“So that’s what this is about,” he replies with a nod of his head. “You don’t want to fill out the form. Charlotte, I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to. The form is there for your protection.”
I throw my hands up with a scoff. “Yeah, I get it. You want me to lay all of my cards out on the table for you, but what about you, Sir?” I throw so much sarcastic emphasis on his title that it makes his jaw clench. “Where’s your form? Why aren’t you obligated to admit to everything you want, even if it means making yourself vulnerable? Come on, Emerson.”
I stomp my way out to the office and grab the legal pad on the desk and a pen from the drawer. Shoving them both against his chest, I snap, “Here. Write down everything you want to do with me, just so we’re clear.” My tone is teasing, chock-full of snark, and I expect him to yell back at me or toss the paper on the floor.
What I don’t expect is his body suddenly crowding mine until my ass is against my desk. He presses himself between my legs and leans me backward, so I’m defenseless, letting out a yelp as his face peers only inches from mine.
“You think this is how I want to do this?” he mutters darkly. “You think I’m not dying to know what you’d rate those things on that list, even though I know I’d be the worst father in the world if I ever did any of them?” His hand scoops my lower back as he leans so close to me, I can feel him between my legs.
Staring up into his eyes, my pulse quickens. He wants me. He’s basically saying that now.
Before I can even think of a response, he continues, “I’ll fill out that form for you if you want, but I don’t need to. You want me to tell you that I want to taste you, Charlotte? Because I do. I want to touch you, tease you, fuck you, bend you over my knee and turn that pretty little backside red. There’s not a thing on that list I don’t want to do with you, so you can put the paper and pen away, little girl. Every single thing would get a five from me.”
A small sound escapes my lips.
“You have no idea how hard this is for me, Charlotte. To have you as mine, but not in the way I want.”
“I…I don’t know what to say…” I breathe in response.
“Just fill out the fucking form,” he growls, his mouth only inches from mine.
And just like that, he backs up and lets me breathe again. I take in lungfuls of air as I watch him march out of the room, leaving me standing here alone, thinking about what he just said.
This whole time I was so afraid to admit that I wanted more with him, and he basically just admitted that he wanted it too…but also that he would never give in to that want.
There’s no sign of him for the next hour as I take the list to the kitchen with me, hovering over each item. A swarm of butterflies assaults my stomach at the mere thought of experiencing these with Emerson.
Exhibitionism…five.
Oral…five.
Sex toys…five.
Anal…deep breath, Charlie…five.
Am I going overboard? Putting down a five basically says that not only do I want these things, but I’m practically demanding them. And it’s not like I’m saying five for everything. There are a few things on this list that fall deep into the negative one range—hard pass on fisting and golden showers. But how can I possibly hand this paper to him with these fives all over it?
I’m tempting him on purpose, and sure, maybe I am being a little bit of a brat. It’s as bad as me using my tits and red lipstick to get my sister a copy of her book at the store. I’m purposefully manipulating Emerson to get what I want…and that’s cruel, but I don’t feel bad about it. There are so many fun things we could do with me as his submissive servant if sex was on the table, and I don’t want to be a PG version of Monica. I want it all.
After lunch, I set the list on Emerson’s desk. He’s still MIA, but I get back to work anyway. Well, I try. Can’t exactly focus on anything with a written confirmation basically proclaiming I’ll be your fuck toy. Bonus: with anal! just sitting there on his desk, waiting for him. And I have to be here when he does read it. That shouldn’t be awkward at all.
It’s almost two, and Emerson is still missing. I haven’t gotten anything done, and I feel as if we need to have a conversation since he just left me with that truth bomb from earlier. So after setting up the coffee pot to brew his afternoon caffeine fix, I gather up the courage to go investigating. Emerson’s house is huge, but I’ve only really seen the lower level which is the office, kitchen, bathroom, and sitting room. There are large wooden stairs that lead to the second floor.