Read His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) Online

Authors: Deena Ward

Tags: #The Power to Please 3

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



His Name Is Sir


The Power to Please, Book 3






Deena Ward







Why won’t the past stay where it belongs?


Nonnie Crawford seeks a destiny outside society’s norms, mapping her own sexual journey into the realm of BDSM. She puts the past behind her and looks forward with a newfound sense of freedom and purpose.


Gibson Reeves, the enigmatic businessman, refuses to be relegated to the archives of Nonnie’s story. He claims his share of her sensual narrative and leaves her confused about the fine line between aversion and attraction.


Meanwhile, the opportunistic playboy, Michael Weston, continues to make unwanted appearances in her life. He wants her back, and her adamant refusals don’t dampen his desire.


Nonnie’s world is about to be rocked to its core. She doesn’t know it yet, but the worst has already happened.







Table of Contents



Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21


About the Author

Books by Deena Ward

Web Site and Social Media








Chapter 1




I was nearly sixteen years old when I got my first real kiss, much older than my friends were when they got theirs. I had opportunities, but let them pass because of one reason or another. Not the right boy, or not the right place, not the right time. Never just right.

Then I attended a school dance one Saturday night, and Alan Reed asked me to dance. I would always remember how it felt to slow dance with him. He was a full head taller than me, and I loved the way my head fit under his chin. Although he was still in that gawky, teenage boy stage, I thought he was terribly handsome, and I had long nurtured a secret crush on him.

He was on the basketball team, and I watched him on the court, admiring the way he ran, the way he blocked a shot. I watched him in the halls at school, too. He never seemed to watch me back, not until that one night, at the dance.

His heated body pressed against mine, holding me close, our feet doing little more than shuffling back and forth. My cheek rubbed against his t-shirt, and my hands were clasped behind his damp neck. We were both sweating lightly because it was warm in the gym, over-heated by hormones and teenage angst.

When the song was over, Alan led me off to get something to drink, but he didn’t stop at the table with the sodas and punch. He towed me straight past it, into a corner of the gym, behind the bleachers.

We ducked around and over the metal struts of the support beams until we were well underneath the bleachers, the only illumination coming from slanting bands of light that filtered through the narrow gaps below each row of seats.

I wasn’t thinking at all. Just following. I knew that naughty things happened behind the bleachers, and when he pushed me up against the cool concrete wall and pressed his lips to mine, I didn’t consider telling him no.

This was what I’d been wanting. The right boy. The right time. The right place. It was perfect. Alan Reed kissed me. That was all that mattered.

I had no idea what I was doing, so I followed his lead. When he pushed his tongue against my lips, I opened my mouth. I wasn’t sure how I felt about having his tongue inside me. I couldn’t figure out what was making him breathe so hard, why poking his tongue in and out of my mouth was exciting him.

Then he laid his hand on my breast. I stiffened, my brain kicking in finally. This was going too fast, so I pushed his hand away.

He kissed me for a while longer, then his hand strayed back to my breast.

Just then, I heard a sound, like a giggle. I looked back the way we had come and saw a pair of dark figures heading our way.

I pushed against Allen’s chest, tore my mouth away from him and hissed, “There’s someone coming!”

He looked. The couple was upon us. It was two other kids. I recognized them both. One was a friend of Alan’s, and the other was a girl I only knew as an acquaintance.

Alan nodded at the boy. The couple settled near us, the girl pushed back against the wall the same as I was. They wasted no time settling down to kissing.

Alan leaned forward and mashed his lips against mine. I realized with a start that his hand was still on my breast. Then his tongue poked into my mouth again, and he began gently squeezing my breast.

I pushed against his hand, pulled my head back and said, “Stop.”

Alan nuzzled my neck and asked, “Why? You’ll like it.”

I said, “Because ... because ... they’ll see.”

He didn’t stop squeezing me. “No they won’t. They’re too busy with each other.”

I looked over at the couple. Sure enough, they had no eyes for us. But they could have looked at us. They could have.

I gave in and let Alan do what he wanted. I even tried touching his tongue with my own, though I never got up the courage to stick my tongue in his mouth. I soon discovered he was right about me liking his hand on my breast. I felt very naughty, and very mature.

