Strictly Pleasure: Hooded Pleasures, Book 2

by Sheryl Nantus

  Melissa had tried to explain it to him more than a few times but he’d never quite understood. All he knew was it was a glorious gift and one he cherished from all his clients.

  But none as much as the woman cradled in his arms.

  “You must be thirsty.” He reached down and plucked the energy drink from the cooler. It took a bit of maneuvering, but he managed to open it without spilling it over both of them.

  He pressed it to her lips. “Drink.”

  She gulped at the first mouthful.

  Oliver pulled the can away. “Slowly. I don’t want you to get sick.” He offered it to her again, and she took another sip.

  He hummed a popular pop tune as he rocked her back and forth, sensing the shift in her body as she came back to herself.

  Every woman is different, but they’re all the same.

  She finally let out a weary sigh and turned to him.

  Oliver was shocked to see the tears start as she met his eyes, her sniffles turning to sobs.

  “Shush. It’s okay.” He wrapped his arms around her even tighter as she cried, the last of the endorphin rush forcing its way past her emotional barriers. “You’re fine. You’re just fine.”

  Finally, Veronica swiped at her cheeks with the backs of her hands, sitting up abruptly. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” Oliver smiled and stroked the back of her neck. He undid the buckle and pulled the collar free. “There. More comfortable now?”

  Veronica’s hands flew up to inspect her neck. The flush in her cheeks rose as she dropped her hands into her nap.

  “Yes. Thank you.” She paused, and Oliver knew she was wondering if she had to add the honorific.

  “When I take the collar off, it’s over,” he prompted. “We’re good.”

  Veronica leaned forward and ran her fingers through her hair. “My God.” She turned to look at him. “What—”

  “That’s subspace. That’s what should be happening to every man you take into the back rooms.” He hesitated, unsure how to phrase what he knew had to be said. “You’re a natural.”

  She rubbed the back of her neck and said nothing.

  Oliver reached for a granola bar and snapped it in half before giving her one piece. He bit down on the wafer and chewed slowly.

  This is her journey, not yours.

  Veronica ate the nut-and-berry snack and leaned back against him. She pulled the blanket tighter around her and laid her head back to stare at the ceiling. The tears had dried, and now all Oliver saw was the smart, tough businesswoman.

  “I can’t—” She shook her head. “Why didn’t I see this before?”

  He wasn’t sure if the question was directed at him, but he had to answer.

  “Because you didn’t want to.” He curled the collar up into a spiral and placed it on the floor. “Because you didn’t have to.”

  “This—” She drew a shallow breath and shook her head. “This isn’t me. I shouldn’t be that—” Veronica waved her hands. “I can’t be this.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Because submissives aren’t—” She gestured at herself. “This. Me. I’m too tough for this.”

  He slipped a finger under her chin and turned her face up to his. “It’s precisely who and what you are that make you a perfect submissive.”

  It took all his resolve not to kiss her, drain some of the tension from her expression.

  “People think it’s the weak ones who are submissives, the men and women who look soft and pliable.” He chuckled. “They’re usually not. It’s the ones who can’t let themselves go who need a Dom the most. The ones who are so strung-out due to their job, their personality keeping their emotions locked up and trying too hard to control everything and everyone around them. They’re the ones who need this to—” He frowned, searching for the word. “They need this to really be alive.”

  Veronica stayed silent, and he knew she was putting the pieces together, gathering her information and analyzing it as if she were debating a new coffee machine in her café.

  He had no doubt she’d come to the same conclusion he had, acknowledge and accept what he’d seen in her.

  But he couldn’t rush his Roni.

  Oliver mentally jerked back at the thought.

  Since when was she yours?

  He looked at the leather collar on the floor.

  That’s not yours.

  The woman beside you isn’t yours.

  She’s just another assignment.

  Just another submissive seeking her path.

  “Okay.” The whisper brought him out of his self-inspection. “What if I am a—” She struggled with the word but finally spat it out. “Submissive. Why didn’t I figure it out before? Why didn’t someone tell me?”

  Oliver opened another can and took a deep drink before answering. “Because you didn’t know your true nature. Plenty of people make the same mistake. HP has applicants who think they’re subs when they’re really Dominants—the interview usually calls them out.” He passed her the drink. “You’ve heard the term ‘topping from the bottom’, right?”

  “Yeah. But I was never sure what it meant,” Veronica admitted. “It means when the sub gets all uppity and lippy right?”

  “Yes and no.” He rubbed her shoulders through the blanket. “It happens when the submissive tries to direct what the Dominant’s doing. Maybe you do something on purpose in order to get punished. The funny thing is you already have the control in the relationship. You have the safe-word, and you dictate the terms.”

  “I never thought about it like that before.” She curled into his neck and let out a sigh. “My mind’s all confuzzled.”

  “Confused?”

  “Confuzzled. Confused and puzzled.”

  He grinned. “I see. How about you think that over while I get your clothes?” He tugged at the blanket in response to her frown. “You think I’m going to send you home half-naked?”

