Page 41 of The Good Girl Effect

Shuddering, I nod. My lips part when I feel his breath on my mouth. In my mind, I’m pleading, begging him for more.

Kiss me, please.Take back everything you said earlier about showing restraint, cover me in those knots, and use me like you want to.

Of course, I don’t utter a word. The moment is too delicate to disrupt. I know that’s foolish of me, to want to be thrown in the deep end when I don’t even know how to swim, but I can’t help this desire. I can’t help the way Jack makes me feel.

Watching him come to life from just a man in a photo to a closed-off ghost tothis. Someone who looks at me with so much potent attention, I want to drown in it.

It’s as if he can read my mind. Or maybe he’s just thinking the same things I am.

With his hand still on the ropes, he moves his body closer to mine, his rock-hard bulge pinned against my leg. I let out a gasp. But as soon as he’s touching me, he’s gone. With distance between us, I want the hard surface of his body against mine again. I want to feel the proof of his arousal, but he won’t let me. That would be crossing a line, one he promised he wouldn’t cross, and that was something I wasn’t supposed to feel.

To distract me from what I just felt, he tugs the bind on my wrists downward as he says in a tight, raspy tone, “On your knees.”

I quickly obey, moving to the floor. I’ve never felt my heart beat so fast in my life.

“Good girl,” he says with a low growl. His free hand pets my hair, and I start to sway.

How can he have me so compliant with just a few commands and words of praise? It’s like being hypnotized. I’d do anything just to please him.

For the first time since I walked in that door, I’m filled with a sense of danger. Not at risk of being hurt but at risk of loving this too much. In danger of never wanting this to end. And winding up very brokenhearted.

Rule #12: Show restraint.

Jack

This was a mistake. I never should have brought her up here.

I’m corrupting this sweet, innocent woman, and for what? My own sick, twisted pleasure? Because I’ve been dying to see her in knots since she showed up at my house a few weeks ago? Because everything she does drives me out of my mind? Because everything about her reminds me of Em.

But Em wouldn’t have done this. Em was never as curious or interested in this lifestyle, regardless of my job. All this—the room, the wardrobe, the obsession with bondage—was just part of my ever-growing and unhealthy coping mechanism since her death.

So maybe if I tarnish and corrupt and defile Camille, she’ll no longer appear to me like a ghost of the woman I married.

Fuck, what is wrong with me?

Just another dark path this grief wants to lead me down. But I meant what I said. If I could just keep my restraint, then she would be the perfect person for me to practice on. She is curiousfor more as much as I crave this outlet. What I should have seen coming is just how muchmoreI want with her.

Now, she’s on her knees, bound and beautiful, and I said I would hold back, butGod, I don’t want to. I’d like to show her exactly what it’s like to submit. I’d like to make her body mine.

But as tantalizing as it sounds, I also know how incredibly unfulfilling it is. It’s like chasing a high I’ll never find.

“Nod if you’re still comfortable,” I say as I release her hand and take a step back.

She nods, but I notice the way she reaches for me, wanting me back within her grasp.

For some reason, I give her what she wants, stepping back toward her so she can feel my presence.

I never let the sub have control. What is wrong with me?

Reaching down, I softly pet her hair. She leans into the touch, soaking up my attention.

I can’t help it, but I find myself saying the things I absolutely shouldnotsay. “Do you know all the filthy things I could do to you at this angle?”

She lets out a breath as she nods.

“Stand up,” I command, swallowing the temptation todoall those things. Taking her by the wrists, I help her to her feet. With the extra rope from her binds in my hands, I hook them over the suspension loop hanging from the ceiling.

Then I tug on the rope, and she lets out a squeaking sound as her body extends, leaving her on her tiptoes. I quickly tie the rope with a quick-release knot so she’s locked in place, barely able to stand. Immediately, she starts to sway, her head hanging back. From this angle, I can see the pulse in her neck, rapidly beating under her tender flesh.