Free House Rules: The Jack Gordon Story by Liz Crowe

lonely. And a little intimidated by how deep into the BDSM scene he seemed
to be going. Plus flat out exhausted by all the flipping bookwork he had to do
just to get through his classes.
    Law
school had occurred to him almost as a whim during his junior year at Michigan
State. His roommate and new buddy, Rob, had been headed to medical school. As
was Suzanne, whom he had managed to avoid more than he liked for the last years
of undergrad.
    He
had no real idea what he wanted to do but was not about to join the “be a
doctor” bandwagon, no way. Way too much blood and guts involved there. He could
get his M.B.A., as he would be emerging with a Bachelor of Science in Business,
but that sounded like more boring theory and stats.
    He’d
been messing around with a girl then who’d been preparing for the LSAT. One
morning while she slept off an epic fuck session, he picked up her study guide
and settled down with it. By the time she woke up and booted him out of her
place, he was convinced that should be his next step. The act of “practicing
law” was not the draw but rather the challenge of taking that damn test. His
interest was piqued so he got his own prep books and, in typical fashion,
devoted hours to the goal.
    Now,
here he was at a very expensive school of The Law, while Rob had tossed his med
school admissions letters and was in France, studying to be a chef. Suzanne had
headed south and the last he heard had a serious future-doctor boyfriend to go
with her own M.D.
    After
stumbling inside to grab a couple of beers for them, he waited for his eyes to
adjust. No, he just was not the kind of guy who found isolation enjoyable. He
liked waking up and having someone to talk to over coffee or to share a beer
with while he studied.
    The
girl he’d been ignoring made a funny, exasperated sound somewhere between a
snort and a sigh, breaking his reverie. He glanced at her again and did a
double take.
    She
was curled up on the crappy student lounge couch in a corner of the main law
building basement—a place he’d found and scoped out as his own for getting some
work done between classes a few weeks ago.
    “Yeah,”
he said, raking his gaze over her near-perfect form. She had big tits, which were
a bonus, but since he was an ass and legs man he waited her out. His newfound
inner radar started pinging the second her dark blue eyes met his. “I’m Jack.”
    “Hi,
Jack. Jenna.” She proceeded to ignore him for a solid hour, and he let her.
Because he had already figured something out about Jenna. And knew she’d stick
around and chat some more. He smiled when he sensed her nearby, hovering over
him. “Um, can you make heads or tails of this?” She pointed to an open passage
in her book.
    “Maybe.
I think I need coffee first. Join me?” He got to his feet and gathered all of
his papers. She watched, her eyes widening, then met his smile with one of her
own.
    “Yeah,
sure, Jack,” she said, lingering over his name in a way that made him gulp as
she stuffed her book in her backpack and shouldered it. The look on her face
confused him some, but her body was sending clear signals that he intercepted
and translated.
    They
walked, chatting about nothing in particular, and Jack got his first full look
at her. She was about five foot four in flat shoes, with a curvy form, packed
into nondescript dark denim jeans and red sweater that dipped into her
impressive cleavage nicely. Her dark brown hair tumbled around her shoulders
and her laugh was low, sexy. It rumbled around in his libido in a way that he
recognized.
    He’d
spent last summer learning something about himself that shocked him at first.
Then had settled into his new reality as a sexual Dom with an eagerness that
made that first girl who’d invited him to club a very happy camper.
    The
owner of the small place in downtown Detroit was an older guy, good-looking
still, and content to show him the ropes…and the handcuffs…the floggers… the
whips and ball gags.