His broad arms engulf me as his hand slides across my ass, pulling me so close I can feel his heartbeat through his chest. It feels as if Emerson is keeping me safe, buried against his body, and even though there’s nothing I need protecting from, I like the way it makes me feel.
Our bodies shift together to the music. Every time I look up at him, our faces are so close, we’re almost kissing, but as much as I would love to feel Emerson’s lips against mine, I’m not sure that’s really what he wants to do with me, so I keep my gaze fixed on various places around the room, where I, once again, find myself staring at the woman on her knees.
“What are you looking at?” he whispers next to my ear, and I bite my lip and turn away.
“Nothing,” I mumble.
“Liar,” he teases.
“Fine.” I look up at him. “Is that what you do with yourothersecretaries? Pet them while they kneel at your feet?” My eyes dance toward the kneeling woman, and I watch Emerson glance her way. A gentle smile curves his lips upward.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Sometimes.”
A flutter of excitement courses through my veins. It’s so strange to imagine Emerson in that role. I can’t bear to imagine another woman at his feet, so I imagine what it might feel like to gaze up at him like that. To feel him touch my head in such a loving gesture. To think of him like that, playing such a dominant, commanding role…that he claims isn’t inherently sexual—it still arouses me.
We stare at each other a moment as I ponder how to phrase this next question. “Do you wish you had a secretary like that now?”
I can’t outright ask, ‘Do you want me to be like that for you?’ Because we’ve already established that it’s inappropriate and out of the question—no matter how curious I am. But I am a little worried that he would prefer a girl like that over me. That I’m…not enough for him. The thought actually pains me.
He leans in and I have to shut my eyes because I’m overwhelmed by how close he is to kissing me. Is he actually trying to kill me? “You know they weren’t actually my secretaries, right? Or at least they weren’t very good ones. Not as good as you.”
I force a small laugh, trying to maintain my composure with his nearness. “Too bad you can’t have the best of both worlds.” I level him with a look that speaks volumes. “A good secretary who’s a good sub.”
His smile fades as he stares back, his gaze sliding down from my eyes to my mouth. As his hand coasts along my lower back, he pulls me against his hard body even closer.
“Yeah…that’s too bad.”
RULE #15: IN A SEX CLUB, IT’S OKAY TO STARE.
Charlie
Ispend the next hour or so at Emerson’s side. Wherever I try to move, he’s there, an affirming hand at the small of my back, and he never misses the chance to introduce me. He does so as his date, not his secretary, with a look of pride on his face.
And after two glasses of champagne, I’m beaming. Every few moments, he checks on me, letting his eyes settle on my face, allowing them to linger for a moment before pulling me closer.
Is this normal? For him to treat me like more than a work date, like a real date? I don’t know what’s normal and what’s not anymore.
I spot the construction worker again, the one who hit on me in front of Emerson and had him so worked up. I barely recognize him in a tux, but that smile gives him away. He’s flirting with a woman at the bar, and by the looks of it, those two will be getting a room at any moment.
Emerson introduces me to the rest of the owners. Hunter and his beautiful wife, Isabel. I see Maggie again, but she seems unable to relax and worries about everything until Garrett and Emerson practically force champagne down her throat.
As they all talk, I remain at Emerson’s side, but my gaze continues to wander around the room. I notice more than once people going down the dark hallway. The bouncer lifts the rope for them before they disappear into the darkness. There’s another black curtain hiding whatever lies behind.
My curiosity is practically killing me. So when Emerson starts talking to the rich man from the poker table, no longer accompanied by the kneeling woman, I excuse myself to use the restroom. I disappear into the crowd and meander my way casually toward the hallway. Being free of Emerson is both liberating and terrifying. I feel like an imposter in a world where I don’t fit. I don’t belong here, and it’s written all over my face.
Eyes linger on me as I pass by. They can tell I’m a fraud.
When I reach the red rope and the black curtain of the forbidden hallway, the bouncer stares at me wordlessly.
“Um…” It’s so loud in here, he probably doesn’t even hear me. “The bathroom?”
I know well enough that the bathroom isn’t down here. His brow furrows at me and I nearly die of embarrassment. I’m about to crawl back into the crowd and try to convince my brain that that didn’t just happen when the bouncer looks up for a second and nods at someone across the room. I barely have a moment to turn around and look when he lifts the red rope and anticipation causes the blood to drain out of my body entirely.
It feels like over an hour that I stand there and gape at him in surprise. Though, it’s probably only a millisecond. Before he can change his mind, I step through the curtain and enter the dark, ominous hallway.
It seems longer than I remember, but it’s probably an illusion from the lack of light. There’s no crowd back here, but a few people linger along the walls, and unlike in the main room, no one looks at me. They keep to themselves, or each other, and not a single head turns in my direction. Gentle light emits from the large windows on either side, and it takes my brain a few moments to register that the people gathered around the hallway aren’t looking at me, because they’re busy…with each other.
I don’t stare long enough to actually see what they’re doing. One man has a woman pressed face-first against the glass as he grinds slowly against her from behind.