Praise (Salacious Players Club, #1)(35)

While rinsing my hands, I glance up at the woman in the mirror’s reflection. Do I seem happy?

Happier than I was with Beau, certainly. But something is missing. What, I don’t know.

Just then, a woman comes out of the stall and takes her place at the sink next to me. When I glance up, I’m frozen in place, realizing it’s the same woman from the throne room, and I suddenly know why she seemed so familiar. It’s Madame Kink.

I almost didn’t recognize her without the black leather and whip, but it’s definitely the same sable-haired Dominatrix from the blog who told me everything I needed to know about Emerson Grant and the SPC. In fact, she’s still teaching me everything I need to know. Her website has gotten more clicks from my browser than probably any other user.

She might as well be a celebrity to me at this point, and I just watched her get publicly railed while she was going down on another woman.

When she notices me, her eyes graze over my body, and she looks up at my face and smiles.

“You are stunning,” she says, and my mouth falls open. Me? This woman, this…goddess, is telling me that I’m stunning.

“Thank you,” I mumble, feeling stupefied.

As she dries her hands, she keeps her eyes on me. And I know I should leave, but I can’t seem to move. Then she looks at me with a bright smile.

“Isn’t this place amazing?”

I nod, not quite knowing how to respond. And she continues.

“I mean, to have a place where we can just be ourselves, enjoy what we want to enjoy without feeling bad about it or catching judgment.”

“Yeah.” I feel so lame because I literally can’t think of a single smart thing to say. She steps toward me, letting her fingers dance down my arm to my wrist, where she takes my hand in hers.

“Emerson Grant is a fucking god, and he spent the whole night obsessed with you. And you look so nervous.”

Hearing his name come out of her mouth sends a shock of ice down my spine. She spoke about him like she knows him or like she wants him. My Emerson.

“I’m not nervous,” I lie. I wish that were true. I wish I was the sexy, confident type of woman she is. The kind Emerson wants.

“Good. Don’t be nervous. Just be yourself. That’s the beauty of this place. Emerson’s given us somewhere to finally be free.”

“Us?” I ask.

“Yeah…you don’t think this place is just for men, do you?”

I don’t respond as I let my mind wander back to everything I saw and experienced tonight. And I realize…she’s right.





In the car on the way home, Emerson is silent, which is now awkward, considering everything that happened tonight. While he drives, I take a moment to stare at him, noticing how much he’s changed in my perception since we met. I no longer see a man out of my reach. I see a man who makes me feel worthy in a way I didn’t know I needed—didn’t know I deserved.

And I think about what the woman in the bathroom said. Is Emerson really seen as a god? And was he really obsessed with me all night?

A month ago, I might have said she was wrong, that she had me confused with a different type of woman, the kind who could please a man like Emerson.

But I’ve changed, and I don’t feel that way anymore.

He catches me staring. Glancing my way, he asks, “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

“Yes,” I reply. I’m not sure if he means in general or specifically the time we spent in the hallway. The answer applies to both.

“If you’d like to go back, your membership fees are waived. You’d have to go through the inputting process, though. Provide clean test results, sign some waivers—”

“I don’t want to go back without you.”

Our eyes meet for a moment, and I wish I knew what he was thinking. Am I being too clingy? Hoping for too much? Or does he feel the same way? I want things with Emerson I don’t understand. Things I didn’t expect. And it’s not sex—although I wouldn’t turn that down.

More than anything, I want his attention. I want to live in this world with him and I want him to be my guide—not just for one night. I want to be the only woman on his arm…to be his. I’m setting myself up for heartbreak, I know it.

Emerson and I are in this strange limbo where we don’t cross lines, but we don’t deny ourselves indulgences either. I don’t know what we are and I’m still not quite sure what I want. All I know is that when he looks at me the way he is right now, I want whatever I can get.

As we pull up to my house, he gets out to open my door.

“Thank you for taking me,” I tell him, and before I walk away, I lean close and press my lips to his cheek. I wish I could thank him for the hallway moment, but I don’t quite feel comfortable saying, ‘thanks for making me touch myself,’ but I wish he knew how big of a moment that was for me. Tonight felt like a turning point, and he may never know that.

Before I can pull away, his hand grasps the back of my neck, holding my face only inches from his. “Just for tonight,” he breathes as he touches his lips to mine, and with those three words alone, I understand what this is. Tonight feels special, like it exists outside of our regular Monday to Friday, nine to five, reality. That just for tonight, he can touch me and make me come and kiss me, and it won’t have any effect on the rules and lines we’ve put in place.