Strictly Yours

“I said spread ’em.” The harsh tone snapped across Nathan Harrowsford’s ears. He shuffled his feet farther apart and back, grunting as he leaned forward on the cold concrete. He splayed his fingers in an attempt to get better purchase on the wall.

He’d been patted down before in training.

But never like this.

The hand slid down his bare back and stopped at his hip with a light squeeze before traveling down the outside of his right leg.

“Nothing here.” The hand shifted to the inside and ran up his leg. He flexed instinctively as it moved to cup his balls and gently massage them.

“I see you’re packing some heat.” The warm whisper intensified the sensations. “I’m impressed.”

The hand released him and moved down the inside of his left leg. It skimmed back up to rest at the center of his back.

“Not quite regulation, but I like to be thorough. Make sure you’re not hiding anything.”

A lone finger started at the small of his back and traveled slowly up over his bare flesh. “But you took too long to get into position.”

Something cool touched his bare ass.

Paddle, he mentally cataloged.

Classics were classics for a reason.

He tensed up as it vanished and returned with a hard slap. The pain shot right to his groin. The following nine strokes drew a sigh from him as he shifted from side to side, accepting his punishment without complaint.

As he should.

A soft chime went off somewhere behind him.

Nathan swallowed hard, knowing what it signified.

Damn.

There was never enough time.

Fingers drew down over his back, pressing against the inflamed skin left from his earlier visit to the whipping post set in one corner of his basement. The jagged pain spun down and settled in his gut as he grunted, his cock twitching and begging for release.

That wasn’t going to happen for a bit longer.

He bit down on his lower lip, his self-control pushed to the limit.

“Thank you. You’ve been very good today.” A hand tugged at the leather collar on his neck, the heated whisper doing nothing to dampen his libido. “Come sit with me on the couch.”

Nathan pushed himself back from the wall and straightened up, feeling the welcome burning in his muscles. He turned and smiled at Danielle—his personal Domme-for-hire.

Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders, tangling with the shoulder straps of her black bra. She tilted her head to one side and scanned him with deep brown eyes, studying him.

Watching him.

“Yes, Mistress.” He nodded and made his way to the couch, letting her follow him. He was exhausted but felt great, as if he’d finished a marathon.

The finish line here was much better—relaxing with a beautiful woman sure beat the dry heaves and leg cramps.

He loved the sessions but wholeheartedly enjoyed these ending moments. It was a way to come down from the physical and emotional high, to rest and recover.

It gave him the strength to face another week on the streets.

Nathan picked up the light brown blanket from the floor where he’d placed it earlier in the day. It slid over his sweaty shoulders and helped keep him from getting a chill.

Danielle handed him an energy drink. She ran a hand through his short black hair and smiled.

“You were wonderful today. Thank you.”

Nathan nodded.

He finished off the can in two swallows before crushing it in one hand and placing it on the floor for later disposal. He sighed as the euphoria eased out of him, the emotional rush of the session dribbling away.

He wasn’t sure how he’d survived before discovering Hooded Pleasures and their services.

Now he never wanted to contemplate being without a Mistress.

Nathan wondered, not for the first time, how his fellow policemen would view him if they knew what he did in his basement once a week.

He chuckled inside, thinking of the dirty jokes and raunchy comments they all shared in the locker room. There were more than a few spanking stories among them.

Wonder if they ever thought about being on the receiving end.

He could imagine how they’d react to seeing one of their own, naked on the couch with a beautiful woman beside him and nothing else going on.

It’d be hard to explain it to them, explain the rules the two of them played by, but Hooded Pleasures had laid down the law.

Safe, sane, consensual.

And no sex.

It was the price he had to pay for having a Domme come to his home, to his basement once a week for a session.

Sometimes Nathan didn’t mind. The experience itself was as good or better than sex.

Sometimes he did.

He glanced at the beautiful woman beside him. Perfect white skin highlighted by the black bra and panties, her luscious lips begging to be kissed, caressed—

Stop, he told himself. That way madness lies, and you know it.

