Page 88 of The Good Girl Effect

Even though I’m no longer tied up in the fetal position, my wrists and ankles are still cinched together, restricting my movement, so I couldn’t get away if I tried.

Not that I want to.

But him taking that away only heightens my arousal in ways I can’t believe.

“You better be quiet, or I’ll gag you,” he says as he pistons his hips. His cock hits a spot inside me that creates a wild ache of pleasure, driving me wild.

I hold my tied wrists over my face as he fucks me, moving faster and harder until I can barely breathe. He’s using my body like it’s a toy, and I can’t believe how much I love it.

“Look what you do to me,” he growls. “This is what you’ve turned me into.”

He pulls his cock out and takes a few long, heavy breaths as if to keep from coming. Then he turns me onto my side and enters me again.

The new position feels less intense but just as good. I swear I could let him fuck me forever, in every position, at every angle. I could never tire of this. Being with him is more natural than being without him.

But he’s only here for a moment before I’m being flipped again, this time onto my knees. With my face pressed into the upholstery and my hands below me, he enters me again.

This position gives him more leverage to pound harder and faster into me. I’ve never loved rough sex before, but it was never like this. The cushion muffles my cries as he brings me to the brink of ecstasy, and before I know it, I’m shuddering and moaning through an intense and unfamiliar orgasm.

I’ve never come like this before without even touching my clit. But it’s the angle of his cock and the restraints and the sounds he’s making that seem to make a perfect combination to turn my body inside out.

My spine arches as my muscles seize. As the pleasure assaults me, I shut my eyes and see stars swimming in my vision. And I’m so overcome by my own orgasm that I don’t even feel Jack pull out and release onto my back again.

When I come to, he’s slumped over me, trying to catch his breath too.

“Fuck,” he groans.

Turning my head to suck in a lungful of air, I wait for the tingling sensation all over my body to subside. Before I know it, he’s cleaning my back, then lifting me into his arms. Cradling me in his arms, he pulls the blindfold from my face, and I blink up at him in a pleasure-filled daze. The dim room blurs as I nuzzle into his side, his warm lips against my temple. After setting me on the bench sitting upright, he gets to work on my ropes.

Sweat-soaked and wrung-out, my hair is a disaster as I stare down at him on his knees, untying my ankles. When he’s done, he kisses the marks the ropes left, and my heart lurches with love.

This is going to be impossible, because if he doesn’t want me to fall in love with him, then he should try not to be so perfect all the time.

Rule #30: Don’t try to do everything alone.

Camille

Jack turns on the shower and tests the water, waiting for it to get warm enough. We’re both standing quietly in his bathroom. I’m leaning against the counter with my robe wrapped around me. My wrists and ankles still wear the marks from the ropes, and they’re a little sore but nothing terrible. Definitely worth the ache.

“It’s ready,” he says, reaching for me. I step up to him and let him pull the robe from around my shoulders and lead me into the stall.

After he removes his own robe, he follows me. As we both stand close together under the stream, he stares down at me with a soft smile before leaning down and pressing his lips to mine. For a few moments, we just kiss and let the water soak us.

Before things can get too heated, he pulls away and reaches for the soap. I watch as he lathers up a washcloth and uses it to clean my back, then my shoulders and arms, working his way down to my legs. His touch is gentle and attentive, and I love being taken care of by him like this.

After he rinses me off, I take the washcloth and try to do the same to him.

“I can do it,” he says, pulling away.

“Let me,” I reply.

He hesitates before finally nodding and turning his back to let me lather soap across the broad expanse of his shoulders. When I apply a little pressure to the crevice of his neck and shoulders, I’m appalled to find the muscles nearly rock hard.

“My God, Jack,” I whisper.

Using the soap as a lubricant, I massage his shoulders, pressing my fingers into the knotted muscles. He winces but doesn’t pull away.

“I’m under a lot of stress at work,” he says.