The Good Girl Effect (Salacious Legacy, #1)

by Sara Cate

“This isn’t a punishment. It’s an experiment. I watched your parents’ club save lives, and I’m hoping this one will save yours. “One year. That’s all I ask. After the year is up, you can do what you want. “I’m begging you to give it a shot. “Find your family, and make this your home.

“Wait,” Amelia cries, and we all lower our shot glasses. “Dad said we could rename it. So what should it be?” The answer comes to me immediately. “Well, he said our parents created a legacy. So I say we do the same.” “Legacy,” Phoenix replies with a proud smirk. “I like it,” Amelia chirps. “To Legacy,” Weston cheers. “To Legacy,” the rest of us echo.

That’s my name!!

I won’t settle for a life of contentment with someone else just to have a partner. I want fireworks and magic. I want to stare into someone’s eyes and feel seen. I want to find a soul that matches mine.

Marguerite makes a confused face as she glances around the store. When her eyes find me in my hiding spot under the table, she points, and my cheeks burn even hotter. I let out a stifled groan as Jack’s fervent gaze locks with mine. Thanks, Marguerite.

Finally, he bluntly states, “You start on Monday. Phoenix will call you with more information.”

Marguerite finally makes her way over to me before placing her hand on her hip, saying, “When were you going to tell me you were applying for other jobs?” Blinking, I shake myself out of it. “Um…I didn’t mean to. It accidentally happened.” “Well, you accidentally got the job. Congratulations.”

“Marguerite, I’m sorry,” I say, letting my shoulders melt away from my ears. “I can turn it down.” “Psh,” she says, waving a hand at me. “Look at this place. Does it look like I need you? You’re taking a job in Paris with that man. If you turn it down, I’ll take it.”

“Je suis désolée. J’ai commencé à faire à manger, nous nous amusions beaucoup, et je n’ai pas fait attention. Je suis une très bonne cuisinière en principe, et…”

I like being alone, I do, but sometimes I wish there was someone next to me whose shoulder I could rest my head on. Someone who would let me hold their hand as we watch the sun set over Paris. Someone who would listen to me tell stories about the trips I took to the basilica as a kid with my father. Someone who would pull me away from the crowds to kiss me under the shade of the tree growing up the side of the hill.

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.

“Good girl.”

“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.

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 to you?” I snap. “You’re not my, my…” “Your boss?” he growls, leaning closer.

I don’t think everything needs to be perfected as a skill. There’s nothing wrong with just enjoying something for the sake of enjoying it. We don't need to become better at it and certainly not perfect.

So what is this? I step into the empty room with piqued interest. There’s a round, plush rug in the center of the room and strange gold hooks in various positions along the ceiling.

Speak to me, I think. Yell at me. Punish me. Give me something. His breath is warm against my head and his chest solid against my back. “I’m sorry,” I stammer. “You don’t belong in here,” he whispers with his mouth near my ear, and my heart rate picks up in a panic. For some very odd reason, I’m not afraid of Jack. I probably should be, but in my heart, I know he won’t hurt me. “Why are you always breaking my rules?” he demands.

Then, to my surprise, he asks, “You want to see what is in there, don’t you?” Staring at the ornate wood of the armoire, I nod. With a hand around my waist, he tugs me gently backward so I’m flush against his body as he grips the handle of the wardrobe and pulls it open. My breath is shaky as I stare into the dark void behind the door. But it’s not quite what I had anticipated. There are gold hooks along the backside with various ropes and ribbons draped over each one. My brows furrow as I try to make sense of what I’m looking at.

“Is this what you were expecting?” he whispers in my ear. I shake my head. “Are you still curious?” I nod. “Go ahead.”

Boldly, I pull the rope from the hook and let it drape over my fingers. When I think about it wrapped around my wrists, warmth sparks between my legs. As if he can read my mind, he lets out a low, rumbling growl, and my knees grow weak.

Jack leans into me, and it’s much like the moment in the hallway last night. Slow, blazing tension engulfs us as if the world has completely stopped turning and some feverous tidal wave is sweeping us away. Show me, I chant in my mind. Please show me. His nose is pressed against the side of my head, and he takes a deep inhale as if he’s trying to pick up my scent. My eyes drift closed as the heat deep within my body continues to pulse, pulse, pulse.

Then, without warning, he stiffens, pulling himself away and snatching the rope from my hands. He hangs it on the hook with a huff and slams the door loudly, making me flinch. “You’re not going to show me?” I ask in astonishment. “No.” “Wait!” Reaching out, I grab his arm and try to turn him toward me. He glares down at my hand on his skin as if I’m a leech. “Why not?” “Not me. Find someone else.” “I don’t want to find someone else.”

When I have you tied up, I will want to fuck you. And when you are tied up for me, you will want me to. In fact, you’ll beg for it. You’ll beg for my cock in your sweet, dripping little cunt. If this letter scares you—good. It’s meant to. I am not a kind or gentle man, Camille. And I’m no fucking teacher. I want you to fully understand what you ask of me because there is no chance of us going down this road with any part of it remaining innocent or appropriate. So tell me. Are you still curious?

“You are a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” Silently, I nod, making him crack a smile. It’s the most warmth he’s ever given me, and I’m hungry for more. “You’re playing with fire, you know that? I can’t seem to say no to you, although I should.”

“I am a man of my word, so I will show you. But that’s all. A simple lesson. Anything more would be inappropriate. So we’ll see just how curious you are.” I suck in a breath, forcing myself to remain calm. “Midnight. Upstairs. Understand?”

