Page 103 of The Good Girl Effect
“Well,” I say, resting my chin on his chest. “If you say she was soft and sweet, then I’m quite sure I don’t remind you of her. It sounds like we are very different.”
He smirks down at me, running his fingers through my hair. “You are soft and sweet too, but yes, you are very different as well.”
For what feels like forever, we stare at each other. My heart is so incredibly full and so terrified at the same time. Am I jumping into this too soon? Giving my entire heart to someone is terrifying. What if he breaks it or I’m reading the situation wrong? Or we get into a fight so big we can’t recover from it? Life felt so much safer before I knew what it was like to love Jack St. Claire.
Out of nowhere, he softly murmurs, “You are perfect.”
It’s a compliment meant to make me feel better, but it only makes me feel worse. I can’t be perfect, and I certainly can’t be held to that standard. Soon, he’ll learn all the things I do and say are not perfect, and he’ll fall out of love with me.
“I’m not, though,” I argue. “I’m not perfect at all. When my father died, my whole world fell apart too. I had plans to leave the town I grew up in. I was supposed to see the world and live a full life, but I shut down the same exact way you did.
“Growing up, most people would say I was too loud or I asked too many questions or I was just…too much. And Iamtoo loud. Idoask too many questions. Sometimes, I just don’t know when to stop, and every person who came into my life left because they couldn’t handle me. Even my own mother.” My voice quivers with emotion.
“My father was the only person who stuck around. The only one who loved me for me. And then he died, and I had no one. So I’m not perfect. I don’t want you to think I’m someone I’m not, Jack. I have so many flaws.”
Tilting his head, his features grow serious. “My God, Camille, is that what you think? You are not too much, not at all. Not for me. I know you have flaws, but you misunderstand me. I adore your imperfections. I love that you are impulsive and headstrong and you speak without thinking first. And I love that you are so curious that sometimes it gets you into trouble. I knew it the minute I walked into the kitchen and found you burning the rice to dance with my daughter. Those flaws are what I adore. When I say you’re perfect, I don’t mean that perfection defines you. I mean you define perfection.”
I can’t speak. I can hardly move. In one moment, he silenced all my fears. There’s not a coherent thought in my head as I capture his mouth in a kiss and feel his arms wrap around me tightly, like a bird that might fly away if he doesn’t hold me down.
“Fuck me again, Jack,” I whisper needily against his lips. Pulling back, I stare into his eyes, mine brimming with tears. “Let’s pretend that we never lost them and there is no pain or grief. For just a few minutes, let’s pretend we can be together.”
Without a response, he simply moans against my lips and rolls on top of me, kissing me passionately. His weight settles me and makes me feel grounded to the earth. I wrap my legs around him, eager to feel his hard length inside me.
He sits back on his knees and stares down at my naked body on the bed. Holding his cock in his hand, he strokes it while biting his bottom lip, his eyes feasting on the sight of me.
“Look at you,” he says with a low growl. “How can you say you’re not perfect?”
“Jack,” I whisper, reaching for him.
Leaning over me, he guides his cock between my legs and slowly eases himself inside. Our eyes bore into each other as he enters me. Being filled by him consumes me. Knowing how much he treasures me while using my body at the same time is like nothing else I’ve felt before.
He turns his gaze down to the spot where we are joined. I watch as his brow furrows with arousal.
“Look at how well you take me, little bird.”
I let out a loud moan, pinching my own nipples as he moves in languid strokes, in and out. Something about the way he speaks to me during sex sends me over the edge.
“Turn over,” he murmurs in a command.
Pulling out long enough to turn me onto my knees, he thrusts himself back in, this time with enough force to make me cry out.
He moves with purpose now, pounding in so hard I have to grip the sheets. I’m a whimpering, moaning mess with my cheek pressed against the mattress.
The cum from the sex we just had provides lubricant, making me so wet for him, and it all feels so filthy and so beautiful at the same time. Everything Jack and I share is made of pleasure. The way he talks to me, touches me, looks at me. It’s nothing like the cruel man I once knew.
“I want to fill you up, little bird,” he proclaims through grunts. “I want you full of my seed. Can I do that?”
I’m so close to the edge, and to my surprise, his words have me screaming with arousal so intense, I nearly come already. I know it’s just dirty talk. It must be.
But the idea of being bred by him is suddenly so sexy I don’t want it to stop.
“Yes,” I scream into the mattress as he fucks me harder. “Keep going. More.”
“You like that, don’t you?” he asks with a punishing grip on my hips. “You like the idea of me fucking a baby into you.”
“Yes!” I shout.
“The thought of your swollen belly makes me so fucking feral for you.” Then he slams in again, hitting a spot inside me that has my toes curling and my body spasming. “You feel that, little bird? You feel how hard that makes me?”
