Praise (Salacious Players’ Club)
Praise: Chapter 24

Charlotte

Emerson carries me up to his room. Then he carefully strips me down until I’m standing in front of him naked. His clothes come off next. Before crawling into his enormous bed, he kisses me again, gently this time.

Pulling back the covers, he gestures for me to climb in. As he slides his giant naked body over mine, I smile. How is this happening? And how am I so fucking happy?

As I stare up at him, I think about how much has changed over the past two months. How my feelings for him have evolved. When did I stop looking at him as too old? Too off-limits. Too…Beau’s dad?

Because now I only see him as mine. My…something, I don’t know. More than my boss, but not just my lover.

My Sir.

We don’t hurry this time. Instead, he rests on top of me, his elbows framing my face as he strokes my hair and peppers my face, neck, and chest with kisses. Our thirst has been quenched, but our appetite has not been totally fulfilled.

He fishes into his nightstand for another condom, and I watch him put this one on, my eyes fixated on the way his fingers move the rubber over his stiff cock. When he lies back on top of me, he gathers me in his arms, squeezing me tight as he slides inside. And the entire time his body moves in languid, sensual strokes, our lips are locked and our hearts are beating in unison.

I must have drifted off to sleep because I wake up a couple hours later, nestled against Emerson’s chest. He’s awake, stroking my back as he reads something on his phone.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Just after midnight,” he replies, kissing my forehead.

“I should probably go,” I say, but even as I say that, my arm tightens around his body, and I can’t imagine peeling myself out of his warm bed. When he looks down at me, I see a hint of dissatisfaction in his eyes.

“I understand. I wouldn’t want your mother to worry.” Something about that makes me feel so juvenile. I’m twenty-one, and while it’s a pool house in the back yard, I do still sort of live with my mom. That unsettling feeling of not deserving Emerson comes flooding back.

“I’m sure she’s already asleep, so it’s not a big deal, but I do have to work tomorrow.” I give him a tight-lipped smile, and he grins back, stroking my bare stomach with his soft, large hand.

“You can come in a little late tomorrow, I guess.”

“I don’t want to. I’ll be here bright and early.”

“Good.”

Finally, I force myself out from under the covers and slip my skirt back on.

“I guess I have to drive home like this,” I say, showing him my now buttonless blouse.

“Not a chance,” he says with a grimace. Without a shred of clothing on his body, he gets out of bed and pads over to his dresser, where he pulls out a T-shirt. I couldn’t tell you what color or size the shirt is because my attention is laser focused on Emerson Grant’s naked bum.

He turns toward me, and I do my best not to stare at all of his nakedness. I mean…I just had the damn thing in my mouth. Why would I blush about it now?

“Are you okay?” he asks when he notices me not moving to take the shirt from him.

I pinch my lips together and look up at his face. “I’m fine.”

He laughs at me as I pull my blouse off and replace it with his shirt. To my disappointment, he slips on his black boxers before walking me to the door.

“I wish you could stay,” he whispers, wrapping me up in his arms. I breathe in the scent of his skin and his shirt that I’m wearing, and I wish the same thing.

“Me too.”

“But I do look forward to seeing you on your knees in the morning,” he says in a low tone, and a thrill tingles at the base of my spine. I look up at him with lust in my eyes. “Wear something sexy for me tomorrow, Charlotte.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“We’re going to have so much fun now,” he adds, and those words linger on my mind the entire drive home and even after I crawl into my bed, reliving every perfect moment of tonight.

The next morning, I wear the outfit he loves so much—sheer top and tight skirt. I’ve probably never been more excited to go to work. But I guess I never anticipated getting railed and having multiple orgasms at work before either.

I let myself in when I reach his house five minutes early. He’s not in his office, and I consider searching the house for him, but I know he’d much rather replace me waiting for him.

After shedding my coat and my shoes, I grab the pillow from the chair and set it in the middle of the room. I kneel on my knees, just as I hear his distant footsteps somewhere in the house.

With my head down, my body lights up in anticipation when I hear the click of his shoes on the floor. He’s quiet a moment before walking up to me, touching my chin and tilting my head back, so I’m gazing up at him—just like he did on that first day.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, and I breathe it in. Those words are a serotonin boost for my soul. They tell me I’m safe, adored, valued, and have nothing at all in the world to worry about.

