Praise (Salacious Players’ Club)

Charlotte

I think I’m gonna be sick. This can’t be happening. Somehow, I’m standing among a horde of thirteen other women, all of them supermodel gorgeous and in their underwear—if you could call it that.

I’m doing this for Emerson. I can’t tell if he’s telling me to do this because he needs me to or because he wants me to. Is he really going to let someone else win an hour with me, assuming anyone even bids? Do I mean that little to him?

I can’t stop wringing my hands when my gaze locks with the throne-room woman, Madame Kink herself. With her long black hair and disarming green eyes, she struts over to me with a warm smile.

“Hello again.”

“Hi,” I stammer, trying to keep my eyes on her face and not on her breasts, which are covered only by pasties. I’ve never felt more ridiculous for wearing clothes.

I straighten my spine and try to pretend I’m sexy and confident. Though I’m not sure it’s working.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“Nervous? No…” Yeah, I’m definitely not selling it. She replies with a smile. “Yes, I’m a little nervous,” I continue. “This is not really normal for me.”

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“Charlie, er, I mean Charlotte.”

Grinning, she says, “I’m Eden.”

“Nice to meet you,” I whisper, still wringing my hands.

“May I?” She touches the buttons of my blouse. Looking into her kind, green eyes, I let out a deep breath and nod. There’s something about her taking off my clothes that makes me feel a little more relaxed about them coming off in public in the first place.

“Oh, this is cute,” she says, noticing my black lace bra under my shirt. “You should definitely show this off.” She slips my white blouse off my shoulders. Then, standing behind me, she unzips my skirt.

“How long have you and Emerson been together?” she asks casually.

“We’re not. I’m just his secretary,” I correct her.

There’s a small giggle as she leans forward and presses her mouth next to my ear. “You have a bite mark on your ass cheek, Charlotte.”

I gasp, drawing the attention of the girls around me. “Oh my god.” I try to hide my mortification, but Eden just slides her hands over my shoulders, trying to comfort me.

“Relax. It’s hot as fuck.”

“Is it really noticeable?” I ask, trying to cover it with my hand. She moves in front of me, nodding her head.

“Very. So, Emerson didn’t do that?”

I can’t even try to hide it at this point. Twisting my lips, I give a little shrug, and she nods knowingly.

“You don’t think he’s too old for me?” I ask, trying to read her expression. But she only laughs.

“No, I don’t think he’s too old for you. Do you?”

I shrug. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve known Emerson for a few years, and I’ve never seen him give someone as much attention as he gives you.”

It makes me feel better, but only for a moment. I focus on her face and dread swims through me as I ask, “Wait…you and Emerson have never…have you?”

“No,” she answers plainly. “Emerson is very dominant…and so am I.”

“Oh.” I feel like such an idiot here sometimes, like I don’t get any of this and maybe I never will. It’s like I’m stepping into a foreign world that I will never truly be a part of. I exist only on Emerson’s arm, only here as his accessory, and not really here as myself.

Eden must sense my apprehension because she takes my hands in hers. “Relax, Charlotte.”

And then I ask what I’ve been dying to ask since she started speaking to me. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Are you going to…sleep with them tonight?”

She smirks and glances past the curtain to the men and women waiting on the main floor. Then with a shrug, she says, “I’m at the club, aren’t I?”

I’m filled with dread again. What the fuck has Emerson signed me up for?

I watch from the sidelines as the girls go, one by one, onto the stage, where they strut around half-naked while men and women in the crowd bid for their time. Some of the girls have offered up their company for drinks while others, like Eden, have promised time in a specific room.

They start the bidding at one thousand dollars, and most girls are going for over five, and my jaw nearly hits the floor when a man in the back wins a night with Eden for fifty grand.

My heels click against the stage floor as I make my way into the spotlight.

Be sexy. Be confident. Be Charlotte.

The MC introduces me, and I barely hear a word he’s saying as I scan the crowd. Everyone is staring at me with warm, curious expressions. They’re making me a little more comfortable, even though they all look like they want to devour me—it’s better than looking uninterested or bored.

