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

by Ward, Deena

  He was all sorts of handsome standing there, his white cotton pants snugly tied under his belly button, his flat stomach and muscular chest, so smooth and touchable. His dark hair even had some bed-muss to it that was sexy as hell.

  He had a wide, appreciative smile on his face as he perused my body. I couldn’t stay embarrassed with all that going on.

  I sat up, grinned, gave a small shrug. “I was practicing ... what you taught me last night.”

  He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Were you? How did it go?”

  “Not so good, actually. Something was missing.”

  He said, “Come here.”

  I crawled over to him, trying to be sexy about it, and I think I pulled it off, if his expression was anything to go by.

  He took me in his arms and kissed me, a long, passionate good morning kiss that left me breathless. He pulled back, finally, let me grab some air.

  After running his thumb over my lower lip, his brows knitted, “I think it’s still a little swollen. Does it hurt?” He pinched lightly.

  I shook my head dumbly, his kiss having knocked much of the sense out of me.

  He said, “That’s good.”

  His fingertips played over my hard nipples. “These are sensitive, yes?”

  I nodded.

  “And does this hurt?” He pinched a nipple.

  I flinched. “Yes.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Good.” Then he ran his hand down over my stomach, past my mound and between my legs. He pushed a finger into my slit, sliding easily in the moisture he found there, and slowly entered my pussy.

  “How about here? Are you sore?”

  I shook my head. My heart was thumping already.

  His finger left me then traveled lower, between my cheeks, and pressed against my asshole.

  He said, “Push against me.”

  I held my breath. And pushed.

  His finger entered me easily, twisted inside me. “And here? Sore?”

  “A little.”

  He removed his finger and said, “That’s to be expected. It’ll get worse before it gets better.”

  I shuddered at the threat and the promise, but mostly at the inevitability of it. My clit gave a powerful pulse.

  He took a long look over my naked body, from head to toe. “I’d say you’re in fine shape. Too fine. I think I was too easy on you.”

  My eyes widened, then he shot me a glance that said he was teasing and I laughed.

  He took me by the shoulders and set me to the side. “Breakfast will be here any minute. There’s a robe in the bathroom. Go do whatever you need to do then put it on before you join me out there.”

  I was actually a little disappointed that I would be wearing clothes, until he added, “You’re too tempting this morning. Now go on, hurry.”

  He stood up, leaned down and kissed me on the forehead, then left the room. I hopped up and headed to the bathroom, happy to obey, happy period.

  He already had breakfast spread out on the dining table when I made my way into the room. I sat down and smiled when I saw silverware next to my plate.

  Normally, I don’t eat much for breakfast, usually a piece of toast or a granola bar on my way out the door. But I was starving this morning and I relished every dish that Gibson revealed.

  There were scrambled eggs, a stack of toast, a pile of bacon and sausage, some kind of frittata, apple and blueberry muffins, a cereal I didn’t recognize, beautiful fresh fruit ... and the one thing I couldn’t live without ... waffles.

  I sprinkled fresh strawberries over my waffle and added some strawberry syrup and whipped cream. I sighed with pleasure at the first bite.

  Gibson watched all of these goings on with no small interest. “Seeing what you’ve chosen, I’m wishing I would have taken away your silverware.”

  My mouth was full, so I couldn’t answer. I chewed quickly and swallowed. Then with a deliberate motion, I dropped my fork on the table. I picked up a slice of strawberry and scooped up some whipped cream. I lapped up the cream, slowly, before I put the berry into my mouth and chewed.

  Then I looked over at Gibson.

  He was watching me, of course. His expression was unreadable, but I thought I saw a twitch in his jaw. Good enough for me.

  I returned my attention to my plate. I tore into the waffle with both hands, pulling off a hunk and swabbing it around in the red syrup. When it had soaked up enough of the sweet stuff for my taste, I picked up the piece, holding it while the syrup dribbled down onto the plate.

