Page 16 of The Good Girl Effect (Salacious Legacy #1)

Camille

I don’t want to back out. I want to do this.

But I lied when I told Jack I wasn’t scared. I’m terrified .

I’m reminded of the time when I was only twelve, and some of the cruel boys in my year called me a baby because I was too scared to jump over the shallow channel behind our school. I was scared out of my mind, but I refused to back down.

And when I landed in the hospital with a broken ankle, my father scolded me for always acting without thinking. I am too reckless. Too careless. Too foolish to know when I’m getting myself in over my head.

I always was, and I guess I still am.

That’s what got me this job in the first place.

And now I’m about to embark on something I don’t even understand with a man who is way out of my league and far more experienced than me. Jack scares me in a way that I like.

I waste the last hour before midnight, leaning over the kitchen counter, doodling a swan hanging by its feet in knotted rope.

Jack has been gone since he left this afternoon. So when the door opens at half past eleven, I watch nervously. I can hear my pulse in my ears as he walks into the apartment, glancing toward the kitchen briefly before climbing the stairs to his room.

Should I follow him?

I decide to wait it out, wringing my fingers in anticipation.

At precisely 12:00 a.m., I climb the stairs without looking back. The doors at the end of the hall are open, and I pause when Jack passes from one to the other.

Forging ahead, I continue down the hall until I reach the room on the left, the one with the dark walls and plush carpet. Bracing myself one last time, I make eye contact with him as I enter.

Jack is rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Close the door,” he says, so I press it shut behind me. Then I’m standing just a few feet away from him, waiting for what comes next. “Come here,” he says in a clipped command.

Licking my lips and keeping my gaze on his face, I close the distance, meeting him at the center of the rug.

Gazing up at him, I roam the features of his face—his handsome green eyes, his full pink lips, his gentle, patient expression.

There is something soft about him tonight, and it no longer feels as if I’m trespassing into his space. He’s inviting me in.

He’s not glowering at me like I’m a nuisance or petulant brat. He’s giving me a calm warmth.

This is the Jack I’ve been dying to see.

“You’re here because you wanted to see what it’s like to be bound, so that’s what I’m going to do. You are new to this, so I’m going to use restraint, but at any time, if you don’t like what I’m doing or anything hurts or feels numb, I want you to tell me. Understood?”

Knowing that Jack prefers silence, I nod instead of speaking.

Touching my shoulder, he slowly turns me around so my back is to him. I take a slow, shuddering breath as he gathers my hair at the nape of my neck.

With deft fingers, he begins to section my hair into parts as if he’s done this a thousand times. While he works to braid it, he speaks. Meanwhile, I just have to remind myself to breathe.

“I’ve been thinking about what I put in that letter today, and I want you to know that I do not plan on fucking you, Ms. Aubert. It was wrong of me to write that. I am fully capable of showing you what you want to experience while keeping things professional. Understand?”

I’m flooded with disappointment, which is a little surprising. Reluctantly, I nod.

He works to braid my hair down my back, his fingers moving quickly.

There’s something so calming about it that it seems to settle the nervousness inside me.

He ties a small black ribbon around the end of my braid before resting his hands on my shoulders.

Then he leans in until his mouth is near my ear as he adds, “But it doesn’t mean I won’t want to. ”

Tendrils of hope cascade down to the base of my spine.

He leaves my back and walks over to the wardrobe, pulling it open. I don’t move from my spot as I watch him.

“When I thought about it more, I realized this might be a perfect solution for both of us. You want to know what it feels like to be tied up, and I need a willing person to let me. This does not make me your Dom, understand?”

I nod, although he never turns around to see me.

“This is an intricate and elaborate practice with many different layers and variations. I don’t want to be your teacher, Miss Aubert. I’m not interested in showing you how to tie these things yourself. If you choose to learn more, you’ll have to find someone else.”

I want to tell him that I have no intention of learning with anyone else. Instead, I whisper, “Why do you do it then? If not for…sex.”

