Chapter 1

“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.