Danielle unlocked the leather collar from around his neck and carefully pulled it free before reattaching the tiny lock and key. She placed it on the coffee table in front of them. The metal ring clanked on the polished wood. “You had a rough week.”

It wasn’t a question.

She could read him better than anyone could.

He nodded and stretched out against her. “Found a dead homeless person. Froze to death under the bridge during that sharp temperature drop we had on Tuesday. No reason why he had to die.” He sighed. “I hate this time of year.”

“Hmm.” She stroked his arm and offered him the energy bar she’d unwrapped. “You can’t save everyone. The shelters have room, but some people don’t want to go in no matter how cold it gets.”

Nathan took a bite and chewed slowly. “Yeah.” He leaned in, wallowing in her warmth. “I just hate to lose anyone on my shift. On my beat.”

“I hear you.” She stroked his arm. “Hope I helped.”

“Yes. Thank you.” He covered his mouth as a yawn escaped. “Excuse me.”

Danielle chuckled. “I won’t take it as an insult.” She gently withdrew and stood up. A tug pulled the soft flannel blanket over his exposed side where she’d moved away. “Rest. I need to pack up.”

He watched as she unzipped the pink backpack and placed the tools of her trade inside—a leather paddle, the belt, the riding crop. He’d never dared to peek inside to see what other surprises she carried with her.

She glanced over and smiled as she reached for the light blue uniform shirt and pulled it on, hiding the black bra with matching panties and garter belt from sight. The fake police badge caught the track lighting overhead and bounced it back. Her shoulder-length blonde hair brushed over the collar, and he flexed his fingers, itching to run them through the soft, silky tresses.

Danielle laughed as she hopped on one foot and then the other, putting the dark blue pants on over the black nylons. “Don’t you ever get bored of wearing the same thing every day?” She reached for the leather belt and folded it carefully before placing it in the pack.

Nathan watched her, remembering the feeling the leather had made on his bare ass earlier in their session. “Do you?”

He drew a deep breath, aroused again by watching her do nothing more than put clothes on.

Danielle turned and smirked, and he knew he’d been caught. She wagged a finger at him. “I’ll remember for next week’s appointment.” She held out her cell phone. “It’s time.”

Nathan reached for his wallet on the coffee table and busied himself with the payment procedure while she finished cleaning up.

“Thank you.” She smiled and hefted the backpack onto her shoulder, giving a shake to make sure her hair didn’t get caught under the straps.

Nathan stood and stretched. “Let me at least get my pants on, and I’ll escort you to the door.”

Danielle waved him off. “No need. I’ll grab my coat and—”

“Please.” He levered himself to his feet and reached for the gray track pants and matching T-shirt sitting on the floor. “I’m a gentleman. And a gentleman escorts a lady to the front door.”

She put her hands on her hips and watched as he forced himself to move. His hands felt like cement blocks, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down on the sofa and fall asleep.

But that wasn’t what a proper man did.

The least he could do was make it up the stairs and to the front door to see her out.

Nathan grunted through the pain as he pulled up the pants. His ass hurt, and he knew there’d be lovely red stripes on it matching the ones across his back.

Nathan gestured toward the basement stairs. “After you.”

She laughed. “As always.”

He watched her sidle up the steps, enjoying the sight.

There’s nothing like a woman in uniform.

Jennifer Lowell, or, as she was known on Mondays, Thursdays and Sundays, Mistress Danielle, didn’t wave at Nathan as she pulled away from the curb.

She wanted to.

Of all the Hooded Pleasures clients she’d dealt with, Nathan was her favorite, one she could let her hair down with.

Not enough to tell him her real name or what she did when she wasn’t working as a Domme-for-hire.

But she enjoyed her weekly appointments with him almost as much as he did. It was a welcome break from her other submissives and definitely a change from her daily job as a medical receptionist at Med-Rush Clinic.

