loving him

JaneVera’s POV

My breath fractured, a sharp, involuntary gasp that betrayed every vicious thing clawing inside me, shame, hunger, and fury twisted so tight I could taste copper. I wouldn’t fall for his words. I yanked the towel higher over my breasts, fingers trembling against the soft terry, and glared way up into his eyes that always made me feel small enough to drown in.

“So who is she?” I hissed, voice shaking with barely leashed rage. “Tonight’s replacement?”

Caesar’s eyes narrowed. The lazy satisfaction on his face vanished. Something colder, sharper, and infinitely more dangerous flared in its place. In one fluid, predatory surge he closed the distance, hand sliding from my throat to the nape of my neck, steering me backward until my spine met the wall with a soft, decisive thud. One thick forearm slammed into the plaster beside my head while the other kept its grip on my nape, forcing my face higher just to meet his stare. He loomed over me, the angles forcing me to feel every inch of how much bigger he was, how effortlessly he could break me if he wanted.

Xandra kept humming softly at the vanity, oblivious as she was arranging her brushes at the vanity table behind us, brushes clinking like wind chimes in another life.

Heat rolled off his bare skin in waves. My nipples peaked instantly against the towel. Traitors, they stiffened into hard, aching points that scraped the towel with every frantic breath, sending sparks straight to my clit.

“Replacement?” Ceasar repeated, the word low and lethal, dripping dark amusement. He bent until his mouth hovered at my ear, stubble rasping the sensitive shell. “She’s here for you, Jane.”

His hand left my nape and drifted down, knuckles dragging over my collarbones, thumb circling the faint violet bruises he’d sucked there earlier, his fingerprints, his claim. He traced them like a man rereading a favorite line of filthy poetry.

“She’s your stylist, Jane. Hair, makeup, dress, the whole fucking package for the engagement party. So you walk into Neven’s pathetic little engagement party looking like the queen he was too weak to keep, and Neven, he would spend the rest of his life regretting he ever let go of what was mine to begin with.” His mouth brushed my ear, breath scalded, voice a rough whisper that sank straight between my thighs. My brain caught a breath too late. Stylist. Not a lover. Not a rival. Just the woman who’d cock-blocked the single most devastating orgasm I’d ever had.

Heat exploded across my cheeks. “Oh,” I whispered, mortified. “The party… I forgot.”

A low, filthy laugh rumbled against my ear. “Forgot already,” he murmured, breath scalding. “That’s how thoroughly I fucked you empty.”

Before I could snarl back, his free hand dropped between us. No warning, no hesitation.

He shoved the towel up to my hips in one rough motion, baring me completely. His big palm cupped my pussy, possessive and shameless, fingers splaying wide over slick, swollen flesh that had no right to be this drenched again after the shower. My clit throbbed hard against the heel of his hand as he parted my folds with pressure, two thick fingers sliding through the fresh flood of arousal that had gushed out of me the instant he pinned me.

A broken moan tore from my throat. My knees buckled. I grabbed his forearm to stay upright, nails digging into muscle.

He dragged those fingers free, glistening with me, and painted a slow, obscene stripe across my bottom lip. I tasted myself instantly, sharp, musky, filthy, the flavor exploding on my tongue as my hips jerked forward on instinct, chasing his touch.

He watched my mouth, eyes dark with hunger, then slid those same fingers back between my thighs, pressing them deep inside me without mercy. My walls fluttered around the intrusion, clenching greedily, still sensitive, still ruined from earlier.

I whimpered, head falling back against the wall, towel slipping lower as my body betrayed every ounce of rage with pure, desperate want.

He leaned in, lips brushing my ear again, voice a dark, velvet growl.

“Still think I need a replacement when this cunt gets this wet just from me looking at you?”

His fingers curled inside me, stroking that spot that made my vision spark.

“Feel how easily you take me, little firecracker? This pussy knows exactly who it belongs to. And tonight, when you’re dressed like every man’s fantasy and still dripping me under that dress, you’ll remember it too.”

I couldn’t speak. Could only moan, hips rocking into his hand, rage melting into something hotter, darker, completely his.

His eyes locked on mine, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of blue remained, like the last edge of a storm about to swallow everything.

“So believe me when I say this,” he rasped, voice raw with ownership, each word scraping over my skin like a touch. “There is no replacement. There’s only you, dripping down your own thighs because I looked at you, jealous and shaking and so fucking soaked for me again. The second she’s done making you look like a goddamn queen, I’m dragging you into the nearest dark corner, shoving whatever silk you’re wearing to your waist, and fucking this greedy little cunt until you’re sobbing my name into my hand. Until every bastard in that room smells sex on you and knows exactly who you belong to.”

I blushed so hard my cheeks and ears burned crimson. My clit pulsed so violently I had to clench my thighs around his hand, trapping his fingers there, trying to keep myself from grinding against him like an animal in heat. The towel was the only thing preserving my modesty, and it felt like tissue paper against the storm he’d unleashed inside me.