  “I thought—” She stopped and smiled. “I was baiting you with the clothing. Sorry.”

  He levered himself up off the couch. “Apology accepted. Finish the drink, and I’ll call the cab.”

  Oliver walked over to the bookshelf and found the clean white T-shirt and gray track pants he’d stashed there along with underwear.

  “You were prepared to destroy all my clothing,” Veronica said from the love seat before draining the can.

  “I was,” he admitted as he strolled back. “And I did.” He pointed at the shredded shirt and panties lying on the floor. “You’re quite comfortable with being naked in front of me. Did you notice that?”

  She pulled the blanket tighter around her. “I guess.” Her gaze went to the carpet. “I don’t know what to think right now.”

  “That’s okay. Go home, take a bath and let yourself process what’s going on.” He knelt in front of her. “Here.” He handed her the clothing. “Leave the other sweats. I’ll take great pleasure in burning them.”

  She laughed as she took the pile. “That ugly?”

  “That ugly.”

  She held up the panties. “You guessed my size.”

  He gave her a knowing look.

  “Right. Yes.” She placed the clothing at her feet.

  “Thank you,” Oliver said.

  Veronica frowned. “For what?”

  “For this.” He smiled. “I appreciate your gift.”

  She blushed, the simple reaction tugging at his heartstrings.

  “I need to go.” She shrugged off the blanket and pulled on the shirt. “I’m still a bit horny. Is that a side effect?”

  Oliver found it easy to smile, painfully aware of his own aroused state. It wasn’t as bad as before, but he was horribly, hopelessly turned on. “It should be if it’s done right.”

  Veronica moved to pick up
her track pants, exposing her bottom half to him. He paused at seeing the red marks across her ass and the slick skin between her legs, begging him for release.

  Not yours.

  Behave.

  “Here.” He pushed the running shoes toward her with one foot. “I’ll get your purse and make the call.”

  His patience was nearing the end, his restraint in tatters. It took all he had to keep his voice calm and level. “I’ll call you in a few days and see you in a week.”

  It was easy to imagine the rest of the scenario, so easy to pull it into his mind’s eye.

  “Mine.” He moved in for a deep, hot kiss. “All mine.”

  The blanket fell away as he pulled her onto his lap and pushed her hand onto his crotch.

  “See what you do to me? What you’ve done,” he murmured as he kissed her along her cheek, ending up at her earlobe, where he nipped the sensitive skin. “What are we going to do about that?”

  Roni silently unfastened the leather pants and slid her hand inside.

  Oliver gasped, almost coming at her brief touch.

  He turned away from Veronica as she got dressed, forcing himself to think of ice-cold water.

  The iceberg that sank the Titanic.

  It took a few seconds to cross the room and retrieve her purse from the corner he’d tossed it into, keeping his back to her.

  It seemed like a decade.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m ready.”

  He turned to see her standing there fully clothed wearing his shirt and track pants. Perfect.

  “Good.” He grabbed the cell phone off another shelf and tapped the screen. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  She picked up the leather collar from the floor and looked at him. “Can I take this?”

  He raised his eyebrows at the request.

  She’s accepting it. Accepting her collar.

  “Yes. It’s yours.” His emotions flared, the urge to take her in his arms almost overwhelming. “Don’t forget it next week. I’ll be annoyed if you do.”

  “Really.” The teasing twinkle in her eyes warmed his heart. “Now I’m tempted to see about this topping from the bottom.”

  A few steps, and he was far inside her personal space before she could move, could realize what he was doing.

  “Don’t,” he whispered.

  Oliver relished the peep of surprise he brought out of her, the way her pupils expanded at his quiet admonishment.

  His cock twitched, and he knew he’d be in the bathroom seconds after he sent her away.

  Damn it. You’ve got me on your leash.

  A hard knock at the front door shocked them both out of their stalemate.

  Oliver cleared his throat. “I’ll see you soon.” He took her hand and led her down the hall.

  The cab driver was back inside the car as he opened the door, waiting for his fare.

  “Thank you,” Veronica said as she stepped out. Suddenly, she twisted around and kissed him on the lips. “Thank you.”

  Oliver didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything until the cab pulled away and disappeared around the corner.

  It was only then he dared to touch his lips, the tears welling up in his eyes.

  Melissa.

  What the hell am I doing?

  Her voice drifted to his subconscious.

  Exactly what you want to do. What you need to do.

  Veronica laid her head back on the cushions, her head spinning. The drinks and the snacks had helped settled her nerves, but there were a thousand questions running around in her head, and there was no easy answers.

  You’re a true submissive.

  She shook her head, not caring if the driver saw, and wondered what this strange woman was doing in the back of his car.

  The two realities warred in her mind.

  This doesn’t make sense.

  This makes perfect sense.

  Her legs were cold, the track pants slow to help her warm up. She wanted nothing else than to return to the warm flannel blanket and Oliver’s arms, the comfort and safety of being with him, being his—

  His possession? His submissive?