I instantly notice a familiar man in front. He’s in a black suit, sipping on a glass of something amber brown. He’s the same man who was playing poker on the first night in the club, with a woman kneeling at his side while he petted her head. Something about him terrifies me. He exudes power and wealth, and I can only assume he would be equally as terrifying in bed.

Looking up, I catch a glimpse of Emerson standing near the back wall. His arms are folded tightly in front of him, and there’s something about his body language that seems off. He’s tense.

“Give us a little turn, darlin’,” the man with the microphone says, and I force a bright smile as I circle the stage, letting the crowd see my ass, complete with bright red teeth marks.

Thanks, Emerson.

“Ten thousand,” a dark voice calls from the floor, and I spin in surprise, searching for the source.

The man in black winks at me as he takes a sip of his drink. My body floods with heat. This man will pay ten grand to spend an hour with me. Will he be disappointed if I don’t have sex with him? Surely, he must know he’s just winning my company. I can’t sleep with him. Emerson wouldn’t let that happen…would he?

“Ten thousand for Mr. Kade. Do I hear eleven thousand?”

Movement in the back of the room catches my attention, and I squint through the spotlight to see Emerson raise a hand. We lock eyes for a long, tense moment. He has to win. What if Mr. Kade outbids him? I’m trying not to let my panic show, but I’m shivering in my heels up here. Why would he do this to me?

“Mr. Grant for eleven thousand,” the man calls.

“Fifteen,” the man up front barks.

“Twenty,” Emerson replies. I can barely move as the men volley back and forth, the room thick with tension as they continuously outbid each other. When the man in black shouts fifty with a smug grin on his face, I want to cry. I’m about two seconds away from telling them to stop. I’m not worth this much money. They can’t possibly be willing to pay this much for me.

I shake my head at Emerson, making it so subtle I hope no one notices, but I think I might lose it if he actually coughs up over fifty thousand dollars just for an hour with me.

“Please, don’t,” I whisper, although no one can hear me. I know he can read the words on my lips.

He clenches his jaw and glares at me in anger.

The man in black looks back at Emerson, waiting for him to bid. I cover my cheeks, praying that this will end. I’m a nobody, not nearly as sexy as Eden or half as beautiful or as interesting as any of the other women that came up here. How can he just throw away money like that?

“Fifty thousand, going once…”

“Seventy-five,” Emerson says, staring at me as if he’s angry at me. My eyes are wide as saucers, and I must be pale as a ghost.

The man in black laughs loudly. “You’re worth every penny, sweetheart, but I think Mr. Grant wants you to himself.”

I’m still staring at Emerson with my mouth hanging open, trying to wrap my head around seventy-five grand.

“Sold!” the announcer yells. “For seventy-five thousand dollars to club owner, Emerson Grant!” The crowd begins to cheer, and I catch Eden clapping with a bright smile, while sitting on someone’s lap in the back of the room.

Before I know what’s happening, I watch Emerson march toward me, looking more irritated than elated at his win. Is he mad at me? Did I do something wrong?

“I’m—I’m…sorry,” I stammer as he takes me by the hand and tosses me over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

The reactions around us are a mixture of laughter and cheers as I’m hoisted across the room with my bare, bite-marked ass slung over Emerson’s shoulder. He doesn’t stop as we disappear down the hallway on the right. It’s not the voyeur hall, but the one with the room we were in today, where we had that quickie on top of the bed.

“Where are we going?” I shriek.

It’s dark back here, but I hear a door close behind us as we reach the dimly lit room with the black bed I remember. My stomach clenches in both excitement and fear.

“I paid for an hour of your time, Charlotte.” He tosses me on the bed and stares down at me with a look of masked anger. “It’s time to collect what I won.”

His large hands grip my ankles and yank me toward him. I let out a yelp. I’m not afraid of Emerson. I trust him, but right now…he seems unhinged. Angry at me for reasons I don’t understand, and I can’t quite tell if we’re supposed to be in a scene or if he’s being real.

“Remind me, Charlotte,” he asks as something soft wraps around my right ankle. When I try to pull my foot away, I realize it’s a restraint. He’s cuffing me to the bed. “What did you put on that little list for punishment?”

“I…I don’t… What am I being punished for?”

