Free Strictly Yours: Hooded Pleasures, Book 3 by Sheryl Nantus Page A

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