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He pays the check and we leave without another word. This thing is still inside me, but I trust that he won’t torture me with it anymore. He seems satisfied with my answers, and I haven’t really done anything to warrant more punishment. I can see now just how much give and take there is in this relationship. And trust.
When we get back to his house, I take the toy out, cleaning it off and hiding it in my purse. I have to give it back at some point, but it’s not exactly something I want to just hand over before I leave.
While I’m at my desk, my eyes keep tracking Emerson. Watching him work, thinking about Monica and how he smiled at her.
Am I expendable? Will he be tired of me one day and replace me with someone new?
Why does that hurt so much to think about? Because it’s more than a job now, isn’t it? My stupid, ignorant heart went and got attached, and I can’t help the way I feel about Emerson Grant. Someone I really shouldn’t have any feelings for.
“See you tomorrow,” I call from the door as I ready myself to leave. He glances up from his computer, his soft, wolf-like eyes settling on my face with a new, almost loving expression.
“Here,” he says, digging in his pocket. When he pulls out the sleek black remote, my lips part and I think about what happened today in the restaurant. As excruciating as it was, I loved it.
“Keep it,” I reply, knowing the implications of my response. “And I’ll keep the other piece.”
He tenses for a moment, and I feel like time stretches while I wait for his response. Finally, he nods and lets his eyes crinkle with a delicate smile.
After walking out the door, I sit in my car and let my face rest against the steering wheel. Emerson and I are tiptoeing into dangerous territory. First, the job. Then, the special arrangement. That moment in the hallway at the club. Today, at the restaurant.
We’re just toying with this idea of sex, both of us basically expressing that we want it, but holding back for Beau’s sake. Which I can handle. I never saw that desire coming, but I figure it would pass and I could resist.
But the way Emerson makes mefeel. The way I feel about him. How my heart seems to almost expand in his presence, the way I like myself more when I’m around him. How I want to be the only girl in the world he ever sets eyes on again.
I’m falling hard for Emerson Grant.
I’m so fucked.
RULE #20: ESTABLISH YOUR LIMITS…AND WISHES.
Charlotte
The list is on my desk when I come in the next morning—thelist. It’s opened to page four, theunansweredquestions. Words like anal, nipple stimulation, threesomes, orgasm denial stare back at me, and I haven’t even had my coffee yet.
“What’s this?” I ask, glancing at Emerson as he walks in. He’s dressed impeccably in tight blue slacks, brown leather shoes, and a white button-up shirt that looks a couple sizes too small. Has he always looked this good or is it my lovesick brain starting to distort reality?
After taking a sip of his black coffee, he sets it down on his desk and walks over. Standing only a foot or so away from me, he glances at the paper in my hands. My cheeks start to heat up, this unspoken thing between us growing more intense by the second.
“I realized that what we did yesterday was wrong of me. I should have never used that…toy on you as punishment because it was an unanswered question on this form. I don’t normally make mistakes like this.”
“But I was okay with it,” I reply quickly. Is he really worried that he did something to me against my will?
“But I need to know you’re okay with it. I need to have your consent beforehand for everything, Charlotte. Not just some things…”
His piercing green eyes lift from the paper to my face, and I instantly liquefy from the contact. He wants to know about the sex stuff. Can I really answer these?
“But you said…”
God, I can’t say it. I can’t bring up sex so casually again. Without a hint of romance between us, treating it like a check mark on a list of activities, like it means nothing.
“I know what I said, and just because you say it’s okay for these things to happen it doesn’t mean they will.”
My eyes shift downward, hopefully conveying the disappointment I’m feeling from that statement. It’s not how I wanted any of this to go down. Where I’m in the position to say, ‘yes, I’d like you to fuck my brains out,’ only for him to tell me he won’t. I feel like an idiot.
Should I just save my pride and write a zero next to all of these? How would that make him feel?
“It’s best to be safe than sorry,” he says gently as if he’s trying to spare my feelings.
“Okay.”
