Page 20 of The Good Girl Effect
There’s a man paddling the ass of a woman bound to a bed. Judging by the sound of her voice, she both loves it and hates it.
There’s another woman suspended from the rafters wrapped in rope with her hair tethered to her ankles. I can’t quite make sense of that one, so I pass it by for the next.
What I find in the last booth stops me in my tracks.
Jack St. Claire is standing near a wall covered in paddles and other tools I don’t recognize. He’s shirtless with his back to us and a pair of dark jeans hanging on his hips. I can’t take my eyes off the cords of muscle cascading from shoulder to shoulder and down his spine. There’s a glisten of sweat on his skin, and I’m too struck by the sight to move when I know I should.
A woman kneels on the floor at his side, but I don’t even look at her. Jack reaches for something along the wall, a bundle of black corded rope, and I spot the gold wedding band on his left hand.
As he picks up the rope and slaps it against the other palm, I flinch. The girl on the floor looks acquiescent. Then Jack turns around to regard her, and I watch as he softly pets the top of her head and the line of her jaw with adoration. She practically melts under his touch.
Hiding myself behind a couple, I watch them with fiery interest. The woman leans into Jack as he begins to unravel the rope in his hand. She lifts her wrists on his command, and he softly whispers two words that course straight down my spine.
“Good girl.”
Lips parted, I find myself wondering what it must feel like to be in her position, to be so adored and treated so gently by him. To feel his touch, his attention, his gentle praise.
He mumbles something else to her I can’t understand, and I wish that I could.
And then his eyes lift, making their way out to the crowd where a small group of people is standing, myself included. I do my best to hide, ducking behind the couple in the darkness, but it’s too late.
His eyes meet mine. It feels like being struck by lightning. Dread floods through me as his eyes widen in shock. His nostrils flare and his chest expands as he takes a deep breath, and I ready myself for his wrath. He mumbles something to the girl before slamming the rope in his hand to the floor.
Shit.
He stomps angrily toward me, and I find myself backing up as if I could escape him. One of his hands latches around my upper arm, and I shriek, “Let go of me!”
“What are you doing here?” he says, his eyes searching my face.
“I… I…” No words come out. There’s not a single excuse I could come up with, so I give up on the futile attempt to talk my way out of this one.
“You don’t belong here,” he says in a growly reply. Silently brooding, he drags me deeper into the room instead of the way we came, and I find myself digging my heels in as if I could stop him.
“Why not? I can go where I want!” I shout.
“Not here you can’t,” he argues as he continues dragging me through the deep recesses of the club until he finds a door. Grabbing hold of the knob, he tears it open and shoves me through.
“Stop it!” I’m engulfed in fear as he drags me up a set of stairs in the back of the club. It all happens so fast. He slams open an exterior door, and suddenly, we’re outside.
“What are you doing?” I scream.
He lets go of my arm and blocks the door we just escaped through. His eyes bore into mine with intensity, rage pulsating through his features. “Why can’t you just listen?” he grits with exasperation.
Huffing, I stare back at him, lifting my chin with all the defiance I can muster. “Why would I listen toyou?” I snap. “You’re not my, my…”
“Your boss?” he growls, leaning closer.
The chemistry between us is electric, his chest heaving as he glares at me. I forget how to speak, no response on my lips. I don’t know what I was about to say to Jack, but I’m disarmed when he calls himself my boss. All this time, I’ve fabricated this connection between us, all because of some photograph. That’s what drew me into this club. What had me following him, desperate to know as much as I can about him. And I discoveredfarmore than I ever imagined.
But he is just my boss. Nothing more. Nothing less.
And if I don’t listen, I risk losing the best job I’ve ever had.
“Go home.” He points toward the street, away from the club, like I’m a dog that must listen to his commands.
“What is wrong with you?” I ask, my voice shaking with emotion. He doesn’t react or answer. When it’s clear that he won’t move until I leave, I sigh as I take a step away.
Tears moistening my eyes, I turn my back on him and walk away from the club toward the road that will lead back to home.