He leans down and presses his lips softly against mine. It’s a soft, quick kiss and I already want more. After he straightens up, he walks to his desk.

“From now on, you need more sleep, Charlotte. If you’re going to be out until one in the morning, you need to stay home until ten the next day, understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” I purr.

“Although I’d prefer you aren’t on the streets at all so late at night. Perhaps you should consider staying until morning.”

I smile to myself, my eyes still fixated on the floor. “Yes, Sir.”

When I am on my knees and he is Sir, not Emerson, he plays the part so well. Only slightly different from who he is on a daily basis, I love this power he manifests. It makes me feel so…something. I don’t know how to put a word to this feeling. Like he is everything and nothing exists outside this room. I have no other purpose, which really makes me feel at peace. No other purpose means no other worry. Not a house payment or a struggling little sister. No estranged dad or broken family. And no ex-boyfriend. In this space, it’s just him and me. My tasks are simple and fulfilling—please my Sir. I don’t even care anymore about what anyone would say or think about this arrangement. It makes me happy.

“Come here, Charlotte,” he commands, and I crawl obediently toward him. “Stand up.”

I climb to my feet, keeping my eyes down. His fingers drift down my blouse, sending a rush of excitement through me in its wake.

He touches one of the buttons, and I seriously hope he doesn’t plan to rip this one open like he did yesterday. I’m going to run out of shirts. He slips the first button through the hole.

“I’m going to take this off for the day. Is that all right?”

Eagerly I nod.

“Use your words, Charlotte.”

I swallow. “Yes, Sir.” And my mouth goes dry as he slips open my blouse one button at a time and slides it off my body until I’m standing before him in just my bra and skirt.

“This too?” he asks as his fingers glide along the skin just above my skirt. I have to force myself to swallow again.

“Yes, Sir,” I reply, this time in more of a whisper.

He gestures for me to turn around and slides the zipper along the back down, letting the skirt fall to the floor. The cool air of his office hits the skin of my ass and goosebumps erupt over my skin.

He’s silent for a moment, my back to him as his fingers delicately graze my arm, and I wait for him to give me my orders. I’m pretty much ready for him to bend me over his desk or force me to my knees.

His lips press softly against my left shoulder, sending warmth to my core. “Get to work,” he says with a gentle smack on my ass.

“Yes, Sir,” I reply, biting my lip to keep from grinning too hard.

Focusing on my work proves to be difficult, but I manage to get through a handful of emails and send off the tax documents the accountant needed all within the first couple hours of the work day. I feel Emerson’s eyes on me from time to time. He watches me with a hungry gaze, but I never look back, relishing in his attention while I work.

When I bring him his coffee, he touches my bare legs, running his fingers up the inside of my thigh and making me want to explode, but I stay in character.

“Is there anything else you need, Sir?” I ask with a slight tremble in my voice. He’s driving me crazy on purpose. I don’t know if he’s not currently screwing my brains out because it’s not part of the secretary fantasy for him or if he’s just drawing out the tension. Maybe when the work day is done and we’re out of character, we can go up to his room and do ungodly things to each other. Although if I’m honest, I sort of hope he’ll do it the secretary way. I guess that’s a fantasy I never knew I had.

“That’s all for now, Charlotte.” My name rolls off his tongue like silk gliding through his fingers. I no longer care that he doesn’t call me Charlie. It makes me feel like I am his and only his, and I like that.

Before lunch, he drops his pen onto his desk. I glance over at him to see what’s wrong. “I’m having trouble getting anything done today, Charlotte. You’re distracting me and all I can think about is how beautiful that pussy between your legs is.” He leans forward and levels a devious glare in my direction.

A subtle smile lifts the corners of my lips.

“I’m sorry, Sir. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yes. Why don’t you come over here and read this email for me?” he says in a way that tells me I’ll be doing a little more than reading an email.

“Yes, Sir,” I reply, pushing my chair back and walking over. He taps his hand softly on his thigh, signaling for me to sit on his lap.

The moment I rest on his leg, his left hand wraps around my middle, holding me tight to his body. He’s already hard, his erection stiff against my ass. I gently shift my hips to get comfortable, knowing it’s driving him a little crazy.

With his right hand, he opens up the email.

“Read it,” he commands.

I swallow, leaning forward and doing as he said.

