Praise (Salacious Players Club, #1)(88)

“It’s right there,” she pants. “Don’t stop.”

Hooking my finger, I thrust another in and pump hard as I suck hungrily at her clit, feeling the muscles of her petite body tense all around me. Her panting breaths stop as she climaxes, leaving her in shivers when she comes down. She melts like candle wax into the seat, and I gently pull my fingers out, kissing my way along her thighs.

My cock aches in my pants, dying to plunge into her wet heat, but I don’t move to free it from its confines just yet. I’m not here to fuck her. I’m here to get her back.

“Come home with me,” I whisper, slowly running my hands up her legs, putting her panties back into place.

Her head still hangs back, her eyes closed as she catches her breath. “You really think this is enough to make it up to me, Emerson?”

Opening her eyes, she gazes down at me, stroking my face with her soft hands.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it,” I plead.

The warmth in her expression drains away, leaving a tight-lipped look of frustration. Then, she stands from the throne, pulling her dress down as she stomps toward the door. I’m on my feet in a second, rushing after her.

“It’s not enough, Emerson.”

As she reaches for the door handle, I notice her hesitate, her resolve straining, and there’s a part of me that wants to see her break. Forgive me, take me back against her better judgment, without making me truly pay for the pain I’ve caused.

And then another part wants to see her stay strong, take all the power and control I’ve harbored all this time, and do what’s right for her. Even if that means leaving me here.

When she does, I’m so proud of her, but it still hurts like a motherfucker.

Standing alone in the dimly lit room, I think about what she said. It’s not enough. I know what would be enough, but I don’t know if I have the heart to do it.





RULE #36: DON’T LET THEM SHAME YOU.





Charlotte





I couldn’t sleep all night. Visions of what happened in the throne room play on repeat in my mind. Kissing Eden…which worked like a charm, like she said it would. He couldn’t stay away the second he saw her hands on me.

And walking away from him was pure torture. But I had to do it. Although I spent the rest of my night tossing and turning, wanting to throw caution to the wind and call him. I could go to his house, let him take me to bed and pretend that consequences didn’t exist and there was no risk of me being hurt.

But then it’s only a matter of time before Beau shows back up again and I’m pushed aside, ignored and forgotten. What kind of future did I really have with Emerson like this? He would never commit, never marry me. We couldn’t live together or plan our lives as long as he was keeping me a dirty secret under his desk.

I deserve better. I know that to be true, but it’s still hard to convince my heart that seems to think the only solution to this problem is to ignore my convictions and crawl back to him. Stupid heart.

I’m lying in bed, staring at the picture Garrett sent me a few days ago of me and Emerson at the club on opening night, when I hear a car door slam shut out front. My mom and Sophie are already home, so something about this seems off.

Then, I hear the ominous sound of my name being called by the one person I would least expect.

“Charlotte, get out here!” my father bellows from outside my pool house, and I freeze. What the fuck?

Jumping out of bed in my pajama shorts and a T-shirt, I creep toward the door and peer out the window. And there he is. The man I haven’t seen in over a year is pacing outside my door with a look of intense rage on his face. I can’t move…the feeling of shame and guilt swimming through my veins, although I have no idea what I feel so sorry about.

A moment later, I watch my mother emerge from the house with a look of shock on her face.

“Jimmy, what are you doing here?” she calls toward him.

His fist bangs against my door before he turns the knob, finding it locked and banging again.

“Charlie, get out here now!”

A cold chill runs up my spine as I fumble with the lock. “What—” I start as I pull open the door.

I barely get the door open before he’s shouting at me. “I got a call from a colleague of mine. I heard what you’ve been up to.”

“What?” I stammer, my eyes dancing between my mother and him. A colleague?

“What are you talking about?” my mother replies, meeting us by the door.

“Of course you don’t know what you’re kids have been up to, Gwen,” he says with a biting hatred toward my mother, and I feel the undeniable urge to step forward and defend her.

I have happy memories of my dad. Memories of his laughter and his smiles. His hugs and jokes and cuddles on the couch. But right now…all I see is the face I haven’t seen in over a year contorted in fury as he looks at me with an expression that shows more disgust and shame than love and acceptance.

“I’m not a kid,” I argue.

“Yeah, well, you’re my kid, and I won’t have you selling your body to a bunch of rich perverts!” he yells, and my cheeks flush hot.

I catch movement behind my mom and notice Sophie stepping out of the house to see what’s going on. Swallowing down my nerves, I give her a quick shake of my head. There’s a look of fear on her face that shatters my heart, and I don’t care about me or getting yelled at by my dad or my parents knowing what exactly I’ve been up to these past few months. But if my actions bring any pain or fear to her, then I’ll never forgive myself.