Page 74 of Tricked By Jack

“I wasn’t aware I needed to ask permission to speak to others at the table,” she clips.

That does it. Something inside me snaps clean in half.

I shove my chair back with enough force that it topples, the crash satisfyingly dramatic against the marble floor. “I need a word with my wife,” I announce to the table, not caring how it sounds or who’s watching. “Now.”

Before Eve can object, I reach for and grab her wrist, pulling her to her feet. She doesn’t resist—not here, not in front of everyone—but the fury in her eyes promises retribution once we’re alone.

“Excuse us,” she says conversationally to the table, her voice perfectly composed despite the way I’m hauling her toward the exit.

“Take your time,” Nick calls after us, not bothering to hide his amusement.

I drag Eve from the dining hall and into the corridor beyond, gothic arches looming overhead like silent judges. The heavy door swings shut behind us, cutting off the murmurs and the knowing looks.

In the sudden silence, I can hear her breathing—quick, controlled, furious. And then we’re alone, with nothing between us but the wreckage of whatever broke while I was gone.

Without pausing, I haul her up the winding stone staircase, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her wrist. She doesn’t struggle—not yet—but I can feel resistance in the rigid line of her arm, in the deliberate way she keeps a half-step behind me instead of letting me pull her flush.

The ancient steps curve upward through the gloom, worn smooth by centuries of ascent. I know exactly where I’m taking her—where no one will interrupt what needs to happen between us.

“Let go of me,” she hisses, but makes no real effort to wrench free. “Your board members are going to think you’re insane.”

“I don’t give a fuck what they think,” I growl, not slowing my pace. “And neither should you.”

At the top of the stairs, I shove through a set of heavy French doors, dragging her onto the stone balcony that overlooks the grounds. The October air slices through us, sharp enough to raise goosebumps on her exposed skin.

Below, the grounds of the Sanctuary pulse with carnival lights—orange and red, wavering through the fog like submerged fire. Screams rise from the maze, primal and ecstatic.Fear as entertainment. Fear as arousal.

Eve yanks her wrist from my grip and puts distance between us, rubbing the mark I’ve left on her skin. Her eyes are storm-gray in the dim light, her hair lifting in the cold breeze.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demands, voice low and controlled despite the fury in her eyes.

“What’s wrong with me?” I step toward her, backing her against the stone railing. “You’ve been treating me like a fucking stranger all night. Looking through me. Talking to me like I’m an inconvenience. So tell me, wife, what the fuck changed since I had my cock inside you?”

She opens her mouth to spit some retort, but I crush it with a kiss, swallowing whatever insult she was about to hurl. Her lips are stiff at first, resistant, but I press harder, my tongue demanding entry.

Something in her yields—not surrender, but a different kind of fight, her teeth nipping at my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

I groan into her mouth, the copper tang spreading between us. My hands find her hips, yanking her against me so she can feel exactly what her resistance does to me. My cock strains against my trousers, rock-hard and aching for her.

“Tell me,” I demand against her lips. “Tell me why you’re treating me like this.”

“No.” She shoves at my chest, but I don’t budge.

“Fine.” My hand slides down, bunching the fabric of her dress until I can reach beneath it. “Then I’ll make you tell me.”

I press my palm between her thighs, finding her already wet through the thin fabric of her underwear. The evidence of her arousal despite her anger makes my cock throb painfully. I push the material aside and slide two fingers into her heat.

“I’ve missed being inside you,” I groan, my thumb circling her clit with practiced precision.

“Fuck you,” she gasps, her body betraying her as her hips roll into my touch.

“That’s the plan, Little Bride.”

Her hand moves so fast I don’t see it coming. The slap lands hard across my cheek, the sound sharp as a whip crack in the cold air. My head jerks sideways, more from surprise than force.

Chapter 25

The Trickster