He yanks my other leg and wraps another soft, cushioned cuff around my ankle. My legs are spread, and my heart is starting to hammer in my chest.

“What did you say this morning about the auction? What would happen when you were on stage?”

“What?” He’s not making any sense, and I can’t seem to shake my nervousness. Plus, the way I’m restrained and the anticipation for what’s to come has my brain in a fog. He’s so angry and being rougher than usual, and it’s so hot and terrifying that my body doesn’t know if it’s scared or turned on.

“Crickets, Charlotte. You said there would be crickets.”

“Um…yeah,” I reply.

He moves across the room and opens a drawer. I try to peer around him to see what he’s taking out. When he turns back toward me, he has a strip of black silk in his fingers.

“Were there crickets, Charlotte?”

“No…” I reply. He stands at the foot of the bed and stares at me with that tense brow of his, gliding the silk through his fingers.

“How much did I pay for this hour with you?”

“Emerson, you can’t really pay that—”

“Lie down,” he barks in a stern command.

“I don’t understand.”

He raises a brow, tilting his head at me. “Do you want me to stop, Charlotte? If you’re scared, we can walk right out the door.”

“No…” I whisper.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then, lie down.” His cold voice sends a chill down my spine, and I force my lungs to breathe as I recline on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Emerson moves up toward my head and reaches behind me, fumbling with the clasp of my bra. It unhooks and he pulls it off, releasing my breasts. Then, he gathers my wrists together, tying them with the black silk.

There’s a subtle shake in my bones, but I do my best to hide it. And I realize now that if Emerson is mad at me, he’s going to do something to punish me. And strange as it is, that’s what I want.

I watch as he walks back to the drawer and pulls out another piece of silk. “We haven’t established a safe word because we haven’t needed one yet.”

Safe word? My stomach turns.

“If you want me to stop, just say mercy. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

I repeat the word over and over in my head, making sure I don’t forget it.

Mercy. Mercy. Mercy.

But I won’t need it, will I? He’s not really going to hurt me.

“Charlotte, tell me why you think I’m punishing you tonight.”

I take a breath, staring up at him. His features have softened, and I focus on the fabric in his hands, knowing that it’s going to cover my eyes in a minute, and I need to prepare myself for it.

“Because I…um,” I stammer. It’s because of the money, isn’t it? “Because I cost you seventy-five thousand dollars?”

He growls, stepping toward me. As he drapes the fabric over my eyes, he coldly replies, “No.” The room goes black as he ties the silk at the back of my head, and my breathing picks up. Everything instantly becomes more intense, my legs wanting to fight against the restraints because I feel so exposed.

When I feel his soft hands stroking my cheeks, I flinch. “You cost me so much money because you are worth it, Charlotte. I put you on that stage, hoping you would see that for yourself, but I could tell as I watched you up there that you still wouldn’t believe it.”

What? This is about me believing I’m worth so much money? He can’t be serious.

“I don’t like impact play, and if I remember correctly, you didn’t like the idea of being paddled or spanked, correct?”

“Um…yes, I mean…”

He strokes my head. “Relax.”

I have to force my chest to inhale. I just want him to touch me again.

“Luckily, there are other ways of teaching you a lesson. And I’ll admit something to you…”

I hear him doing something across the room—opening a drawer, moving things around, placing things on the bed. I can’t tell what any of it is, but I’m overwhelmed with curiosity.

“What?” I ask.

He brings his mouth close to my ear as he whispers, “I memorized every single thing you wrote on that list.”

Fuck. My mind races, trying to remember what I scored those items, but there were over two hundred of them. Could he really have memorized it?

“Deep breath,” he mumbles against my ear. Right as I inhale, something clamps down hard on my right nipple, and I let out a shriek, twisting and contorting, trying to move away from the pain, but it won’t let up. It takes me a second to realize it’s a nipple clamp.

My chest is heaving as I accept the pain, letting it settle in.

“How much did I pay, Charlotte?”

My brain scrambles for an answer. “Seventy-five…” I breathe.

“Do you think that was too much?”

“Yes.” I sigh, knowing what’s coming before I can even get the word out.

When the second clamp tightens, I don’t let out a shriek because it’s not as surprising as the first, but it somehow hurts more.