  I leaned forward and opened my mouth wide, sticking out my tongue to gather up the dripping syrup, then put the whole mess into my mouth at one time. I closed my lips over my fingers and sucked them clean while pulling them out again. I groaned. Savored the pleasure.

  Glanced over at Gibson.

  His eyes were narrowed now and focused on my lips. So I licked them.

  I sighed. “I’d hate to stain this nice robe.”

  I loosened the tie and shrugged my shoulders out of the garment, leaving it captured at my elbows while revealing nearly all of my breasts.

  I reached for a strawberry, swirled it in cream and syrup, then managed to miss my mouth just enough that some of the syrup dripped onto the top of my breast.

  I studied myself and said, “Oh no,” then went to scoop up the mess with my finger.

  Gibson abruptly pushed his chair out from under the table. I stopped mid-scoop. He didn’t say a word, only stood up, then stalked behind me and pulled out my own chair. He lifted me up, bodily, by my upper arms and kicked the chair off to the side.

  My breath hitched at the restrained power in his hands as he reached down and untied the belt of my robe. Then in one swift movement, he stripped the robe off me, tossing it I didn’t know where. He scooped me up into his arms then went down to his knees and laid me out on the floor next to the table.

  Still he said nothing. But he didn’t need to. I could see his eyes now, as he shoved my legs apart and loomed up over me. There was a gleam there, a need unleashed. Every part of me responded to that need. Wetness rushed between my legs and I spread myself for him.

  He untied his pants and pushed them down, then guided his cock into my slit, wetting the head, and with no preamble, slowly began to push himself inside me. I moaned at the stretch of flesh as he entered me, and while he relentlessly, and with a thrilling, smooth motion, shoved his cock into me as far as it would go.

  Then he reared back and unleashed his strength, pounding into me and fucking me without restraint.

  With one hand, he grabbed me behind the knee and bent my leg up and out as far as it would go. His other hand harshly pushed my head to the side, then he thrust his fingers into my hair to hold me in place while he lowered his head and ravished my neck and breasts with lips, tongue and teeth.

  I moaned at the glorious brutality of it, my body quivering all over, shaking from fear and pure desire. I dug my fingers into his back and lifted my hips to meet his thrust.

  He pounded into me. On and on. I knew he was getting close to coming when his speed increased and his breathing was beyond ragged. I had been staving off my own orgasm with a considerable amount of will, waiting for him.

  I clamped down on his cock, and gloried in his groan. He pulled my hair, twisting my head back so he could kiss me, his tongue thrusting inside me, and I wanted everything he had to give.

  We came within moments of one another.

  When we came down from our highs, a still-silent Gibson stood and pulled up his pants. He took one of the spare napkins from the table and cleaned me up a bit before he helped me to my feet. After finding my robe, he dressed me, cinched the tie, then picked up my chair, sat me down in front of my plate, and pushed me back under the table.

  He sat down in his own chair, reached over and grabbed my fork, placing it in my hand, closing my fingers over the handle of the utensil. He gave me a steady look that brooked no argument. I’d be using the fork for the rest of the meal.

&nb
sp; I tried to spear a strawberry, but my hand was shaking too badly to manage it, mostly because I was still weak from the crazy insane orgasm.

  I watched out of the corner of my eye as Gibson neatly laid his napkin in his lap.

  I poked at a strawberry.

  Then I laughed. Hard, long. Laughed.

  Gibson shook his head at my hilarity, tried to look put out, but was unsuccessful as far as I was concerned. He sipped his coffee.

  He said, “Imp.”

  I grinned, then speared and ate my strawberry.

  Chapter 14

  After breakfast, Gibson said he had some things to check on his laptop, so while he was doing that, I settled into one of the big easy chairs and checked my phone for messages.

  Elaine had sent a text late last night saying she needed a crew of forty to clean the mess the partygoers had made of her house. A few girlfriends texted to ask what I was up to; I replied that I was busy, and I hoped I would be.

