Page 114 of The Good Girl Effect

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 forme, 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.