His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please, Book 3)

by Ward, Deena

  And when the moment was right, when I knew Josh wouldn’t last more than a few seconds longer, I clamped down the muscles in my pussy and gazed into the courtyard, straight to where my silent spectator stood. There he was. The dark outline of him.

  I came hard, pleasure spiraling out from my pussy. I must have cried out too loudly, because Josh abruptly sat up and mashed a hard hand over my mouth.

  Then he, too, came, his hips jerking beneath me, pushing me onward into my orgasm.

  I couldn’t stop looking at the man in the shadows. Couldn’t stop looking until the last of the pleasure faded into shuddery aftershocks.

  Josh took his hand off my mouth and fell back onto the sand, pulling me with him, my bare chest against his cotton shirt. He wrapped his arms around me and we lay there puffing and panting, his rapidly deflating cock still inside me.

  When I had myself back together again, I turned my eyes once more to the dark courtyard. The stranger was gone. Disappeared.

  I wondered, had he truly been there? Could his form have been a trick of light and shadow? Could my desire for an audience have conjured him, golem-like, from the dark matter of my need?

  I didn’t actually care though, if he were real or not. He had been real enough when it mattered.

  Josh said, his voice soft against my ear, “Damn, Nonnie, that was hot.”

  I thought, he didn’t know the half of it.

  Later, back in my room, I fulfilled my promise to Josh and made sure not a single, annoying grain of sand remained on his body. He returned the favor then carried me off to my bed.

  Josh was a good lover, but whatever he did, it wasn’t enough to take me over the edge. Even when I was on all fours and he was fucking me fast and furious, even when I convinced him to smack my ass a few times, it wasn’t enough, wasn’t hard enough, wasn’t even close to what I craved.

  It wasn’t his fault. What he was doing should have been enough. I eventually faked an orgasm to give him the permission he needed to finish himself off.

  I cuddled with him for a while afterward, then sent him on his way, telling him I had to get up early, that he was great, I’d loved it. Maybe I’d see him again someday. All the crap you say to get someone out of your bed at two o’clock in the morning.

  When he was gone, I hopped back into bed and wrapped the covers around myself.

  It had been a night of hit and miss. If there had been any lingering doubts in my mind about the direction my sex life was heading, then tonight should have put those doubts down for a final count.

  Some unwanted lines filtered through my memory, sounding as clear as when I first heard them nearly a week ago.

  “You’ll feel differently later. When you start to miss what I can give you, that other men can’t.”

  Taunting words, spoken by Michael Weston when I dumped him. So cocksure, he was. So full of himself.

  And worse, he might have been right.

  Hell.

  No. I might be missing what he could give me, but it didn’t make me feel any differently about him. I had made the right decision, leaving him. And all the unfulfilling vanilla sex in the world wouldn’t put me back under Michael’s uncaring and sloppy control.

  However, there was still the matter of what other men couldn’t give me. I couldn’t go back to the way it was before. Before I had learned things about myself. Before I met Gibson Reeves, and then Michael Weston.

  Of course, there was no reason to want to go back to that place. I was lonely back then. Unsure of what I wanted. I had all of this pent-up energy and desire that had no place to settle, no path to follow. I had believed myself to be a woman on a mission. The only problem was, I didn’t know what that mission might be.

  To be truthful with myself, I still wasn’t certain of my ultimate mission. Maybe I never would know, but I did have an idea of where I wanted to go in the near future.

  I wanted to continue pursuing my foray into BDSM. There was so much for me to explore, so much to learn about myself and what was surely still hidden inside me.

  When I had first come on my vacation, straight from the awful events at Michael’s apartment, I had thought that maybe it was time for me to end my journey. After nearly being raped with a beer bottle, I was shaken up, and blamed myself for much of what happened.

  Soon, though, I realized that I was more angry than afraid, more disgusted at the actions of others, and less focused on what I had done, or what I hadn’t done. If I let their actions drive me away, then I stood to lose what little I had gained.

  So I performed my experiments with the willing Josh. I learned that I could take control if necessary, make things happen the way I wanted them to, like I had done between the hedgerow and the dark courtyard. It had been good for me. But I knew it could be better.

  I knew what I really wanted, what drove me wild. Had there really been any question of it since the moment Gibson Reeves had taken me in the hallway of that bar a month and a half before? No, not really.

  I needed a man who could take control. And not just any man.

  I learned with Michael that it needed to be the right man. A man who would take control and accept that I needed to retain enough of it to protect myself.

  I simply needed to choose my next partner more wisely.

  Once I was home, that was exactly what I would do. I would throw off society’s conventions. I would seek out what pleased me, would find my pleasure and I wouldn’t confuse a mind-blowing orgasm with love.

  I would search for a casual partner, or more than one. I would find those I could trust, but take care only to bestow that trust once it was earned.

  I could give up control and retain it at the same time, could play the game by my own rules. I had the final say.

  After my experience with Michael, I wouldn’t forget that, ever again.

  Chapter 2

  I was only home a few days when I got my first opportunity to put my new resolutions into action.

