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

by Ward, Deena

  I might as well go for broke. “Do you feel that way about me? If I wanted it?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it. But probably, yes, if you wanted it.”

  “That’s different, isn’t it?” I asked. “It’s not like Elaine and Ron. I know they both have other partners when they want, not just one of them.”

  “Xavier and Paulina are like the Hoytes. I’m different. I told you, not everyone is the same.”

  “You did. This is just so different for me. The men I’ve known, either with me or my friends, they were jealous of other men. They didn’t even like it if another man looked at me, let alone touched me. But this BDSM stuff, I mean, you say ‘mine’ when you take me, but you’re not jealous about others being with me.”

  Gibson said, “I can be jealous about many things concerning you. However, in regards to sharing, I don’t see you as a piece of property. I don’t own you. You belong to yourself. If I have you, it’s because you said I could have you. If you want to be shared, and I agree, then that’s a gift we can give together, to someone else.”

  He twined his fingers in mine. “Together, we would decide. Come here.”

  He helped me turn onto my side, knees bent and laid over one of his legs, my side pressed against his chest. He held my hip with one hand, and lifted my chin with the other so I was looking into his eyes.

  He said, his expression intent and serious, “I enjoy your exhibitionist side and I’m willing to encourage it. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not possessive of you. I have limits, same as you.”

  I asked, “Like what?”

  His hand, the one on my hip, slipped down over my ass and he pressed a suds-slicked fingertip against my anus. “Like here.”

  I pushed, and he slid his finger inside me. I took a shuddery breath.

  He said, “When you’re with me, I can’t have anyone entering you here but me. It’s one of my hard limits, non-negotiable. I can share your mouth, and maybe even your pussy with the right person, but your tight little ass,” he moved his finger inside of me, “is reserved for my use only.”

  I swallowed hard. His sliding finger felt wonderful. “Not even if I really wanted someone else to take me there?”

  He took short, slow strokes. “Not even then.”

  I bit back a moan. Tried to stay focused on the conversation, which I realized was important. “Do you think that because I’m something of an exhibitionist, that I also want to have multiple partners?”

  He rubbed his cheek against my hair. “I think you’d be the person to answer that question.”

  “I thought so, too, but ...” then I caught myself and stopped. I had nearly said that Michael had told me many times that I wanted to be with other men. He told me that so often that I stopped questioning it after a while. Lately, though, I’d been wondering about it.

  I covered my stumble with, “I forgot what I was going to say. I can’t think with you doing that to me.” And this was not altogether a falsehood. His slippery strokes were a definite distraction.

  “Is it still that distasteful?”

  “Well, no, I can’t say that it is.”

  He pushed a second finger inside me. “How about now?”

  “No, not distasteful. I think you’ve gotten me past that.” I wished he’d kiss me.

  “Then you’re ready for more.”

  “I don’t know. What you’re doing right now is good enough for me.”

  He grinned slightly. “But it’s not good enough for me.”

  He held my gaze and I felt a third finger prodding at my stretched hole.

  I breathed in sharply. “Oh.”

  I gritted my teeth as the pressure of his probing increased.

  He said, “Focus on opening for me. I only want to stretch you. I won’t move it once it’s inside. Relax. And push back.”

  I did as he said, as well as I could, but it was uncomfortable, all the same. What worked best for me was thinking about how it felt for Gibson, how he wanted this from me.

  When he finally worked his third finger inside of me, he made a low sound deep in his throat, then said in a husky voice, “Very, very good, Nonnie.”

  He kissed me gently on my forehead, and whispered, “Very good, my beautiful girl.”

  Later, Gibson returned to working on his computer, while I valiantly fought to discover exactly how long I could stay submersed in water before I became permanently pruned.

  I swam in the lap pool then lazed around in the Jacuzzi, experimenting with the jets, adjusting the heat higher and higher until my skin was lobster red. Then I climbed out of the tub and raced over and jumped back into the lap pool, delighted with the icy shock of the cold water on my overheated skin.

  It took a long while for me to tire of my play. I rarely had opportunities like this, to indulge myself in watery pastimes, so I took full advantage of this one.

  When I finally had enough, I showered quickly to rid myself of all the chlorine, then dried my hair, wrapped myself in a fresh bathrobe, and headed to the living room to check on Gibson.

  There he was, still working away on his laptop. I knew I shouldn’t interrupt him, but I couldn’t help myself. If he were going to persist in sitting around wearing only those drawstring pants of his, shirtless and sexy as hell, then he would have to the deal with the consequences.

  I walked behind his chair and reached for his broad shoulders, smoothing my palms over his muscles.

  He covered one of my hands with his own and asked, “Bored yet?”

  “Nope,” I said, and leaned down to nuzzle the side of his neck.

  He tugged on my hand, pulling me around beside him. He pushed back his chair a foot or so then turned to face me, wrapping his hands around my waist and pulling me between his legs.

  He took one of my hands and lifted it to his mouth, kissed my palm then looked at my hand. “I think those are the pruniest fingers I’ve ever seen.”

