Page 64 of The Good Girl Effect

“Take off your clothes,” he murmurs. “Just like normal.”

Just like normal, I think as I peel off my dress in a crowded room. There is nothing normal about this. While I’m feeling anxious, Jack seems to be cool and calm. He is my anchor in this sea of uncertainty.

When he turns me around to braid my hair, I close my eyes and try to siphon some of his serenity in this situation. But when I open my eyes, I notice a woman watching me with interest. She’s holding a drink and talking to a man while her eyes stay fixed on me. She smiles as if she finds all of this very amusing, and I don’t like the way it makes me feel, so I close them again.

He wants to show me off.

I keep reminding myself of this, hoping it will settle my nerves.

Once my hair is braided, he reaches for the black ribbon hanging nearby. Our eyes meet in a quick glance as he strings it through his fingers.

“Ready?”

Letting out a long sigh, I nod.

When Jack drapes the blindfold over my eyes, his presence burns more potently. His breath, his touch, his warmth. I focus only on him, putting all my trust in him like I said I would. Buthaving one sense taken away only heightens the others, which means the room becomes louder and hotter, and it’s nothing like the room we do this in at home.

As I kneel on the padded bench, I wait for Jack to place the ropes around my arms or torso. Instead, he wraps his arms around me, firm, warm muscles engulfing me tightly.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers. “We don’t have to do this.”

I shake my head. “I want to do this.”

He tears the blindfold off and forces my chin upward. “Open your eyes, little bird.”

At that name, a gasp slips through my lips, and I pop my eyes open, staring up at him in surprise. Little bird, like what my father used to call me. Like I told Jack in my letter.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

My brows pinch inward, because none of this makes sense. Jack brought me here to show me off. To tie me up. Not to make me feel so seen it brings tears to my eyes.

“We can stop,” he says, his arms still wrapped fiercely around me.

“I don’t want to stop,” I whisper in return.

“Are you sure?”

I nod.

“I want you to tell me if you start to feel uncomfortable,” he says, softly running his knuckle across my cheek.

“I will,” I say under my breath.

This time, when he puts the blindfold over my eyes again, I am much more at ease. My shoulders melt away from my ears, and the tremble in my bones fades.

Then he starts wrapping the doubled cords over my body, starting with my torso and moving up to create an X shape between my breasts. This rope is a bit coarser than normal, creating a slight itch against my skin, but I focus on the burn of itinstead of letting it bother me. The friction creates tighter knots, feeling more secure against me.

As he finishes up the chest harness, I hear the crowd around us quiet. Without seeing them, I can tell they are watching us.

He’s showing me off.

I lose track of time as he binds my wrists behind my back, attaching them both to the harness. I lose myself to the nimble expertise of his fingers, touching me everywhere. There’s an ache in my shoulder, but the longer I sit like this, the more my body melts into the position, and the discomfort dissipates.

When he ties something at the end of my braid, I know what’s coming next.

“Hold very still,” he says. Then my head is forced back as my hair is bound to my wrists, leaving my neck exposed. “How do you feel?” he asks, running a hand softly over my shoulders.

“Good,” I reply.