His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) (10 page)

“I’d say the a/c is working fine.” He stared pointedly at my chest. “If that’s actually what’s making your nipples hard.”

“When you visit potential acquisitions, are employees’ nipples a standard item on your inspection list?”

“Not historically. I’m making an exception for you.”

“That’s a first. I’ve never had a man tell me that ogling my boobs was some kind of special favor.”

“Isn’t it? Judging from the past, I’m confident saying that you enjoy having your breasts ogled.”

My heart gave a loud thump, and I was afraid my palms were getting sweaty. “It depends on who’s doing the ogling.”

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. I think when it comes to displaying yourself, you’re a the-more-the-merrier kind of lady.”

Well, he had me nailed on that one.

I didn’t get a chance to reply before he added, “It’s one of your most attractive qualities.”

Yeah, my hands were definitely getting sweaty.

He said, “I’d like to see your breasts right now, actually. Why don’t you take off your shirt and bra and show them to me.”

It wasn’t a question. I felt a quick throb between my legs.

Hormones took over. I said, “I might do that. But I’ll be needing a little something in return. Say, I take off your shirt, and then I’ll take off my shirt.”

He considered my offer for a second, then said, “My jacket for your shirt and bra.”

I said, “Your jacket and tie, for my shirt.”

“My jacket, my tie, for your shirt and bra.”

“No deal. I want your shirt, too.”

“Okay then, let’s say, my jacket, tie and shirt, for your shirt, bra and skirt.”

I said, “You’ve got a deal.”

He said, “Are you coming over here, or will I be going over there?”

“I’m coming over there.”

I stood up and headed for the door to lock it.

He said, “I locked it when I shut it.”

Overly-confident ass, I thought. But I didn’t care.

I stepped in front of Gibson, reached out and ran my hands between his jacket and shirt. Mmm. The feel of crisp, starched cotton over firm, masculine flesh. I slid my hands across his shoulders, pushing back his jacket as I went.

He leaned forward and accommodated me while I slowly stroked down his muscled biceps, drawing the jacket down, stretching out the moment as long as I could. When I hit his elbows and couldn’t go any further, Gibson helped by pulling his arms out. I neatly placed his suit coat over the back of the nearby chair.

He settled back and crossed his hands over his stomach. “Your turn.”

I gave a sexy little smile, or at least what I hoped was a sexy little smile. Hovering my fingers over the top button of my shirt, I looked down at myself, then raised my eyes back up to Gibson, the promise of a slow, torturous reveal.

Then, bloop, bloop, bloop, bloop, I unbuttoned my blouse in a few short seconds, pulled it off and tossed it onto the chair over Gibson’s jacket. I leaned forward and grabbed the knot of his tie. For this, I would take my time.

Gibson appraised me in silence, his only reaction to my speedy disrobing a slight twitch of his lips at one corner of his mouth.

I tugged on the knot and loosened it a bit, then lifted his collar all around. More loosening of the tie, enough that I could put his collar back down but leave the tie outside of it.

Gibson stroked a single finger up my stomach to the bottom center of my bra, making me shiver.

I slowly lifted the tie, still knotted loosely, over his head, then put the tie over my head and left it to hang loosely down my chest, the knot nestled in my cleavage.

He said, “It looks good on you.”

I shrugged, all nonchalance ... complete pretense, of course. My heart was pounding like mad.

I stood up straight, reached behind my back and unzipped my skirt. I let it drop to the floor then stepped out of it, picked it up and dropped it on the chair. I also kicked off my heels and nudged them under the chair.

I said, “You get the shoes as a bonus. Isn’t that nice of me?”

Gibson said, “I can’t complain, except for one thing. You didn’t follow the order of the deal. Shirt, bra then skirt.”

“Hmm. I didn’t realize there was an order. If you wanted a particular order for things, you should have specified that before the deal was set.”

He said, “A valid point. I didn’t realize you were such an experienced negotiator.”

“Oh, I’m not.” I leaned down and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “I just got lucky, I guess.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

I smiled, then opened another button. Then another, and another. Damn, I had planned to take my time with this, but I couldn’t help myself. I had never seen him completely shirtless, and I was impatient to get on with it. I had never seen him completely naked, either and I was fully prepared to do whatever it took to finally see his complete package, so to speak, today.

To hell with it. I unbuttoned the rest of the buttons, then went to work on the ones at his wrists. When I was finished with them, Gibson leaned forward and pulled his shirt off, tossing it onto the chair with the rest of our clothes.

I stood there for a second, taking in the sight of his muscled chest and arms, the taut skin over his flat belly. Mmm. Must touch.

I sat sideways on his lap and ran my fingers over his warm, smooth skin, gliding over the rises and falls of his musculature. Trailing my fingertips over the curve of his shoulder, I stroked my way down to his thick biceps, squeezed, smiling when his muscles tensed under my hands.

He said, “If this is a delaying tactic, it won’t work.”

“Huh? Oh. I’m not delaying anything. I’m taking a short break.” I stroked up his arms and back onto his chest again.

He said, “Fondling is a separate negotiation. You haven’t fulfilled our first agreement yet. Take off your bra.”

“In a minute.” I played my fingers across his small nipples.

“You’re pushing your luck. Welshing on a deal is a serious violation.”

“I’m not welshing. I’ll take off my bra.”

“Take it off now.”

“Okay. Give me a few seconds, though.” I lowered my head, placed a soft kiss where his neck met his shoulders.