  The thought startled her into sitting upright.

  He’s just an employee. Hired by HP to help me get my head on straight. Nothing more nothing less. There’s nothing more between us than a business arrangement.

  The moisture between her thighs begged to disagree with her conclusions.

  She sighed and turned her head to one side. The buildings flashed by, the familiar stores and streets blending into one long hypnotic drone.

  What am I doing?

  The lethargy in her bones threatened to drag her down into sleep. When the cab pulled up in front of her house, it took a concentrated effort to straighten up and open the door.

  “Next week.” He smiled at her. “Have a nice day.”

  She made it through the front door and fumbled in her purse for her keys.

  Her hand brushed over the leather collar curled up in a tight ball.

  Mine.

  His.

  She pulled the keys out and forced the right one into the lock with a muffled curse.

  The downstairs door creaked, and she knew her landlord was listening, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was a quiet dark place to try to figure out the emotional firestorm churning through her mind.

  She jammed her keys in her pocket and pushed the door open.

  It took the last of her energy to strip down and make it to the bathroom. She’d showered earlier, but it felt like a whole new day.

  Veronica hovered over the large white tub. She twisted the hot water tap wide open, praying Anderson hadn’t used it all up. It took a few minutes to find the bath salts she’d gotten as a present at Christmas from her staff, the tiny purple beads waiting patiently to be used.

  She dropped a handful under the now-steaming stream of water and watched them explode into a sweet-smelling foam.

  It took the last of her self-control to slowly lower herself into the still-filling tub, adjusting the water temperature to make sure she wasn’t boiled alive.

  Veronica laid her head on the cool ceramic edge with a sigh.

  Her ass burned.

  Though—and she hated to say it because it sounded so trite—in a good way.

  She shifted, sending ripples scurrying to the edge of the tub.

  So this is what a good paddling feels like.

  She hadn’t had the same reaction to her previous spanking, her recovery much faster. By the time she’d gotten to sleep Saturday night, it’d been only a pleasant memory.

  This—this might take a bit longer.

  She grunted and moved again, this time to turn off the taps with her feet. The water lapped at the edges of the tub, white fluffy mounds of foam swirling around her knees.

  Closing her eyes sent her easily back to the love seat, the memories vibrant and fresh.

  The nervous tension of waiting there, bent over and waiting for the paddle to fall.

  The anticipation sending her pulse singing in her veins, the delicious pain snaking through her thighs to land right on her naked desire.

  Veronica sighed.

  She’d paddled plenty of submissives in a variety of settings. Public, private—bent over spanking benches and stretched out on St. Andrew’s crosses.

  But this—

  She groaned and rolled again, letting the water circulate over her battered bottom.

  He’d managed with only a few words to send her imagination soaring, send her into a fantasy world with only his voice.

  She’d never thought of doing that to any of her men.

  Sliding down brought the hot water up to her chin and raised the level of the water close to the edge.

  Her mind had, for lack of
a classier way to say it, been blown.

  She allowed herself a mischievous smile at the memory of Oliver’s very obvious erection.

  Speaking of blown—

  She couldn’t imagine him visiting other women and providing the same service without being horribly frustrated. He couldn’t even come home to his wife and take care of business, as it were.

  Veronica frowned and studied a cluster of bubbles as they drifted near her mouth.

  Oliver was a widower and a Dom.

  Alone in two worlds.

  When she died, it must have torn him apart.

  She lifted her arm and watched the water drip off her fingers.

  Now he spent his weekends helping women find their inner nature.

  Veronica closed her eyes and shifted again, the heat helping burn out the aches and pains. She felt like she’d run a marathon instead of standing in one place, allowing a man to paddle her ass.

  Her desire had diminished but not by much. As she struggled out of the tub, she made a promise to grab some wine and head for the bedroom.

  Veronica mopped her hair with a towel as she walked into the living room, relishing her thick white robe. The throbbing on her ass had died down to a low hum, enough to remind what had happened but not enough to dominate her thoughts.

  The answering machine was blinking.

  It was almost an antique, her persistence in having a landline a holdover from the time when she couldn’t afford a cell phone. It’d been an expense she couldn’t justify and she’d taken as much pride in her first portable phone as most women did in their firstborn child.

  Veronica tapped the well-worn button on the way to the kitchen and a well-deserved glass of wine.

  I wonder if there are any wine preferences for subs—

  “Veronica.” The familiar voice brought her up short. “I guess you’re not carrying your cell. Don’t tell me you can’t afford the fees.” The displeasure in his voice was sharp and cutting. “Call me as soon as you can. Good-bye.”

  Dear old Dad.

  She went for the white wine. A lovely chardonnay to try to mellow her out before she returned his call.

  He never contacted her just to chat.

  There was a reason behind every communiqué, every contact.

  Veronica flashed back to the last time they’d talked. It’d been two months ago—Alfred Locksley had appeared in the doorway of Java Jive, glancing around with a less-than-impressed scowl before she’d recognized him and hustled him to an empty table.