“What do I need to do?” “Look at me,” he says. My eyes snap open. I hope to every imaginable deity that Jack doesn’t demand a kiss. The flames curling from the pumpkin’s jagged maw look like they could sear my soul to cinders. “For the rest of All Hallows Eve, you will submit to my desires,” he rumbles. “You will give me free rein of your cunt and mouth and rump. Should you wish to end proceedings, you will leave empty-handed.” In other words, he wants to fill my holes.
