Praise (Salacious Players Club #1)
Sara Cate
For all the good girls.
PROLOGUE
Seven Years Ago
Emerson
“So, I had a fistful of her hair in my hand, and we were both in the moment when I looked her right in the eye and said, ‘Suck my cock like a good little girl.’ The next thing I knew, she reared back her fist and clocked me right in the face.”
“Oh shit!” Garrett curses with a grimace.
“Damn!” Hunter bellows.
Across the table, Maggie, the only woman in our group, looks horrified.
I wince, poking at the raw purple bruise growing around my eye socket.
“I don’t think she liked that,” Maggie adds with a light chuckle, before taking a sip of her white wine.
“You think?” I burst out, grabbing my beer and holding the cold glass against my face to quell the throbbing ache pulsing around my eyeball. It hurts only half as much as my pride. The humiliation from getting my first real shiner from a pretty little brunette I had been flirting with for weeks and was beyond eager to stick my dick into being the worst of my injuries.
“I mean…I thought we were getting along great. She seemed kinky enough, and she definitely appeared into it, but I guess I was wrong. Not a fan of a little sexy degradation, apparently.”
The table grows silent for a moment. My three co-workers and I have made these Thursday night happy hours at the bar a little tradition. We collectively hate the entertainment company we work for. When we took these jobs, we did it for the excitement and love of the industry. Now we meet for drinks once a week to rant about how we would run the company differently and how much better we’d do on our own. But we’re all talk. None of us are ready to leave our steady positions to start new ones.
And more than occasionally, we talk about sex, each of us dishing out our dirtiest bedroom secrets like a bunch of old men sharing epic war stories. Even our modest Maggie joins in. Aside from Hunter and his long-term girlfriend, Isabel, we’re all single, and we all intend to keep it that way. One of the perks of working in the entertainment industry is that we work nights, parties, and drunk soirees, which means we get laid fairly consistently, giving us ample conversation topics, so we don’t have to spend all of our time together bitching about the company we work for.
“Fuck, man,” Garrett replies with a contemplative look. “It’s bullshit that there isn’t a way to match people up by the kinky shit they like to do in the bedroom.”
Immediately, the table breaks out in laughter. Because this is what Garrett does. He makes jokes and expects a roll of amusing reactions after every sentence that comes out of his mouth, something we’ve come to anticipate.
“I’m fucking serious. How nice would it be if you could meet up with someone who likes the same twisted shit you do? You wouldn’t have to hide it or be embarrassed by the kinks that get your panties wet.”
“You’re fucking crazy, Garrett,” Hunter replies, but by the time I set my empty glass down on the table, I can’t get the thought out of my head. Why don’t dating apps match people by their kinks? Or better yet…what if you could hire someone to fulfill those desires?
And a safe place to indulge in them.
It dawns on me at that moment that a group of people with experience in the entertainment industry might have the right skills to pull something like this off. If only we had the guts to take the leap. It could start with a dating service, for more than just booty calls and hookups—but something serious where people didn’t have to feel so ashamed for what they enjoy.
It could only grow from there. An app to a service…and then someday, a real kink club.
“I am not,” Garrett argues. “Who here doesn’t have some freaky bedroom desires you’ve always wanted to do but are too afraid to ask? I mean, obviously, Emerson isn’t afraid to ask.”
They laugh again, and Hunter elbows me in the ribs, but I don’t reply because I’m still thinking about this idea.
“Come on. I’m serious,” Garrett says. “Out of all the shit you’ve done, what is the one thing you wish you could ask for? You know you have something. So let’s hear it.”
“You first,” Maggie replies with a smug grin. As the only woman, and a slightly reserved one at that, Maggie has mastered the art of spinning conversations around on us, keeping the attention off of her whenever she can.
“Fine,” he says.
I sort of tune them out for a minute while they each share their deepest, darkest sexual fantasies because, like Garrett predicted, everyone has one. And they’re not all that weird really.
It has me thinking…if everyone at this table has their specific kink they’re too afraid to talk about…then does everyone at this bar? Everyone in this town? The country? The world?
“All right, Emerson,” Hunter says, nudging me in the shoulder. “Your turn.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Garrett cuts me off. “Didn’t you hear his story? Emerson likes to degrade and get punched in the face for it.”
The crowd erupts in laughter, and I join in, but I don’t respond. With a smile around my glass, I take a drink, but I don’t indulge any more. Because they may think degradation is my style, but that’s not it at all.
The next morning, we get the call that the company we work for is going under. They’re filing for bankruptcy and we’re all out of a job, but before any of us can file for unemployment, we have a business plan. I head the company. Garrett handles the clients. Hunter works with the developers. And Maggie manages all of us. And it’s that easy.
Salacious Players’ Club is born.
RULE #1: NEVER PUT UP WITH A DOUCHEBAG BOYFRIEND—DUMP THAT LOSER.
Charlie
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Charlie?” Beau snaps when he sees me pull up with my windows down. My jaw clenches as I climb out my car and slam the door behind me. I glance back at my little sister, watching from the passenger seat, and swallow down the humiliation at her hearing my stupid ex-boyfriend berate me on the front lawn of his new house. I don’t even bother asking what I’ve done because, with him, it’s always somehow my fault.
“Fuck off, Beau,” I mutter through clenched teeth. “Just give me my half of the deposit so I can be on my way.”
He stops in his tracks between the pickup truck and the front door of his house with a moving box in his arms. “I wish I could, but you weren’t at the final walk-through with the landlord, so they sent the money to my dad. You’ll have to pick it up from him.”
“Your dad? What? Why?”
Beau carries the box labeled ‘X-Box shit’ into the house and drops it on the floor next to his TV before returning to the truck. He’s renting a new place with his best friend, and it would seem he’s still holding a grudge against me for breaking up with him. Beau and I dated for fifteen months, six of those we spent living in a shitty rental where we quickly learned that we actually hated each other. Apparently, we could date and sleep together casually, but being in a mature live-together relationship was a no-go.
It only took three months in the apartment for him to cheat on me—or to get caught, I should say.
“Yes, Charlie. My dad. He was listed on the lease as our co-signer, and when you weren’t around to pick up the deposit, they sent it to him.”
“Fuck,” I mumble. “Well, I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Beau, but I was busy working.” I make sure to emphasize the word, since I’ve been the one carrying two jobs while he can barely hold down one for more than a month.
“Frying corndogs at the skating rink hardly makes you the responsible one in this relationship.”
“At least I could pay the bills.”
“Let’s not do this again,” he shouts as he slams the tailgate of the truck closed. Beau doesn’t have anger problems, per se. He’s just an asshole.