Page 28 of The Good Girl Effect (Salacious Legacy #1)

Jack

I don’t call the car back for a ride home after we’ve locked up. I’m the last one to leave, and I decide to walk home instead. It’s only a few hours until sunrise, and the streets are quiet.

When I arrive back at my apartment, I walk in to find it dark and quiet. My kitchen smells like cleaning chemicals, and my sink shines with the absence of the dirty dishes I left in it this afternoon.

Instead of going directly up to my bedroom, I stare at the living room, remembering a time when I once lived here too. But now I’ve turned into a ghost in my own home.

Tearing the top few buttons of my shirt open, I walk to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of red wine.

I can’t stop staring at how clean the sink and countertops are.

And although I know it’s something I pay Camille for, I can’t help but feel like shit for it.

I can’t take care of my own house. I can’t take care of my own child.

And for what? My job? The one I’m failing at?

I’m failing at everything.

There’s a drawing stuck to the fridge, and I pull it down, smiling at the black cat wearing a red beret like some Le Chat Noir recreation.

It’s obvious this is my daughter’s artwork, but it reminds me of the small drawings that have been appearing around the house on notepads and takeout menus and even at the bottom of a few of the letters Camille has written.

I’m growing too fond of this woman in my home. I’m aware of it. She is both adorable and sexy all at once, and I haven’t been this attracted to a woman since Em. Taking her on as a bondage sub was a mistake. Thinking I could keep it professional was a joke.

I’d give her everything, throw caution to the wind if I didn’t worry that my attachment to her wasn’t just some side effect of this grief. What if I’m reaching for her because I miss reaching for my wife? How cruel of me. How careless.

What I did tonight, making her moan and whine with pleasure under my touch, was reckless. But I can’t stop thinking about what she said—we could draw the line. We could still have everything we want and stop it there. Can’t we?

I want to believe I can touch her and bury myself in her body while maintaining a professional boundary. This desire has become so much more. It’s become a need .

And the more I deny myself, the more tense and miserable I become. For her sake, I’ll endure it. For both of their sakes—hers and Bea’s. What kind of man would I be to ruin what they have?

After my first glass is empty, I consider going to bed, but I reach for the bottle to pour another one instead.

Then I carry it to the living room, where a basket of my daughter’s toys sits in the corner.

Dropping onto the sofa, I let the silence envelop me.

The only light is the moon’s glow shining through the large windows.

And in this dark, quiet, midnight space, I haunt my own home.

The long year weighs on my body, and I know something has to change. I can’t keep going on like this. The only question now is: do I leave the club, call it a loss, and move back home?

That is the smart choice. It would put much-needed distance between me and Camille.

My eagerness to leave Paris has dissipated recently. After Em died, I couldn’t wait to get out of here. I couldn’t stand to be in this house, let alone this city.

But I think it was the trip to the park the other day that changed things for me. Seeing Bea happy. Hearing her speak her mother’s language again, living so happily in the city Em loved, made me realize that getting away from our pain here means leaving the good too.

I can’t just tear my daughter away from the only home she’s ever known and expect it to fix everything. She is too young to feel the painful memories here the same way I do.

A door opens down the hallway, and I wait with bated breath to see who will appear. When Camille steps quietly into the living room, I release a sigh of relief. Just the sight of her, arms wrapped tightly around herself, brings me a sense of peace I didn’t expect.

She doesn’t say a word as she comes closer.

She’s dressed in nothing but a long T-shirt and underwear, and I try to swallow down the arousal brewing in my blood, seeing her like this.

Her long, wavy blond hair is draped over one shoulder, and she looks so fucking beautiful in this moonlight it should be criminal.

I’m only human. How on earth am I supposed to resist her when she looks at me like that?

I’m in shambles on the couch, and she can see it as she approaches. Leaning over, she places a hand on my knee and reaches out to brush my stray hair off my forehead. Then she cups my cheek and stays silent as she stares into my eyes.

I’ve never in my life met someone who seems to be and do everything I need. There’s no way I do the same for her, but she offers so much of herself to me, and I just don’t deserve it.

“What am I doing?” I mutter in the darkness. I don’t know why, but I have this need to express everything to her. “My job is a mess. I’m a terrible father. My life is falling apart.”

She presses her fingers to my mouth to silence me. “Shhh…”

Then she slowly lowers herself to her knees between my legs, softly resting her cheek against my thigh.

I don’t breathe as I stare down at her, struck by the sight of her kneeling for me. I didn’t even have to tell her to do this, but she just knew. Somehow, she knew exactly what I needed.

“How are you so perfect?” I whisper.

A tender smile plays on her lips as I pet her hair.

“Say something, little bird.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she replies. “I just want to be what you need.”

