Page 44 of Tricked By Jack

I smile thinly. “I don’t see why you’d refuse. But if you like having my cum on your inner thigh that much, be my guest.”

She swallows hard, throat bobbing.

“Only ten minutes now,” I tell her, pulling my phone from the jeans on the floor and setting a timer. “Starting now.”

With my phone in hand, I turn to leave, closing the door behind me so she can shower in peace. Back in the bedroom, I throw on a pair of gray sweats and a white tee. Then I refill her water bowl and set it back in the cage, adding a box of cookies and a can of Coke beside it.

That done, I make myself a coffee, and for a moment, I consider offering her one. But I decide against it since she’d probably just try to throw it in my face.

Just as I take my first sip, my phone buzzes. Timer’s up. I head back toward the bathroom and open the door without knocking.

Eve’s standing at the sink, only covered by a small towel while she brushes her teeth. The moment I step inside, she lets the fabric fall to the floor and finishes up.

“Let’s go,” I say.

She eyes the steamy cup of coffee in my hand, longing washing across her features. “I’d offer you coffee,” I say, raising the cup in a mock salute, “but I’m pretty sure you’d try to throw it in my face.”

Laughing, she walks right by me, shoulders squared despite her nudity. Her round ass jiggles with every step, making me want to bite the flesh just to see what she tastes like.

“You know you can’t keep me here forever, right?” she asks as she walks back into the cage. “People will look for me. They’ll know something happened. They’ll—”

“No one’s looking for you, Eve.” I lock the cage and sit down on my bed, taking a sip of my coffee. “Your neighbor has already called the police to report you missing. Left a very convincing note saying you’d been acting strange lately. Mentioned your recent visit to the psych ward.”

The color drains from her face. “That’s… that’s not true. I’ve never been—”

“You weren’t,” I agree. “But now you are. Your file’s been updated. History rewritten. And you, my dear Bride, have no idea how many hands were paid to hold that pen.”

She stares at me. “Like that’s going to work. The police will know I’m not missing when people start posting pictures of the wedding on social media,” she snaps.

I throw my head back and laugh loudly. “Oh, my sweet wife, that’s not happening.”

“Why not?”

Shooting her a wicked grin, I reply, “Because no one is allowed phones or tablets on the island. You wouldn’t believe the lengths my brother has gone to make sure no one can sneak a device in. And if someone succeeds, there are signal jammers all over the place.”

“What? No, you’re lying.” Disbelief is written all over her features.

I drink more of my coffee before I carry on. “The only devices are staff owned, and no one is posting anything without my brother or sister-in-law’s approval.”

Something like horror dawns in her eyes. “You planned this. All of it.”

“For months.” I don’t bother hiding the satisfaction in my voice. “Every detail, every contingency. You’re not the first person to disappear in this city, Eve. You won’t be the last.”

Her face contorts with renewed fury. She slams her hands against the bars again, rattling the cage with surprising strength. “Let me out! Let me OUT!”

When screaming doesn’t work, she tries a new tactic.

Her foot knocks the water bowl with precise, deliberate force. Not enough to flip it—just enough to send a ripple across the surface and slosh water onto the mat. Then again. Harder. The sound of it slamming into the bars echoes through the room like punctuation.

I continue to drink while observing her tantrum with bone-deep satisfaction. “Are you done?” I ask in a bored tone.

“Not even close,” Eve hisses as she brings her foot down on the box of cookies.

Then, with a sound halfway between a sob and a snarl, she continues to stomp on the cardboard until it gives out, crumbs spilling everywhere. She grinds them into the carpet with her heel, eyes locked on mine like she’s daring me to do something about it.

The box is gone, but she keeps stomping, like destroying one thing isn’t enough to bleed out what’s boiling inside her.

“You shouldn’t waste food,” I observe dryly, setting my now empty coffee cup on the nightstand. “Some people would kill for any food at all.”