Page 77 of Tricked By Jack
“I… oh God… Jack, I can’t…”
“You can.” My arm tightens across her back, every tremor of hers ricocheting straight through me. “Come for me. Right here. On the fucking edge.”
She breaks with a sob, her cunt pulsing around the steel in violent spasms, slick running down the hilt onto my fingers. Her mouth is open in a silent cry as she comes, clinging to me like her orgasm is the only thing keeping her from falling.
I groan at the sight, my hardness jerking against her skin. But instead of letting her enjoy it, I throw the knife over my shoulder and press my cock against her drenched hole.
“You’ll learn to trust me, wife,” I growl, starting a brutal rhythm that rocks her on the narrow ledge.
Each thrust pushes her closer to the edge, her whole body trembling with the conflicting impulses to lean into the pleasure and away from the danger. The fear heightens everything—makes her wetter, makes her tighter, makes her gasps sharper and more desperate.
Her thighs scrape against the rough stone as I fuck her, leaving marks I’ll trace with my tongue later. One hand stays at her throat, squeezing just hard enough to make her eyes roll back, while the other fists in her hair, holding her steady as I slam into her.
“Jack,” she chokes out, wet streaks cutting fresh lines down her face. “Please don’t let me fall. Please.”
I catch a tear with my thumb, bringing it to my lips and licking it away with a sneer. “You still don’t believe me when I say I’ve got you.”
Her sobs become more desperate as her body tightens around me, another orgasm building despite her fear—or because of it. I spit directly into her open mouth as she whimpers, watching her choke it down.
“I’m in your cunt. In your mouth, and in your fucking throat,” I almost roar. Even from way up here, it makes a few people on the ground stop and look up. Let them fucking stare. “I’m inside you in every way that fucking counts. Do you trust me now, wife?”
“Please,” she gasps, tears still flowing freely. “Please let me come. I need it. I need you.”
I slam into her as hard as I can without losing my tight grip on her.
Her orgasm tears through her like a storm, her body convulsing around me as she sobs my name. The vicious clutch of her cunt milking me drags me after her, spilling deep inside with a roar that echoes into the night.
But I don’t let her down yet. I keep her seated on the railing, my cock still inside her, cum dripping from where we’re joined. Her body quakes with aftershocks, cheeks blotched and wet with the ruin she shed.
“Look at me,” I command softly, waiting until her wet eyes meet mine. “See? You survived. Because I let you. And I let you because I need you.”
I hold her gaze until her crying subsides, until the fear in her eyes shifts to something more complex—trust tangled with resentment, relief with lingering anger. Only then do I lift her off the railing, cradling her against my chest like she weighs nothing.
Her body molds to mine, exhausted and pliant.
“You’ll always belong exactly where I put you,” I murmur against her hair, carrying her back toward the warmth inside. “Remember it.”
She doesn’t answer, but her arms tighten around my neck, and I feel the press of her face against my shoulder—not quite surrender, not quite defiance, but something in between that feels dangerously close to acceptance.
Chapter 26
The Bride
My legs tremble as Jack guides me down the steps of the historic building, his arm around my waist both supportive and possessive. Each movement pulls at tender flesh, a delicious ache blooming between my thighs where he claimed me.
The wind cuts through my torn dress, but I don’t feel cold—my skin still burns from his touch, my pulse still races from being on the edge of that stone railing with nothing but Jack’s grip keeping me from falling.
“Can you walk?” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
“I’m fine,” I reply, though the words catch as another twinge of pain—pleasure?—radiates through me. My ruined panties are gone, disposed of somewhere on that balcony, and without them, I feel exposed, vulnerable.
Jack’s cum slides slowly down my inner thigh, a warm, sticky reminder of what just happened between us. He wraps his coat around my shoulders as we approach the ferry, covering the tears in my dress.
The gesture feels strangely tender after the violence of our encounter. I clutch the lapels close, inhaling his scent—cedar, smoke, and something distinctly male that makes my stomach tighten despite the exhaustion settling into my bones.
On the ferry back to Manhattan, Ilean against Jack who’s standing behind me. We’re both watching the lights of Governors Island recede into the fog. We’re far enough from the railing that we’re not being hit by the cold spray that rises from the churning water below.
His hands rest on either side of me, caging me in without touching, and I find myself leaning back into his chest despite myself.
