Page 63 of The Good Girl Effect

Gazing into his warm green eyes, I gently reply, “I trust you.”

The muscles of his face relax as he nods. “Good. Then I’d like to blindfold you tonight. If that’s okay with you.”

How can something so simple and so innocuous feel so monumental? The idea of putting one more ounce of control in his hands excites me more than I would have expected it to.

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “I want you to.”

“I hope you know that I do want more,” he adds with a wince of pain in his expression. “You have no idea how much I want. But I don’t trust myself. Because once I go further, it will be a slippery slope. First, I’ll touch you. Then I’ll taste you. Then I’ll fuck you. And all the rules we set out will be for nothing. We just have too much at stake. I’m sorry.”

“We can have both, Jack,” I plead. “If we make it just physical, I know we can keep things just like this. In the daytime, I’m your daughter’s nanny. At night, I can be more. I can beso muchmore, Jack.”

Eyes narrowing, he clearly considers this. Touching my cheek, he gently strokes it with the pad of his thumb. Then without responding to my idea, he adds, “I would never hurt you. I hope you know that.”

“I know that.”

When he stares at me like this, like I mean so much to him, it makes me wonder if he still sees her. Do I just remind him of his late wife, or has Jack started to see me for me?

“I meant what I said in that letter,” he says. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The moment is delicate and breakable. One small gust of wind could shatter it into a million pieces. So neither of us moves.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” I reply softly.

I watch his face for a reaction, a sign of pain or grief, but there is none—only intimacy and warmth.

I have no experience with being a nanny, but I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to be like this. This is more than crossing the lines with what we do upstairs. This is different. I meant what I said—I am glad that I’m here. This home feels like my own now, and it probably shouldn’t, but I can’t help it.

“Perfect,” he whispers again.

My eyes watch him intently as he pulls away, leaving me feeling breathless and hot. And a little confused.

“Nine o’clock,” he says as he moves toward the front door. Before disappearing through it, he turns back to me and adds, “Don’t be late.”

And then, just like that, he’s gone.

Rule #21: The wanting is the best part.

Camille

The club is darker and louder than I remember. There is a line of people outside along the street, and I find it strange how rowdy it feels once I get inside.

This doesn’t seem like the kind of place Jack would own.

Once the bouncer by the door lets me in, I move immediately through the thick horde of people toward the elevator that leads to the basement. I give my name to the security guard by the doors, and he lets me in immediately.

When I reach the basement of the club, I have to squeeze past more people to get to the back, where I found him last time. The large room where the various exhibition booths are is just like it was last time, only a bit more crowded.

When I spot Jack near the last stall, he smiles at me before catching himself and pasting that stoic expression back on his face.

I cross the room toward him. When he lifts a hand toward the space where he’ll be performing the bondage on me, my skin erupts in nervous goose bumps. There is a large, paddedbench in the center as well as ropes situated on hooks along the back wall. Just like the room in Jack’s apartment, there are suspension beams and hooks. I can’t wait until we can start using them.

I stand toe-to-toe with him as he stares down at me. “Take a deep breath,” he says. Then he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

I can feel people watching us from around the room, and it’s unsettling to have half of their attention.

“Don’t worry about them,” he says. “They’ll be looking at you soon enough.”

I bite back my smile as I bask in his attention.