“Everyone has a desire they think is kinky, Ms. Underwood. Thinking what we like is abnormal is the one thing we all seem to have in common.”
Her grin relaxes, and she leans forward, giving me a full view of her tits that I have to force myself to look away from.
“Okay, then,” she replies, resting her chin on her clenched fists. “What is yours?”
My head snaps back in her direction, and I glare at her in shock. Not because I’m offended by her asking that. I can’t give a speech about how normal kinks are and then act like it’s an affront to be interrogated to reveal mine. But I’m shocked because Charlotte is nothing like any girl I’ve had in my office. She’s blunt in a way I’m not used to.
“You should already know,” I reply, biting back my grin.
“The whole secretary on her knees thing?”
This time I do grin. “It’s called a Dominant/submissive relationship.”
She seems to deliberate for a moment, as if she’s trying to tell if she likes the taste of something. I use the approximately three seconds of silence to imagine her in that role for me, and it’s the most appealing vision I’ve had in a while. Isn’t life grand like that? The forbidden fruit always tastes sweetest.
“What about me?”
I nearly choke, clearing my throat and waiting for her to elaborate. “What about you?”
Please, God. Don’t let her tempt me more than she already has.
“What do you think my kink is?”
She bites her bottom lip, and I can’t resist the urge to mirror her actions, tugging mine between my teeth as well. Charlotte is beautiful in a mysterious and unique way. Her eyes are large and innocent-looking, and her nose has a high ridge, making her look a little more regal than her attitude suggests. It’s those wide red lips of hers that keep my attention, though.
“I don’t know you well enough yet. Besides, that’s really up to you to decide, isn’t it?”
“I thought that was your job,” she replies with a smile that shows her bright teeth in contrast to her scarlet lips. “You’re supposed to help people find their deepest, darkest desires, aren’t you?”
I can’t tell if she’s patronizing me or not, but I don’t reprimand her for it. I think she’s taking this as seriously as Charlotte can, guessing she’s not an overtly austere person. It makes me wonder if she was this way with Beau.
Garrett is really better at this than me. It’s his job, anyway. He can read people so well, much better than I can. It’s something I’m sure stems from how much he likes to watch.
But I take a shot at it anyway, running through the things I know about Charlotte so far…
She’s bold, fearless, outspoken with a healthy sense of humor. She would hate impact play, anything age-related or bondage. She might like to be watched, considering how see-through that shirt is and how prominently she displays her breasts for me now.
Then I remember a certain expression on her face the other day while she knelt on the floor for me—to my own utter humiliation. But there was a blip of a moment when I held her softly by the chin and called her lovely. Her gaze softened and her posture almost melted into my touch. It seemed too natural to be fake.
When she notices my pensive expression change to amused, she speaks up.
“What?” she asks eagerly. “You look like you figured it out. What is it?”
Yes, I definitely figured it out. But I don’t quite know if I want to disclose it to her. I don’t know why, but I have a strange desire to keep this one to myself, like a small treasure. If I tell Charlotte she most likely has a strong praise kink, she’ll share it with other people. Someday, it could be another man whispering all the dirty things I want to tell her, like how well she swallows his cock or how beautiful she looks while he pumps into her.
It’s selfish of me, especially considering it can never be me doing and saying those things, and it would only benefit her in the future to know this about herself, but I want to hold onto it for just a little while longer.
“Nothing,” I mutter as I stand up and walk back around to my chair.
“Oh, come on, tell me!”
“I told you,” I reply sternly. “I don’t know enough about you yet to determine that. If you’d really like to know, then talk to Garrett. You can ask him when you drop this paperwork off to him later today. For now, get to work.”
My tone has gone cold, and the expression on her face sinks as she picks up the clipboard and pen, starting to fill them out with a new wrinkle between her brows.
If this week has proven anything to me, it’s that I need to watch myself around this girl. She’s too perfect to ignore and too forbidden to be mine.
RULE #8: IT IS POSSIBLE TO BE DRESSED TOO PROVOCATIVELY EVEN WHEN YOU WORK FOR A SEX CLUB.
Charlie
“All done?” Emerson is towering over me from behind as I fill out the hundredth page of boring as hell paperwork.
“Was having to rewrite my name on each page of this packet really necessary?” I joke. When I glance up at him with a smile, he glares down at me, looking mostly unamused.
“Unfortunately, yes. Now, gather your things. I can drive you over to the club, give you a tour, and introduce you to everyone.”
My spine straightens. Everyone? Club? I sort of thought this was going to be a one-location sort of job. I mean, I knew about the club being built, but I didn’t really expect to be going there. And meeting people—kinky people. My palms begin to sweat immediately, and I glance down at my outfit.
Now I know that when dressing for a new administrative job, you should really be wearing the world’s most appropriate outfit ever, but for some reason, when choosing my garments this morning, I was out of sorts. I mean, it’s not like I put on a see-through blouse and black bra by accident, but I was still so fixated on my first encounter in this office that I sort of went for something a little more…risqué than normal.
I wanted to…I don’t know, impress him. No, impress isn’t the right word.
Turn him on? Ick, no.
Please him. That’s it. I wanted to wear an outfit that didn’t just fit me but him too.
Not sure how I feel about that, but it is what it is.
“Now?” I ask.
“Yes, now. Come on. I’ll drive.”
He turns on his heels, grabbing his blue jacket and throwing it over his large frame. I follow him through his house toward the garage. While he walks, I can’t help but stare at his broad shoulders that fit so well in that tight cotton shirt. It’s light gray with a subtle damask design.
My gaze drifts downward and I notice the way he fills out those deep gray slacks, tight around his butt and thick thighs. I can see a resemblance in his and Beau’s build. Beau is big too, but I’ve never seen him fill out a pair of pants like this before.
Straight to hell, Charlie. Straight to hell.
When we reach the garage, he opens the door and ushers me in. It’s a nice garage, big enough to fit four cars, two wide and two deep, but he only has one parked in here. It’s black and expensive-looking. The car beeps to signal it’s unlocked as the garage opens, and I cringe when I realize he’s about to see my car.
He takes a moment to acknowledge my beat-up Subaru sedan with duct tape on the rearview mirror. His eyes linger for a moment on the embarrassing patch job.
“I’m not a bad driver,” I say. “My little sister and I were just playing red light fire drill and I got a little too excited.”
His brow creases as he stares at me curiously. “Red light fire drill?”
“Yeah. It’s where you pull up to a red light and someone yells ‘fire drill’ and everyone has to get out and run around the car and get back into their seat before it turns green. Well, this one time, I got out and ran straight into my mirror. It went flying and I had to crawl under a truck to get it.”
The wrinkle in his forehead deepens. “That sounds a little dangerous.”
“It was, but it was fun.” I wish he’d smile or something, but he’s so broody. Those intense dark green eyes stare at me without an ounce of humor. It makes me instantly uncomfortable.