Chapter 25
The Trickste r
“ Y ou left me,” she spits, her voice breaking on the last word. “You fucked me and then you left me. And instead of trusting that what we shared in the cage meant something, you fucking chained me like an animal.”
The accusation hits harder than her slap. “I had to go.”
“Bullshit.” Her eyes shine too bright, unshed tears making them look almost silver in the moonlight. “You used me, got what you wanted, and walked away. Just like every other fucking person in my life.”
“Nick called and woke me up,” I say, the truth raw in my throat. “He needed my help with the family business—”
“What was it?”
Even though I shouldn’t, I answer her. “There were problems with a shipment that ended with bodies on the docks. I didn’t have a choice, Eve.”
“There’s always a choice,” she counters, but there’s less conviction in her tone.
“Not in my family. Not when Nick says jump.” I keep my fingers inside her as we argue, feeling her clench around me despite her anger. “I would have come back sooner if I could.”
A f licker of doubt crosses her face. “You could have left a note. Said something. Not just—”
“I know.” The admission costs me, but I give it anyway. “I should have told you. But I didn’t think it would matter to you.”
“Didn’t think it would…” She laughs, bitter and sharp. “You really don’t understand anything, do you?”
Before she can say more, I withdraw my fingers and lift her body onto the stone railing. Her eyes widen with genuine fear as she registers her position—back to the open air, nothing but a thirty-foot drop to the ground below.
Her hands scramble for purchase, finding my shoulders and digging in. “Jack,” she gasps, panic edging her voice. “What are you doing?”
I press my body between her spread thighs, one hand gripping her hip to steady her, the other coming up to circle her throat. “Teaching you to trust me,” I growl against her ear.
Her body trembles against mine, every muscle tense with the effort of staying balanced. The cold stone must be biting into her thighs, but that’s the least of her concerns with only my grip keeping her from falling backward into darkness.
“I could let you go,” I whisper, my fingers tightening slightly around her throat. I groan when I feel her pulse jump. “Right now. One little push and you’d be gone.”
A whimper escapes her, raw and primal. Her nails dig deeper into my shoulders. Fuck, I wish I wasn’t wearing my tux jacket and shirt. I want to feel her nails dig into my flesh.
“But I won’t,” I continue. “Because you’re mine. And I protect what’s mine.”
“Jack…” Her breathless plea goes straight to my cock.
“Open my pants,” I demand.
Her eyes widen like saucers as she bites down on her bottom lip. “I-I can’t,” she stutters. “I don’t trust you enough to let go.”
I chuckle darkly. “If you don’t do it, I’ll have to. And then you have to trust I won’t break your hold.” Pausing, I let my words hang in the air for a minute or two. Long enough, I know she understands completely. “Either way, you’ll have to trust me.”
She le ts out a small cry and curses my name to Hell and back. But none of that matters when she lets go and reaches for my belt. “Don’t fucking let go,” she spits.
Then she undoes my belt, her hands trembling. Next, she pops the button and lowers the zipper on my pants, reaching for my cock. She freezes for a split second when she realizes I’m not wearing boxer briefs, but then she licks her delicious lips while pulling my dick out.
“Mhmm, so you can be a good wife,” I rasp, squeezing my eyes shut. “Do you feel how hard I already am for you? Do you feel my cock throbbing in your hand?”
Eve whimpers and squeezes the base of my cock harder before stroking it firmly. I groan when her soft hand runs along the studs.
“Now, remove your underwear,” I instruct.
Sadly, she lets go of my dick and reaches under her dress. But no matter how much she tries, she can’t really get rid of her panties without having to move more than she’s comfortable with.
I chuckle darkly. “Do you need my help?” If eyes could kill, I’d be a pile of ash from the look she shoots me. But eventually, she nods. “Ask me for it,” I command.
“No.”
“Suit yourself.” I smirk as I loosen my hold on her. Not enough for her to fall, I’d never do that. But enough for her to feel the slack.
“Jack!” she screams. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Help me.”
“Ask.”
Her chest heaves. “Help me remove my thong,” she relents, voice cracking. “Please.” The last word sounds like it’s ripping straight out of her pride, and it makes my cock throb harder than her hand ever could. Fear is loosening her, bending her, giving me what obedience never could.
“I’ll always help you when you ask,” I rasp, tightening my grip on her hip so she feels the stone edge bite into her thighs. “But help comes on my terms.” I tip my head toward my jacket. “Take the knife from my inner pocket.”
Her hands shake slightly as she reaches for my tuxe do jacket and reaches inside, quickly finding the pocket and the small knife resting there.
“You can either cut your panties off.” I pause, licking my lips. “Or you can trust me to keep you balanced with one hand while the other puts the blade between your legs.”
Eve parts her lips, but no sound comes. Her gaze darts over her shoulder to the thirty-foot drop yawning behind her, then it slams back to me, tears brimming in her beautiful eyes.
Even though her body shakes with the effort of holding still, her thighs spread wider anyway, a trembling offering. Perfect.
“Do it,” she whispers. “I… I want you to do it, Jack.”
My lips curve, dark satisfaction coiling in my chest as she clutches my shoulder harder with one hand, while trying to give me the knife with the other.
“Put it in my mouth,” I say.
As soon as the folded knife rests between my teeth, my left arm clamps tighter around her back. I don’t pull her into me—I hold her just far enough forward that she tips toward the drop.
“You better sit completely still,” I smirk.
Her ass balances half on the cold stone, half hanging in the open air. I spit the knife into my waiting hand and snap the blade open with a practiced flick. The sound is sharp, final, and it makes her flinch.
I slide the blade down, catching lace. One move and she’ll be bare. One slip and she’ll bleed. And still she obeys, shaking, silver eyes fixed on me.
“Jack,” she whimpers. Her nails bite harder into my shoulders, legs hooked around me.
“Don’t worry, wife,” I rasp as I slice through the fabric that parts like melted butter beneath the pressure.
Eve lets out a small cry, and when she looks up at me, I notice dark streaks carving down her cheeks. Beautiful ruin painted across her face.
“Oh, Eve,” I growl, leaning in and greedily licking the salty moisture from her skin. “Even your tears taste divine.”
I draw the knife back, snap the blade shut with a flick, and angle the handle so the cold hilt presses against her opening .
“What… Jack, what are you…” Her words trail off as I push the handle forward, slow enough that she feels every inch of stretch, the unyielding intrusion splitting her open.
Her cry pierces the night, nails gouging through the skin on my neck as her legs clamp around me, clinging to the only thing keeping her from falling.
“Be still,” I command huskily.
I grind the hilt deeper, fucking it into her with measured thrusts, the sound of wet friction rising between us. My cock pulses against her thigh, begging to replace the steel, and I bare my teeth against her throat. “Good wife. You’ll take what I give you, even if it’s not my cock.”
She sobs my name, voice breaking under the strain of fear and arousal, and the sound goes straight to my spine. I press my hips tighter, rutting against her leg, spreading my pre-cum all over her skin, while the knife works her open.
“Jack!”
Her scream fractures into a moan as the handle drags against her swollen clit on every thrust. She’s shaking, thighs stretched wide over nothing, cunt clutching down on cold steel like it’s the only anchor keeping her alive.
I rut harder against her leg, cock sliding wet across her skin, aching to be inside her but holding back because I want this. I want her to come undone for me like this—on the hilt of a knife, not my cock.
“Do you trust me now, wife?” I rasp in her ear, grinding the handle deeper, twisting it to scrape along her inner walls.
“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 sho ulder 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 su bsides, 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.