  Tuesday, after work, I had just walked into my apartment when my cell phone rang. It was Elaine Hoyte, a new friend who was quickly becoming a favorite. She and her husband, Ron, owned a chain of retail stores that was headquartered in the city. Both of them were older than me, in their early 40s. Elaine had become my confidante and adviser in all things BDSM.

  She said, “Hey there, Nonnie. Welcome home. How’s it goin’?”

  I read between the lines, knowing she was asking more than the usual question. I had called her when I was on vacation, and told her about my split with Michael. I didn’t give her the details about what went down, preferring to keep that information private, but I let her know that I believed Michael and I didn’t suit one another. Her question about how everything was going was her way of asking me if I was okay with the breakup.

  I answered, “I’m fine. Really. I feel good. Ready to move on.”

  I could hear the smile in her voice. “Good for you.”

  We chatted for a few minutes, small talk about my vacation, about her work and husband, that sort of thing.

  Then Elaine said, “I was hoping I could ask you a favor, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to say yes.”

  “Okay. I won’t. Ask.”

  “Well, first off, I know you just broke up with Michael, so maybe you need some more time to lick your wounds.”

  I answered firmly. “I don’t need more time. I’m done with him.”

  “All right then. I’m glad. He wasn’t ever going to be a man for the long haul, anyway.”

  I was surprised. This was the first time Elaine had said anything negative about Michael, assuming that she considered his inability to commit to be a fault. “You’re right. So what’s this favor? Have you got somebody you want to set me up with?”

  “No, no, not that.”

  I was disappointed. Damn. That could have made my life easier. “Okay. So what’s the favor?”

  “Well, you see ...”

  She followed with a lengthy explanation. Apparently, for their
latest anniversary, Elaine had given her husband, Ron, a perfect BDSM gift: a fantasy scenario that she herself had devised for him, and that she would perform with him in one of the viewing rooms at the BDSM club, Private Residence.

  I couldn’t keep from laughing when she described what kind of scene it was. It was classic Hoyte: fun and sexy at the same time. It was nothing at all like the first scene I had watched them perform at the club, the one where a hooded and inhuman-looking Ron worked over a blonde woman with a rod while Elaine assisted in the role of slave.

  Knowing them now the way that I did, it seemed like that was a different couple back then. But I was learning that people weren’t simple, that desires can vary in vastly different ways, one moment leaning one way, and the next another.

  Elaine told me that everything was in place for their scene this coming Friday night at the club. She had all the props, had coached the two other women who would join the performance. And then disaster struck.

  One of the women who was to perform had been called out of town because of a death in the family. There would be no way that she could return by Friday night, or that she would even be in the mood for such a thing if she could get back in time.

  Elaine needed a replacement, and that’s what the favor was about.

  “I thought of you right away, honey,” she said. “You’re single now. And you know how Ron favors you. And I don’t know how you feel about him, but I don’t think you’re opposed to him anyway ...”

  She trailed off.

  I smiled. This was perfect. It was as if everything was falling into place. This was precisely the sort of thing I was looking for: a chance to stretch myself with people I trusted. I definitely trusted Elaine. She had been a good friend to me, had tried to guide me when I didn’t realize how much I needed guiding.

  As for her husband, Ron, I hadn’t spent a lot of time with him, but I liked him during the times we had spent together. He was a jokester sort, and attractive in a big man kind of way. I couldn’t say he was my usual type, but I didn’t find him unappealing, either. His very size and burliness drew a physical response from me.

  Elaine and Ron were crazy in love with each other, but they both liked to share, and I knew from experience how confident they were in their relationship, how they broke the normal rules of monogamy, and made it work for them.

  I admired that, hoped one day I might find something like that for myself, if not the sharing part, then certainly the confidence in the connection.

  Doing a scene with them would be fun and safe, and sexy, too, I was certain. And it would be in a public room at the club. I no longer denied my desire to do sexy things in public. I embraced it.

  I said, “Of course I’m not opposed to Ron. I’ll do it.”

  Elaine gave a happy hurray, and a relieved sigh. “You’re a treasure. Really. I hated to disappoint Ron. He’s been lookin’ forward to this for almost a month. Things kept coming up and getting in the way. I really, really didn’t want to let him down again.”

  I appreciated her warmth. “I’m happy to help. It sounds like fun.”

  “Oh,” she said, “honey, it will be.”

  We agreed to meet the next evening at one of their favorite bars to go over the details together. The other woman in the scene would be there as well. In the meantime, Elaine would email me her script, such as it was.

  When I opened her email a short while later, I was relieved to learn that her script was more of a description of what would be happening. It would play out similar to a silent movie, mostly acting through gestures. She also made some posters that could be displayed for the audience where words were necessary for understanding, or for amusement.

  I was excited to be part of it, thought it was pretty hot, and at other times, downright funny. I looked forward it.

  The next night, everyone was already at the bar when I arrived. It was mostly a quiet place, with a relaxed crowd and soft music, small groups of people at the tables enjoying their conversations.

  Ron and Elaine hugged me, and I shook hands with the pretty woman who played a key role, more key than my own, in our little scene. Her name was Patsy, and she was close to Elaine’s age, thirty-something, petite like Elaine, though not as ripe-figured.

