Praise (Salacious Players Club #1)

“No,” I snap. “I can’t.”

My hips shift, and I feel something hard against my lower back. As I brush along the length of it, he groans and squeezes me tighter, driving his hips into me.

I take in a sharp inhale, my vision growing blurry. He’s hard.

Emerson is hard, and he’s rubbing his erection against me.

“You feel that?” he whispers. “That’s what you do to me.”

Me? Not the display of sex all around us? The orgasm cries and sounds of bodies slapping together?

Knowing the effect I have on him drives me to shift my hips back just slightly, and he responds with a growl in my ear.

Maybe because it’s dark or because this is just how his business is, but it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels…right. We’re not crossing a line…just sharing an experience. It’s natural and normal, and I’m not ashamed.

His hand glides down my arm until he catches my fingers in his hand, and I’m confused by what he’s doing until the other hand gathers my dress, pulling it up until I’m exposed. I can hardly breathe or think when he leads my own hand to the front of my panties.

“Touch yourself, Charlotte.”

A whimper escapes my lips. I resist, trying to pull my hand away, but he doesn’t let me go. When my fingers reach my clit, even over the cotton of my thong, pleasure radiates through me. At this point, I couldn’t pull them away if I tried.

“It’s okay. Don’t feel ashamed.” His lips are touching my ear, and I relax against him, letting my head fall back onto his shoulder as he slides my panties aside and presses my fingers against my clit. I don’t even bother fighting anymore.

The man in the throne room has picked up speed, slamming into the kneeling woman at a steady rhythm. Their moans and cries are audible now, and it only urges me deeper and deeper in this steady current toward my climax.

“That’s it, Charlotte. Good girl.”

His words spur me on, sending bolts of lightning through my body. My own fingers rub my clit in fast circles, and it feels so good; it’s a relief. Emerson’s hand rests over mine, but he isn’t touching me. Instead, he grips my hip with one hand and grinds his erection against my backside.

Any thoughts about this being inappropriate are far away from here—outside of this moment and this dark hallway. Because right now, there’s only one thing I want, and that’s to come. I don’t even care that it’s in public anymore.

“You are so fucking beautiful. Make yourself come, baby.”

And his words don’t stop, like a river of praise I’m coursing down, heading straight for a cliff. My eyes don’t leave the throne room for a second, and when my orgasm comes crashing into me, I nearly crumble to the floor. My free hand grips the fabric of Emerson’s suit as he wraps his arms around me.

“So perfect.” His lips brush my ear, then my cheek, and trail down to my neck. I can’t even hear anymore—my ears are ringing, and my skin is buzzing. The orgasm just keeps knocking me down, wave after wave after wave. His hand finds mine again, and I feel his fingers carefully brush my delicate skin. But he doesn’t stop as he runs his fingers deeper into my panties, and I stiffen in his grasp when he reaches the evidence of my orgasm.

He moans darkly against my ear. Then, he pulls his wet finger out and lifts it to his mouth. I turn to look up at him just as he slips it past his lips, licking my arousal off of his finger.

“Emerson,” I whisper, and our eyes meet. It’s a long, heavy moment as we let everything that just happened swim in the tension between us. Does he feel bad for crossing this line? Do I?

No, I don’t. I keep waiting for shame or regret to hit me, but it doesn’t. Instead, I’m…excited. I feel like I’m on the edge of something big, and I don’t want to turn back now.

The threesome in the throne room has come to an end, and when I look back at the window, one of the women is standing just on the other side of the glass. Her gaze catches mine for a moment, and I stare at her with my mouth open. There is something oddly familiar about her, like I’ve seen her somewhere before. Then, she gives me a small wink and sly smile before pulling the curtain closed.





As soon as Emerson ushers me out of the dark hallway of sin, I scurry off to the bathroom. Suddenly, this dimly lit main room is just too freaking bright. I feel like everyone can see what I just did. They know that I just masturbated in public while watching Pornhub Live back there.

The bathroom is also dimly lit, which is a blessing. I was afraid it was going to be bright florescent lights in here. I wash my hands at the sink. Even the bathroom is fancy with ornate gold mirrors and shiny black stone counters.

While rinsing my hands, I glance up at the woman in the mirror’s reflection. Do I seem happy?

Happier than I was with Beau, certainly. But something is missing. What, I don’t know.

Just then, a woman comes out of the stall and takes her place at the sink next to me. When I glance up, I’m frozen in place, realizing it’s the same woman from the throne room, and I suddenly know why she seemed so familiar. It’s Madame Kink.

I almost didn’t recognize her without the black leather and whip, but it’s definitely the same sable-haired Dominatrix from the blog who told me everything I needed to know about Emerson Grant and the SPC. In fact, she’s still teaching me everything I need to know. Her website has gotten more clicks from my browser than probably any other user.

She might as well be a celebrity to me at this point, and I just watched her get publicly railed while she was going down on another woman.

When she notices me, her eyes graze over my body, and she looks up at my face and smiles.

“You are stunning,” she says, and my mouth falls open. Me? This woman, this…goddess, is telling me that I’m stunning.

“Thank you,” I mumble, feeling stupefied.

As she dries her hands, she keeps her eyes on me. And I know I should leave, but I can’t seem to move. Then she looks at me with a bright smile.

“Isn’t this place amazing?”

I nod, not quite knowing how to respond. And she continues.

“I mean, to have a place where we can just be ourselves, enjoy what we want to enjoy without feeling bad about it or catching judgment.”

“Yeah.” I feel so lame because I literally can’t think of a single smart thing to say. She steps toward me, letting her fingers dance down my arm to my wrist, where she takes my hand in hers.

“Emerson Grant is a fucking god, and he spent the whole night obsessed with you. And you look so nervous.”

Hearing his name come out of her mouth sends a shock of ice down my spine. She spoke about him like she knows him or like she wants him. My Emerson.

“I’m not nervous,” I lie. I wish that were true. I wish I was the sexy, confident type of woman she is. The kind Emerson wants.

“Good. Don’t be nervous. Just be yourself. That’s the beauty of this place. Emerson’s given us somewhere to finally be free.”

“Us?” I ask.

“Yeah…you don’t think this place is just for men, do you?”

I don’t respond as I let my mind wander back to everything I saw and experienced tonight. And I realize…she’s right.





In the car on the way home, Emerson is silent, which is now awkward, considering everything that happened tonight. While he drives, I take a moment to stare at him, noticing how much he’s changed in my perception since we met. I no longer see a man out of my reach. I see a man who makes me feel worthy in a way I didn’t know I needed—didn’t know I deserved.

And I think about what the woman in the bathroom said. Is Emerson really seen as a god? And was he really obsessed with me all night?

A month ago, I might have said she was wrong, that she had me confused with a different type of woman, the kind who could please a man like Emerson.

But I’ve changed, and I don’t feel that way anymore.

He catches me staring. Glancing my way, he asks, “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

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