It was the best of both worlds. She got paid to do what she loved and didn’t have to worry about having a misfire during a visit to her favorite BDSM club, Boots ’n’ Chains.

There was nothing worse than getting in the back room with a willing submissive and discovering her night’s acquisition either wanted to top from the bottom and tell her what to do and how to do it. Or worse—a punk who wanted to change her preferences with the power of his penis.

She laughed at the memory of the last one who had tried as she pulled into the underground parking of her apartment building.

“But you can’t want to be a Domme,” he’d protested the entire way back down the hall to the lounge after she’d called the encounter off. “Women don’t want to be Dommes. They just need the right man to be submissive to.”

That earned him a swat on the ass as she kicked him back onto the dance floor, and a quick visit to the manager’s office to inform Matthew that maybe this silver-bracelet holder was really looking for gold.

A month later, she’d noticed the young pup in the very capable hands of one of the senior Doms, learning the ropes. He’d given her a sheepish smile and a nod before following his mentor down the hall.

Jennifer chuckled softly, remembering the last time she’d visited the club. Kate had been in a booth, cuddling with Alex.

Jennifer liked Alex.

Before Alex and Kate had become, well, Alex and Kate, she’d taken him in hand for a few sessions as Danielle, her Domme persona, and loved every moment of it. He’d been a natural, but his heart belonged to Kate, and he’d canceled his contract with Hooded Pleasures before settling down with her. Kate had also “retired” from the job, recovering from a broken heart and finding her true love.

It was as close to a fairy-tale ending as she could imagine.

A few months earlier, the same night she’d kicked the punk back into the pack, she’d met Wendy at the bar and, after a few drinks and a long conversation, interviewed for Hooded Pleasures. Being a Domme-for-hire wasn’t for everyone, and Wendy took as much care in choosing her employees as she did their clients.

But Jen had passed inspection, and she’d loved the concept.

Because there were needs to be met. There were men and women who couldn’t go to the clubs for a variety of reasons, and for them, the idea of having a Domme visit them at home was a wonderful, glorious option. Thanks to Hooded Pleasures, complete safety and security was available for those who wanted and needed it.

She knew Nathan got a discount—it was policy to give all first responders a deal because Wendy and Evan believed these were the people who needed HP the most.

She slid her car into her assigned spot in the underground parking, nodding at the ever-present attendant. It was early morning and most of the spots were empty, the tenants rushing off to their day jobs.

Jen covered her mouth as a yawn escaped. She’d always been a night owl, and this schedule suited her, even if she did feel a bit out of sorts at times.

It was also hard to keep friends when you had to explain how you slept most of the day away and spent the evening getting ready for work when they were preparing to go to bed.

She sniffed the cool air coming in from Lake Ontario. It was still technically autumn, but it was cold enough to expect snow any time. The condominium she rented had a great view of the lake, and if she squinted, she'd swear she could see Buffalo in the distance.

But Jen hadn’t picked this building for the view. She’d picked it for the doorman at the front desk, the parking attendant and the closed-circuit cameras around the building sealing the deal.

The attendant came over as Jen opened the car door, his young face puckered up in a frown.

“Miss, your back tire is almost flat.”

Jen got out carefully, keeping her coat closed, and looked back.

He was right.

The back rear tire was slightly deflated, the limp rubber a shocking contrast to the other tires.

“I must have hit a nail somewhere on the way in,” Jen said. She tucked her hands into her pockets. “Damn.”

“I’ll help you change it if you like.” The attendant glanced back toward his booth. “I just need to keep an eye out for anyone coming in or going out who needs help.”

“Go on back to your booth. I can change this on my own. Thank you for the offer.” Jen waved him off, grateful she’d put the faux uniform back on before leaving Nathan.

She unlocked the trunk, settling back down in the real world with a hearty thump.

Thankfully the spare tire was in good shape, and it didn’t take long to switch out the tire, putting the flat one back into her trunk and making a mental note to get it replaced as soon as possible.

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 years. 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.

“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.

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 directly 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.”