  I shrugged. “I was having fun.”

  “I’m glad,” he said, dropping my hand and reaching for the tie of my robe. “And now I get to have some fun.”

  He opened my robe and ran his hands over my breasts.

  It was like insta-tingle.

  I said, “Gibson, you know you still have carte blanche with me, right?”

  He didn’t look up at me; he was studying my breasts. “I didn’t know that, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping for it.”

  “Well, good. But there’s one thing.”

  He stopped what he was doing and looked at me, his expression serious. “What is it?”

  “I was hoping I could make a bargain with you.”

  “Oh,” he said, his mouth curving into a half-grin. He returned his gaze to my breasts. “I’m always interested in negotiating with you.”

  “I want a turn, with you.”

  “I have no idea what that means.” He squeezed my breasts until I moaned.

  “I mean, I want a chance to do what I want with you, for a change.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Give you pleasure.”

  “Mmm,” he pinched one of my nipples. “You already do that.”

  “I mean, give you pleasure and you can’t do anything back to me.”

  “And what do I get in return?”

  “You get carte blanche, remember?”

  “I thought you already gave that to me.”

  I batted at his roaming hands and sighed. “I never knew it could be so hard to convince a man to let me give him a blow job.”

  He glanced up at me. “I see. That’s what you want to do.”

  “Yes. And it would have been a surprise, but whatever.”

  He smiled. “Okay, you can give me a blow job.”

  “Gosh. Thanks so much,” I said with an eye roll.

  “However,” he added, “I don’t know if I can resist you afterward. What do you say, we just see what happens?”

  I finally smiled. “All right. We can do that.”

  I stepped b
ack and disrobed, then held out my hand and led him over to the sofa. He followed along placidly enough, but with an expression that said he was humoring me. Oh, I’d wipe that expression off his face in no time.

  I removed his pants, trying to be as sexy about it as I could, then pushed him down onto the cushioned seat, spread his legs and knelt down between his knees.

  I took my time, admired his beautiful cock, all silky smoothness over pulsing, rigid strength. Oh yes, he was rock hard and ready to go. But I would make him wait.

  He touched my hair but I shifted away. “I’d like you to keep your hands at your sides. No touching for a while. If you think you can manage that.”

  I could see he didn’t like this stipulation, but he complied nonetheless. I smiled inside, then trailed my fingertips up his thighs. His dick twitched. Excellent, I thought. I stroked the insides of his thighs, the flat plane of his stomach, the outside of his thighs. Stroked him everywhere except where he really wanted me to touch him.

  With each pass, I came closer to his cock, his balls, pushed him until I feared he was at the end of restraint. Then I gently wrapped my fingers around him, and took one long, soft lick, all the way from base to tip. He twitched in my hand. I looked up at him. His eyes were closed and his head was leaned back.

  I licked him again. He was salty, and spicy musk. I thought him perfect. I cupped his heavy balls in my other hand, rolling them lightly against each other. Another long lick, then around the head, over the top.

  I put my all into it, wanting to give him the best. He so rarely let me touch him, who knew when I would get another chance?

  I slowly built the intensity, taking the opportunity to caress his chest, even to slide my hands under his butt and squeeze his firm ass a few times before he made a sound that said he wouldn’t put up with that for much longer.

  He lifted his head and looked down at me, his eyes lidded and intense. I met his gaze, held it until he switched to watching my tongue work the head of his cock.

  I licked and teased, stroked and sucked, until at long last I was firmly grasping the base of his cock, and sucking quickly up and down on his shaft, taking him as far into my mouth as I could.

  When Gibson’s hands closed over the sides of my head, I didn’t object to him breaking the rules. He was breathing hard, and it thrilled me that I had done that to him, that I had excited him.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t think I usually excited him. I knew I did. It was just that this was the first time I had any control over his arousal, was allowed the pure pleasure of touching him as much as I wanted.

  And yet, when he took over, pushing and pulling me up and down on his cock, I was ready to relinquish my small time at the helm. I was ready to let him take what he wanted again.

  His voice was raspy. “My turn now.”

  My response was muffled, what with my mouth being full. He lifted my head, pulling me off of him. I said, “Yes.”

  He groaned and pushed me back down, shoving into me, to the back of my throat. I began to gag, and he immediately pulled back. After that, as he fucked my mouth, he did it hard, and fast, and raw, but never hard enough or raw enough to make me gag. Masterfully, and I dare say mercifully, he stayed balanced on that line.

  My heart beat a rapid staccato in my chest. The faster he fucked me, the faster I wanted him to go. The harder he fucked me, the harder I wanted him to go. This act had never been so sexy to me.

  Soon enough, I knew he would come, and when he pushed himself into me a last time and held me in place, he jerked all over, grunted loudly, then came inside my mouth with a growled, “Yes!” of punctuation. Then his semen hit the back of my throat.

  Another twitch or two, and he pulled out of me, his cock still hard. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at me, his expression a palpable command I couldn’t deny. I swallowed shakily.