He turns toward me with his expression pinched together in concentration. “It…settles my mind. Gives me some sense of control.” His voice is low and steady, and I have to swallow down my nerves and a hint of arousal at hearing him speak so intimately.

Why is he so desperate for control? What is on his mind that he needs to quiet?

I want more. This obsession only grows stronger with the breadcrumbs he leaves me. This man, with so many shades and so much complexity, draws my interest like no one ever has. Who are you, Jack St. Claire? Show me.

“Why are you so interested in trying it?” he replies keenly.

“I’m curious, maybe to a fault.”

His mouth twitches with the hint of a smile. “You’ve mentioned that.”

He pulls a black silk ribbon from the cabinet. As he brings it over to me, he pauses, his eyes cascading down my body. He seems to realize that I’m still fully clothed.

“You’ll need to take these off. Leave on your bra and underwear.” He clears his throat as I quickly tug my shirt over my head and shed my pants, throwing both in a pile in the corner. I watch his molars grind as he stares at the messy pile of clothes.

Suddenly, I’m standing half-naked in front of him while he’s fully clothed, and it’s incredibly vulnerable and uncomfortable.

I can practically feel my nipples tighten under my thin bra.

He must notice too, because his attention lingers there as if briefly hypnotized.

I grow warmer with every passing second that his eyes are on me.

Shaking himself out of it, his gaze finds mine. “Before we start, I need to know you understand that this requires a great deal of trust between both of us. You trust me to keep you safe, and I trust you to communicate with me if anything feels wrong. Nod if you understand.”

So I do.

I know I have no good reason to trust Jack.

I hardly know him. He’s only proven himself to be self-centered, rude, and detached.

But he’s slowly opening up to me. As vulnerable as I feel giving my trust to him, I know he feels twice as vulnerable by letting me in.

My instincts are telling me that he won’t hurt me. And I always trust my gut.

“Normally, I’d want you blindfolded. It will heighten your senses and build trust, but I don’t think the first session is the right time to do it.”

My brows soften as I stare at the black ribbon. “I can handle it.”

Reaching out, he touches my chin. “Not yet.”

With that, he drapes the black ribbon over the handle of the door, and I fixate on it longingly. Why am I so intrigued by the idea of being robbed of my sight? Why on earth am I so eager to hand over all my trust to this man?

“We’re going to start with a basic tie, just so you can feel what it’s like.

Hold out your wrists,” he says. His voice is soothing yet rough, and I find something like peace in his commands.

He’s not bossing me around or barking orders at me.

He’s giving me guidance, making his instructions easy to follow.

Suddenly, I am eager to please.

So I hold out my wrists.

He steps away to pull a bundle of black rope from the wardrobe. My heart picks up speed at the sight of it. A second later, two strands of the rope are draped over my arms. He winds them around again and again, moving at a pace that is not rushed but not slow either.

I find myself watching his face instead of his fingers, thinking about how he said it quiets his mind, and I can see that already. He’s obviously very experienced in this, and I find comfort in that.

As he works, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I close my eyes, eager to feel what it would be like. The moment my vision is gone, the rest of my senses heighten. The scent of his cologne becomes more potent, and the feel of his fingers on my skin grows warmer.

It’s the same feeling I would get as a child when I’d fall asleep in the car, and my father would bring me into the house, barely waking me as he set me into my bed.

It’s a feeling of safety. It’s complete confidence in knowing the person with the most power over me is the one person who would never hurt me.

“Open your eyes, Camille,” he says, and I do, taking a deep, slow breath, realizing that I have been holding it. Why? I don’t know. Our gazes meet, and I worry that he’s about to scold me. Instead, that hint of a smile reappears on his lips, and he shakes his head. “You never listen.”

“Yes, I do,” I argue.

“Fine,” he says, tugging gently on the binds around my wrists. “Prove it. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut.”

My brows furrow with offense at his rude demands. But I intend to prove to him that I can obey simple orders, so I keep my lips pressed together and my eyes on the ropes.

