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freedomfireflies · 2 years

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Jack Shit

Summary: In which Jack Chambers is not a selfish, egotistical man-child with raging control issues that apparently wants to climb into Alice's womb like she's his mommy, but instead just a regular guy with a different set of control issues.

There is absolutely nothing better than the taste of him.

You’ve never felt so depraved. So irrevocably addicted to someone. Every fucking inch of the glorious man sitting just across from you.

His smile. His hair. His fucking arms, and hands, and fingers.

His fucking thighs.

You could just drool. You’ve never felt so pathetically needy in your life. He’s laughing at a joke one of his friends made, running his palm down his chin and your eyes fall to the facial hair that you absolutely adore.

Your thoughts are sinful. Looking at him like he’s sex on a stick. Truthfully, you’re almost embarrassed to be remembering him in such a way, and maybe chemically something is off in your body, but you don’t even care.

Because look at him.

You imagine everyone in the room can feel the tension. The way you’re attempting not to squirm in your seat as you look on. As you watch him settle into his chair as his legs spread comfortably.

Fuck, you could just moan. You have to pull your lip between your teeth and turn your head just to find a moment of reprieve.

And after what feels like hours of pure, unadulterated torture, he seems to notice, head cocking to the side before he nods his chin at you wordlessly.

You say nothing. Shake your head. Chew on the inside of your cheek.

His eyes narrow thoughtfully before his long finger lifts into the air and beckons you forward.

You feel your stomach drop, so cock-whipped by this man that you’re standing to your feet before you can think better of it.

The rest of the group continues their chatter as you make your way toward where he resides. And before you have a chance to sit beside him, he’s sneaking an arm around your hip to tug you onto his lap.

Shit.

Both a blessing and a curse and your legs pull shut within an instant as his head dips to find your ear.

“What’s going on with you, hm?” he murmurs, soft and silky, which certainly doesn’t help. “What’s the matter?”

His hand finds your leg. Innocent enough, mostly in an attempt to grab your attention.

But you’re too far gone, breath hitching at the feel of his skin against yours and he takes note of this immediately.

“What?” he repeats, a tremor of concern in his voice as he glances over the flutter of your lashes. “What’s the matter, angel?”

You could kill him, you really could. Your throat clears gently as you shake your head, now slightly mortified by the thoughts running wild inside your head.

“Nothing. M’fine.” You won’t meet his eye. Can’t. If you do, you’re done for.

“Liar.” His tone is playful, yet the way he hisses the simple word sends chills right down to your cunt. “I know you better than you think I do. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” you repeat, hoping to sound at least a little convincing. “I just…I’m ready to go home.”

“Oh?” His brow quirks upward. “Why, you all right?”

The gentle lilt of trepidation has you reeling, your heart hammering in your chest as you fight the urge to just climb on top of him.

Your knee begins to bounce, lip back between your teeth as you tug. Commanding yourself to remain indifferent. Relaxed. “Yeah, I just…I’m just—”

Suddenly, a look of realization passes over his face. And pure, unadulterated glee. He leans closer, nose brushing your cheek as he whispers, “Angel, are you dripping?”

You feel your head spin, your skin growing hot and your tongue going numb.

You don’t have to answer for him to know it’s true.

His fingers rub delicate circles into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, subtle enough to slip beneath the observation of everyone else in the room but determined enough that you can’t focus on anything else.

You exhale a deep breath, hand landing over his as you squeeze his knuckles. “Shit, don’t…don’t—”

“Don’t what, hm?” He brings his hand higher and you still at the sensation. “Think it’d be really unfair of me to leave you like this, don’t you?”

You imagine it would be unfair, but you’re so deep in your lust for this man, you don’t imagine you’ll survive if he attempts to do something about it.

When you meet his question with silence, his grip becomes tighter. Unrelenting. “Angel,” he warns, subtly yet forcefully tugging you further along his thigh. “Don’t test my patience.”

And you aren’t trying to test him. God, you can’t even fathom the thought, and yet your own body betrays you as your voice disappears into thin air the moment he asks a question.

And because Jack Chambers is an evil, sadistic, and relentless man…he answers the question for you.

