Page 97 of Bound in Ashes

No sickness.

Just Jack and the way he was breaking me apart.

The way he’d put me back together.

His grip on my hips was tight, holding me in place as he fucked me like he hated me.

I understood.

I hated him, too, because I needed him more.

Gasped when he angled his hips and drove inside me, his cock hitting a spot that made me see stars.

His eyes were on mine, taunting, taking, claiming me.

“I hate you,” I whispered as a tear slipped out of my eye.

Jack tilted me, bringing us even closer and chased the tear down my cheek.

“Good.”

The hard stroke he delivered with the word sent me spiraling.

I clamped down hard, the orgasm hitting like a freight train.

“Fuck!” Jack yelled as he pulled out, his hips rocking as he came on the ground.

He kept his back to me, and when he turned around, a mask of indifference was in place.

“Now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, can we talk?” I said.

“What makes you think it’s out of my system?” Jack said.

I looked down, seeing shocking signs of life, and my gaze flew back up to his.

He looked almost amused for a split second, but just as quickly it was gone, it was replaced with that same implacable mask.

“I don’t like that shit you pulled,” he said.

“What shit did I pull exactly, Jackson?” I said.

I felt like a gaslighting asshole because I knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Leaving me to go whisper with Chris,” he spat.

“Jack, don’t you get it? It was nothing, and even if it was, I’m only doing what I need to do to keep everyone safe,” I said.

I swallowed hard but managed to keep myself from cringing.

Because that was what I was doing.

After what he did to that girl but before we left, Sheriff Hayes had pulled me aside for a talk.

And he was very clear that Jack wasn’t invited.

I was certain—certain—that Jack was going to react.

But he didn’t.