Page 45 of The Good Girl Effect (Salacious Legacy #1)

Jack

I can feel Camille’s skepticism as I finish off her arms-forward harness. With her fists together under her chin, she’s taken on that calm, serene expression she always does when I’m binding her.

Even so, I can tell she wants to say something. Likely, she wants to ask me how I’m feeling. Maybe I still seem tense. Fuck, I am still tense.

Tonight wasn’t just about the club. I’m proud of how the grand reopening went. Even after everyone we knew left and the patrons began to play, I could feel a sense of pride for what we’ve created.

But it’s about so much more than that. It’s about tying up loose ends here in Paris.

Ironically, that’s exactly what I’m doing now with Camille. Finding the friction center of her harness, I wind the long synthetic rope through and slip it through the hoop above her head.

As I make eye contact with her, I ask, “Are you ready?”

She nods confidently.

With that, I gently pull on the rope until she has to stand on the balls of her feet. I won’t suspend her like this yet. I intend to have her hanging upside down in an inversion, but first, I need to finish the harness on her legs.

“Are you feeling okay?” I ask, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Yes,” she replies. “Are you?”

I give her a look that’s partially scolding. “This isn’t about me,” I whisper.

A small crowd of people have gathered around our station, watching us work, but neither of us pay them any mind. We’ve kept the back room mostly the same with some upgrades in decor, furniture, and security. But the main purpose of this room is for demonstrations and, well, showing off.

And right now, I’m showing off this beauty.

“It is about both of us,” she whispers in return. “And tonight is very much about you.”

I lean down to work on the dragon hip harness, wrapping the doubled rope around the soft flesh of her thigh, careful not to pinch her delicate skin.

“Tonight is not about me,” I mutter as I work.

Emerson Grant didn’t fly all the way from Briar Point, California, just to see me. These people didn’t show up tonight to see me. They came to see the club.

And when I leave, which I someday will have to do, the club will be fine without me.

My hands halt as the thought paralyzes me. Leaving Camille feels impossible now, but it can’t be. I’ve just thrown myself into this…relationship…too fast. Just like with Em, I fell too easily.

This isn’t like Em , my relentless mind reminds me.

Camille sees into my soul. That’s the only way to put it. She has a way of lifting the veil of my mind and crawling inside, but instead of running from the darkness she finds there, she wraps her loving arms around me and thaws everything that froze the day Em died.

In the past weeks, she’s changed me.

She brought me back to life. How could I leave her after that?

I get lost inside my own mind as I finish the harness around her hip. Instead of standing up, I lean forward and press my forehead to her hip bone, inhaling her nearness.

“Jack,” she whispers.

Snapping out of it, I stand up and walk away. Grabbing another rope from the rack, I do a quick single cuff around her other thigh, but I can feel her watching me with concern. Ignoring it, I loop the second rope through the suspension loop.

As I gently pull on it, her left leg raises so she’s left standing on her right foot. She’s not worried about her safety; that I can tell by the look on her face. She’s concerned for me , which is ridiculous.

“I saw the look in that man’s eyes,” she says. “He was very proud of you, and I think you should be proud too.”

Ignoring her, I lock off the rope on her left leg so she’s secure. Then I double-check everything to be sure she’s safe.

“Jack,” she insists. “Look at me.”

When my eyes find hers, she sees through everything. If she could move, I know what she’d do. She’d touch my face and pull my mouth to hers for a kiss. She’d burrow herself in my arms and warm the center of my chest like a glowing fire.

“Are you anxious about the club?” she asks. “Or are you anxious about me?”

What a time to have this conversation. There are people watching us just a few feet away. She’s about to be hanging upside down, and now is really not the time to be having a relationship talk.

“Do you regret bringing me?” she asks.

At that, my brows fold inward. I take her face in my hands and softly kiss her forehead. “Not even a little bit.”

“Then what is it?” she pleads.

Pressing our foreheads together, I stare into her eyes, and it becomes abundantly clear what all this is about— trust . Camille trusts that I won’t hurt her or that I won’t let her get hurt. And it’s not just about ropes and knots and hitches.

“I have to tell you something,” I say softly.

