Page 32 of The Good Girl Effect (Salacious Legacy #1)

Jack

C amille breathes quietly against my chest as I brush the soft curls from her face. For a while, I lose myself in gently stroking her back, feeling each vertebra of her spine under my fingers.

She’s fast asleep in my arms, and I am trying not to feel the creeping guilt and regret. Every moment with her is like a dream, and sex was no different.

After my wife died, I coped with bondage.

It was a form of control—a way to busy my mind so I never had to feel pain.

A distraction. I was convinced that if my body could still feel something good, then I wasn’t completely broken and lost to the world.

And while there was always sex too, it was never about that.

It was always about trying to manipulate and control what I could while my life felt so out of control.

But with Camille, it’s different. She gives me the control and the emotional connection. She lets me dominate her, but I swear she lets me feel so safe with her at the same time.

It wasn’t just physical pleasure tonight. It was a connection I haven’t felt since Em.

Stronger even.

And that only makes me feel worse. It’s only been two years since Em died. Isn’t it too soon to feel this way about someone else?

Would it be better if I fucked Camille and felt nothing at all? Like all the other women.

Either way, I’m an asshole.

Kissing her softly on the forehead, I roll her away and tuck her comfortably under the blankets. Then I climb out of her bed and dress quickly.

As I stand over her, watching her sleep, I get an idea. Turning to the desk, I pull a piece of paper from the stack and pick up the pen she has lying beside it. Quickly, I write out a message.

Little bird,

Last night, I told you you were too strong-willed, and I was wrong. I like your strong will. I like how stubborn you are. I like that you fight with me when I’m wrong.

It makes your submission that much sweeter.

I hope you still want to continue with our lessons upstairs. I know we crossed a line last night, but I don’t care. The view from this side of that line is exquisite, and I’m not ready to go back.

I know we’ve said it before, but I mean it this time. We can maintain our professional relationship. And have our fun off the clock.

I’ll be good if you can be good.

What do you think?

If you’re in, then I’ll see you at midnight.

Your Sir

PS: You’re cute when you come.

With a smirk, I fold up the letter and set it on her nightstand with her name written across the front.

On my way back to my room, I stop at Bea’s door again, peeking in on her. I’m instantly assaulted by guilt as I watch her sleep.

When I look at Bea, I see Em. I see the way she held her after we brought her home from the hospital.

I see the way she sang songs with her at bedtime.

I see all the beautiful dresses Em would put her in and obsess over, a trait even Bea has held on to.

And all it makes me feel is sad that she’s not here with her daughter anymore.

I’m selfish to be moving on so quickly. All I have to do is keep my word to Camille—no relationship. Just sex and work, and that’s all.

I can’t give her my heart, not yet. No matter how much I want to.

It still belongs to my wife.

When I wake up, my phone screen is riddled with messages. The fiasco in the club has caused a rift in the team, and I’ve been putting it off for too long.

I know it’s up to me to bring the team together for one last attempt to make this work. But I’m stuck, lacking the drive to swallow my pride and work with the one person I do not want to work with.

I climb out of bed, ignoring the messages as I shower and get ready for a busy day. The entire time, I’m not thinking about work, though—I’m thinking about last night.

How good it felt when she leapt into my arms.

How delicious her cunt tasted.

How she had to cover her mouth to keep from screaming.

I wish I could relive last night over and over instead of going into work today, but life is unfair, and I can’t.

After I’m dressed, I move toward the door, ready to leave, when I notice the letter lying on the floor, waiting for me. With a grin and far too much foolish hope, I pick it up and read it.

Sir,

You already know how good I can be.

See you tonight.

Your good girl

I bite my bottom lip, my cheeks straining with a smile as I let out a groan. Can I really make it to midnight? I’m counting down the seconds already.

Placing the folded letter on the dresser, I wish I had time to write her back, but I don’t. I’m already late as it is. Besides, there’s not much to say, and if someone gave me a pen and paper right now, all I would do with it is lay out in explicit detail exactly what I’d like to do with her.

I’d rather just show her tonight.

Bea and Camille are out of the apartment when I pass through the lower level toward the front door.

When I reach the street, starting on my short walk to the club, I pull out my phone and check my notifications.

There are things from Phoenix and Matis and Julian, but more importantly, there’s a text from my mother.

It says nothing more than Call me .

With a tense sigh, I hit the Call button and wait as it rings.

“Hello, my love,” she says as she picks up the call.

“I was wondering when you were going to catch wind of everything,” I say without greeting.

“Catch wind of what?” she replies.

“What happened last week at the club.”

