down and pressed against her inner core with a sudden urgency, pulling moans and gasps from her with increasing frequency.
Nathan.
The orgasm sprang on her like a tidal wave, swamping her from head to foot. Her head snapped back against the pillow, her hips bucking up from the sheets as pleasure shot through all her nerve endings, blinding her temporarily and stealing her breath away.
Nathan.
Jennifer slumped against the mattress, a slow burn in her muscles drawing out the last of her strength.
Nathan.
She licked her lips and wondered what it’d be like to have him in bed with her.
Jen closed her eyes and let her mind drift onto what could be.
If only—
The phone call snapped her out of her reverie, the shrill tone startling her.
Jen scrambled off the bed and ran into the living room where her phone sat on the coffee table.
She studied the number before hitting the button.
The clinic.
Jen relaxed slightly, the lethargic feeling returning.
“Hello?”
“It’s Helena. The day-shift doctor,” she added in case Jen didn’t remember her. “I’m calling to see if you saw anything strange on your last shift. Anyone acting odd, any strangers hanging around the clinic.”
Jen frowned. “No. Why?”
“Because someone called in a bomb threat, and we’ve been evacuated.”
Chapter Six
Nathan’s biggest problem over the next few days was his inability to stay focused, his attention wandering back to Jen and her problem.
Is she safe? Is she okay?
Is she well?
He bit the inside of his cheek to banish the worrisome thoughts and bring himself back to full awareness.
As soon as he’d been able to clear his head of her, Nathan had made a few phone calls to old friends.
He’d trained most of them, watched them climb the ladder into different positions within the force.
Nathan had never, ever considered contacting them for anything other than maybe an odd drink here and there. He didn’t want to be one of those cops, the ones who misused their power, their connections.
But this—this wasn’t for him.
It was for her.
He’d called in some favors, gently poking around the edges without saying what he needed the information for. There’d been some raised eyebrows, but they all knew he wouldn’t have come and asked for help if he didn’t have a good reason.
She’d given him the punk’s last name—Tanner.
It wouldn’t be hard to put it together with recent parolees and an incident at a medical clinic three years ago.
So he waited for his favors to come back home and wondered if Jen was okay.
And mentally berated himself for a lack of focus as he snapped his attention back to the street.
This sort of daydreaming could be dangerous for anyone, but it was possibly lethal for a policeman. A careless slip, a lack of awareness for a few seconds, and he could not only be in deep trouble, but he’d bring his partner down as well.
Daydream as an accountant, and you might cost someone a lot of money.
Daydream as a cop, and you might end up six feet under.
Henry hadn’t noticed, thank goodness. The rookie was taking it all in and learning fast. His enthusiasm helped keep Nathan sharp, his constant drill of questions keeping his training officer on his toes. The young man would go far with that type of mindset as long as he stayed focused.
This was a concentrated effort for his senior as they circled the block on a late-night patrol, aiming a searchlight into the dark alleys to find the haphazard shacks and shelters built out of everything from discarded tarps to broken shopping carts.
Nathan gestured to his right. “In there.”
The spotlight swung over a huddled figure warming his hands over a garbage can fire.
“Hey,” Nathan yelled. “You okay tonight?”
The man froze for a second, then slowly raised a gloved hand and waved at the policemen. He gave the pair a thumbs-up before returning his focus on the fire.
Nathan waved back and tapped the gas to move forward. “Stay sharp. Homeless people get robbed and hurt all the time. We’re here to protect everyone. You see something out of place, you speak up, and we’ll check it out,” Nathan said. “Remember the sleeper? If we could have gotten to him sooner, we might have been able to convince him to get inside. Say hello, wave, do whatever you do to get their attention and confirm they’re okay.”
“Don’t some of them hate us?” Henry asked.
“Some do. Some don’t. Doesn’t matter if they’re being victimized.” Nathan slowed as they came to another intersection. “Protect and serve. That includes everyone.”
Henry fell silent and studied the narrow alleys.
Is she safe?
Nathan tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to push his mind back on track.
He cleared his throat. “Watch when you get into these lanes. If you look down, you can see the cobblestones. I figure they used to be horse paths before—easy enough to snap off a side mirror or scrape up the doors if you’re not careful. You don’t want to turn the car in all banged up unless you’ve got a good story to go with it.”
Henry hummed a response.
Nathan tried to push his mind back on track and failed.
All he could think about was Jennifer and how he had to do something more to protect her.
It wasn’t only his job as a policeman, although it would be enough to justify his ongoing concern for her. It was part and parcel of what he felt as a submissive, his personal responsibility to keep her safe and sound during her time with him.
In a perfect world, it would be twenty-four hours a day, but that wasn’t possible right now.
He needed to make sure when she came to him, she felt comfortable and safe, secure enough so they could both let themselves go and enjoy their time together.
He could give her that much. The dead bolt was strong and firmly set, almost impossible to break down with mere force.
But that was all he could do. All she would allow him to do.
Nathan didn’t know what else to do to help her when she drove away out of sight.
He did know things had changed between them and would continue to change.
Because as soon as he got the information he’d requested, he’d know more about her than any client of HP ever did about his Domme.
And their relationship would change yet again.
“They’re pretty interesting folks.” Henry waved at another street person wearing a series of sleeping bags.
“Don’t let your guard down,” Nathan warned. “They can lash out at you at any time.”
“Why would they?”
Nathan rolled his head around, feeling the tension in his neck muscles. “Some of them might be sick. Hallucinations from a variety of sources—off their medication or maybe got some bad drugs from a pusher, ill from not seeking medical attention. A cut can get infected fast, and they’re afraid to go to the clinics or get any help.” He grunted. “And some of them plain don’t like cops. They get rousted too many times or harassed, they’re going to throw the first punch and damn the consequences. Watch yourself and be prepared for any situation. Most of them are okay, but there’s always the odd one out.”
Strictly Yours: Hooded Pleasures, Book 3 Page 7