Praise (Salacious Players’ Club)

Emerson

What a waste of time. I own a fucking sex club, and I spend my Friday night hiding in the office, instead of mingling with members. I actually thought I could find someone here to fuck my depression away with, but I couldn’t even muster the desire to look a woman in the eyes. Instead, I’m mindlessly watching the cameras, sipping on my bourbon when Maggie walks in.

“Oh,” she says, freezing in the doorway. “I didn’t know you were here.” She looks strangely flustered, and I narrow my eyes at her. What’s she been up to? No use in asking, though. Maggie never divulges her stories the way the rest of us do. In fact, she’s a mostly closed book, and if she’s ever met anyone or done anything, there’s not a single member of our group who would know about it.

“Don’t mind me,” I reply, “I’m just moping.”

A sympathetic expression crosses her face. Then she walks in and closes the door behind her, muffling the music thumping in the main room.

“Garrett filled us all in last night when you didn’t show up for drinks.”

I nod into my glass. I was having drinks…I was just having them alone. “You must think I’m pathetic.”

She rests her hip against the desk and stares down at me. “You know what…this is the first time I’ve ever seen you look so pathetic.”

My brow furrows as I pick my head up. “Well…thanks.”

“I mean it. In the ten years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you get this bothered by a girl.”

“A first time for everything,” I joke, holding up my glass.

She lets out a heavy sigh. “So, you’re not going to go after her?”

“I’ve tried. She’s not returning my calls, and my son has made it very clear that he wants me to stay away from her.”

“First of all,” she says, taking the drink from my hand, “you’re better off asking for forgiveness instead of permission.”

I watch as she tosses what was left of my liquor down her throat, wincing as she sets the glass down on the desk. I’ve never seen Mags shoot the hard stuff. “Second of all, she’s here and she just rented room twelve with Eden St. Claire.”

I nearly pop out of my chair, easily shaking off the buzz from the bourbon. “What?”

“Just do me a favor and don’t cause a scene. We have a business to maintain.”

There is a subtle voice in my head telling me that I should not go back there. Charlotte is not mine, and I have no right to stop her from doing anything with anyone, but that rationale dies quickly as I storm out of my office and down the hallway toward room twelve.

Before entering the dark voyeur hallway, I stop myself. I can’t go stomping around like this. Maggie was right, I’d be causing a scene and it would not look good at all. So, I pause before the entrance and fix my tie, take a deep breath, regroup, and open the door discreetly.

Keeping to the far wall so I’m out of sight, I meander carefully through the crowd of people until I reach the throne room window. And there she is.

Standing in a black dress that shows more cleavage and leg than I’m comfortable with, she’s smiling and laughing with Eden. What is she doing? She’s not going to…

Charlotte is leaning against the wall. Eden is crowding her as she brushes Charlotte’s long brown hair off her shoulder and leans in, planting her lips there against her pale white flesh. Charlotte’s eyes fall closed in pleasure.

The urge to rush in there and stop this is competing with the desire to watch long enough to see where this is going. Charlotte’s hands drift up Eden’s sides, and I can’t tear my eyes away as she reaches the woman’s breasts, and I swear I stop breathing when their gazes meet, both of them smiling.

Eden says something quietly to Charlotte, who responds with a nod and a smile, almost like she was asking for her consent—but for what?

My mouth falls open when Eden gently tugs down the neckline of Charlotte’s dress, releasing her breasts and running her fingers over them.

God, look at her, I think to myself. There’s not even a tremble in her hands as she runs them down the other woman’s sides. I’ve never seen Charlotte look so fucking sexy in all my life. And she’s gathering a small crowd outside their window.

Scanning the people assembling to watch, for a moment, my gaze catches on Garrett lingering near the back, watching the girls with placid captivation. How is he always so content with being a voyeur on the outside? This is driving me wild.

When Charlotte places her hand at the back of Eden’s head, she seems to guide her mouth down to where she wants it. And my jaw nearly hits the floor as her lips press against the soft pale flesh of her tits. I almost can’t believe what I’m seeing.

Charlotte arches her back and presses her hips against Eden’s, her head hanging back in pleasure. Then she slowly rotates her head, turning her focus to the window where the spectators are watching—where I’m watching.

I know she can’t see me, but I feel like we are staring at each other. How would she feel about me watching this? Did she really come to the club to have sex in a voyeur room with Eden?

Just then, Eden takes Charlotte’s face in her hands and pulls her in for a ravenous kiss.

I can’t fucking breathe. Their soft tongues tangle as their hands explore each other’s bodies, and the second I see Eden’s hands grope the mound of Charlotte’s ass, tugging up her dress so I see the black lace beneath, I snap.

Moving quickly through the crowd, I make my way to the entrance to the room hidden around the back. As I reach desperately for the knob, I stop myself. Calm the fuck down, Emerson.

Then, I hear a high-pitched moan coming from inside the room.

Yeah, fuck calming down.

My skin is buzzing as I tear open the door. The girls flinch, but when Eden turns toward me, she has a sly, wicked smile on her face.

“Emerson!” Charlotte squeals, fixing the neckline of her dress to cover her tits, and I know I should consider the crowd beyond the glass, but all I see is her. Her innocent brown eyes widen as I cross the room, her bottom lip dropping from the top as she stares in shock. But I don’t stop.

“Eden,” I reply in a gruff tone with my eyes focused on Charlotte.

“Hello, Emerson,” Eden replies sweetly.

“Get out.”