Warm, wet lips press against the flesh of my breasts, and I hum in response. “Do you understand why I’m angry?”

“No,” I reply.

His hands draw deep lines down my sides, over my hips, digging under my panties. And I know what’s coming before he does it. With a quick jerk, he tears apart my thong, ripping it easily in two. I’m lying naked, bound to the bed, and being punished. It’s hot and terrifying, and I sort of don’t want it to end.

When his fingers touch me between my legs, I cry out. I’m so turned on already that one touch has me feeling ready to explode.

“Because you are mine, Charlotte. And I don’t appreciate when anyone talks badly about something that is mine. Do you think I have bad taste?”

“No…” I gasp. He runs his index finger between my folds, and I ache for more. Then he presses his finger inside me, as if he’s playing with me, teasing me.

“Do you think I’m stupid for paying so much for you?”

“No!”

He circles my clit, and I struggle against the restraints.

“Are you worth seventy-five grand, Charlotte?”

I’m trying to lean into his touch, hungry for the pressure. But he eases up every time I get close to my climax. “Answer me,” he urges.

“No,” I reply, knowing it’s not what he wants to hear. And the second the word comes out of my mouth, he pulls away. I could have lied. I knew what the right answer was, but for some reason, I don’t want to get out of this punishment.

He disappears for a moment, and I hear him gathering more things, opening drawers and setting something down. Then I hear the unmistakable sound of him lighting a match. The odor of sulfur wafts to my nose. A second later, I hear him blow the match out.

What does he need fire for?

It’s quiet for a moment, then I hear the sound of clothes rustling and his belt unbuckling.

“I wish you could see what I see,” he mutters, and I feel his weight on the bed next to me, “and I hate to punish you for always talking so badly about yourself, but I’m not going to lie, Charlotte. I’m going to enjoy this.”

His mouth lands against mine, our lips tangling as his tongue slips into my mouth. I hum against him, trying to deepen the kiss.

My nipples are numb, and the pain has faded. But something about his kiss has made them ache again.

“Deep breath,” he whispers against his mouth, and I do as I’m told, inhaling a warm breath that smells like him.

He has me relaxed and at ease, just as a burning hot pain lands against my chest, making me scream.

“Shhh… Don’t make me gag you, baby,” he mumbles against my mouth.

“It hurts!” I scream, squirming away from the heat, but it’s already starting to cool down.

Wax. He just dripped fucking candle wax on me!

“Do you need mercy?” he asks, but it takes my brain a minute to catch up. He’s asking if I want to stop. Do I? God, that hurt, but he’s doing this for a reason. And aside all of that, my body is awake, sensitive and a little horny behind the pain.

“No,” I whimper.

“Good girl.” Before touching me again, he sits up and I feel his hands glide up my legs, massaging my hips. “I wish you could see how beautiful you are right now. You are perfection, Charlotte. And I hate to hurt you, but feel what it does to me.”

His hips grind against my leg, and I feel his rock-hard erection. He’s naked, and I writhe, trying to feel him more.

“Do you want me to fuck you, baby girl?”

“Yes,” I cry out.

“Tell me you’re worth it. Tell me how beautiful you are.”

Emotion stings my throat. No, no, no. Please don’t get emotional. Please don’t fucking cry. This is supposed to be a sexy moment, and I’m about to ruin it because I know he’s right. I know I never say anything good about myself, but I can’t help it. It doesn’t matter how pretty I am or how other people see me. The voice in my head telling me I’m not enough is louder.

I really did not expect all of this to come up right now, but the residual pain and the intensity of being blindfolded and restrained is making everything so hard to keep in. “I can’t,” I say, but my voice shakes.

“That’s okay. You will.”

Fire lands against my chest again, and I bite my bottom lip to keep from screaming. It’s insane how much this pain makes me feel almost high. The intensity takes me to another plane of existence. Is this subspace?

“Why would Ronan Kade have bid so much to get you if you weren’t so beautiful, Charlotte?”

“I don’t know,” I cry.

“Do you think those other women are more beautiful than you?”

“Yes!”

Hot wax lands against my belly this time, feeling even more sensitive.

“You’re wrong, Charlotte.”

