Page 59 of Tricked By Jack
“Y-yes,” I cry. “I want your cock inside me.”
He lets out a cruel chuckle. “Too bad you haven’t earned more than my fingers yet, Dr. Death.”
I open my mouth, about to say… something, anything. But my body betrays me, fluttering tight around his fingers, chasing every curl like my pussy’s trying to keep him inside.
My nipples ache against the thin fabric, and when he releases my throat to pinch one through the dress, the sharp pull rips a gasp so loud I’m sure the crowd hears.
“Come for me,” he orders, voice low and inhuman. “Come on my fingers, Dr. Death, or I’ll make you do it out there where every last one of them can see your face when you break.”
The orgasm tears through me, sharp and merciless, wringing a ragged cry from my throat. My legs clamp around his wrist as the aftershocks wring me out, each spasm milking his fingers.
Jack doesn’t let me recover. He pulls his fingers free and lifts them to my lips. “Clean me.” I take them in without hesitation, sucking until his hand gleams wet with my saliva. “You’re such a good wife.” He wipes his hand on my thigh, tugs my dress back into place.
Then, he takes a step back and reaches for the mask. His movements are slow, like he’s making sure I see him remove it. When it’s gone, his piercing green eyes bore into mine, his lips curving up at the side.
“You keep surprising me, Eve.”
I can’t help smiling back at him. “Likewise, husband.”
Together, we walk back onto the now-empty stage. I scan the crowd for Shelby, hoping to catch her for a word, but she’s already gone with her Groom.
“Looking for someone?” Jack asks.
At the same time, I voice a question of my own. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
Sighing, I explain, “Use Shelby to get to me.”
He stops walking, frowning as his hand drags over the rough line of his jaw. “She and her brother owed me a debt. I was simply collecting.”
The way he says it sends my blood boiling. And yeah, part of it’s because I’m pissed I didn’t even know Shelby had a brother—but I still lay into him.
“So what? You can’t just go around using people, Jack.”
“Of course I can.”
I scoff. “No wonder you’re all alone in that big fucking house. You’re an asshole.”
Jack’s smile is slow, deliberate, the kind that never reaches his eyes. “Takes one to know one, wife. And I don’t see anyone coming to your rescue.”
Chapter 20
The Trickster
“You’re an asshole…”
It’s been two, almost three, days, and Eve’s words still repeat themselves over and over. They’re fucking with my mind. She’s been with me for a week, hurling any amount of insults at me. Yet, there’s something about this one that’s sticking.
“You’re an asshole…”
The bourbon glints amber in the half-light, promising oblivion I’ve been chasing since we returned from the Sanctuary just a few hours ago after yet another performance.
Apart from grunting commands, I haven’t spoken to my Little Bride since the other day. It’s better this way. My fingers circle the neck of the bottle without lifting it, a ritual repeated so many times the motion feels carved into muscle memory.
Eve watches from her cage, gray eyes tracking every aborted movement—the twitch toward the bottle, the unlit cigarette rolling between my fingers. Her silence feels deliberate, a calculation I can almost hear working behind that clinical gaze.
I should feel victorious, shouldn’t I? I got her here in my cage, just like I wanted. Instead, I feel like I’ve been hollowed out, scraped raw from the inside. Like…breaking her isn’t what I want anymore.