Her eyes grow soft as if she’s preparing herself for the worst. And I know I should just come out with it. I owe her the truth. After all the trust she’s put in me, the least I can do for her is give her everything she’s given me—loyalty and faith.

But when I open my mouth, the most true and honest thing I have comes slipping out.

“I love you.”

I feel like a coward as her eyes water, and she stares at me as if she’s waiting for the real truth.

But that is the truth. I do love her. With my entire heart and probably for longer than I’ve been able to admit, I have loved her.

For her flaws and quirks and personality, I adore her so intensely it steals my breath and stops my heart. She walked into my life when I was at my worst and gave me everything I didn’t deserve: patience and grace.

But I don’t just love her for what she’s given me; I love her for who she is. Willful and stubborn and funny and curious. From the first moment my ropes touched her skin, I knew I was in trouble.

“I love you too,” she whispers. Our faces are so close I’m sure no one around us can see the monumental thing happening between us here, but they don’t matter.

I take her mouth in a kiss as she’s half-suspended with only one foot on the floor and her arms tied to her chest.

As I pull away, I’m still holding the rope to her right leg in my hands. With a smile, I ask, “Do you trust me?”

She grins in return. “Of course.”

I toss the rope through the suspension loop a couple of times to give it strength and stability. Then, using the hoop as a lever, I tug on the rope until Camille’s right foot leaves the floor.

Her head falls back as she hangs in a horizontal position. Locking the rope in place so her bent legs are off the floor, I hold a hand behind her neck for support.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She smiles up at me. “Yes.”

“Ready to go upside down?”

She nods.

Reaching up, I give the rope holding her chest harness some slack, and as I do, her upper half lowers until she’s inverted. The people standing around us clap quietly, watching Camille with interest.

I double-check each lock-off knot to ensure its security. She can only stay in this position for a minute, so after checking in with her a couple more times, I give the loop a small spin.

Then I step back and admire her from this angle.

She looks stunning like this. It’s the trust she gives me and the way her body relaxes into the ropes that make her look almost angelic like this.

With the single braid in her hair hanging below her head, she closes her eyes as she hovers, slowly rotating midair like the work of art she is.

Her cheeks turn dark red as the blood flushes her skin.

I glance around at the people watching, admiring her the way I am. A couple nearby whisper to each other excitedly.

“Do you teach people how to do this?” the woman asks, and I nod.

“We’ll offer workshops,” I reply, and she grins excitedly, clinging to her partner’s arm.

“It’s like…art,” the man adds as he turns his head sideways, appreciating how stunning she looks.

I nod, watching Camille as she slowly spins in her suspension.

And I realize this is what it’s all about.

We had it wrong all along. Before tonight, the club lacked a soul.

I had no idea what went into bringing this place to life, even when I worked here for years before owning it.

Maybe Matis and Ronan tried to explain it to me, but I wasn’t listening.

I just figured if we kept it open and made money, that was enough.

I assumed it was about sex, money, and pleasure. Even I exploited this club because I was in pain, but in doing so, I missed out on what it’s really all about.

A place to belong.

A place to find yourself.

Like Emerson said, it was never about sex. It’s about the people.

Camille is resting against my chest on the ride home. For the first time in a long time, I am at ease.

I can’t help but wonder if I didn’t tell Camille the truth about moving back home because maybe that isn’t my truth anymore. I could stay for her. And for the club. That pull to get out of Paris is gone now.

Right now, I only want this.

When we get back to the apartment, I pay the babysitter and see her to the car so she gets home safely. Camille is already up in my room when I get back inside.

I do a quick check on Bea, watching her sleep peacefully in her bed before closing the door and walking upstairs.

Camille is lying on her side, fully naked, on top of my bed. I stand in the doorway and stare at her as I loosen my tie.

“I was looking forward to undressing you,” I say as I tear my tie off.

The corner of her mouth lifts in a smirk. “I thought I would save you the trouble.”

Rather than go to the bed, I drop into the chair in the corner of the room.

Leaning back, my legs spread as I stare at her naked body draped across my bed.

Sliding my tie through my fingers, my cock hardens in my slacks.

Filthy ideas fill my mind as my arousal builds.

Just the sight of her has me practically panting, and I know exactly what I’d like to see.

“Let me see how you touch yourself, little bird.”