Page 28 of The Good Girl Effect

With that, I cross over the thick rug and stand before the large armoire. I rest my fingers on the metal handle before giving it a gentle tug. It pops open, and I hold my breath as the light shines into the small space.

But before I can get a glimpse of what is waiting inside, a large hand with a familiar gold band around the ring finger presses against the wood, slamming it closed. I let out a yelp in fear, but when I try to back away from the furniture, I hit a giant wall of muscle and anger.

Freezing, I shrink into myself as I wait for his reprimand.

Speak to me, I think.Yell at me. Punish me. Give me something.

His breath is warm against my head and his chest solid against my back.

“I’m sorry,” I stammer.

“You don’t belong in here,” he whispers with his mouth near my ear, and my heart rate picks up in a panic. For some very odd reason, I’m not afraid of Jack. I probably should be, but in my heart, I know he won’t hurt me. “Why are you always breaking my rules?” he demands.

I can’t respond, so I don’t. But I want to argue. Idobelong here. I found my way here by some invisible force. Here in Paris, here in this house, here in this room.

Then, to my surprise, he asks, “You want to see what is in there, don’t you?”

Staring at the ornate wood of the armoire, I nod.

With a hand around my waist, he tugs me gently backward so I’m flush against his body as he grips the handle of the wardrobe and pulls it open. My breath is shaky as I stare into the dark void behind the door.

But it’s not quite what I had anticipated. There are gold hooks along the backside with various ropes and ribbons draped over each one. My brows furrow as I try to make sense of what I’m looking at.

Admittedly, I sort of expected things like paddles, whips, gags. Things like I saw the other night at the club. But these are different. Far less intimidating, if I’m honest.

Perhaps I should be afraid of what I’m seeing, but I’m not.

“Is this what you were expecting?” he whispers in my ear.

I shake my head.

“Are you still curious?”

I nod.

“Go ahead.”

It takes me a moment to realize he’s telling me to touch them. With a tremble in my hand, I reach out and run one of the black ropes through my fingers. It’s coarser than I expected it to be.

Immediately, I remember the woman I witnessed at the club being bound so tightly she couldn’t move a single muscle. These ropes surely would have itched and burned.

Even that thought doesn’t dissuade my curiosity.

I want to ask what he does with these. Is this a sport to him? Or is it all about sex? Hundreds of questions swirl around in my mind, but if I learned anything from Jack’s behavior, it’s that he doesn’t like it when I speak. Something about my voice triggers him in a way I don’t understand, so I stay quiet.

Boldly, I pull the rope from the hook and let it drape over my fingers. When I think about it wrapped around my wrists, warmth sparks between my legs. As if he can read my mind, he lets out a low, rumbling growl, and my knees grow weak.

The warmth in my core blossoms into a burning heat, pulsing between my legs. It’s like a spark of life in parts of my body I didn’t know existed until now.

What is happening?

Jack leans into me, and it’s much like the moment in the hallway last night. Slow, blazing tension engulfs us as if the world has completely stopped turning and some feverous tidal wave is sweeping us away.

Show me, I chant in my mind.Please show me.

His nose is pressed against the side of my head, and he takes a deep inhale as if he’s trying to pick up my scent. My eyes drift closed as the heat deep within my body continues to pulse, pulse, pulse.

Then, without warning, he stiffens, pulling himself away and snatching the rope from my hands. He hangs it on the hook with a huff and slams the door loudly, making me flinch.