Page 57 of Tricked By Jack
I swallow around him instead of pulling back, desperate to feel the next rung scrape my tongue.
“Fuck,” he growls, the sound raw and cracked through the mask’s filter—half moan, half threat—like he can’t decide whether to praise me or break me. “You’re so fucking good at this.”
Jack’s praise washes over me, making me preen under its weight. It’s fucked up that I’m so into this, that I’m not faking my enthusiasm. But every gag, every wet choke, every hum of pleasure is real.
Spit slicks his shaft, sliding down to where his balls hang heavy and bare through the open fly. I suck harder just to hear the obscene sound it makes when he pulls out a few inches.
The crowd is so close I can feel their heat, their stares crawling all over me. I bet they’re imagining my mouth on them, and instead of shame killing my arousal, it spikes it higher.
Jack uses me like I’m nothing but a toy—fucking my mouth with ruthless precision, the metal rungs catching on my lips each time he pulls back. The sting rips a moan from me, the vibration shuddering up through him.
When I look up, I’m certain his gaze locks on mine through the mask’s lenses. A muffled groan leaks from him, low and wrecked, as if the sight alone could finish him. I know he sees it—the hunger I can’t hide.
The part of me that isn’t just enduring this, but chasing it. My smirk is small but deliberate, a silent dare he can’t ignore.
“Take me deeper,” he orders, voice rough enough to scrape my nerves raw.
I obey, relaxing my throat until my nose almost brushes his abdomen. The gag is sharp and wet, but I hold, eyes watering, drool spilling from the corner of my mouth.
Jack twitches in my mouth, and I know he’s close. The mask turns every sound he makes into something monstrous, and it drags me straight back to that night when he fingered me in the hallway, while making me moan loud enough for Caleb to hear every filthy sound.
My hand slides between my legs under the slit of my dress, pressing hard against my clit through the soaked fabric. The crowd catches it—low gasps, a few ragged cheers—but instead of allowing shame to stop me, the exposure makes the ache worse.
I cup his balls with my other hand, rolling them slowly while dragging my tongue over each piercing like I’m mapping them blind, refusing to let him catch his breath. His breathing changes, and his hips jerk. The knife slips from his fingers, clattering to the stage, but his grip on me doesn’t loosen.
Both hands now lock me in place; one yanks my hair, the other clamps my shoulder. “Swallow it all,” he growls, the command hitting me low in the gut. “Every. Fucking. Drop.”
The first hot surge hits the back of my throat, and I moan around him, swallowing greedily like it’s the only thing I’ve been craving. Another pulse. Another swallow. I don’t stop until I’ve drained every last drop from him, until I’m breathing in his scent and tasting nothing but him.
I keep sucking even after he’s spent, milking him, wanting more. The vial of our blood still swings between my breasts, but this—this is the true seal. My clit aches so hard I swear I might come here and now.
The world tilts, the crowd a blur, the lights blinding—but all I see is him above me, breathing hard, still gripping my hair like he’s not ready to let me go. I’ve made him lose control in front of all of them. And fuck, I’m already wondering how soon I can do it again.
“We have a winner!” the announcer calls, voice booming over the speakers. “The Knight couple takes the victory!”
Jack’s breath is still uneven inside the mask, the rise and fall of his chest pressing against my cheek where he still holds me to him. The taste of him coats my tongue, warm and heavy, and my legs squeeze against the need building between them.
“Mhmm, you looked so fucking beautiful choking on my cock,” he rasps. Then he drags his cock from my mouth and tucks himself away. “It almost felt like you were enjoying yourself. Did you like having me in your mouth?”
“Y-yes,” I admit, too worked up to lie.
With a low growl, he tightens his grip on my hair and tilts my head back so I have to look up at the black lenses staring down at me. The mask hides him, but I can feel the heat radiating from him.
Movement at the edge of my vision draws my attention. The other Grooms are peeling their masks off, faces flushed and satisfied. Jack reaches for the strap at the side of his head.
“Don’t,” I blurt, sharper than I mean to.
“Don’t?” His hand pauses, which makes my lips twitch. Not because it’s funny, but because he listened to me.
“Keep it on.” My voice is lower now, almost a plea. I don’t want Jack. I want the monster. The one who claimed me first. The one whose face I never saw.
A slow, knowing hum vibrates through the filter, and his fingers leave the strap. Then he tilts his head to the side, looking as though he’s dissecting every layer of my demand. “Why?”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. How am I supposed to admit that I’m wetter for the masked man than the husband who just came down my throat?
“Mhmm, you like the mask,” he murmurs, smugness a low rumble through the filter. His fingers leave the strap and trail down my jaw instead, claiming the victory without needing my confession.
“Yes.” I nod while licking my lips.