I felt a tremble pass over his skin. Yes. That’s what I wanted.

He said, “Take off your bra.”

“I will. Just one more second.” I kissed my way around the base of his neck, and reached for his belt buckle.

Wow, the man could move fast. Before I could react, he slipped his tie over my head, grabbed my hands and bound me at the wrists. Just like that.

In considerable consternation, I stared down at my tied hands. “Hey! I need those!”

He said, “Not anymore, you don’t.”

I attempted an innocent expression. “I can’t take my bra off if my hands are tied.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“It won’t?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

I went to put my arms over his head, intending to pull him forward for a kiss, but he was having none of it, and dodged me. Then he surprised me by scooping me into his arms and standing up. What was this?

He kicked the chair backwards, away from my desk.

I said, “Be careful with that chair. It might be yours soon.”

He gave me a long look, shaking his head slowly.

I smiled. Really, really wanted to kiss him.

He lowered himself down on his knees, set me gently on my ass on the scratchy carpeting. He took my hands and raised them over my head, then pushed softly on my sternum, guiding me backward, until I was prone on the floor.

He leaned down over my face, his breath mingling with my own, sharing the same air. He stretched my arms out straight over my head, then did something more behind me. I turned my head to try to see.

He was tying my hands to the leg of my desk. I yanked my hands. Too late. It was already a done deal.

I turned back to him, his face a scant few inches from my own. I said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

He smiled a rare, free smile. “I did.”

I thought, he’ll kiss me now. I even raised my head a little in expectation.

No, not to be. He pulled away from me, and stood up, his body agile and fluid in motion.

He walked off, around my desk, out of my line of sight. I twisted my head to see. No good. I could hear him open one of my drawers and rummage inside.

I asked, “What are you doing? That’s my desk.”

He answered, “As you’ve been so fond of pointing out, it will probably be my desk soon, so quit fussing.”

Fussing? Really? Did he just accuse me of fussing? I bit my tongue and lay still on the scratchy carpeting.

Good grief. I was lying on the floor of my office, wearing only my bra and panties, tied to my own desk. I might not like that man, but he knew how to get me hot. What was he looking for in my desk? Something to torment me with, no doubt. The anticipation sent tingles dancing around in my stomach and between my legs.

He said, “Here they are,” then he walked over and kneeled down beside me.

I searched his hands. Scissors. He had found my pair of scissors.

Oh hell.

Chapter 6

I gave him a hard look. “What are you going to do with those?”

I had no fear that he might hurt me with the scissors, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t concerned about the use he might have for them.

He said, “It occurred to me that I can’t actually spank you, not the way I want. It’s too noisy, unfortunately.”

I held my breath as he opened the scissors and slid the blunt ends of cold metal over my skin then slipped them around my bra strap.

I said, “You wouldn’t.”

He shrugged. “You shouldn’t have welshed on our agreement.”

“I was going to take off my stupid bra. You’re just impatient.”

“I warned you. Three times. Now don’t move.”

The scissors began to close over the narrow strap.

I hissed, “Don’t you dare!”

He dared. Snip!

As soon as he pulled the scissors away, I remembered I had legs and started kicking up with my far leg, twisting to the side, trying to give him a good shove in the ribs.

He easily grabbed my flailing limb, forced it down to the floor then climbed on top of me and sat down hard on my thighs.

I made an oomph sound, said, “That hurts!”

He said, blandly, “No it doesn’t.”

Okay, so he was right. It didn’t hurt, and I don’t think he actually had all of his weight on me, either. Still ...

He said, “Now quit squirming, or you’ll hurt yourself.” And he brought up the scissors again, aiming for my other bra strap.

I didn’t argue with him this time. He would do it no matter what I said, and I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of trying to stop him again.

Besides, he didn’t know that I had some safety pins in my desk. I could use them on the bra straps to hold them together until I got home. So there, buddy. Nice try.

He snipped my other bra strap in two. Then he slid the scissors between my breasts, closing them over the white lace in the middle of my bra.

Okay, that wouldn’t be so easy a fix.

I said, “You don’t need to do that. You can just pull it down now.”

He said, “I know.”

Snip! Snip!

No! That was a tough one. I tried to convince myself that I could still fix it.

He looked at my chest, at what he’d revealed of my breasts, and my ruined bra. I was breathing fairly hard, couldn’t slow down.

He ran his palms up my stomach, then slid his hands under the remains of my bra, covering my breasts, sending the lacy fabric down past the sides of my chest. I arched up into his hold.

His hands traveled over my breasts, down my sides, under my back. One hand lifted me while the other pulled my bra out from under me.

Dangling the ruined garment before my face, he cocked an eyebrow at me. Then he took the scissors, and starting at the bottom of the hanging fabric, snipped off about a three-inch-long piece. Then another piece. Then another, until my bra lay in a pile of small pieces on my chest.

All the safety pins in the city wouldn’t be able to put that humpty-dumpty bra back together again.

He piled the pieces into a neat stack, then leaned forward, laying the pile on the corner of my desk. He settled back down on my thighs and began toying with my nipples, running one finger over each hard peak, back and forth, back and forth.

I said, “I can’t believe you did that. I’m a professional, you know. I can’t be walking around the office without a bra.”

“Then you should have taken it off when you had the chance.”

“Quit acting like I’m a welsher. I would have taken it off,” I said, though it was hard to think straight with his fingers on my nipples.