Page 42 of Praise


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“Yes,” I reply. I’m not sure if he means in general or specifically the time we spent in the hallway. The answer applies to both.

“If you’d like to go back, your membership fees are waived. You’d have to go through the inputting process, though. Provide clean test results, sign some waivers—”

“I don’t want to go back without you.”

Our eyes meet for a moment, and I wish I knew what he was thinking. Am I being too clingy? Hoping for too much? Or does he feel the same way? I want things with Emerson I don’t understand. Things I didn’t expect. And it’s not sex—although I wouldn’t turn that down.

More than anything, I want his attention. I want to live in this world with him and I want him to be my guide—not just for one night. I want to be the only woman on his arm…to behis. I’m setting myself up for heartbreak, I know it.

Emerson and I are in this strange limbo where we don’t cross lines, but we don’t deny ourselves indulgences either. I don’t know what we are and I’m still not quite sure what I want. All I know is that when he looks at me the way he is right now, I want whatever I can get.

As we pull up to my house, he gets out to open my door.

“Thank you for taking me,” I tell him, and before I walk away, I lean close and press my lips to his cheek. I wish I could thank him for the hallway moment, but I don’t quite feel comfortable saying, ‘thanks for making me touch myself,’ but I wish he knew how big of a moment that was for me. Tonight felt like a turning point, and he may never know that.

Before I can pull away, his hand grasps the back of my neck, holding my face only inches from his. “Just for tonight,” he breathes as he touches his lips to mine, and with those three words alone, I understand what this is. Tonight feels special, like it exists outside of our regular Monday to Friday, nine to five, reality. That just for tonight, he can touch me and make me come and kiss me, and it won’t have any effect on the rules and lines we’ve put in place.

I wish he’d kiss me deeper, but his lips only graze mine, so I feel his beard on my face, and I wish it was enough for me, but it’s not. I want more. But like the stroke of midnight for Cinderella, this little dream of mine has to end too.

All too soon, he lets me go, and I step backward to gaze up into his eyes.

“I’ll see you Monday, Charlotte.”

“Yes, Sir,” I reply, and he freezes for a moment, my gaze locked with his as my words echo between us. I didn’t really mean to say that, but it just came out, and obviously, it had an effect on him. It’s written all over his face. I wonder if he’s thinking about that first day. The day he thought I was his new sub, when he told me to kneel and address him as Sir, because it’s exactly what I’m thinking about.

Quickly, I pull away and walk toward the gate that leads to my small guest house in the back. Even as he drives away, I ponder that look on his face and how it felt in that small, minuscule moment. Calling him Sir, like his ‘secretaries’ before did. How when I asked him if he wanted me to be like that for him, he didn’t exactly say no.

I can’t stop thinking about it all night, my body still buzzing with excitement.

The next morning, I wake up with a new sense of purpose. Because I know that come Monday morning, everything will be different. Because Iwanteverything to be different. So I barely leave my room all day, researching and reading and trying to fully understand what it is that Emerson wants.

No, whatIwant.

RULE #16: ALWAYS COME PREPARED.

Charlotte

Sometime on Sunday I receive a text from Emerson.

I’m meeting with some people at the club at 8:00 tomorrow morning. Let yourself into the house and I’ll be back around 10:00.

I type and delete and type and delete my response about ten times before finally hitting Send.

Yes, Sir.

He doesn’t respond. And Emersonalwaysneeds the last word, which means I’ve left him speechless. Which also means I’m getting what I want.

On Monday, I show up early, using the code he gave me to unlock the front door and get straight to work. I chose the same pencil skirt and see-through blouse I wore on the first day. I can barely focus on my morning tasks while I wait for him, and when 10:15 rolls around, I hear the garage door open. Quickly, I tidy my desk and rush to the center of the room.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

The internal pep talk is the only thing keeping me from backing out because the more I think about it, the more I realizethis is insane.And I have no idea how he will react. If he’s angry, I’ll be humiliated. If he’s surprised, I’ll be pleased. And if he loves it…God, I don’t know how I’ll feel.

I hear the garage door close, and I take a deep steadying breath. Then, I drop the pillow on the floor (thanks for the tip, internet) and fall to my knees. Facing the door he’s about to walk through, I bow my head and place my hands delicately in my lap.

There’s a tremor of nerves traveling all the way down to my bones as I wait for him. His shoes click against the marble floor as he passes through the kitchen—getting closer and closer—and I want to back out. This was stupid. He’s going to fire me for being so stupid.

But it’s too late. His footsteps reach the office door and they stop. The silence is heavy as he stands there and stares at me, and I don’t dare move. Keeping my eyes on my lap, I wait.

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