He continues to loop and knot and loop and knot, and it’s far more complex than just a simple tie.

It winds halfway up my forearm. The binds are not tight, but as he knots them together, I try to move them and find that I can’t.

There’s a part of me that wonders if I should be panicking.

Anyone in their right mind would probably hate this, but I don’t.

In fact…I like it.

“Nod your head if you’re feeling comfortable.”

Quickly, I nod.

“Do you want me to release them?”

I shake my head.

“No numbness or tingling?”

Shake again.

“How do you feel?”

Lifting my attention to his face, the connection between us is strong, maybe stronger than ever as I open my mouth to reply, “I want more.”

His jaw clicks as he clenches his molars and exhales through his nose. I see his pupils dilate, the restraint apparent in his expression. “I’ll give you more, but we’ll start slow. Now, close your eyes.”

On a trembling exhale, I do as he says, reminding myself to breathe. He steps closer, the heat of his body radiating against my bare skin.

“I’m going to touch you now,” he whispers.

I tense in anticipation. Touch me? How?

Then the backs of his fingers cascade down my arm, leaving goose bumps in their wake.

“Notice how everything feels so much more intense when you can’t move. Can’t see. Can’t pull away.”

My stomach tightens. What is he doing to me? Slowly, I nod.

His touch moves back up my arm, cresting my shoulder and traveling across my collarbone. I let out a gentle gasp, and he growls lowly in return.

“Imagine being pleasured like this. Imagine pleasuring someone else . Being used. Being fucked.”

I start to feel dizzy as his touch dances down the center of my breasts, over the thin bralette, and then to my navel.

I’m practically shivering and finding it surprising how gentle he’s being.

It’s not what I expected. If it’s not about sex to him, then why is he torturing me like this?

Is it because he enjoys my torment or because he wants me to know what we’re missing out on?

There is a pulse between my legs as I soak my panties, desperately wishing he would stop talking about pleasuring me and just do it.

Then he grips the knot around my wrists and jerks me roughly toward him. I let out a yelp as my body slams against his. My eyes fly open and connect with his. The rough domination sends heat coursing through my body, culminating between my clenched thighs.

“See how much control I have over you?” he mutters. His mouth is so close to mine that his lips move against my skin. “Imagine your entire body covered in these knots. Imagine not being able to move an inch as I use you. Do you like the sound of that, Ms. Aubert?”

Shuddering, I nod. My lips part when I feel his breath on my mouth. In my mind, I’m pleading, begging him for more.

Kiss me, please. Take back everything you said earlier about showing restraint, cover me in those knots, and use me like you want to.

Of course, I don’t utter a word. The moment is too delicate to disrupt. I know that’s foolish of me, to want to be thrown in the deep end when I don’t even know how to swim, but I can’t help this desire. I can’t help the way Jack makes me feel.

Watching him come to life from just a man in a photo to a closed-off ghost to this . Someone who looks at me with so much potent attention, I want to drown in it.

It’s as if he can read my mind. Or maybe he’s just thinking the same things I am.

With his hand still on the ropes, he moves his body closer to mine, his rock-hard bulge pinned against my leg.

I let out a gasp. But as soon as he’s touching me, he’s gone.

With distance between us, I want the hard surface of his body against mine again.

I want to feel the proof of his arousal, but he won’t let me.

That would be crossing a line, one he promised he wouldn’t cross, and that was something I wasn’t supposed to feel.

To distract me from what I just felt, he tugs the bind on my wrists downward as he says in a tight, raspy tone, “On your knees.”

I quickly obey, moving to the floor. I’ve never felt my heart beat so fast in my life.

“Good girl,” he says with a low growl. His free hand pets my hair, and I start to sway.

How can he have me so compliant with just a few commands and words of praise? It’s like being hypnotized. I’d do anything just to please him.

For the first time since I walked in that door, I’m filled with a sense of danger. Not at risk of being hurt but at risk of loving this too much. In danger of never wanting this to end. And winding up very brokenhearted.