His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) by Deena Ward

then hung up.
    I tossed Gibson’s jacket back over the chair. “I don’t think I have anything left that you haven’t seen.”
    He stood up then said, “I can think of a few things. Turn around.”
    I did, looking back over my shoulder at him.
    He glanced at my ass then back up to me. “That’s one.”
    He moved in behind me, cupped my butt cheeks in his big hands, then turned his palms so that his fingers pushed into my crack and spread my cheeks apart, his fingers pressing just outside the bounds of my puckered hole.
    He said, “There’s another.”
    My breath hitched.
    He said, “But I don’t have enough time for a thorough inspection of that today. Unfortunately.” Then he gave my ass one last squeeze before he stepped away from me.
    I turned around and smiled at him. I probably looked all daffy and mussed as hell, but I didn’t care. A couple of incredible orgasms can do that to a woman.
    He tossed me my clothes while he went to work on his shirt.
    What with having no underclothes, it didn’t take me long to get dressed. I gathered up the two little piles which were all that remained of my panties and bra and shoved them into my purse. I found my shoes and put them on.
    I stood there, trying to smooth my clothes, staring down at my chest, all of my earlier silly happiness being dampened by the chagrin of having a pair of ridiculously hard nipples.
    I said, “Look what you’ve done. It’s completely obvious that I’m not wearing a bra.”
    He didn’t even glance over at me, his focus on smoothing out the wrinkles in his tie. “I know.”
    I poked at one my nipples. “Go down, damn you.”
    He gave a brief laugh. I thought, wow, two in one day.
    “That won’t help,” he said.
    I sighed.
    He said, “If I were you, I’d be more concerned about whether or not it’s windy outside.”
    On instinct, I flattened my hands against the sides of my skirt. I hadn’t thought about wind. Why hadn’t I worn a heavier skirt today? Well, at least this one wasn’t very short, reaching right around my knees. Wait. My knees. Were they redder than usual?
    Well, hell. That scratchy carpeting had roughed up my knees when I was on top of Gibson. Wasn’t that terrific?
    I sat down behind my desk and said to Gibson, “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
    I watched him finish buttoning his jacket, pushing his hair back into place with a casual flip or two. I was thoroughly disgruntled that he looked as put together as he did when he first walked into my office. How had he gotten the wrinkles out of his tie?
    I patted my hair. A tangled mess, especially in the back. I dug my brush out of my purse, and went to work detangling my hair. When I finished, I had one last thought. I found the small perfume atomizer I always carried. A few quick squirts to cover Gibson’s scent on me, and I was as ready for prime time as I could get for now.
    I looked at Gibson, who apparently had been standing there watching me futz around with myself.
    He came around my desk, leaned down to me.
    I said, “I kind of don’t want to kiss you right now.”
    He didn’t reply, simply cupped my face gently in his large hands, bent down and kissed me softly, with one tickling sweep of his tongue across my lips before he left me.
    He headed off, pausing briefly to put my chairs back in order before opening my door. He stopped just over the threshold, turned back to me.
    He said in a clear, carrying voice, “Thank you, Miss Crawford. You’ve been most helpful.”
    I said, my voice polite but my face stern, “You’re welcome, Mr. Reeves.”
    He turned around and strolled away.
    As soon as he was gone, I opened one of the bottom drawers of my desk. I pulled out a sweater I kept on the off chance I might get cold. It didn’t compliment my outfit, but who cared. I quickly pulled it on and buttoned up the front.
    I looked down at my chest and when I saw how well it camouflaged my braless boobs, I thought, “Thank you, baggy old sweater.” I