  I hit it off with Patsy right away, her manner as good-natured as the Hoytes’. Ron called the waitress over to get me a drink, then we settled down to talking about how everything would unfold on Friday night.

  A few times while we talked, Ron caught my eye. When he winked at me, I smiled. Elaine noticed and winked at me, too. They were a pair, to be sure.

  We had been hard at it for nearly an hour when I excused myself to go to the restroom. I followed Elaine’s directions and headed around a corner and back to the rear of the building. I sighted the opening to the hall when my eyes were drawn to the right.

  I don’t know what drew my eye over to that side of the room. I only wished it hadn’t.

  My glance fell on a tall, handsome man, kicked back in a booth, his long dark hair brushing his shoulders.

  Michael, oh-hell, Weston.

  And his pale blue, wolf eyes were looking straight back at me.

  I stiffened, made a quick nod of acknowledgement, then turned away, ignoring his grin and the way he sat up straight, getting to his feet, I presumed. I strode quickly into the short hallway and secreted myself behind the door of the ladies restroom.

  I found an open stall and hid myself inside it. Oh God.

  The second I met that man’s eyes I felt a tumbling sensation going from my chest all the way down to my feet. I hated that feeling, the body’s recognition of a former lover, followed by the brain’s reminder that he was lover no more.

  It was too soon. I didn’t want to have to see him so soon. Bad luck. Bad, bad luck.

  I registered something that I hadn’t noticed in the midst of my sight and flight. There had been a woman sitting next to Michael in the booth.

  She was a blonde woman, thin with striking features, like a fashion model. She perched on her seat in a skin-tight red dress that perfectly matched her lipstick. Her pert nose was raised in the air, as she managed, somehow, in spite of her lower position, to look down her nose at me as I passed.

  So, I was already replaced, and by some jealous, beautiful bitch, no less. I waited for another cascade of thuds to roll down me, but it never came. Not one single thud.

  Hallelujah. It really was over. There were no regrets, nothing to make me wish to have him back. I was glad he had a new lover. Relieved.

  As pleasing as these revelations were, the likelihood that Michael would pounce on me the second I left the restroom still loomed large in my mind as something I would rather avoid.

  Why couldn’t breakups be clean affairs? You split up, then you never see the person again. That’s how it should be, but never was.

  I stiffened my back. Well, it wasn’t like I had anything to be ashamed of. He was the one who should be ashamed ... and probably wasn’t.

  If he didn’t accept a polite brush-off, then I’d get nasty. That’s of course, if he were waiting for me outside.

  I knew he was. I always knew.

  I finished my business, taking my time washing my hands and fussing with my hair, more to put off the inevitable than out of any concern for my appearance.

  Before I left, I had an idea and pulled out my cell phone. I shot off a quick text to Elaine that read: “Michael in bar. If not back in few minutes, come rescue. Please.”

  I opened the restroom door.

  Sure enough. There he was, leaning against the wall opposite the door, his long dark hair pushed behind his ears. He looked casual as usual, wearing the flirty grin that used to make me shiver in anticipation.

  I said, “Michael,” then tried to walk past him.

  No such luck. He reached out and grabbed my upper arm, pulling me back to stand in front of him. I yanked at my arm, but he held me tightly, the damnable grin on his face all the while.

  I said, “L
et me go.”

  “No.”

  I lowered my voice. “Unless you want your next words to be, ‘I’m sorry, Officer, please don’t arrest me,’ then you’d best let go right now.”

  That wiped the grin off his face. He released me. A split second of anger crossed his features.

  I rubbed my arm. It hurt. I considered giving him a retaliatory kick in the groin, then thought better of it and turned to march away.

  Behind me, he said, “I didn’t think you were a vindictive person, Nonnie.”

  Like an idiot, I rose to the bait. I turned and faced him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged. “I told you how sorry I was about what happened. How fucking bad I feel about it all. I thought if I gave you some space that you’d come around, but you’re not going to forgive me, are you?”

  “It’s not just about that one night.”

  “Then I don’t understand. What’s it all about? Why won’t you give me a chance to make it up to you?”

  I took a deep, steadying breath, “I said it all the night I left. We’re not right for each other. I’ve moved on. And it looks like you have, too.”

  His brows lowered. “Are you talking about Amber? The woman I’m with? She’s nothing. Some fluff I picked up for a night or two, that’s all. I’ll send her away if you want. Or even better, we can play with her together and then we’ll send her away.”

  I could only stare at him.

  He stepped closer to me, leaned in and said, “I know that somewhere in that beautiful body there’s a part of you that wants to forgive me, to give me another chance.”

  I shook my head, dumbfounded by his audacity. I reconsidered the option of kicking him in the groin.

  He misread me completely. He leaned in even closer and asked, “Who are you here with? Blow them off and come home with me.”

  A loud voice boomed out behind me. “She’s here with me, Weston. You wanna wrestle for her?”

  I turned. It was Ron. He had a big smile on his face that intended to take the threat out of his statement. All you had to do, though, was look in his eyes to see that it wouldn’t take much to make the threat real.