“Good girl,” he replies, and it has me melting against the cabinets.

He works to braid my hair down my back, his fingers moving quickly. There’s something so calming about it that it seems to settle the nervousness inside me. He ties a small black ribbon around the end of my braid before resting his hands on my shoulders. Then he leans in until his mouth is near my ear as he adds, “But it doesn’t mean I won’t want to.”

“I’m going to touch you now,” he whispers. I tense in anticipation. Touch me? How? Then the backs of his fingers cascade down my arm, leaving goose bumps in their wake. “Notice how everything feels so much more intense when you can’t move. Can’t see. Can’t pull away.” My stomach tightens. What is he doing to me? Slowly, I nod. His touch moves back up my arm, cresting my shoulder and traveling across my collarbone. I let out a gentle gasp, and he growls lowly in return.

“Imagine being pleasured like this. Imagine pleasuring someone else. Being used. Being fucked.”

“See how much control I have over you?” he mutters. His mouth is so close to mine that his lips move against my skin. “Imagine your entire body covered in these knots. Imagine not being able to move an inch as I use you. Do you like the sound of that, Ms. Aubert?”

To distract me from what I just felt, he tugs the bind on my wrists downward as he says in a tight, raspy tone, “On your knees.” I quickly obey, moving to the floor. I’ve never felt my heart beat so fast in my life. “Good girl,” he says with a low growl. His free hand pets my hair, and I start to sway.

I can’t help it, but I find myself saying the things I absolutely should not say. “Do you know all the filthy things I could do to you at this angle?” She lets out a breath as she nods.

“Is this what you wanted me to show you?” I ask, trailing my fingers down from her chest and around to her back. She nods. “There are so many more things to try. More positions, more knots, more…opportunities. Would you like that?” “Yes,” she cries out on a whimper. “Please.” With that, I spin her around so that her back is pressed to my chest. The chains above her rattle as she struggles to regain her balance.

But after dark, I don’t want to be your employee. I want to be the one who submits to you, who kneels, who obeys. If you don’t want sex to be involved, then I can show restraint

too—the same way you did tonight.

If any of these rules are broken, the deal is off. No punishment. No second chances. Let’s see if you can prove just how good you are. Jack

“You look beautiful like this,” he whispers. There’s a pulse between my legs as I let his compliment sink in. Unable to stay quiet for another second, I whisper, “Thank you.” “I wish I could show you off,” he adds.

“I’d cover you in rope and put you on display like my own little masterpiece.”

“You don’t play fair,” he says as he starts to untie my right leg. There’s a part of me that loves the idea of being such a temptation to him, but there’s another part of me that hates disappointing him. I want to be his good girl, like I said I was. But if being good means not getting what I want, is it even worth it?

“Good girl,” he rasps with a wicked smile against my cheek. That phrase works to thaw some of the ice inside. “I think we should do some exercises to practice restrictions,” he says, and my interest piques at that. “Tell me, do you ever touch yourself after these sessions?” he asks. My cheeks grow hot, and I swallow nervously. “Answer the question. Yes or no?” Dragging in a shaky breath through my parted lips, I nod. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he says before leaning in from behind me. His lips are next to my ear as he adds, “So do I.”

“From now on, I don’t want you touching yourself. Understand?”

My brows furrow. I even turn my head toward him, although I can’t see him. But this rule doesn’t make any sense. How would he even know if I did? Is he going to come check my panties for signs of pleasure? Is he going to install cameras in my room to watch me?

“Are you being a good girl?” he whispers, leaning forward. His eyes

dance over to my bed and back to my face. With my chin held high, I reply, “Of course.” “Good,” he whispers, his lips twitching as he fights a smile.

Then, because he’s cruel, he backs me up until my spine hits the doorframe. His body presses against me, and a jolt of realization washes over me—he’s about to break the rules and cross the line. He drifts his fingers over my stomach and down. I stop breathing entirely as his featherlight touch breezes over the core of my panties. He doesn’t touc...

“I’m sorry,” he says, and I glance at him with confusion. “I shouldn’t torture you like this, but I want to see how strong you are.” “You don’t play fair,” I mumble indignantly. He’s just turning me on more to make my challenge even harder. It’s cruel and heartless and so fucking sexy. When did I give this man so much power over me? And why do I love it so much? His wicked lips touch the side of my neck, sucking delicately and sending chills down my spine. “Jack, please,” I beg.

Here is the good news. If you do obey, then you will be rewarded. And it will be more than just some light praise. I’m not sure yet what your reward will be, but I’ll be sure it’s something you want. I’ll make sure you enjoy it.

Bea’s mother was usually the one to organize outings like that. I’m glad you’re here.

“I hope you know that I do want more,” he adds with a wince of pain in his expression. “You have no idea how much I want. But I don’t trust myself. Because once I go further, it will be a slippery slope. First, I’ll touch you. Then I’ll taste you. Then I’ll fuck you. And all the rules we set out will be for nothing. We just have too much at stake. I’m sorry.” “We can have both, Jack,” I plead. “If we make it just physical, I know we can keep things just like this. In the daytime, I’m your daughter’s nanny. At night, I can be more. I can be so much more, Jack.”

“You’re shaking,” he whispers. “We don’t have to do this.” I shake my head. “I want to do this.” He tears the blindfold off and forces my chin upward. “Open your eyes, little bird.”