His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) (26 page)

I pushed the sheet down and ran my fingers over the sensitive flesh, remembering the sweet tortures of the night, relishing the tenderness and how the most delicate of touches set my breasts to throbbing.

I sighed, closed my eyes. Tried an experiment. I squeezed a nipple just hard enough to make me catch my breath. I focused on the discomfort, tried to send it down to my clitoris. I felt a small twinge between my legs. Not bad, but nothing like the night before.

I reached a hand down to rub my clit, then tried squeezing my nipple again. I concentrated. Find the pain, send it down there. Add to the pleasure of what your fingers are doing.

It kind of worked, but not really. Mostly it just hurt. I sighed and returned to stroking my breasts, appreciating the sensitivity. I licked my lips, thought it would be nice to wake up every morning feeling this way.

Gibson’s deep voice jerked me out of my reverie. “I was going to surprise you and tell you I’ve made coffee. Instead, I get the surprise.”

“Uh ... good morning,” I said, embarrassed, not knowing what to do with my hands. Covering myself seemed foolish, so I just kind of let my hands lay where they were.

“Definitely a good morning.”

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.

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.