Page 16 of Tricked By Jack
But we’re already pulling into the lot outside my apartment complex, and the craving to be skin-to-skin is stronger than the exhibitionist itch.
“Then get us upstairs,” I demand, giving his cock one last stroke before withdrawing my hand. He hisses as I do.
Caleb throws the car into park and gets out fast, slamming the door behind him. I barely have time to open mine before he’s there, taking my hand like he owns it—and maybe tonight, he does. His fingers are still dusted in dried blood. I don’t care.
We walk across the dark lot, headlights flickering from passing cars, the sound of the city distant but ever-present. Halfway across the lot, I falter. My body stops, yanking his arm slightly.
“What is it?” he asks, looking back at me.
I scan the edge of the building, past the dumpsters, to the shadows near the emergency door. There’s a flicker of movement. A car drives by and the headlights sweep across the shadowed corner, just long enough for me to see the masked courier.
The sight triggers a spike of awareness in my spine. Like déjà vu sharpened into a blade. It’s not fear, it’s hunger. Like something feral inside me just remembered it has teeth.
I step away from Caleb, squinting into the darkness. “Did you see that?”
“See what?” he asks, turning in a slow circle.
But the space is empty now. Quiet. Just the soft hum of a streetlamp and the rustling of dead leaves skittering across pavement.
I shake my head, though my heart’s still hammering. “Nothing. I thought I saw…” I pause, then exhale a shaky breath. “Never mind.”
Letting it go, I stride toward the entrance. Caleb follows quietly, I feel him a few steps behind me. He isn’t saying anything now, but I know the questions are coming.
In the elevator, he watches me from the corner of his eye. “What was that about?” he finally asks.
I hesitate, chewing the inside of my cheek, but I know he won’t let it go until I answer him. With a heavy exhale, I explain about the delivery yesterday. Well, technically today since it was after midnight.
“So you’re saying some random guy in a gas mask just showed up at your door?” Caleb’s voice carries a hint of protective concern.
I nod. “Yeah, he turned up at midnight. On the dot.” The memory of those round, vacant eye lenses staring at me sends a shiver through my body that I can’t entirely attribute to disgust.
“And you opened the door?” Caleb’s blue eyes narrow slightly. The faded tattoos on his forearms shift as he lifts his hand to brush some loose strands of hair behind my ear. It’s hard to concentrate when he’s standing this close and his torso is on full display.
“I looked through the peephole first,” I counter, defensive. “I’m not completely reckless.”
“Just partially, then.” His smile is quick and cutting, like he’s keeping score and I’m losing. “And what was in the box?”
“A black rose.” I pause, trying to maintain clinical detachment so he doesn’t notice how intrigued I really am. “It was dried, and had these red speckles that looked like blood.”
The memory of the flower’s brittle texture against my fingertips makes my skin prickle with that same contradiction—revulsion twined with fascination, like wanting to press your tongue to a wound just to taste the blood.
“Was that it?”
“And a note,” I add, almost reluctantly. “Something about brides and blooms dying. It was poetic.”
“Poetic?” he mocks.
“I meant disturbing,” I correct too quickly.
This definitely shuts the door of any thoughts about the delivery being from him. But then who could it be from?
Caleb’s hand finds my thigh, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path higher up my thigh, and I become intensely aware of the heat radiating from his palm through the thin fabric of my pants. His eyes never leave my face as he studies my reaction.
“You’re flushed,” he observes, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Your pupils are dilated, too. I’d say this visitor left quite an impression.”
I scoff, but the sound comes out weaker than I intended. “It’s just a professional interest. I mean, it’s not every day someone delivers cryptic, wedding-themed packages to my door.”
“Are you into masks now, Eve?” His voice dips, not teasing so much as testing. Like he’s filing the answer away for later use.