  Besides those, there were three texts and two voicemails from Michael. The texts and one of the voicemails were his typical, or what I had come to think of as typical, commands that I call him. The second voicemail, which had been sent this morning, was different.

  He said, “I can’t stop thinking about you. You’ve got to understand, so I’ve sent you an e-mail telling you how it is. Read it then call me. I must talk to you.”

  I deleted his messages then opened my email inbox. Sure enough, there was an email from him with the subject line of “Last chance.” I deleted it without opening it.

  I could only hope he was serious that the email was my last chance with him, and that by not responding to it, he wouldn’t contact me again. I cursed my luck at him seeing me with Gibson.

  Michael didn’t want me, not really. He just didn’t want me to be with Gibson.

  Well, that was too damned bad for him, because I planned to be with Gibson as much as Gibson would let me.

  I fought down the burst of anger Michael’s messages had incited. I leaned my head back and studied the profile of my handsome lover sitting at the desk and typing with impressive rapidity on his laptop. I loved the way he concentrated on his task, the line of his sexy lips, the sinewed curve of his biceps. The way his bare feet were crossed, one over the other, struck me as positively adorable. And that flat, defined stomach. Yum! Love, love ...

  I mentally shook my head. Whoa. Hold on, girl, I told myself. It was just one night. You’re not in love; Gibson gave you some truly amazing orgasms but that doesn’t mean you’re in love. Settle the hell down.

  I knew I was right, but I couldn’t quit smiling all the same.

  I sighed.

  Gibson turned and looked at me. “Bored?”

  “No.”

  “I suppose I should ask you when you need to be home today.”

  I shrugged lazily. “Whenever. You probably have a busy schedule, though, huh?”

  “Nothing too pressing.”

  “Then there’s time for me to take a bath?”

  He said, “Plenty of time.”

  “Good.” I stood up. “Guess I’ll leave you to whatever it is you’re doing there.”

  He nodded and watched me as I walked by him. “I believe there’s oils and salts, that sort of thing, in one of the drawers in the bathroom.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  I felt his eyes on me as I left the room. I would be surprised if I were bathing alone for long.

  Not much later, I was relaxed in the big tub, big enough for two I thought, eyes closed and enjoying the crisp scent of the foaming salts I had liberally poured into the water as the tub filled. I had played around with the control panel on the wall and figured out how to lower the lights in the room, and how to choose a playlist from the music selection. The smooth R&B mellowed me even more than the warm, soapy water.

  This was the life. Waking up to a handsome man and a delicious breakfast I didn’t cook, being fucked half-senseless by said handsome man, then luxuriating in a king-sized bubble bath for as long as I wanted. I could get used to this. And quickly.

  I hummed along with the music and allowed my mind to drift, thinking of how it felt when Gibson touched me, how everything he did to me felt better because he was doing it. It was fascinating, how he managed that.

  In one short night, he had changed the way I thought about anal play, and about pain, both of the lighter sort, of course, and yet the difference was profound. I wondered when he would claim what he said was his, how long it would be until he determined I was ready. I couldn’t believe I wasn’t all that nervous about it, at least not in a scared way. More in an anticipatory, slightly fearful way.

  I was positive he would make it good for me. He made everything good.

  When I heard Gibson’s footsteps approaching, I smiled and opened my eyes. He leaned against the wall and returned my smile.

  He said, “You look good in bubbles.”

  “You’d look better.”

  “I doubt it, but I’m willing to try them on if you’d like.”

  “I like.”

  He doffed his pants and I sat up and scooted forward so he could slide in behind me. Always thinking, this man, he drained some of the water before he got in so he wouldn’t cause the tub to overflow. Once he was settled in behind me, I snugged in between his legs and leaned against his chest. Ah, lovely, when he wrapped his arms around me.

  I asked, “Did you get your work finished?”

  “For now.”