I bit down on my glossed lip, tasting my own slick, tasting him, and gave him the only answer I had left. One trembling, desperate nod. It was surrender and it was everything he’d been waiting for.

“All right, let’s get started,” Xandra chirped, already spinning the chair toward the mirror.

Caesar’s hand slid from between my thighs with one final stroke that made my clit throb so hard I nearly whimpered. He let the towel fall back into place, but the damage was done, I was soaked again, thighs slick, pulse hammering low in my belly. I walked to the vanity on legs that felt made of glass, every step reminding me how swollen and empty I still was. His stare burned into my spine hot, patient, predatory, counting down the seconds until he could wreck me all over again.

Fuck the engagement party.

I wanted to shove that silver case off the table and ride him until we both forgot our own names.

But I sat. I let her paint me perfectly, knowing the second this night ended he would destroy every careful stroke of it with his mouth, his hands, and his cock.

Xandra lifted a foundation brush, then paused, eyes flicking past me.

“Uh… a little privacy?” she asked, half-laughing, half-nervous.

Caesar didn’t answer with words. He prowled forward instead, slow, until his shadow swallowed the vanity lights. He bent over the back of my chair, one big hand curling possessively around my throat from behind, not squeezing, just claiming. Then he leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth, slow, filthy, open-mouthed, right where he’d painted my own arousal minutes ago. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, tasting me on me, tasting himself, a low growl rumbling in his chest that vibrated straight through my spine.

Xandra’s brush froze mid-air.

He pulled back just far enough for our eyes to lock in the mirror, his blown wide and feral, mine glassy with need. Then he smirked, wicked and slow, and blew me the most exaggerated, obscene kiss I’d ever seen, lips pursed, eyes promising ruin.

“Make her lethal,” he told Xandra without breaking eye contact with me. “I want Neven to choke on his own tongue the second she walks in.”

A final squeeze to my throat, possessive, perfect and he straightened. Barefoot, shirtless, and utterly unashamed, he sauntered to the door. It clicked shut behind him with soft finality.

The room felt suddenly colder.

Xandra let out a shaky laugh. “Jesus. Does he always leave scorch marks, or is that just for you?”

I licked my bottom lip, still tasting myself, still tasting him.

“Just for me,” I whispered.

Then I straightened in the chair, met my own reflection, and smiled slightly.

“Make me lethal,” I said. Because tonight wasn’t about Neven.

Tonight was about walking into that room like a queen…and letting Caesar drag me out the second he decided his queen needed to be fucked like a slut again.

Xandra waited two beats, then let out a low, appreciative whistle.

“Lord have mercy,” she muttered, shaking her head like she still couldn’t get over what had just happened between me and Caesar. The air in the room still felt charged, thick with the scent of him on my skin and the echo of his voice in my ears.

She turned me away from the mirror to face her, pulled another chair over, and sat right in front of me. For the next twenty minutes she worked in focused silence, smoky, sultry eyes that made mine look like they held every secret in the world, razor-sharp contour that carved my cheekbones into something regal, and lips painted a deep, dangerous blood-red that screamed trouble. Then she took the flat iron to my hair, turning it into sleek, glossy waves that spilled down my back like liquid obsidian.

When she finally spun the chair back toward the mirror, I forgot how to breathe. I looked expensive.

“All done,” she said, proud, stepping back to admire her work. “Now for the dress.”

I opened my mouth to tell her I didn’t have anything even close to suitable for an engagement party and Caesar sure as hell didn’t own women’s couture but she was already moving.

Xandra’s smile turned positively devilish.“Come with me.”

She led me to the floor-to-ceiling wardrobe that swallowed an entire wall. One dramatic tug and the mirrored doors slid apart with a whisper, revealing a walk-in closet that looked like a private wing of a Paris couture house.

My jaw actually dropped. It wasn’t just a closet. It was a fucking boutique, a private, high-end, celebrity-level shrine to excess hidden inside Caesar’s bedroom.

Rows of designer gowns hung like museum pieces, silk, satin, velvet, feathers, crystals, every color imaginable catching the soft recessed lighting like they were alive. Shelves of heels red-soled Louboutins, crystal-studded Jimmy Choos, razor-sharp Saint Laurents glittered like treasure. Glass cases sparkled with jewelry that probably cost more than most people’s houses, rivers of diamonds, emeralds the size of thumbnails, ropes of pearls that looked like they belonged to royalty. There was even a full-length, three-way mirror framed in rose gold and a velvet chaise in the center, as if models came here to be dressed for the Met Gala.

I stood frozen in the doorway, barefoot on the plush carpet, the towel still wrapped around me like some half-hearted joke that had long outlived its punchline.

“How the hell…?” I breathed, my fingers brushing the sleeve of a crystal-embellished gown that probably cost more than a car, hell, more than most people’s apartments.

Xandra just shrugged and grinned, already flicking through hangers like this was the most ordinary thing in the world.

