Page 17 of Tricked By Jack
At his question, I picture the courier, he’s somehow already under my skin. The thought makes me hotter than it should.
Chapter 6
The Bride
The question lands like a spark on dry tinder. My body betrays me with a subtle shift toward him, a movement so slight I’m not sure he notices until I see his smile widen.
Caleb knows I’m into anything that creates a fear factor. We’ve dabbled in CNC role-play, and he’s even broken into my apartment once. But masks are something I’ve never considered using.
“I’m into figuring out who’s behind them,” I reply, struggling to maintain my composure as his hand inches higher, approaching the spot where my black lace garter tattoo circles my upper thigh.
“Are you?” His voice drops to a register that vibrates through me. “Or are you more interested in what the mask allows?”
I don’t answer, and I don’t need to. He reads my silence with practiced ease. His hand slides to cup my face, thumb brushing across my lower lip.
“You know what I think?”
I raise an eyebrow, trying to reclaim some semblance of control. “I rarely know what you think, Caleb.”
He laughs, low and sharp, like my answer proved a theory about me. “I think you’ve spent so much time analyzing other people’s darkness that you forget to acknowledge your own.” Before I can respond, he angles his head so he can capture my mouth with his.
The kiss is confident, demanding, and I feel my body responding, heat pooling low in my belly as his tongue traces the seam of my lips.
For a heartbeat, I hesitate. A flash of black rubber and emotionless lenses superimposes itself over Caleb’s familiar features. The phantom sound of mechanical breathing floods my ears, making me dizzy with want—for the wrong man, for the wrong monster.
The moment passes, and I greedily kiss Caleb back, letting my fingers tangle in his icy-blond hair, anchoring myself to our very real connection rather than the ghostly alternative haunting my thoughts.
We break apart as the elevator doors slide open again, and a woman clears her throat loudly. I look at her, realizing we’re still on the ground floor.
“Did you push the button?” I ask Caleb, taking a step back from him.
He chuckles. “Nah, I forgot.”
The woman steps inside, side-eyeing us as she positions herself as far away as the metal box allows. Which, for the record, isn’t a lot of space. But whatever. I can’t help grinning at her when I catch her checking out Caleb.
“I don’t blame you,” I smirk. And I really don’t, especially not when he’s shirtless.
Now that we’re not alone, the elevator ride feels like a study in restraint. When the doors finally open on my floor, Caleb’s patience evaporates. His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing as he pulls me down the hallway while I one-handedly remove my bag so I can get the keys.
Unlocking the door proves to be quite the struggle when Caleb’s lips find the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. The key scrapes against the lock before finally sliding home.
As I turn my head, my gaze catches on something on my door. “The hell is that?” I mutter, running my fingers across the crusty substance.
“Stop stalling,” Caleb gripes, giving me a small shove.
We stumble across the threshold, and as soon as we’re both inside, he kicks the door shut and catches me around the waist, hauling me toward the couch. He drops me onto the cushions like a prize and climbs over me, lips crashing into mine.
His mouth claims mine with a hunger that mirrors my own, his tongue seeking entrance as his hands slide down to cup my ass, moving us so I’m on top of him without breaking the kiss.
“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he confesses against my lips, his voice rough with desire. His stubble scrapes against my skin as he trails kisses down my neck, each one a small, delicious bite of pain that makes me gasp.
My head falls back, and I close my eyes while surrendering to the sensations. My hands roam his shoulders and back, loving the way I can feel his muscles shift under my touch. I shift when I feel Caleb’s hand roaming in his pocket.
“What are you—” He interrupts me before I can finish asking what he was doing.
“I wish we didn’t have an audience,” he smirks, nodding toward the mantle where my dad’s grinning skull watches us.
“I want him to watch,” I state. “If Hell exists, he’s rotting in it. Maybe part of his punishment is seeing all his hard work undone while you fuck me on the couch he used to sit on.”