  He exhaled then, long and hard, his head falling onto the seat back. I dropped my own head onto his warm thigh, his big hand caressing me, soothing me.

  I was burning inside, my body quivering with unmet need. Part of me wanted to reach between my legs, to release the built-up pressure. But the other part wanted to wait, wanted to see what Gibson would do, if he would comply with my earlier wishes.

  I didn’t have to wait long. Inside of a few minutes, Gibson’s breathing was mostly even.

  He said, “Look at me.”

  I lifted my head and looked into his dark eyes.

  “Why,” he asked, “is it important to you that I not touch you now?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Stand up, please. Spread your legs.”

  I obeyed on trembling legs.

  He leaned forward and without preamble ran his fingers through my slit. He pulled his hand from between my legs, rubbing his thumb against his fingers, feeling the slick moisture he had gathered from me.

  He said, “You want me to deny this?”

  “No. Maybe. I can’t put it in words.”

  “Perhaps you’re into orgasm denial.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “It’s more like, I wanted you to have pleasure without thinking of me for once, without having to see to my needs, too. If that makes any sense.”

  He gave me a long, considering look. “You want me to be selfish. If I do as you ask, and let you go unfinished, how will you feel then? Will that excite you more? Less?”

  “I don’t know. More, probably, but not until later.”

  “When later?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s just forget it. I’m confused. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  He asked, “What if I told you that it arouses me more to make you come, than to leave you in need?”

  “Well then, that’s what you should do. Do what makes you feel best. That’s all I really want.”

  He slowly shook his head. “You thought that if I were more selfish, I’d get more pleasure?”

  I shrugged, then said, “Yeah, I guess so.”

  He made a hmm sound, and under his breath said, “Interesting.”

  “You’re acting like I’m some specimen you’re studying. I don’t like it.”

  “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable with my questions,” he said.

  “That’s okay.”

  “But we’re still left with the question of what I’m going to do.”

  I nodded. We were indeed, and I was damned ready for an answer.

  “So,” he said, “what do you want me to do?”

  “Do what will please you the most,” I answered without hesitation.

  “Okay. Then, right now, turn around, put your palms flat on the coffee table, stick your ass in the air, and prepare yourself for more stretching exercises.”

  My stomach flip-flopped and I rushed to obey, feeling heat climb up my face when he smacked my butt and complimented the view.

  He rubbed my ass cheeks. “And when we’re done with your stretching, I’m going to make you come every bit as hard as you made me. Because that’s what I want.”

  I gasped when he gave me another brisk swat. “Yes, please. What you want.”

  And that’s precisely what he did.

  Chapter 15

  We didn’t stay in the condo all day. In the afternoon, Gibson ushered me downstairs and showed me the retail shops and restaurants that filled the first three floors of the building. There was even a movie theatre, albeit a small one.

  The shops were the high end sort that I rarely visited, and it was difficult not to react with horror at some of the price tags I noticed. When Gibson took me to a cute coffee shop and insisted on buying me a ridiculously-overpriced muffin as a snack, I couldn’t hold my tongue.

  I said, “I could buy a dozen muffins at the supermarket for the price of that one right there.”

  “We’re not at the supermarket,” was Gibson’s glib response.

  “That’s not the point.” I looked at the teenager who was working the counter. “What makes this muffin twelve times better than a muffin at t
he grocery store?”

  The kid sighed, already bored with me. “I don’t know ma’am. I just sell ‘em, I don’t price ‘em.”

  Gibson leaned down to me and said quietly, “At least you now know the price hasn’t been upped because of superior service.”

  I laughed.

  He held up two fingers at the kid, ordering two muffins, but I yanked his arm down.

  “No way,” I said. “We can’t order this overpriced stuff. It’s not right. I can live without a muffin. Or anything from here.”

  Gibson was mostly amused. “I can afford a couple of muffins.”

  “Not the point.”

  The kid behind the counter sighed again, louder this time. “Ma’am, if you’re not going to order, would you mind stepping aside? There are other customers waiting.”

  Gibson said, “There’s a grocery store on the second floor. Do you want to go there?”

  “I do. Thank you.”

  I turned to leave, and the kid said, deadpan, “Thank you, Ma’am. Down with the man.”

  I almost tripped. Gibson steadied me by grabbing my arm. I chuckled and glanced sideways at him.

  “I’m not down on the man, you know.”

  “I should hope not,” he said.

  “In fact, I think the man’s pretty great, even though he overpays for muffins.”

  He smiled.

  The grocery store turned out to be unexpected entertainment. I thought the prices were bad elsewhere, but the grocery store took it to a whole other level. We wandered the aisles, me gasping and pointing out what things should actually cost, and Gibson nodding patiently, dropping the occasional dry comment.

  In all, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. And I wouldn’t let him buy the muffins at the grocery store, either.

  It was still early in the evening when we arrived back at the condo. Someone had tidied up the place while we were gone, and Gibson said it was only the usual housekeeping service. In my opinion, if you were going to throw your money around, housekeeping was the place to fling it. A maid gave a far better return than any overpriced, status groceries.