Page 24 of The Good Girl Effect (Salacious Legacy #1)

Camille

Sir,

I don’t want to cross that line either. Being Bea’s nanny is the best job I’ve ever had. In fact, it feels like more than a job. I care for her very much, and I agree. If things became complicated between us, it could end badly, and Bea would be the one to pay the price.

I can show restraint.

Thank you for the condolences regarding my father. He died three years ago. He was opening the restaurant one day and had an aneurysm. The doctors said it was instant. I’m glad there was no pain, but I can’t explain how strange it was to speak to him one second, and then he was gone the next.

You would have liked him. He was grumpy too but always nice to me.

He used to call me his little hummingbird because I was always moving from one place to another. I guess you’ve found a way to make me sit still, and I like it.

I’m glad you came to the park today. Bea loved having you there.

So did I.

Your good girl

I curl my toes against the plush red carpet as Jack works. He’s doing a chest harness tonight, something he explained when I first walked in. This one isn’t as restraining—yet.

He’s winding two threads of rope around my body, knotting them at my back and my stomach in various places. It brings him so close, and I get to breathe in his scent and feel his touch without it being like it was on the Métro today.

That moment frightened me. The last thing I want to feel is how heavenly it is to briefly experience something I can’t have.

When we’re up here, the lines are drawn and we are stepping into roles with defined parameters. It’s easy.

Today was different.

He refrained from using the blindfold again, touching it briefly when he was pulling out the ropes, and I held on to hope that he would finally deem the trust between us worthy.

Instead, I close my eyes, letting the darkness engulf me as he works.

His nimble touch sends me into a state of relaxation.

I can tell by the way Jack is working that he’s getting just as much enjoyment out of this as I am.

I feel like his doll, something he can play with. He’s winding rope around my body like it’s his favorite hobby.

My arms are above my head, giving him access to my torso when my fingers brush the brass loop hanging from the ceiling. Without uttering a word, I turn my head up toward them.

“Those are suspension hooks,” he says, noticing my curiosity. “We won’t use those for a while. You’re not quite ready for that.”

I press my shoulders back and stand up straighter at that, which makes him chuckle as he works to loop the rope into a small knot around my rib cage.

“You don’t like being told you can’t do something, do you?”

I shake my head.

“Well, I didn’t say you couldn’t do it. I said you can’t do it yet .”

I let out a huff and press my lips together.

“We’ll work our way there. Someday, you can.”

I nod softly, pleased with that answer.

“Sometimes, obeying me means being patient. It means doing what I say but also not doing what I forbid. Understand?”

I hesitate. This is the one thing I don’t want to hear.

Not because I want to disobey him but because listening when I’m being told what I can’t do isn’t something that comes as naturally to me.

Call it stubborn pride or fierce independence, but following orders is far easier than following restrictions.

Isn’t it enough that I keep quiet for him? That I nod and shake my head quietly and do what I’m told, standing still as a statue for him as he ties me up?

Suddenly, Jack jerks hard on the harness wrapped around my torso. I fly toward him with a gasp. His face is close to mine, much like that first night in this room before we found our restraint with each other.

“I said understand?” he repeats with his mouth near mine.

My jaw clenches, and my nostrils flare, and as much as I wish I could argue and rebel, I’d much rather hear his praise than his discipline. So with reluctance, I nod.

“Good girl,” he rasps with a wicked smile against my cheek. That phrase works to thaw some of the ice inside. “I think we should do some exercises to practice restrictions,” he says, and my interest piques at that. “Tell me, do you ever touch yourself after these sessions?” he asks.

My cheeks grow hot, and I swallow nervously.

“Answer the question. Yes or no?”

Dragging in a shaky breath through my parted lips, I nod.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says before leaning in from behind me. His lips are next to my ear as he adds, “So do I.”

Arousal floods the space between my thighs, so I clench them together tightly. The thought of Jack getting so turned on by this time with me that he has to pleasure himself afterward is enough to make me want to climax right here. Sparks of excitement dance down to my belly.

Why is he telling me this? How is this showing restraint?

“From now on, I don’t want you touching yourself. Understand?”

My brows furrow. I even turn my head toward him, although I can’t see him. But this rule doesn’t make any sense. How would he even know if I did? Is he going to come check my panties for signs of pleasure? Is he going to install cameras in my room to watch me?

“I’m trusting you to follow these rules, Camille. Do you think you can do that?”