My blindfold is wet. God, I hope he can’t tell I’m crying.

“Say it. Tell me you’re worth it.”

A sob breaks through, and I use my bound hands to cover my face. Emerson pulls them away and puts his lips against mine.

“Why can’t you just say it, Charlotte? Why can’t you just admit how wonderful you are?”

“Because I’m not,” I sob. “I just mess everything up. I don’t deserve you. You think I’m so great now, but you’ll realize eventually that I’m not good enough, and you’ll leave me. Like everyone does.”

I’ve ruined everything. I’m sobbing, and it’s humiliating, and I’m sure he’s really done with me now. The room falls silent, and I’m shaking. A moment later, my blindfold is yanked off of my face, and I try to turn my tear-soaked face away. I’m sure I have makeup dripping down my cheeks.

“Jesus, Charlotte.”

He takes my face in his hands and holds me close. “Look at me,” he barks.

I swallow down the nails in my throat and turn my gaze toward him. “You’re wrong,” he says with conviction, locking eyes with me.

When I try to shake my head, he stops me. “Say it. Say you’re wrong.”

“I’m wrong,” I whisper.

“Louder,” he bellows.

“I’m wrong.

“Louder!”

“I’m wrong!” I cry out, tears trailing down the sides of my face and landing in my hair.

When he kisses me, the dam breaks, a feeling of euphoria washing over me. Reaching down, he releases the straps around my legs one at a time, and I quickly wrap them around him.

“You’re mine,” he growls against the skin of my neck, and I lift my bound arms and wrap them around his head. “Forget everyone before me, Charlotte. Just focus on me. I would have paid a million dollars for this hour with you. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” I gasp.

His fingers find the nipple clamps, releasing them, and it’s almost as painful as when he put them on. When his lips close around the right one, sucking on the pain, I thrust my hips upward. They are super sensitive now, making my entire body sing as he caresses them with his tongue.

“Please fuck me, Emerson,” I beg. I need to know he still wants me after I just made a complete fool of myself.

He doesn’t hesitate, shoving my hips down against the bed and driving his cock between my legs. Thrusting hard, he holds me tightly in his arms. “Fuck, look what you do to me, Charlotte. You drive me crazy.”

I can’t get enough of him. My legs lock around his waist, and I pull his mouth to mine for another kiss. With Emerson, I don’t feel so inferior. Somehow, this perfect, amazing man makes me feel worthy, and my heart explodes in my chest every time I think about it.

“I’m addicted to you,” he groans while fucking me. “You were made for me, Charlotte. You’re mine, and I never want to let you go. Do you understand me? I’d fuck you forever if I could.”

My body cries out as he pounds harder and harder, the sensation of what he’s doing to my body mingled with the words he’s using to break my heart.

“I wish you could,” I cry. Looking up into his eyes, I whisper, “I was made for you.” The expression on his face seems momentarily surprised by my admission.

Resting his forehead against mine, he drives me to ecstasy, pounding his body into mine as if he’s trying to make me believe what he’s telling me. When I come, my nails dig into his back, holding him as closely as I can get him. Matching my intensity, he growls into my ear as he slows his thrusts and comes inside me. Gathering me up in his arms, he pulls out and lies on the mattress. I rest on his chest, and let the moment wash over me.

He loosens the ties around my wrists. Grabbing a wet washcloth on the table next to the bed, he carefully rubs it across my skin. When I look down, I see splatters of black across my chest and stomach. It stings when he peels the wax from my delicate skin, but after the last hour, it’s nothing. And I almost welcome the pain now, like it brings us closer together.

Then he cups my face and pulls me up to his lips, kissing me softly.

“You’re not mad at me anymore, are you?” I ask, my voice trembling with emotion.

His face softens. “I was never mad at you, Charlotte. I just wish you could see what I see.”

I don’t see what Emerson sees, but I wish I could. Maybe I never will. It wasn’t just Beau, but I think ever since my dad walked out on us, I built up a wall between men and me, making myself believe that if I wasn’t good enough for them from the start, I could never disappoint them. I would never have to live through anyone’s disappointment ever again.

“I wish I could too,” I whisper, letting him hold me tightly in his arms.