She lets out a sigh, and I wait for her response. She might try to deny she knows anything. My mother likes to pretend I can do no wrong, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she avoids the conversation altogether.

“Technically…” she says. “Ronan told me last week.”

“I knew it.”

“What kind of mother would I be if I called my son, who lives on another continent, to lecture him about his job?”

“So you do want to lecture me?” I reply with a chuckle.

“No, I do not. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

My mother is one of the strongest, wisest, most fiercely independent people I know, but she never fails to handle conflict with such grace, and to be honest, it irks me to no end. Especially when I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind all the time.

When Em died, I just wanted to lash out at the world. I was so wild with grief that I could hardly hold myself together, and I envied my mother to the point of bitterness because of it. Why couldn’t I be more like her? I’m her son. I should have been stronger, like her.

“I’m okay,” I say flatly, hoping it convinces her.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks.

“Of course,” I say as I reach an intersection, waiting to cross.

“Emerson and I did not always see eye to eye. I had a certain way I thought things should be done, and he fought with me a lot on those things. We were two very stubborn business partners, and sometimes we butted heads so much, I thought the club would have been better if I just ran it alone.”

“Is this the part where you impart some great wisdom about how I get over this feud with Julian?” I ask as I cross the street toward the club.

“Nope,” she replies. “Because I don’t have the answers, and some days, running that club was just hard.

Emerson and I were good friends, and still we struggled to work together.

But the club always came first. At least we had that in common,” she says.

I can hear the sound of dishes in the background, and I wonder if it’s either of my other parents in the kitchen beside her.

“Well, that’s the difference,” I say with a sigh.

Reaching the club, I stand out front to finish my conversation with my mother before going in.

“Julian doesn’t give a shit about the club.

He never did. You know what Matis said the other day?

That Julian is purposely sabotaging it to make me look bad to Ronan. Can you believe that?” I ask.

“Is that what you think he’s doing?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I reply.

“Why would he do that, though?” she asks. “Julian has a good relationship with his dad. Ronan gave that boy the world growing up. Why would he need to sabotage you?”

“Hell if I know. He just hates me.”

“Julian has never hated you,” she says, and I freeze, furrowing my brows.

“What are you talking about? Yes, he did. Ever since we were kids.”

“He adored you, Jack. You were much older than him, and he looked up to you. But for some reason, when you two grew up, you had this contempt for him. Maybe it’s because Ronan adored him so much, and until Julian came along, you had Ronan to yourself.

In fact…it would almost make more sense for you to want to sabotage him . ”

I’m standing on the sidewalk outside the club, staring at the trees blowing in the breeze as I let my mother’s words filter through my mind, hunting for truth in them.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I say, not entirely sure it’s true.

“I know you wouldn’t,” she replies sweetly. “I’m sure you and Julian will work this out. I know how much you want to move back here, but I also know you don’t want to leave it like this. So you’ll figure it out. You always do.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, scratching my brow. This conversation has left me even more unsettled than I already was.

In the background, I hear a gentle voice asking something.

“Jade wants to know if you got the dresses for Bea,” she says, changing the subject.

“Uh…yes,” I reply, although to be honest, I’m not entirely sure. I haven’t been present enough in my own home to know whether or not the gifts from my family have arrived. “Tell her thank you,” I add.

“I will,” my mother replies.

Another round of guilt assaults me as I think about how distant I’ve been from them all—my parents and my littlest sister, Scarlett. I didn’t just turn into a ghost at my own home. I stopped existing everywhere.

I grew up in such a happy, lively home, and I’m an asshole for depriving Bea of that. Up until I was seven, it was just me and my mom. She worked full-time, and still, she was so present. Those years were happy.

Then she got married to Jade and Clay, giving me not just another mom but a dad too. I had three parents, and I can’t even give my daughter one.

Camille is trying to coax me back into Bea’s life, and I just have to stop fighting it. Then maybe Bea can call for me when she’s hurt. I’ll be the one tucking her in at night. I’ll be there in the morning when she wakes up.

Even I know I don’t need to move back home to have that. I don’t even need to stop grieving my wife.

“You still there, baby?” my mother asks on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, but I’m about to go into work. I need to have a meeting with Julian.”

“Good,” she replies, sounding pleased. “I love you very much.”

“I love you too,” I say.

After I hang up the phone, I don’t move. Maybe it was this new revelation about Julian, or maybe it was the way it felt last night with Camille, but a new sense of energy flows through me.

I’ve been drowning for years, sinking too deep to try and swim out of it all. For the first time in my life, I realize I can turn it all around. I don’t have to drown anymore.

With that, I take a very long, deep breath, and I walk inside.