“Yes,” I cry out.
“Tell me you’re worth it. Tell me how beautiful you are.”
Emotion stings my throat. No, no, no. Please don’t get emotional. Please don’t fucking cry. This is supposed to be a sexy moment, and I’m about to ruin it because I know he’s right. I know I never say anything good about myself, but I can’t help it. It doesn’t matter how pretty I am or how other people see me. The voice in my head telling me I’m not enough is louder.
I really did not expect all of this to come up right now, but the residual pain and the intensity of being blindfolded and restrained is making everything so hard to keep in. “I can’t,” I say, but my voice shakes.
“That’s okay. You will.”
Fire lands against my chest again, and I bite my bottom lip to keep from screaming. It’s insane how much this pain makes me feel almost high. The intensity takes me to another plane of existence. Is this subspace?
“Why would Ronan Kade have bid so much to get you if you weren’t so beautiful, Charlotte?”
“I don’t know,” I cry.
“Do you think those other women are more beautiful than you?”
“Yes!”
Hot wax lands against my belly this time, feeling even more sensitive.
“You’re wrong, Charlotte.”
My blindfold is wet. God, I hope he can’t tell I’m crying.
“Say it. Tell me you’re worth it.”
A sob breaks through, and I use my bound hands to cover my face. Emerson pulls them away and puts his lips against mine.
“Why can’t you just say it, Charlotte? Why can’t you just admit how wonderful you are?”
“Because I’m not,” I sob. “I just mess everything up. I don’t deserve you. You think I’m so great now, but you’ll realize eventually that I’m not good enough, and you’ll leave me. Like everyone does.”
I’ve ruined everything. I’m sobbing, and it’s humiliating, and I’m sure he’s really done with me now. The room falls silent, and I’m shaking. A moment later, my blindfold is yanked off of my face, and I try to turn my tear-soaked face away. I’m sure I have makeup dripping down my cheeks.
“Jesus, Charlotte.”
He takes my face in his hands and holds me close. “Look at me,” he barks.
I swallow down the nails in my throat and turn my gaze toward him. “You’re wrong,” he says with conviction, locking eyes with me.
When I try to shake my head, he stops me. “Say it. Say you’re wrong.”
“I’m wrong,” I whisper.
“Louder,” he bellows.
“I’m wrong.
“Louder!”
“I’m wrong!” I cry out, tears trailing down the sides of my face and landing in my hair.
When he kisses me, the dam breaks, a feeling of euphoria washing over me. Reaching down, he releases the straps around my legs one at a time, and I quickly wrap them around him.
“You’re mine,” he growls against the skin of my neck, and I lift my bound arms and wrap them around his head. “Forget everyone before me, Charlotte. Just focus on me. I would have paid a million dollars for this hour with you. Do you hear me?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
His fingers find the nipple clamps, releasing them, and it’s almost as painful as when he put them on. When his lips close around the right one, sucking on the pain, I thrust my hips upward. They are super sensitive now, making my entire body sing as he caresses them with his tongue.
“Please fuck me, Emerson,” I beg. I need to know he still wants me after I just made a complete fool of myself.
He doesn’t hesitate, shoving my hips down against the bed and driving his cock between my legs. Thrusting hard, he holds me tightly in his arms. “Fuck, look what you do to me, Charlotte. You drive me crazy.”
I can’t get enough of him. My legs lock around his waist, and I pull his mouth to mine for another kiss. With Emerson, I don’t feel so inferior. Somehow, this perfect, amazing man makes me feel worthy, and my heart explodes in my chest every time I think about it.
“I’m addicted to you,” he groans while fucking me. “You were made for me, Charlotte. You’re mine, and I never want to let you go. Do you understand me? I’d fuck you forever if I could.”
My body cries out as he pounds harder and harder, the sensation of what he’s doing to my body mingled with the words he’s using to break my heart.
“I wish you could,” I cry. Looking up into his eyes, I whisper, “I was made for you.” The expression on his face seems momentarily surprised by my admission.
Resting his forehead against mine, he drives me to ecstasy, pounding his body into mine as if he’s trying to make me believe what he’s telling me. When I come, my nails dig into his back, holding him as closely as I can get him. Matching my intensity, he growls into my ear as he slows his thrusts and comes inside me. Gathering me up in his arms, he pulls out and lies on the mattress. I rest on his chest, and let the moment wash over me.
He loosens the ties around my wrists. Grabbing a wet washcloth on the table next to the bed, he carefully rubs it across my skin. When I look down, I see splatters of black across my chest and stomach. It stings when he peels the wax from my delicate skin, but after the last hour, it’s nothing. And I almost welcome the pain now, like it brings us closer together.
Then he cups my face and pulls me up to his lips, kissing me softly.
“You’re not mad at me anymore, are you?” I ask, my voice trembling with emotion.
His face softens. “I was never mad at you, Charlotte. I just wish you could see what I see.”
I don’t see what Emerson sees, but I wish I could. Maybe I never will. It wasn’t just Beau, but I think ever since my dad walked out on us, I built up a wall between men and me, making myself believe that if I wasn’t good enough for them from the start, I could never disappoint them. I would never have to live through anyone’s disappointment ever again.
“I wish I could too,” I whisper, letting him hold me tightly in his arms.
RULE #29: AFTERCARE IS THE BEST.
Charlotte
“Can I take you home with me?” Emerson asks, kissing my forehead.
“Of course,” I whisper, as if that’s even a valid question.
“We can continue your aftercare there.”
My heart does a little dance of delight because I don’t need to ask what aftercare is—I’ve done my research, after all. And Madame Kink—er, Eden—was very adamant about the importance of aftercare, and I mean…who wouldn’t love to be pampered and doted on? As if Emerson doesn’t do that enough.
“I sort of thought this was the aftercare,” I point out. He’s already cleaned off all the wax, made me drink a bottle of water, and cuddled me into cozy bliss for the last hour.
But he looks down at me and brushes my hair out of my face. There’s a humorless expression on his face. “You got a little upset. I just don’t want to send you home. I’d rather keep you with me all night.”
“Oh God.” I try to hide my face, still a little humiliated over the way I cried. He won’t let me turn away, though. Pulling my gaze back to his, he waits for my answer.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Charlotte. That’s a normal response to pain. I did that to you on purpose.”
“You wanted to make me cry?”
He runs his thumb under my eye, which I’m sure is just dripping with mascara from my tears. “Yes. I wanted you to let go of whatever you were holding on to. It was intense, I know. Are you feeling okay now?”
I nod. I feel better than okay. I feel both exhausted and raw, but also renewed.
“Good.” He kisses my temple. “Let’s go home.”