“Mr. Grant, the federal withholding form required for your independent contractors is attached. Please see the instructions linked here for more information. Thank you, Miles Ward, CPA.”

“Click the link,” Emerson adds. His hand strokes my stomach, reaching my breasts and giving the right one a squeeze. I click the link and it opens to a tax form.

“Read it.”

“All of it?” I ask.

He pinches my right nipple and I let out a yelp. “Are you questioning me, Charlotte?”

“No, Sir,” I reply. It’s all clearly tax jargon and very boring, so I’m not exactly sure where he’s going with this. Does he really need to know all of this now? Like he’s even going to retain it.

Still, I do as he says.

“File Form 1099, Miscellaneous Income, for each person in the course of your business to whom you have paid the following during the year—”

The fingers of his left hand slip into my panties and slide across my clit. I freeze because it feels so good after hours of waiting to be touched. My eyes close and I hum against his touch.

“Keep going,” he growls, halting his movements.

With a nervous gulp, I open my eyes and obey. “Each person from whom you have withheld any federal income tax under the backup withholding rules regardless of the amount of the payment…” My voice trails off as he dips a finger inside me, sliding easily through the pooling moisture. I let out a tiny moan of pleasure.

“Keep going, Charlotte.”

As I read through the next paragraph of dull, legal jargon, I replace it almost too hard to breathe, let alone speak. His finger plunges deep while his hand rubs exquisitely against my clit, and every time I try to rock my hips for more friction, he stills my body with a harsh grip on my hips.

I’m barely even reading correctly; I skip words and bounce around because I know he’s sure as fuck not paying attention to anything this IRS document has to say, but I know he’s trying to test me.

“Read that last part again,” he says in a breathless grunt while he fingers me even harder, pounding into me without letting me move an inch.

“For all corporate entities…that are reporting as part of satisfying your requirement to report…” Fuck, I’m caught somewhere between heaven and agony. “With respect to a U.S. account…” My voice cracks. “…for chapter 4 purposes as described in Regulations section one…four…” I’m coming. My fingers grip the desk and my vision gets blurry.

“Keep reading,” he grunts.

I cry out. “Four…dot five…section six.”

“Fuck,” he bellows. Standing up in a rush, he bends me over the desk. Scrambling for a condom in his drawer, he pulls one out and follows it with unbuckling his belt. I’m panting over his desk, my pussy still pulsing from the orgasm and eagerly awaiting the feel of his cock.

My thin cotton thong comes down with a quick swipe. Then he thrusts in hard, crushing my body against the desk. God, it feels so good being filled by him. My high-pitched cries fill the room while he pounds relentlessly. His fingers dig into my hips as his body crashes against my backside.

“Look what you do to me, Charlotte,” he growls, sounding like a man come undone. “Sitting over there in these slutty panties. You do it on purpose, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” I gasp, my body building toward another climax. I love this wild version of Emerson, so different from the proper, serious boss he normally is. And I love that I make him this way even more.

“You want me to fuck you over my desk like a little slut?” His voice is strained, and I know he’s getting close. I feel so dirty, loving the way his degradation makes me feel.

“Yes, Sir,” I nearly yell from the torrent of sensation coursing through my body.

“You are a dirty little slut, aren’t you?” he growls.

“Yes, Sir!”

“This is what you get for tempting me. Tell me you’re sorry, Charlotte.” His thrusts grow even more rough and wild, sending me into a tailspin as I come, and I swear my feet leave the ground. My body seizes, my pussy throbbing around his cock.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” I cry in a breathless moan.

His punishing thrusts slow as he comes with a loud groan. Only a second after he finishes, I’m gathered up into his arms. Still inside me, he turns my upper body and kisses me with so much passion, I nearly melt into the rug. Strong arms wrap around my middle, squeezing me tight.

Is it supposed to feel this good or am I just wishing for too much? Not just the sex, although that’s great. But the way Emerson makes me feel, so secure and loved. I mean…he just finished calling me a dirty slut and I still feel as if he never truly talks down to me or makes me feel substandard, even as we play roles where I am literally inferior to him.

It all feels so ironically surreal. Like this isn’t supposed to work, but it does. And I know this is just a temporary thing, and I’m not supposed to get attached, but deep down I’m holding on to the hope that Emerson will get over the fact that I dated his son and let this thing between us be real.

And I really should have learned my lesson by now when it comes to hoping. It always ends in disappointment.