Page 117 of Tricked By Jack
“Yes,” he growls, finally answering me.
I slide two fingers inside myself, feeling the walls of my pussy contract around the intrusion. My thumb takes over the circular motion against my clitoris, creating dual points of stimulation that make my back arch and my thighs tense.
“Mhmm,” I purr. “I bet you do.”
Jack’s expression has transformed—the detached observer replaced by something feral and hungry. His eyes burn with an intensity that should frighten me but instead fuels something darker, something greedier within me.
“Don’t test me, Eve,” he growls. “My restraint only lasts so long.”
Smirking, I circle my clit faster. I love knowing he wants entry to this private domain, this self-pleasure that excludeshim even as it’s performed for his benefit.
“Oh, God,” I moan, closing my eyes for a moment as pleasure zips through me.
When I open my eyes again, Jack’s in here with me, and I didn’t even hear him move. Unashamedly, I look down at his crotch. He’s still wearing his black boxer briefs, which immediately cling to every contour of his rigid cock.
The metal rungs of his Jacob’s Ladder are visible through the soaked fabric, a ladder of pleasure I’ve only begun to climb.
He makes no move to remove the underwear, no attempt to join my self-exploration. He simply watches, his restraint more arousing than any touch could be.
Water streams down his chest, running in rivulets through the grooves of his muscles. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t speak. Just stands there, watching up close as my fingers continue their steady rhythm between my thighs.
“Don’t stop,” he says finally, his voice roughened by desire. It’s not a command but something close to a request—the closest Jack Knight has ever come to asking rather than taking.
I push my fingers deeper, curl upward, finding that spot inside that makes sparks shoot behind my eyelids. My thumb circles faster, the pressure increasing as I approach the edge of release.
Jack’s presence changes everything and nothing—I’m still touching myself, still pursuing my own pleasure, but now his gaze adds another layer of sensation, another dimension of intensity.
This moment belongs to me—my pleasure, my body, my choice to share the visual feast with the man who claimed to own me. Water streams between us, washing away boundaries but creating new ones, more complex, more deliberate.
His breath comes faster now, matching my own accelerating rhythm. The air between us thickens with something that feels dangerously like understanding.
Then, just as I’m close, he drops to his knees with such sudden force that water splashes outward in a corona around him. His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wider as he presses his face between my legs without preamble or permission.
“You asked if I wanted to kiss your lips,” he rasps. “These are the lips I want to devour.”
The first stroke of his tongue against my already-sensitive flesh tears a gasp from my throat.
“Jack.”
I steady myself with one hand against the slick tile, my injured shoulder twinging under the pressure, while my other hand fists in his wet hair, fingers curling to control his movements with cruel precision. This isn’t surrender; it’s direction.
“Harder,” I instruct, yanking his head closer.
He lets out a throaty chuckle. “First, I have something to ask you.”
“What? Now?” My tone betrays my irritation. But seriously, this isn’t exactly the time to play twenty questions.
“Yes. Now is the perfect time,” he rasps.
“Fine,” I huff.
His tongue flattens against me, then stiffens to a point that circles my clitoris with merciless accuracy. The pressure sends shocks of pleasure up my spine, electric and brutal in their intensity.
“Will you stay married to me?”
“W-what?” I stammer, not sure I heard him right.
“Be my wife forever, Eve Mortis.”
