Page 98 of The Good Girl Effect
He laughs in response but doesn’t bother to argue.
“Come on. I want to show you something,” he says.
I’d be more alarmed if we were alone down here, but there are so many people coming and going, workers and people dressed like Julian. I briefly worry that Elizabeth will find me here like this.
As Julian takes my hand in his, he guides me toward the back of the club, but when his eyes catch on the lingering rope marks on my wrists, I snatch my hand away and quickly cover them with my sleeve. Even though I know he saw them, he pretends he didn’t.
I don’t normally wear my scars for so long, but some of the ropes from last night burned into my skin while Jack and I were going at it a little too roughly. He scolded me afterward for not telling him they were so tight, but I couldn’t make him understand that I loved the burn. Still, he was upset with me.
“This is my favorite part,” Julian murmurs quietly.
I hold my breath in anticipation. He doesn’t lead me to the bar or the dance floor or any of the closed rooms. Instead, he takes me toward a blank wall at the back of the club. I’m confused as I stare at it. It’s covered in a grid of thin black floor-to-ceiling bars fastened to the plaster. There are what look like cuffs hanging from various spots of the structure.
When he notices my confusion, he picks up something from a bowl nearby and places it in my hand. And it only puzzles me more. It’s a large red silk handkerchief.
“What is this?” I ask, to which Julian smiles.
With his lips near my ear and his hand around mine, chills run down my spine. “You hold this in your hand, and then you walk toward the wall.”
He guides my movements, and I force myself to swallow as he corners me toward the metal grid. I stop breathing altogether as he lifts my right hand and fastens it in one of the black leather cuffs.
“The rules are that as long you are holding that red silk,” he says seductively, “then whoever comes along can do whatever they’d like to you.” Then he fastens my left hand in another black cuff. Suddenly, I’m bound to the wall, and I can feel my pulse thrumming loudly in my ear.
His hand slides up my leg, and I let out a yelp. I should feel terrible for the arousal building inside me, but I can’t help it. It’s not really him that I’m drawn to but the idea of what he’s proposing.
“You mean…” I squeak, looking over my shoulder at him. He’s so close our mouths nearly touch.
His hands are on my hips now, and he gives them one quick jerk, slamming his body against my ass and making me moan. I am absolutely shameless for how turned on I am right now. I should not be here with him. I should be withJack.
“Imagine being fucked by complete strangers,” he mumbles near my ear. “Used freely for anyone’s pleasure. Is that…a fantasy of yours?”
Is it?I’ve certainly never thought of that before, but this feeling right now has me thinking that I have fantasies even I haven’t discovered yet.
I seem to be so captivated by it that I find myself whimpering. “Yes.”
Suddenly, the next voice I hear isn’t Julian’s, and it isn’t nearly as pleasant or quiet.
“What the fuck?” Jack bellows angrily. His voice has a growly sound to it.
I gasp loudly as I struggle to spin around to find him.
“Oh, hello, Jack,” Julian says, and judging by the way he said that, he’s not at all surprised or horrified by my boss’s sudden presence in finding us like this.
In fact, I’m starting to think I’ve been set up.
Rule #34: The more stubborn the will, the sweeter the submission.
Jack
I’ve known anger before. I’m familiar with outrage and impatience and possessiveness.
But I haveneverfelt this. Seeing Camille,my Camille, strapped to that wall with Julian’s selfish, indignant, smug hands all over her created an explosion of passion inside me.
My brain doesn’t compute reason or rationale. It doesn’t ask questions or work to formulate excuses. It just sees her, and something primal takes over.
Julian stands off to the side, his arms crossed as he laughs to himself. My fingers fumble to remove the straps around her wrists, but my hands are shaking too much.
I hear her stammering something anxiously, but I’m not listening. They’re apologies and excuses, I know that much, but I’m not interested in those.
