Page 38 of The Good Girl Effect
I suck in a breath, forcing myself to remain calm.
“Midnight. Upstairs. Understand?”
Again, I nod.
“Good girl,” he replies, and it has me melting against the cabinets.
The effect of those words alters my brain chemistry. They have me wanting to pull him closer, bury myself in his arms, and do whatever he wants as long as he praises me like that again.
I never want his body to move away from mine. I’d like to spend the rest of the day pressed against him, feeling his gaze bore into me like basking in the warmth of the sun.
Regardless of what I want, he pulls away anyway. I watch as he walks out of the room, a disgruntled wrinkle between his brows. My eyes catch on the gold ring on his finger, and I’mreminded of howwrongthis is. I’m panting in the kitchen, waiting for my body to recover from what just happened.
Moments later, the front door opens and closes, and I know he’s gone. And I’m left knowing that the next time I see him, it will be under very different circumstances.
Rule #11: Always trust your gut.
Camille
The clock moves agonizingly slowly. It feels like days between when I put Bea to bed at 7:30 and midnight. I try to busy myself by doing my normal nightly routine around the house, but my actions are clumsy, and my body is unbearably tense. I break a dinner plate in the kitchen when drying the dishes because I can’t seem to suppress the tremble in my bones.
I don’t want to back out. I want to do this.
But I lied when I told Jack I wasn’t scared. I’mterrified.
I’m reminded of the time when I was only twelve, and some of the cruel boys in my year called me a baby because I was too scared to jump over the shallow channel behind our school. I was scared out of my mind, but I refused to back down.
And when I landed in the hospital with a broken ankle, my father scolded me for always acting without thinking. I am too reckless. Too careless. Too foolish to know when I’m getting myself in over my head.
I always was, and I guess I still am.
That’s what got me this job in the first place.
And now I’m about to embark on something I don’t even understand with a man who is way out of my league and far more experienced than me. Jack scares me in a way that I like.
I waste the last hour before midnight, leaning over the kitchen counter, doodling a swan hanging by its feet in knotted rope.
Jack has been gone since he left this afternoon. So when the door opens at half past eleven, I watch nervously. I can hear my pulse in my ears as he walks into the apartment, glancing toward the kitchen briefly before climbing the stairs to his room.
Should I follow him?
I decide to wait it out, wringing my fingers in anticipation.
At precisely 12:00 a.m., I climb the stairs without looking back. The doors at the end of the hall are open, and I pause when Jack passes from one to the other.
Forging ahead, I continue down the hall until I reach the room on the left, the one with the dark walls and plush carpet. Bracing myself one last time, I make eye contact with him as I enter.
Jack is rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Close the door,” he says, so I press it shut behind me. Then I’m standing just a few feet away from him, waiting for what comes next. “Come here,” he says in a clipped command.
Licking my lips and keeping my gaze on his face, I close the distance, meeting him at the center of the rug. Gazing up at him, I roam the features of his face—his handsome green eyes, his full pink lips, his gentle, patient expression. There is something soft about him tonight, and it no longer feels as if I’m trespassing into his space. He’s inviting me in.
He’s not glowering at me like I’m a nuisance or petulant brat. He’s giving me a calm warmth.
This is the Jack I’ve been dying to see.
“You’re here because you wanted to see what it’s like to be bound, so that’s what I’m going to do. You are new to this, so I’m going to use restraint, but at any time, if you don’t like what I’m doing or anything hurts or feels numb, I want you to tell me. Understood?”
Knowing that Jack prefers silence, I nod instead of speaking.