Despite the room full of people, he slips his hand up your leg until it disappears beneath the soft hem of your dress.

Nobody notices. Maybe you want them to, maybe you don’t. But you notice. Feel the way those long fingers graze your inner thigh as they travel up. Up and up and up until they find the silk of your underwear.

You also notice his breath hitch. Rather pleased at his obvious enjoyment of what he’s finding. The way, despite his power, he’s still overcome at the thought of you.

You watch his lips mumble something. You don’t catch what, exactly, but that hardly matters because he’s finally touching you. Thumb down the front of the fabric as he applies the subtlest amount of pressure. Just enough to make you squirm. Enough to have you sucking in a sharp gasp as you turn to hide your face in his neck.

“Shh,” he warns, cadence soothing and gentle. Soft and reassuring. It’s odd, the way he can seem both animalistic and tender all at once. You imagine that’s what you adore most about him. How he makes you feel both safe and terrified. “I’ve got you, yeah?”

He does, he’s got you, and you nod. You’ve never needed him to get you so badly.

A bit more pressure this time around. Up and down. Pressing. Circling. Kneading. Until you physically feel a blood vessel about to pop from how hard you’re trying not to whine. Until your stomach is cramping from the pain of holding the pleasure at bay. The way your thighs burn from attempting to squeeze them shut around his hand.

And the voices around you. Everyone laughing and talking and drinking and singing along to the music. Nobody pays you two any mind. If someone were to look over, they’d simply think you were whispering a secret in his ear.

And you are. Repeatedly. “Please, please, please.” Desperate and fraught. Needing him to take you home, or to the car, or even to the fucking hallway if that means he’ll give you what you want.

He’s so close to going a bit further. You wish he would. Need him to. Need him to actually touch you. Skin on skin. No more of this over-the-panties bullshit.

And he knows it. Knows what you need and is refusing to give it to you and you’re not sure why but you could kill him, you really could.

But that might have to wait until tomorrow because right now, with the thought of getting caught so close, and his hand much closer…you realize, you’re done for. Because skin on skin or not, you’re about to tip over the edge. His practiced and determined touch bringing you right to the cliff as he holds you there. Dangles you by one fucking finger.

And you can feel it. Bubbling. Ready to tip over at a moment's notice and it’s almost there, just a couple more seconds, and you’ll have to bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming, and it’s so good and so close, and just one more second—

He stops.

Pulls his hand back.

Leaves you there. On the cliff. Dangling. Falling. Disappearing into the black abyss.

“Ja…Jack,” you just barely manage to whisper as he smooths the hem of your dress along your thighs, as if putting you back together. “What…what—”

“You never answered my question,” he tells you calmly, green eyes finally looking up to meet yours. “My angel knows better than that.”

You exhale a tense sigh. “Jack—”

“Off,” he demands, patting your hip to signal he wants you to stand to your feet.

But you hardly can, legs wobbly and chest caving in on itself. “Jack, I—”

“Off,” he repeats, a bit sterner, and immediately, you’re up. “Good. Go sit down and wait for me to take you home.”

“Jack—”

“Don’t push it, darling.” His tone hardens, lids narrowing as you feel the urge to cry bubbling its way up your throat. “Next time, you’ll tell me what I want to hear, and I’ll be good to you.”

“No, Jack, I promise…I was listening, I just—”

“S’too late now, Angel,” he hums, that familiar smirk attempting to sneak its way into his expression as he pulls his brows together and throws his arm over the back of his seat. His chin nods toward you as you settle on the couch. “Good girl. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to go.”

You suck in a deep breath. Hold it. Nails digging into your thighs. “Jack…please—”

“Uh uh,” he warns, head shaking once. “You can wait.”

“Jack—”

“You can wait.” He regards you carefully, and you can see the sadistic pleasure settle behind his eyes. “That’s it. Just like that. Sit there and behave for me.”

And you do. For the rest of the long, tumultuous evening. You sit there. You wait. You don’t make a sound.

But you do plan your revenge.

And as you watch him laugh with his friends and throw you a knowing wink, you smile through gritted teeth.

He’s so fucking in for it now.

And you’re gonna make it hurt.

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