The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #1)(31)

She looked to the swirling water again. “I just can’t imagine being down here for so long, that’s all.”

As she struggled, the Jackal cursed under his breath. “I have missed much then?”

“In a hundred years, yes.” She cleared her throat. Looked back at him. “By the way, is it okay if I just call you Jack? The ‘the’ thing is a little weird.”

He had to smile. “You may call me whatever you wish.”

“Even if it’s a curse word?”

“Rest assured you would not be the first.”

“That I can believe.”

He found himself wanting to smile. “Tell me, what would you pick?”

“Out of the full catalogue of bad words?” She regarded him with grave seriousness. “I think I would go with . . . ‘boneheaded chauvinistic throwback boomer.’ ”

The Jackal blinked a number of times. “I don’t recognize those words as curses. And I’m not sure what this backwards-pitched boomer is?”

Ducking her head, she hid a smile he was desperate to see. “I guess I’m more of a lady than I thought. ‘Twat-waffle’ and ‘fucktard’ just seemed below the belt and inappropriate.”

“Twat-waffle? What is that?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not good.”

They fell silent again, but the tension was gone—although not the heat. Therefore, he felt compelled to say, “I would kiss you the now, if it would not offend.”





It was out of an obligation to all that was rational that Nyx tried on a bunch of responses to the kiss question in her head, making a deep cognitive dive. Into Netflix and Spotify.

Emma Thompson, ca. Sense and Sensibility: You must cease and desist all such lustful thoughts, you beast.

Emma Stone, ca. Zombieland: Over your dead body.

Julia Roberts, ca. Pretty Woman: Big mistake. Huge.

Cardi B, in any situation: Bitch, please.

All of those worked. Unfortunately, what was more likely to come out of her mouth was straight-up Jennifer Lawrence: I volunteer as tribute.

Eight hours, Nyx thought. Wasn’t that what the gentlemale in the prison clothes had said? Maybe ten.

So it was going to be a very long time until she and Jack could get going to the Wall.

And talking was overrated, wasn’t it.

“I’ll do the kissing,” she muttered. “Thank you very much.”

With that, she crossed the space between them with her lips, putting them on his. And as the softness of his mouth registered, she was surprised, but that made no sense. All mouths were soft, even if they came attached to big, strong bodies. And what do you know. In spite of his obvious arousal, he didn’t jump her. Instead, Jack stayed where he was, reclining against the smooth rock, letting her set the pace as she explored and . . . enjoyed.

Tilting her head, she deepened things, running her tongue along his lower lip. Then she licked inside of him.

The shaking that rose up from his body was erotic. The way his breath caught was hotter than hell. The taste of him and the scent of him and— He pulled back sharply, his glittering blue eyes finding hers. There was a flush on his face and the cords in his neck were straining, like he was forcing himself to stay put.

“You do not disappoint,” he said roughly. “Not in the slightest.”

That was when he grabbed her and pulled her onto his chest. His kiss was nothing like hers. It was not tentative. It wasn’t a caress of lips. It wasn’t soft, lilting, a polite exploration that was a prelude to passion.

He was a full-blooded, fully aroused male and he took what he wanted, his hands biting into her upper arms, his mouth hard on hers, catching . . . owning. And she told herself that she felt it all so acutely because her senses were alive in this dangerous, strange prison.

But that was bullshit. She would have felt the same up above, in the real world, if they were out on a date and he was kissing her up against a car in a restaurant’s parking lot. Her body was alive because of him, not where they were.

“Will you let me inside,” he asked against her mouth.

“Yes,” she breathed. Even as she told herself to stay quiet.

Her need for him was something she felt like she should hide. It gave him power over her, the kind that had nothing to do with the dead lift thing or the bullcrap that came with his antiquated view of females.

But like her response was a secret? Especially as she split her legs and sat on his hard, muscled thigh, her core rubbing against him, creating delicious friction. And as if he knew what she was doing, he purred, deep in his throat, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of her neck. When her hair tie was pulled out, she knew that was the prelude to him taking her clothes off, and she was ready for the naked, starved for the next level to all this— Just as Jack had overtaken her when she’d first entered the prison’s labyrinth, he again moved so fast, she couldn’t track him. One moment, he was underneath her and their mouths were fused. The next, he was all the way on the far side of the pool.

As he began to pace back and forth, he put one of his hands to his forehead. Meanwhile, she was stuck on the stone sofa, wondering what the hell had happened.

What the hell had gone wrong.

But he’d been feeling her. She knew it.

Hell, she could see it, in that bulge in the front of his loose pants.