  I ran my fingers over his soap-slicked forearms. “Is there ever a time when you don’t have work to do? Do mega-important businessmen like yourself ever get vacations?”

  “Yes, we sometimes get vacations.”

  “I bet you’re always on call, though, like doctors.”

  He rested his chin on the top of my head. “You’re right.”

  “Did you always want to go into business? I mean, when you were a kid, did you always know what you wanted to do when you grew up?”

  “My father raised me with the understanding that I would take over his company one day, so I always knew what I would be doing with my life.”

  I tickled his foot with my toes. “You never wanted to be anything else?”

  “Not really. I recall once thinking I’d like to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Does that count?”

  I laughed lightly. “Not really.”

  He hooked his foot around mine so I couldn’t tickle him anymore. “How about you? What did you want to be when you grew up?”

  I thought about his question for a moment. “I don’t know. I mean, when I was really young it was the usual stuff like wanting to be a princess, an astronaut, a vet. The same things most kids dream of being.”

  “How about when you were older? High school?”

  “Oh, well, I think I just wanted a job, any old job, so I could get out of my parents’ house.”

  “What were you good at, in school?”

  I thought, getting pregnant, but didn’t say it out loud. “I’m not like you, Gibson, I’m just an average person. I was never really good at anything.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true.”

  His arms tightened around me gently. “There must have been something you were good at.”

  “Well, I haven’t thought about it in a long time, but I did like to draw, and my art teachers said I was okay. Nothing big. It was just a hobby.”

  “Do you still draw?”

  “No, I haven’t drawn since I was in school.”

  “Why not?”

  I wished the conversation hadn’t become about me. “I got married, and I had to work all the time and try to get through college, and there just wasn’t time for that sort of thing. I forgot about drawing.”

  Thanks to the soapy water, I was able to slip my foot out of his hold with a quick twist. I wiggled my toes in the air and gloated. “Ha! I’ve escaped your evil clutches.”

  I didn’t know if he were actually distracted by my ploy or
if he understood that I didn’t want to talk about my past anymore. Either way, he launched a fresh assault on my foot, trying to trap it under the water.

  We splashed around for a while until I finally gave in and promised not to tickle him anymore if he’d let my foot free.

  He kissed my cheek and said, “I have some work to do today because I have to travel tomorrow, but it won’t take the whole day, or any of the evening. Would you like to stay here another night?”

  I twisted so I could see him and smiled. “Yes, please.”

  He squeezed me. “Good.”

  Ah, happy tingle.

  He kissed me lightly then I turned back around with a contented sigh. We snuggled together for a while in comfortable silence. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but I was thinking about how delightful a wet and slick Gibson was.

  Finally, I broke the silence with a thought that popped into my head. “Do all couples in BDSM sleep with other people?”

  “Are you hinting that you’re wanting more company?” He asked the question lightly.

  “Of course not. I was just thinking about happy couples and I thought of the Hoytes, and your friends, the Martins. I don’t really know anybody else who’s into this stuff, not who’s married, anyway.”

  “The answer to your question is no. Not all couples share. It’s like everything else. Some people prefer monogamy, some don’t. Some travel to Arizona to have group sex in Native American sweat lodges.”

  I laughed. “Do you know this from experience?”

  He tweaked my ear lobe. “Yes, everything except the part about sweat lodges.”

  “Is sharing, or having multiple partners, something you do?” I blurted out the question without thinking, and almost wished I could take it back as soon as I asked it. All the same, now that it was out there, I wouldn’t mind knowing the answer.

  He didn’t hesitate in his response. “When I was younger, that answer would have been a resounding yes. I did experiment with multiple partners. Over time, I got it out of my system. I’m monogamous now, in regards to my own person. With my subs, though, I’ve been known to share them, if that was something they were interested in.”

  I was relieved, in many ways, by his response. I didn’t think I would like seeing Gibson with another woman. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d hate it. His feelings about his subs, though, I found curious.