The thing is…I don’t quite know what’s right or wrong anymore, and that doesn’t seem fair. If this was a normal secretary job, a normal Dom/sub situation, or a normal romantic relationship, I would at least know what was expected of me. But we’re not any of those things. We’re a little of everything and it’s confusing as hell.
And then there’s the nagging fear that Emerson was off doing God knows what with Monica in the club. Would I be upset if I found out they had sex? Yes. Do I have any right to be? No.
It occurs to me as I play possible scenarios over and over in my head that it would actually bother me more if I found out he was treating her like a sub, making her bow to him, being Sir to her, praising her rather than fucking her. Don’t get me wrong, they both physically hurt to think about, but the idea that she was being his good girl makes me want to go ballistic. That can’t be allowed. He would surely know how much that would destroy me, and there’s no way he’d do it. Right?
We pull up to a fancy restaurant with valet parking. It’s on a golf course, and someone opens my door for me when Emerson pulls up to the front door. He gives them his name at the hostess stand, and within minutes, she’s walking us to our table. Did he have this planned? We never go out to eat. He pulls out my chair for me, and I try to act natural as I take a seat, letting him push me toward the table. Before walking back to his chair, he leans in and presses his lips against my ear. I stiffen immediately.
“Behave yourself,” he whispers, and a chill runs down my spine.
Behave myself? What’s that supposed to mean?
Everything is seemingly normal as the waiter takes our drink order. I request a water because honestly, I’m parched. This whole thing has me feeling so unsettled and nervous. It’s like I have a time bomb strapped to my chest—or rather, shoved up my vagina, and Emerson is holding the detonator in his pocket.
We don’t say a word to each other as we browse the menu, but I can’t think. I can barely read, and I swear, I’m sweating.
“Will you order for me?” I ask, setting my menu down.
He gazes at me over the top of his. “What’s wrong? Feeling nervous?”
I look up at him. “Yes. Of course.”
“Why?”
My brow furrows. “You know why.”
“We’re in public, Charlotte. You can’t expect me to cause a scene here, do you?”
I let out a heavy breath, but I don’t answer. He’s baiting me, and I want to scream at him. The restaurant is so quiet. There’s gentle piano music playing, and delicate chatter fills the room. But I’m still sitting here with a vibrator inside me, and I know at any moment it’s going to come to life and I don’t know how I can possibly keep my cool when it does.
I just know that I cannot let Emerson down.
After the waiter returns, Emerson orders us both today’s special, which is pecan-crusted chicken and orzo salad. Meanwhile, I gulp down my ice water like I just ran a mile.
It’s silent between us again, and I glare at him, waiting for him to move or say something. Finally, I decide to be the one to start.
“Was she one of your special secretaries?” I ask quietly, glancing around to make sure no one is listening.
“Yes,” he replies plainly. “Is that why you were so rude to her?”
“I wasn’t rude. You asked me to greet her, so I did.”
“I didn’t ask, Charlotte.” He leans back in his chair, looking smug and handsome, making me even more mad at him.
“No, you didn’t. You ordered me to, and you don’t always do that.”
“Do you like it when I order you to?”
I inhale, not sure how he wants me to answer that. “Sometimes.”
“Not all the time?”
“I don’t know. I just…” I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. I’m flustered, feeling too many things I can’t seem to put words to.
“Do you know why I ordered you to, Charlotte?”
“Because you knew I didn’t like her.”
There’s a gentle lift at the corner of his lips. “Because I wanted her to know you were more than just a regular secretary. I wanted to make it clear that you are mine.”
Oh. My lips open to reply, but no words come out. He was…claiming me? Showing her I was his new girl. Why didn’t I pick up on that? How do I even feel about that?
“Why?” I ask when my mouth decides to finally form sounds.
“Because that’s what you are, isn’t it? Unless you’d like to go back to the way things were before—”
“No,” I blurt out. “I just didn’t…I don’t know why I didn’t want to obey you. I just…didn’t.”
He gives me a subtle smirk again. “Interesting.”
“I think I was jealous.”
“Why would you be jealous? She was the past. You’re the present.”
Because deep down, I want to be everything. Past, present…future. But I can’t say that. It’s too much.
“Did you…sleep with her?” I ask, practically whispering.
There’s a moment of hesitation before he answers, “Yes.”
Jealousy stings me hard, but I can’t reply because the waiter returns, placing our plates on the table. It smells so good I almost forget about the topic of conversation. And I can’t stop thinking about him and Monica, and her as his sub and them having sex.
“Eat,” he says, and this time, I listen. Because it is really, really delicious.
And I don’t shy away from devouring the entire filet and orzo salad. He looks almost pleased with me as I set down my fork at the end of the meal. It’s so good I almost forget about the vibrator still sitting dormant in my panties.
After the waiter takes our plates, I stare at Emerson again. With my belly full and a little relaxed, I get the nerve to finally ask what I really want to know. “Did you sleep with her today?”
He looks shocked. “Today?”
“Yeah. While you were giving her a tour.”
“You really think I would do that?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. We haven’t established being exclusive. I mean, we’re not even having sex, so why wouldn’t I think that? But he’s right…it does seem wrong to assume he’d do that.
He smiles. “No, I did not have sex with her today.”
I let out a heavy breath. Why am I so relieved? Emerson leans forward, studying me as he says, “Would you be mad at me if I did?”
I swallow. “Yes,” I reply with honesty. “Even if I have no right to be, I would.”
“Good.” He seems pleased. “And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Flirting with Drake.”
“I wasn’t—” The breath is stolen from my lungs as the soft humming in my panties racks my body with pleasure. It’s surprisingly silent as it quivers inside me. My clit is suddenly wide awake, red hot and filled with blood.
“Behave,” he whispers under his breath as he watches me. He’s telling me not to cause a scene, and it takes everything in me not to squirm in my seat. Instead, I clutch the napkin in my lap, my knuckles turning white as I squeeze my thighs together. The vibration doesn’t stop.
“Then, turn it off,” I whisper.
“I think this is a fitting punishment, don’t you?”
Punishment? “I wasn’t flirting,” I reply, forcing the words through breathless lips. “And so what if I was? I’m not your—”
He turns up the intensity and I shudder, knocking the table with my leg, the sound of glass clinking echoes through the room. Eyes shift in our direction, and I force myself to keep still when all I want to do is lift my hips from this chair, hump the air, and scream through an orgasm. But even with the constant vibration, without moving my body, I can’t seem to come. Instead, I’m forcing myself not to, and strangely, it hurts.
That notorious G-spot I’ve heard about…well, I think I just found it.
“This is a strange form of punishment,” I force through tight lips.
“Is it?”
Suddenly, the vibrations are gone, and I should be able to relax, but I feel like the earth has been yanked from under my feet, leaving me to dangle here in excruciating need. I catch my breath without looking visibly bothered. Grabbing the glass of water, I take a long, thirsty drink. As good as the vibrations felt, I don’t really want to keep fighting the urge to come in public, so I silently pray he’s done torturing me.