“You are,” I say without hesitation. “You are exactly what I need.”

Her hands drift up my thighs, and my cock twitches. “Then let me be what you want .”

“Camille,” I say in a warning. This is dangerous. We’re about to cross another line; I can feel it. It’s all moving too fast, and I don’t care anymore.

I want to believe that in this quiet space, in the middle of the night, between just us, rules and boundaries don’t matter.

“Let me make you feel good,” she whispers as she rises up. Her hands move to the button of my pants, and when I hear the zipper go down, there’s not a reason in the world I could think of that would be good enough to stop her.

My head falls backward on the couch as all the blood in my body courses straight into my cock. Filled with heat and arousal, I shut out the world as Camille reaches into my pants and wraps her hand around me.

I let out a groan as she softly strokes my cock to life. “That feels good,” I mumble under my breath.

Within a second, it’s rock hard and throbbing. Panicking, I grab her hand to stop her.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say in a raspy whisper. “What I did to you today was under very different circumstances. When we’re in a scene, it’s one thing, but this?—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” she replies as she pulls my hand away. I look down, feeling the tension and pain etched into my features. She rubs a hand down my thigh as if she can see into my mind. “It’s just us.”

Those three words feel like water being doused on the fire of anxiety inside me.

It is just us.

We are the only two people in this room. We might as well be the only two people in the world.

With her hand wrapped around my cock, she gazes up at me as she leans down and runs her tongue around the head. I let out a low growling sound as I watch her slather my length in saliva.

“Oh God, Camille,” I groan.

Burying my hand in her hair, I keep my eyes on her as she takes me into her mouth. I almost can’t believe what is happening. And it’s not just the sensation of warm, wet heaven that drives me wild but the look of eager desire on her face as she does it.

Camille yearns for me the same way I yearn for her. She wants this, not as a duty or gift but because it brings her pleasure too.

“You like that, little bird?” I manage to utter as I watch her bob her head up and down on my shaft.

She hums around my cock as she nods her head.

“You love my fat cock stuffed in that little mouth of yours?”

My filthy words seem to excite her, and she rises up, moving faster and tightening her lips around me. Her tongue swirls around the head, hitting the most sensitive spot that makes my hips jerk and my heart hammer harder in my chest.

“Fuck,” I groan, throwing my head back and surrendering myself to the sensation. “Don’t stop, little bird.”

I’m lost in the euphoria. She is so perfect, so beautiful, so mine .

With her small hand wrapped around the base, she keeps up her motion, drawing my body tighter and tighter. Any moment, I’ll explode.

But I don’t want this moment to end. Because I know once it’s over, she’ll return to her role as the person off-limits to me. And we will step back over to the safe side of this line we were never supposed to cross.

She pulls her mouth from my cock, kissing the shaft as she mumbles softly, “Don’t hold back. Give it all to me.”

I squeeze her hair in my hand, fighting the urge to come.

“Where are you going to take it? On your face or in your mouth?” I ask.

She grins up at me wickedly. “Wherever you want it.”

“Don’t,” I say, moving my hand from her hair to her jaw. “Don’t be so perfect. I can’t fucking take it.”

My praise practically makes her glow. Then she returns her sinful mouth to my cock, sucking and stroking, and all I have to do is imagine my cum dirtying her perfect face, and it sends me reeling into my orgasm.

“I’m coming, little bird,” I say in a strained tone. With my hand on her jaw, I pull her mouth from my dick and stroke myself quickly. I’m washed away by pleasure as my cock shoots white spurts of my seed all over her face. The first drop lands across her cheek and then the next on her lips.

I should be disgusted for the way I’m treating her. Using her and staining her and treating her like nothing more than a toy for my pleasure, but when she darts her tongue out to taste the mess I’ve left on her lip, I know I’m fucked.

She hums with my taste in her mouth just as my climax fades. Overcome with desire, I drag her onto my lap. I want to kiss her and fuck her and make her mine forever. I want reckless, foolish things with this woman.

It was never like this with Em. I never felt so depraved and overcome with lust the way I am with Camille. I never felt so close to Em. Camille doesn’t deserve this version of me. She is too pure and beautiful.

Tearing my shirt off, I use it to wipe her face clean. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” she murmurs. “For what?”

How can I explain? I couldn’t possibly.

So I keep my mouth shut as I pull her into my arms, stroking her back and telling myself it’s not too late to step back over that line and go back to the way things were. I can still make things right.

“Nothing,” I whisper. “You are such a good girl, you know that, little bird?”

She rests her cheek on my chest as she hums pleasantly.

I wish I could tell her she’s so much more than that. Not just good.

She’s perfect. She’s wonderful. She’s everything.