Page 50 of The Good Girl Effect
Phoenix is chewing her lip again. She doesn’t like this idea, I can tell. But I love it. I think I’ve been wanting this for a long time, to let Julian truly crash and burn. And once he does, Phoenix and I will have free rein to make the choices that need to be made. Let that spoiled brat see what it’s like when he finally does get his way.
Rule #16: Sometimes, being good is hard.
Camille
When I find Jack upstairs tonight, I’m only slightly less nervous than last night. I’ve worn a robe over my undergarments to make getting undressed easier. I’ve also braided my hair already to save time. Although if I’m honest, there was something inexplicably hot about having him do it.
He’s pulling ropes out of the wardrobe when I enter. Again, he’s in a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of dark slacks. Without a word between us, I close the door, locking it before pulling off my robe and hanging it on a chair in the corner.
“Start on your knees,” he says with his back to me. “That is your default position, understand?”
He seems tense tonight, although I guess he’s always tense. Nodding, I find my place at the center of the rug. Lowering to the floor, I take a deep breath and mentally prepare myself.
If you had told me a year ago that I’d enjoy being silent and submissive for a man, I would have told you you’d lost your mind. But I find solace in knowing that this isn’t about whathewants. It’s about whatIwant. It’s about connection. Safety. Comfort.
I like the way it feels to give up control, and I won’t apologize for that.
When he turns around with a black ribbon, there’s hesitation on his face, and I silently pray that he’s deemed tonight a good time to start using it. I even shut my eyes and wait for him to blindfold me. Instead, I hear him pulling out ropes, and I open them to find the blindfold hanging on the doorknob again. Disappointment washes over me.
I want to ask him why he normally uses a blindfold. I’ve done my research, and I know it’s not common practice. It’s just something Jack likes, and I wish I understood why. Is this another form of control? When it feels like most of my connection with Jack shines through our eye contact, I’m dying to know what it would be like to be with him without that. Would I feel as close to him?
“Same as last time,” he says, turning toward me with ropes in hand. “Nod for yes. Shake for no. Speak up if anything hurts, burns, or starts to feel numb. Understand?”
I nod.
There is stress written on his face. He carries it in the tight furrow of his brows and the tense movement of his shoulders. Pride swells inside me that I get to be a part of the thing that calms him.
And to be honest, it calms me too. As I wait silently on the floor, he moves around me, gathering things, and that overwhelming loneliness I felt when I first moved here is gone. There is silent comfort between us, and in a way, that’s better than sex. This is more intimate.
When Jack kneels on the floor in front of me, it takes me by surprise.
“I want you to feel a leg tie tonight. Sit down with your legs extended in front of you.”
I do as he says with my bare legs on the rug pointed toward him. When his fingers touch my right leg, I flinch slightly, and he glances up at me cautiously. I don’t know why I did that, but the sensation of his fingers on my thigh was electric.
“Are you ready?” he asks, and I nod with confidence.
This time, when he grips my leg under my knee, he moves slower. I savor the feel of his fingers against my skin as he lifts my right leg until it’s bent with my foot on the floor. Then he winds the rope around my ankle, moving much like he did last night, deft and assured. I watch his face as he loses himself in the practice.
Ever so slowly, his tight muscles relax, and the stress melts away.
As much as I love the silence between us, I wish he’d talk as he works, but Jack St. Claire is a closed book. I’m dying to know things like where he learned this and what makes him love it. Has he ever been tied up? Does he normally have sex with the women he binds?
Was this something he did with his wife? Did she enjoy it as much as I do? Something about that sparks a sense of jealousy in my gut. I desperately want this to be something only he and I share, but those are dangerous, reckless thoughts to be having.
All the while, he winds the rope around my ankle, looping and tying it with skillful fingers. The room is quiet. Instead of waiting for his voice, I just let myself drown in his scent and presence.
Once he has a secure tie around my ankle, he touches my upper thigh, and I let out a squeak as he presses my ankle backward, bending my knee until my thigh is flush with my calf.
“Does that hurt your knee at all?” he asks.
I shake my head.
Leaning back, I put my hands on the floor behind me as he works to wrap the rope around my thigh and leg, binding them together. Every time his fingers brush the upper part of my leg near my panties, there’s a lightning strike of arousal through my veins and goose bumps erupting across my skin.
The longer he works, the more I relax into his ministrations. I can’t move my right leg at all, and it’s such a new sensation.
And no matter what we both say about boundaries and lines separating work from pleasure, being this close and giving over this much control creates a sensual energy between us that he can’t deny.
