Page 56 of Tricked By Jack
“Are you ready?” he asks, not stopping to wait for my answer before pulling me onto the stage.
I don’t notice what each Groom is holding in their hand until we join them. But as soon as I see the masks they hold—gas masks identical to the one Jack used to hide behind—I dig my heels into the floor.
“I’m not doing this.” I don’t need to understand whatthisis to know I want no part of it. My nerves are already frayed enough.
Jack’s fingers wrap around my upper arm, squeezing tight enough to bruise. “You don’t get to say no anymore. That privilege disappeared when you let my sister die.”
He drags me forward, my heels scraping against the ground as I struggle. The vial of blood swings between my breasts, a pendulum marking time to my racing heart.
“Welcome to the Matrimonial Feast,” announces a figure in elaborate robes, their face hidden beneath a bone-white mask painted with symbols I don’t recognize. “Where Brides prove their devotion and Grooms receive their due.”
While the other women immediately kneel before their partners, I look around for Shelby, finally spotting her at the opposite end of the line. But she isn’t looking my way. Her eyes are on something in the middle of the growing audience.
“The rules are simple,” the announcer continues. “The first Bride to make her Groom come wins. And as for the losers…” He makes a slicing gesture across his throat that leaves little to the imagination.
“I won’t do this,” I hiss at Jack. “I’m not going to—”
The words die in my throat as he produces a knife from his pocket—long, gleaming, wickedly sharp. He presses the blade against my throat, just beneath my jaw.
“Kneel,” he orders, voice muffled slightly as he pulls the gas mask over his face with his free hand.
The knife bites, a cold kiss beneath my jaw—enough to promise pain if I resist. When I don’t move right away, he presses the blade closer, a whisper from piercing skin. Only then do my knees unlock.
Slowly, I sink to my knees on the stage, the impact jarring through my bones. The crowd below murmurs in approval.
“Good girl,” Jack says through the mask, the filter making his voice inhuman. “Now show everyone what that pretty mouth can do.”
My fingers tremble as I reach for his belt, fumbling with the buckle. The blade remains steady at my throat, a cold reminder of my position.
When I finally free his cock, it’s already hard and leaking. It fills my hand with a weight that feels inevitable, like it’s been molded for my grip, solid and heavy in my palm.
“Countdown begins!” the announcer calls. “Three…”
I look up at Jack, his features obscured by the mask. While some might see this transformation as monstrous, it’s the opposite to me. I like the masked man—it’s Jack I loathe.
“Two…”
My tongue darts out to wet my lips, a gesture that draws a low growl from behind Jack’s mask.
I look across the audience, and my breath hitches when my eyes land on Caleb. He’s standing in the middle, cradling his broken arm, wearing a scowl that makes my insides freeze. Just before I look away, he drags his index finger across his throat and sneers at me.
The hell is his problem? And… not that I’ve thought about it since the wedding, but I guess he isn’t Shelby’s Groom if he’s down there instead of on stage with the rest of us.
“One…”
Unable to help myself, I flip him off, ignoring the pressure as Jack presses the knife harder into my flesh, breaking skin. A single drop of blood slides down my throat, a hot trail of surrender.
“Begin!”
I take Jack into my mouth with desperate urgency, driven by the blade at my throat and something darker—a sick need to perform well, to win this twisted competition. To show Caleb what he’s lost.
My lips stretch wide around the thick girth. The anonymity makes it easier to give in, to pretend it’s not Jack using me, but some darker, faceless thing that doesn’t exist outside this moment.
I can want the monster. I can take from him. But when the mask comes off, I’ll go back to hating the man beneath. I’m not givingJackanything—this is for the man who showed up at my door at midnight, the one who claimed me before I ever had a chance to fight back.
The first bump of his Jacob’s Ladder drags across my tongue, and my hips roll—small, involuntary, shame tightening low in my belly. I didn’t expect to like the piercings. I thought they’d feel strange in my mouth. But they don’t—they feelobscene. Every barbell is like a bruise he’s planting inside my throat, and I want all of them.
One hand fists my hair, forcing the angle he wants, while the other holds the knife steady at my throat. He pushes deep, hard enough to make my eyes water, and the gag reflex kicks.
