His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) (27 page)

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.

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.”