Page 59 of The Good Girl Effect

“I’m trusting you to follow these rules, Camille. Do you think you can do that?”

Slowly, I nod.

“Do you understand why I’m telling you this?” he asks, tucking the loose end of the rope against my back.

I shake my head.

“Because I want you to be devoted to this. I want your full trust, and if you break that trust, I may never know, but you will. You’ll know that you can’t be trusted. That you can’t follow the rules. That you aren’t really a good girl.”

My jaw drops with a gasp as I turn toward him, showing the offense of him even saying that. That sentence alone strikes a chord in my chest. He’s right. I would know. So this isn’t really a rule for him—it’s a rule for me.

He chuckles again. “I trust you’ll follow the rules then.”

After he’s unwound the ropes from my chest and our session is over, his new rule sits heavily on my shoulders. While I am determined to follow it, there’s also a sense of dread there too because it means no relief for me.

Wrapping my robe around my body and tying it at the waist, I pull the letter out of my pocket. He’s wrapping the ropes in a figure-eight pattern to store them, so his back is to me. I consider handing him the letter, but that feels odd.

Instead, I walk out of the room and slip it under his door like I always do. Then I make my way down the stairs.

My body feels tight and ravenous for something it can’t have. The few moments of pleasure I get after our lessons is the one thing I look forward to most, and now that’s been taken away.

I’m lying in bed, restlessly kicking the covers off every few minutes, only to pull them back up the next.

Following restrictions is terrible.

Maybe I’m not a good girl. Maybe IthoughtI was when the instructions were simple, and he whispered the phrase in my ear seductively. That would trick anyone into thinking they were submissive and obedient.

But I’m not. I’m defiant and stubborn and rebellious.

And I am certainlynotthe type of woman who lets men dictate what she can and cannot do when she’s alone.

The creak in the floorboard outside my door catches my attention, so I freeze in my bed and listen. There’s another.

I slowly throw back the covers and slip out of bed. Tiptoeing, I make my way to the door and peek through the narrow opening. I can barely make out his form in the hallway through the darkness, but it’s enough to have my heart hammering in my chest.

Pulling the door open, I stare at him through the darkness. He freezes with a folded piece of paper in his hand. But my eyes don’t go to the letter; they stay glued to his eyes instead.

He takes a step forward, but he doesn’t breach the opening to my room. I take a step toward him until our bodies are nearly flush with each other.

Just like the last time I caught him in my hallway, we stare at each other for no other reason than just to savor this quiet, peaceful silence together.

His hand lifts, and instead of touching my face again, he drifts his fingers down the side of my arm. When he reaches my wrist, I flex my hand, hoping to feel his touch against mine.

“Are you being a good girl?” he whispers, leaning forward. His eyes dance over to my bed and back to my face.

With my chin held high, I reply, “Of course.”

“Good,” he whispers, his lips twitching as he fights a smile.

Then, because he’s cruel, he backs me up until my spine hits the doorframe. His body presses against me, and a jolt of realization washes over me—he’s about to break the rules and cross the line. He drifts his fingers over my stomach and down. I stop breathing entirely as his featherlight touch breezes over the core of my panties. He doesn’t touch my clit, but I swear I can feel him hovering over it.

“Does that feel good?” he whispers.

With an ache in my core, I nod. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and I glance at him with confusion. “I shouldn’t torture you like this, but I want to see how strong you are.”

“You don’t play fair,” I mumble indignantly. He’s just turning me on more to make my challenge even harder. It’s cruel and heartless andsofucking sexy.