Slowly, I nod.

“Do you understand why I’m telling you this?” he asks, tucking the loose end of the rope against my back.

I shake my head.

“Because I want you to be devoted to this. I want your full trust, and if you break that trust, I may never know, but you will. You’ll know that you can’t be trusted. That you can’t follow the rules. That you aren’t really a good girl.”

My jaw drops with a gasp as I turn toward him, showing the offense of him even saying that. That sentence alone strikes a chord in my chest. He’s right. I would know. So this isn’t really a rule for him—it’s a rule for me.

He chuckles again. “I trust you’ll follow the rules then.”

After he’s unwound the ropes from my chest and our session is over, his new rule sits heavily on my shoulders. While I am determined to follow it, there’s also a sense of dread there too because it means no relief for me.

Wrapping my robe around my body and tying it at the waist, I pull the letter out of my pocket. He’s wrapping the ropes in a figure-eight pattern to store them, so his back is to me. I consider handing him the letter, but that feels odd.

Instead, I walk out of the room and slip it under his door like I always do. Then I make my way down the stairs.

My body feels tight and ravenous for something it can’t have. The few moments of pleasure I get after our lessons is the one thing I look forward to most, and now that’s been taken away.

I’m lying in bed, restlessly kicking the covers off every few minutes, only to pull them back up the next.

Following restrictions is terrible.

Maybe I’m not a good girl. Maybe I thought I was when the instructions were simple, and he whispered the phrase in my ear seductively. That would trick anyone into thinking they were submissive and obedient.

But I’m not. I’m defiant and stubborn and rebellious.

And I am certainly not the type of woman who lets men dictate what she can and cannot do when she’s alone.

The creak in the floorboard outside my door catches my attention, so I freeze in my bed and listen. There’s another.

I slowly throw back the covers and slip out of bed. Tiptoeing, I make my way to the door and peek through the narrow opening. I can barely make out his form in the hallway through the darkness, but it’s enough to have my heart hammering in my chest.

Pulling the door open, I stare at him through the darkness. He freezes with a folded piece of paper in his hand. But my eyes don’t go to the letter; they stay glued to his eyes instead.

He takes a step forward, but he doesn’t breach the opening to my room. I take a step toward him until our bodies are nearly flush with each other.

Just like the last time I caught him in my hallway, we stare at each other for no other reason than just to savor this quiet, peaceful silence together.

His hand lifts, and instead of touching my face again, he drifts his fingers down the side of my arm. When he reaches my wrist, I flex my hand, hoping to feel his touch against mine.

“Are you being a good girl?” he whispers, leaning forward. His eyes dance over to my bed and back to my face.

With my chin held high, I reply, “Of course.”

“Good,” he whispers, his lips twitching as he fights a smile.

Then, because he’s cruel, he backs me up until my spine hits the doorframe.

His body presses against me, and a jolt of realization washes over me—he’s about to break the rules and cross the line.

He drifts his fingers over my stomach and down.

I stop breathing entirely as his featherlight touch breezes over the core of my panties.

He doesn’t touch my clit, but I swear I can feel him hovering over it.

“Does that feel good?” he whispers.

With an ache in my core, I nod. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and I glance at him with confusion. “I shouldn’t torture you like this, but I want to see how strong you are.”

“You don’t play fair,” I mumble indignantly. He’s just turning me on more to make my challenge even harder. It’s cruel and heartless and so fucking sexy.

When did I give this man so much power over me? And why do I love it so much?

His wicked lips touch the side of my neck, sucking delicately and sending chills down my spine.

“Jack, please,” I beg.

I hear the crinkle of paper, and I look down to see him dragging the letter softly over my skin and then across the pebbled center of each breast. It’s excruciating.

When he tears his hand and his body away from me, I let out a pained whimper from the ache of his absence.

Then he hands me the letter. And I snatch it from him reluctantly.

I scowl when I hear him laughing to himself.

“Like I said,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

I mumble curses in French as he retreats into the darkness. I slam his letter on the nightstand, too angry to read it right now. I don’t care what he has to say.

“Espèce d’enfoiré cruel,” I grumble to myself, punching my pillow. “Salopard malfaisant!”

Sleep doesn’t come easily. My body is wound tight with need, and I’m far too angry to allow myself to drift off.

I never touch myself to relieve the ache before sleep finds me, though. So I guess I really am a good girl after all.