Alan eventually worked his way up under my shirt and was in the process of prying up my bra, when we were interrupted by the sound of, “Hey! You there!”

We flew apart, instantly knowing the sound of authority when we heard it. My cheeks flamed while I tried to settle my shirt back into place. Alan took off, dashing away into the darkness behind the bleachers, as did the other pair of lovers, both of whom blew past me at breakneck speed.

I stood there stupidly, surprise rendering me immobile. There would be no escape. A tall man jogged up beside me. It was one of the dance chaperones.

He scowled down at me. “Where are the others?”

I looked at the floor and shrugged.

He sighed. “Ran off and left you, did they?”

“I guess.” I thought, yes, that’s exactly what they did. That’s exactly what Alan did. Left me there to get in trouble. I felt a sharp tug in my chest.

The chaperone patted me on the head. “Come on. Let’s get back to the dance.”

I asked, “I’m not in trouble?”

He jerked his head, a movement that told me to get a move on. I did and he followed behind, telling me to watch my step over the metal struts.

He said, “You’re not in trouble. But you should be more careful. Don’t rush things. You’re young and have plenty of time to make out with boys when you’re older.”

My face was hot. I didn’t have anything to say to that.

At school on Monday, Alan spread it around the school that he felt me up Saturday night. I would never again lack dance partners.

There were many times in the future when I would wish I had heeded the chaperone’s advice, most heartily when I got pregnant at the age of eighteen.

Now here I was, nearly thirty years old, and I realized I still hadn’t mastered the art of patience. I still rushed things.

As for being young, and having plenty of time ... I didn’t know. It seemed to me that if I didn’t make some serious changes, and soon, time would run out on me before I realized it.




Josh slid a warm hand up my thigh, stopping at the hem of my skirt. I turned my head and give him an encouraging smile. He smiled back at me, but his hand didn’t climb any higher.

I sighed in frustration.

It was the last night of my vacation, and the next morning I’d be packing up and heading home with my friends, back to real life. Before that happened, though, I needed a fling. When I met Josh three days before, I thought he’d be the right man for the job. Good looking, tall, tanned and well-built, he seemed the perfect find.

Josh was a local, and probably had been hooking up with vacationing women since before he was old enough to drive. He knew all the right things to say, had perfected the moves to seduce a woman into his arms and bed.

Well, to seduce a regular woman.

I had discovered I wasn’t a regular woman anymore. I discovered it the night before when Josh and I were entwined in a make-out session on the beach.

His kisses were sweet, but undemanding. His movements and breathing erratic and uncontrolled. When he closed his hand over my breast, he squeezed me as if I were breakable. It wasn’t enough. Not for me. Not anymore.

Still, all of those inadequacies might have been overlooked, since we were on a public beach, and anyone could walk by at any moment, discover us there, a fact which added a thrill all its own.

When I took Josh’s hand and placed it between my legs, he groaned and said, “God, Nonnie, I wish we were in your room.” Then he took his hand away.

Well, hell. I sent him home alone, and took myself back to my empty bed.

I lay there in my lonely room, put out with fate. I had been doing a lot of thinking during my vacation, and I decided it was time for me to commit myself to my own self interest. It was time for me and my wants to come first.

One positive outcome of the aborted make-out session with Josh was that I learned that there was no going back for me, no returning to a vanilla sex life. If a hot male like Josh, with his ample arsenal of practiced moves, couldn’t get me revved up past second gear, then an ordinary sex life was no longer an option for me.

Good to know, I supposed. One important question answered.

What next?

I made a promise to myself. The next night, I would be more determined, and I would do whatever was necessary to get what I wanted, to learn what must be learned. I would set the stage for what I needed, put Josh where I wanted him, and find a way to make it work.

So, for the last night of my vacation, I formulated a plan.

Josh and I, along with my friends and their dates, were gathered around a big table on the patio of a quaint club. Candles in jars flickered on the tables and colored party lights twinkled from the framework surrounding the patio. A full moon reflected on the ocean view in front of us. A lovely summer night.

I was a little buzzed from the cocktails, and Josh had a look in his eye that said he was ready to seal the deal with me tonight.

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