Page 116 of Tricked By Jack
His eyes capture my gray ones in the mirror. “I lost a bet to Nick and Ruby,” he explains.
“What was the bet?”
He inhales sharply and furrows his brows as though something’s annoying him. “You know, I don’t even remember anymore.” There’s a beat of silence before he continues. “I was only sixteen when I got it. But I’m sure it was something super serious.”
My lips pull into a smile. “I’m sure it was,” I agree softly.
“Eve.” Goosebumps erupt all over my skin when he says my name in that breathy and husky way of his. “We should talk about—”
“Not yet,” I interrupt. I know he means Shelby, but I’m not ready.
To my surprise, Jack chuckles. “You never broke once when I tormented you. But now you’re crying over a cut that’ll be completely gone in no time.”
“I’m not crying…” I stop talking as I realize tears are soundlessly trailing down my cheeks. “Oh.”
I can’t help laughing because it does sound ridiculous when he puts it like that.
“You still want me like this?” I test, not because I doubt it, not really—because Iwantto hear it.
“Always,” he says, no hesitation.
He reaches for my hand—the one he sliced into at our wedding. The silence stretches between us, thick with something unspeakable, as his fingertips dance across the scar.
I yank my hand back before he can brush it again. I know it’s irrational, but I don’t like that he hasn’t kissed or touched me since we were at the warehouse. Rationally, I know it’s because we’ve both been healing. But irrationally, it feels like an insult.
“You think this…” his finger traces the outline of the thin line on my cheek, “… makes you less fuckable?”
“I think it makes me look weak,” I admit, the honesty surprising even me.
“Weak?” He makes a sound that might be a laugh. “Eve, I’ve seen a lot of weak people. You’re not one of them.”
Turning away from my reflection, I take a step to the side, surprised he lets me. “I came in here to shower.” I infuse my tone with confidence I don’t feel right now, even roll my shoulders back and lift my chin.
I step into the shower without looking back at him, leaving the door open. Picking up the detachable head, I adjust the temperature until it verges on scalding and angle the spray low, keeping my stitched shoulder and back dry.
Steam rises around me, creating a thin and constantly moving veil of tendrils between my naked body and Jack’s watchful gaze. I can feel him still there, just beyond the glass—a presence that radiates through the barrier, that prickles against my awareness like static electricity before a storm.
Water sluices over my stomach and hips, between my thighs, washing away the lingering traces of hospital antiseptic and the phantom touch of strangers’ hands. The warmth penetrates muscle and bone, thawing something frozen within me, something rigid with anger and helplessness.
I reach for the soap, lathering it between my palms until bubbles foam white and thick, gliding the suds over my stomach and legs. Just as I close my eyes, I hear it.
“Allowing yourself to be content is a weakness, Eve.”My dad’s words slither through my mind, just an echo from the grave I put him in.“And when you’re content, you let your guard down. Do you want to be let out of the coffin? Then make me want to set you free.”
Charles Mortis was a sadistic asshole, one I don’t regret killing. But being unlikable doesn’t mean he was wrong. If I hadn’t said goodbye to everything he taught me and embraced a life with no rules or regulations, I never would have ended up in Shelby’s clutches.
Or maybe I’d have sensed her intentions sooner and then been able to do something about it before she made me shed blood and tried to kill Jack. The bitch is tied up in Nicklas’ basement. According to Carolina, Shelby’s all alone in the dark—fed only while sleeping, cut off from any human contact.
While I ponder all that, my hands slide over my skin of their own accord. Thoroughly cleansing each inch of my body with slow precision. I turn slightly, offering Jack a better view through the glass. I imagine his eyes tracking my movements, cataloging each curve and angle.
The thought sends an unexpected current through my nerves, not unpleasant. It settles low in my belly, a warmth distinct from the shower’s heat.
My fingers travel lower, sliding between my legs. When I find my clit, I use my middle finger to apply pressure. God, that feels good. I circle the bundle of nerves faster, harder. I hear Jack’s breath catch, the sound barely audible over the shower’s steady drum.
“Do you want to kiss my lips now?” I ask, never looking away from him.
As he clenches his jaw, I notice the muscle jump beneath his stubbled skin, eyes narrowed and dark with what can only be hunger.
He watches my hand work between my thighs, his own hands curled into fists at his sides, like he’s physically restraining himself from storming in here.
