His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) by Deena Ward Page A
Authors: Deena Ward
Tags: The Power to Please 3
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could still kind of see my nipples, but at least it wasn’t so obvious anymore.
The rest of the afternoon dragged by, and with the steady flow of people coming in and out of my office spreading the latest gossip or seeking reassurances that the gossip was or was not true, I didn’t get much accomplished.
The sweater was too warm, but there was no way I’d remove it. My nipples were a terrible distraction as well. Gibson’s rough handling had left them super-sensitive to the tiniest stimulation. Every movement, every brush of fabric set them to tingling, aching, standing up all perky again. Ugh. It was awful. Awfully bad and awfully good.
And I was pretty sure that was exactly how Gibson meant it to be.
I didn’t see him again, only heard from others when he and his team left the building. I hadn’t expected a second goodbye.
When it was finally quitting time, I was thrilled to discover that it was not, in fact, windy outside, and I managed to get home without any unfortunate incidents. Once I was safely inside my apartment, I ripped off the hot sweater and dropped on my sofa.
What a day. A very, very long day.
I hadn’t lain there ten minutes when a knock sounded on my door.
I thought, hell, what now? Someone come to tell me I was being audited by the IRS? My car had been stolen? Someone wanted to share stories about his personal savior?
I heaved myself off the couch and went to the door. I kept the swing bar in place and opened the door a crack.
A young man waved a package at me. He said, “Delivery for Nonnie Crawford.”
Okay then. I’d open my door for a package.
After I signed the kid’s papers and was settled back onto my sofa, I tore the brown wrapping off the package.
It was a pale pink box, with fancy script on the top, spelling out the name of a French boutique I had never been inside, but had passed on my occasional window-shopping excursions downtown.
I opened the box, pulled back the tissue paper. Well now. Nestled in the paper were the most exquisite pink lace panties and bra I’d ever seen. I almost didn’t want to touch them, they were so delicate and pristine.
I gently lifted the panties out of the box. They were so soft, so light, and the pattern of the lacework was beyond intricate. Beautiful. And they were high-cut bikini style, the way I liked my panties, not an irritating thong.
I held up the bra. Also beautiful. Exquisite. I could tell it would fit perfectly.
Definitely not a twenty-five buck set from the outlet mall.
I shuffled through the paper in the box, looking for a card. No card. Oh well. It wasn’t like I didn’t know who sent it.
I was surprised, though, to find another layer under the paper. And another pair of panties. Blue silk panties. I smiled.
I didn’t want to be pleased. I wanted to stay at least partially disgruntled with Gibson for leaving me at work with no underclothes. But it was hard to stay annoyed when I was holding the most gorgeous lingerie I’d ever owned.
I tried, “Hey, he did owe you something for destroying your personal property,” but even that didn’t help much.
I was pleased. Pure and simple.
It was strange, being so pleased with someone I didn’t like.
I wondered. I knew the inspection was scheduled to continue the next day. Would Gibson come again?
Would I?
I laughed.
Chapter 7
The inspection team from Roundtree Holdings arrived at 10 a.m. Tuesday morning. Gibson wasn’t with them. I was more disappointed than I expected to be.
At least my co-workers weren’t as jumpy as they were on Monday. Most everyone who had the opportunity to meet with Gibson and his team spread the word that Roundtree seemed like a good organization.
Once I had some down time to think it through, I was more certain than ever that the sale could be a good thing for the company. All of us in management positions knew that the Lintons were nothing more than pains in our asses and drains on our profits.
During
The rest of the afternoon dragged by, and with the steady flow of people coming in and out of my office spreading the latest gossip or seeking reassurances that the gossip was or was not true, I didn’t get much accomplished.
The sweater was too warm, but there was no way I’d remove it. My nipples were a terrible distraction as well. Gibson’s rough handling had left them super-sensitive to the tiniest stimulation. Every movement, every brush of fabric set them to tingling, aching, standing up all perky again. Ugh. It was awful. Awfully bad and awfully good.
And I was pretty sure that was exactly how Gibson meant it to be.
I didn’t see him again, only heard from others when he and his team left the building. I hadn’t expected a second goodbye.
When it was finally quitting time, I was thrilled to discover that it was not, in fact, windy outside, and I managed to get home without any unfortunate incidents. Once I was safely inside my apartment, I ripped off the hot sweater and dropped on my sofa.
What a day. A very, very long day.
I hadn’t lain there ten minutes when a knock sounded on my door.
I thought, hell, what now? Someone come to tell me I was being audited by the IRS? My car had been stolen? Someone wanted to share stories about his personal savior?
I heaved myself off the couch and went to the door. I kept the swing bar in place and opened the door a crack.
A young man waved a package at me. He said, “Delivery for Nonnie Crawford.”
Okay then. I’d open my door for a package.
After I signed the kid’s papers and was settled back onto my sofa, I tore the brown wrapping off the package.
It was a pale pink box, with fancy script on the top, spelling out the name of a French boutique I had never been inside, but had passed on my occasional window-shopping excursions downtown.
I opened the box, pulled back the tissue paper. Well now. Nestled in the paper were the most exquisite pink lace panties and bra I’d ever seen. I almost didn’t want to touch them, they were so delicate and pristine.
I gently lifted the panties out of the box. They were so soft, so light, and the pattern of the lacework was beyond intricate. Beautiful. And they were high-cut bikini style, the way I liked my panties, not an irritating thong.
I held up the bra. Also beautiful. Exquisite. I could tell it would fit perfectly.
Definitely not a twenty-five buck set from the outlet mall.
I shuffled through the paper in the box, looking for a card. No card. Oh well. It wasn’t like I didn’t know who sent it.
I was surprised, though, to find another layer under the paper. And another pair of panties. Blue silk panties. I smiled.
I didn’t want to be pleased. I wanted to stay at least partially disgruntled with Gibson for leaving me at work with no underclothes. But it was hard to stay annoyed when I was holding the most gorgeous lingerie I’d ever owned.
I tried, “Hey, he did owe you something for destroying your personal property,” but even that didn’t help much.
I was pleased. Pure and simple.
It was strange, being so pleased with someone I didn’t like.
I wondered. I knew the inspection was scheduled to continue the next day. Would Gibson come again?
Would I?
I laughed.
Chapter 7
The inspection team from Roundtree Holdings arrived at 10 a.m. Tuesday morning. Gibson wasn’t with them. I was more disappointed than I expected to be.
At least my co-workers weren’t as jumpy as they were on Monday. Most everyone who had the opportunity to meet with Gibson and his team spread the word that Roundtree seemed like a good organization.
Once I had some down time to think it through, I was more certain than ever that the sale could be a good thing for the company. All of us in management positions knew that the Lintons were nothing more than pains in our asses and drains on our profits.
During
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