She replies with a knowing smile before walking steadily to the door. I don’t even hear it close behind her before I’m gathering Charlotte—my Charlotte—up in my arms. I had other plans when walking in here, mostly involving driving her home, getting her as far away from this place and all of the sins that could find her, but right now, with her in arm’s reach, I’m powerless.

My hands scoop her up by the waist, dragging her against my body as I crash my harsh, unforgiving lips against her supple, delicate ones. For one second, she lets me kiss her, clutching eagerly to my neck, and my body grows hot and tight with anticipation.

But it only lasts a heartbeat. One beat. Enough to let me feel hopeful before it crashes to the floor, breaking like glass.

“Emerson, stop!” she screams, clawing at my chest and pushing away with enough force for me to stop. I pull away from our embrace and stare into those familiar doe eyes, begging and pleading with my soul for one more chance. “You can’t just barge in here and expect me to run back into your arms.”

“Fine,” I grumble. “Then you need to go home.”

She reacts like I’ve slapped her, tilting her head in disbelief. “You don’t own me,” she spits out with enough venom to make the words hurt like daggers. “Not anymore.”

As she tries to move around me toward the door, I grab her by the waist, but she struggles against me again.

“I may not own you, but I own this club.”

“I belong here just as much as you do,” she yells, shoving away from me, but I’m pulled into her gravity, and I can’t move away. Before she reaches the door, I corner her and guide her chin up, so I can level her with my gaze.

“What are you going to do, Charlotte? Did you come here to let Eden fuck you for fun?”

“So what if I did? You were the one who made me believe I was sexy and beautiful enough.”

The way she’s holding her head up, the strength of her convictions, is like ecstasy in my bloodstream, but I hate seeing her directing this animosity toward me.

“You are sexy and beautiful, Charlotte. And you’re also mine.”

“Not anymore,” she snaps, but I catch the slightest quiver in her response, enough to make her stay in this spot, in my hands, until she stops saying that.

“Yes, you are,” I grumble, grasping the fabric of her dress in my fists.

“You called us nothing, Emerson. When Beau stood in your living room and you had the opportunity to tell him everything, you said it was nothing.” Her voice shakes, and I can’t keep my hands away from her face, touching her jaw and neck. The time away from her has turned me into a desperate man, needy for the touch of her skin and the taste of her lips.

“I am not a perfect man, Charlotte, and I let you down. I’m sorry.”

“You told me the relationship we built, being your sub, meant that I could trust you, always.”

Those words slice through my tough exterior like daggers.

“You can trust me, Charlotte. I was wrong for what I said. Let me make it up to you. I can earn your forgiveness.”

“How?”

There is a far better answer she is looking for, but I’m not exactly thinking with my brain at the moment. I’m thinking strictly with my heart and my cock, both of them fighting for dominance, and while this is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had, it serves us well in the moment.

“What are you doing?” she shrieks as I hoist her up and toss her over my shoulder. Carrying her to the middle of the room, I lay her gently on the throne. Once she’s sitting, I unbutton my shirt at the neck, just a couple buttons, so I can move and breathe. Then, I unclasp each cuff of my shirt and roll the sleeves to the elbow. She doesn’t leap from the chair and try to escape the room, so I guess that’s a good sign.

“Emerson…” she tries to argue.

Resting on my knees in front of her, I glide my hands up her thighs, rucking her dress up to her hips as I do. She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and watches me with an uneasy, yet curious expression.

“I’m on my knees for you, Charlotte. I know I promised to take care of you, and I made a mistake. Let me make it up to you.”

“This is hardly enough, Emerson.”

“It’s a start,” I groan, pulling her hips to the edge of the seat. With my face nearly sandwiched between her knees, I breathe in the scent of her heat, and my mouth waters in response. I’m ready to dive in now, lap at her flawless cunt like the animal I am, but I have to bide my time.

She gasps as I kiss my way up her inner thigh, all soft lips and wet tongue, leaving a trail of goosebumps in my wake. When I reach the throbbing, wet apex of her thighs, her nails dig into my hair, tugging my face close to where she wants it.

My fingers find the thin hem of her panties, delicately peeling them down her legs. It’s at this moment that I remember we have a solid wall of glass behind me and eager patrons enjoying the show. I was so focused on Charlotte and having her back in my grasp that I forget we’re in a voyeur room.

I could pull the curtain closed or dim the room’s lights for privacy, but when I sneak a peek upward at her face, Charlotte doesn’t seem to mind the watching eyes so much. In fact, she looks more aroused than I think I’ve ever seen her. I can see the pebbled outlines of her nipples showing through the black fabric of her dress.

Her hips tilt, and the hand in my hair guides my face closer to where she wants it, a wicked smile stretching across my face. Tugging her hips closer, I bury face between her thighs, running my eager tongue between her folds. The rumble of her pleasure vibrates through me as I do it again and again, devouring her sex like the depraved and desperate sinner I am.

“Suck my clit,” she whimpers, and I almost hesitate. This is the same girl who once struggled with the slightest bit of dirty talk and now she’s fucking my face and telling me what she wants. Pride swells in my chest, and I growl in response, latching my lips around her most sensitive spot, sucking it the way she likes.

Her cries echo through the room, bouncing off the bare walls. Reaching up with one hand, I jerk down her neckline, exposing a breast and kneading the soft flesh as I fuck her with my tongue. With the other hand, I easily slide a finger inside her. Her hips thrust upward, and I never want this to end. I’m holding her pleasure in the palm of my hand, a growling, aching reminder that she’s mine.

Glancing up at her again, I don’t see the too-young girl that stumbled into my office that first day. I see Charlotte in a form she was always meant to be—confident, sexual, and happy.

“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.