Praise (Salacious Players Club, #1)(46)

“But I was okay with it,” I reply quickly. Is he really worried that he did something to me against my will?

“But I need to know you’re okay with it. I need to have your consent beforehand for everything, Charlotte. Not just some things…”

His piercing green eyes lift from the paper to my face, and I instantly liquefy from the contact. He wants to know about the sex stuff. Can I really answer these?

“But you said…”

God, I can’t say it. I can’t bring up sex so casually again. Without a hint of romance between us, treating it like a check mark on a list of activities, like it means nothing.

“I know what I said, and just because you say it’s okay for these things to happen it doesn’t mean they will.”

My eyes shift downward, hopefully conveying the disappointment I’m feeling from that statement. It’s not how I wanted any of this to go down. Where I’m in the position to say, ‘yes, I’d like you to fuck my brains out,’ only for him to tell me he won’t. I feel like an idiot.

Should I just save my pride and write a zero next to all of these? How would that make him feel?

“It’s best to be safe than sorry,” he says gently as if he’s trying to spare my feelings.

“Okay.”

This whole conversation first thing in the morning puts me in a sour mood. I’m feeling vulnerable and embarrassed, like a stupid young girl pining over her boss, who has no intention of ever reciprocating these feelings. I’m just another Monica.

Stupid, stupid, Charlie.

I shove the packet aside as I get started on my tasks for the day, mostly replying to emails and helping to organize the vendor forms for the new store going into the club. I am so distracted by everything that I didn’t realize, until almost lunch time, that today was supposed to be what I like to call our ‘special’ days. I wonder if he even remembered. Does he even care that I’m not kneeling by his side?

Gotta love anxiety, when one paranoid thought spirals into a hundred. Like how I’m suddenly wondering if Emerson even wanted me for a submissive secretary at all, or if I was just a dumbass who threw myself at him and he was too polite to say no.

During my lunch break, I eat alone in the kitchen. With my earbuds in, I pick at the leftovers I packed. I feel his presence behind me before I hear him. Pulling out one of my buds, I turn toward him.

“What’s up?” I ask with a touch of attitude that makes his brow twitch.

“Why are you pouting?” He seems strangely unraveled.

“I’m not pouting.”

“Yes, you are. Ever since this morning, you’ve had an attitude. I should be clear that I don’t really like the brat thing, Charlotte.”

My mouth falls open. “Brat thing?”

“Yes. Where you intentionally misbehave and warrant yourself punishment for my attention.”

This time I audibly gasp and turn in my chair. “You can’t be serious.”

He crosses his arms, standing in front of me like a pissed-off statue. “I am serious. You pulled it yesterday at the club, flirting with Drake just to spite me.”

For some reason, I stand up. He still towers over me, but at least this time I don’t appear to be cowering so much. “I can flirt with whoever I want. That had nothing to do with you. You know what…maybe you should fill out a form too, so I know exactly what you want and we can settle all of this confusion right now.”

“So that’s what this is about,” he replies with a nod of his head. “You don’t want to fill out the form. Charlotte, I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to. The form is there for your protection.”

I throw my hands up with a scoff. “Yeah, I get it. You want me to lay all of my cards out on the table for you, but what about you, Sir?” I throw so much sarcastic emphasis on his title that it makes his jaw clench. “Where’s your form? Why aren’t you obligated to admit to everything you want, even if it means making yourself vulnerable? Come on, Emerson.”

I stomp my way out to the office and grab the legal pad on the desk and a pen from the drawer. Shoving them both against his chest, I snap, “Here. Write down everything you want to do with me, just so we’re clear.” My tone is teasing, chock-full of snark, and I expect him to yell back at me or toss the paper on the floor.

What I don’t expect is his body suddenly crowding mine until my ass is against my desk. He presses himself between my legs and leans me backward, so I’m defenseless, letting out a yelp as his face peers only inches from mine.

“You think this is how I want to do this?” he mutters darkly. “You think I’m not dying to know what you’d rate those things on that list, even though I know I’d be the worst father in the world if I ever did any of them?” His hand scoops my lower back as he leans so close to me, I can feel him between my legs.

Staring up into his eyes, my pulse quickens. He wants me. He’s basically saying that now.

Before I can even think of a response, he continues, “I’ll fill out that form for you if you want, but I don’t need to. You want me to tell you that I want to taste you, Charlotte? Because I do. I want to touch you, tease you, fuck you, bend you over my knee and turn that pretty little backside red. There’s not a thing on that list I don’t want to do with you, so you can put the paper and pen away, little girl. Every single thing would get a five from me.”