“Every season he wires me an obscene amount and tells me to refresh the whole thing,” she said casually, like she was talking about picking up coffee. “New collections, new trends, new everything. I always thought it was insane for a single guy to keep an entire women’s wardrobe on standby, but…”

She glanced back at me, eyes soft, almost gentle.

“You’re the first woman he’s ever let inside it. Not one girlfriend, not one fling, not even family. Just you.”

My heart stuttered, hard.

“You must be special to him,” she added quietly.

I scoffed inwardly. Special?

No. I'm just a seven-day contract to him. A very well-paid fantasy. A living, breathing sex toy with an expiration date stamped on my skin.

This isn't special. This is… convenient. A perk for spreading my legs and saying yes.

I swallowed the sudden, bitter lump in my throat. “So… which one?” I asked, forcing my voice steady.

Xandra pulled out the first gown, held it up to me, and shook her head. “No. Too soft.”

Her smile turned sharp, “We need something that’ll make your ex choke on his own tongue.”And the hunt began.

For the next forty-five minutes she did exactly that. Dress after dress after dress. Heel after heel. Necklaces, earrings, bracelets that could pay rent for a year. I’d disappear into the changing alcove, step out, and twirl under the soft, golden lights while she circled me like a general inspecting troops. Ten gowns, fifteen, twenty silk whispering over my skin, satin clinging, velvet heavy, feathers brushing my thighs, crystals catching the light like scattered stars. She kept shaking her head, muttering, “No… not lethal enough,” or “Close, but not cruel enough.”

I stepped in and out of silk and satin until my feet ached and my head spun, while she would either nod or shake her head no.

Until finally, finally, her fingers paused on a hanger near the very back. She pulled it out slowly, reverently.

I slipped it on. The dress slid over me like liquid midnight poured straight from a starless sky. Tiny black diamonds were scattered across the fabric like crushed galaxies, catching the vanity bulbs and fracturing them into wicked, lethal sparks. Xandra’s fingers found the hidden zipper at my back and drew it upward in one slow, reverent pull. The sound it made was the softest hiss of a blade leaving its sheath.

I twirled, posed for her to observe if it was the right dress that suited me.

Then she stepped back and just stared.

And I suddenly forgot how to breathe.

Her eyes went wide, lips parted on a soft, reverent, “Holy fuck,” she whispered and I turned to the three-way mirror, impatient, curious, almost afraid to see what had stolen her breath.

And the woman staring back wasn’t the girl who once got cheated on. Not the woman who’d been shattered and rebuilt in Caesar’s bed. She was lethal. She was power wrapped in silk and vengeance and she was every promise Caesar had ever growled against my skin made flesh.

The dress clung to me without clinging, skimming every curve without ever clinging, a second skin that lied beautifully. A thigh-high slit flashed a long, lethal leg with every shift of weight and left just enough to the imagination to make a man lose his mind trying to picture what was underneath. The back plunged so low the twin dimples above my ass gleamed like a dare no sane man would take. No bra. No panties. Just silk.

Xandra’s voice came out hushed, almost awed. “Neven’s not going to survive this.” and I smiled, slow, sharp, dangerous.

“Good,” I said.

She handed me the heels, thin straps of black leather that turned my legs into weapons. Then the choker, a single band of cold, perfect diamonds that circled my throat like ice and ownership. Finally the earrings, long, dagger-shaped drops of black diamonds that brushed my bare shoulders when I moved.

I slid them in. The woman in the mirror tilted her head. The diamonds flashed like warning shots. Perfect and ready to walk into that party and watch Neven realize exactly what he lost. Ready for Caesar to decide perfection had lasted long enough and dragged me into the dark to ruin it all over again.

“Yes,” Xandra whispered, reverent. “This is the one.”

I drew one slow breath, tasting the red on my lips and felt something ancient and vicious uncoil inside my chest.

Xandra’s grin turned feral. “Come on. Caesar’s waiting, and I’m not missing the look on his face when he sees what we just built.” She didn’t wait for an answer. She simply spun on her heel and strode out, heels clicking like gunshots down the hallway.

I followed. Each step sent the silk whispering over my skin, the slit flashing thigh, the diamonds scattering light like broken glass.

At the top of the grand staircase I paused and below, in the marble foyer lit only by a single chandelier, he waited. Caesar, one hand in his pocket, the other flexing slowly at his side. The outline of his cock was already thick and obvious against the front of his trousers, hard and impatient.

He looked up and the moment our eyes locked, the air left the room. His jaw flexed. Pupils swallowed the blue until only hunger remained. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just devoured me with a stare that promised ruin in every language ever invented.

I descended. One slow step. Two. The silk hissed. The diamonds blazed. My pulse thundered between my thighs with every inch I closed between us. I reached the final step and he still hadn’t moved, but his chest rose and fell like he’d been running for miles.

I stopped just out of reach.

His gaze dragged over me slowly and filthy, from the dagger earrings to the choker at my throat to the plunging neckline to the slit that revealed the smooth inside of my thigh.

His hand left his pocket. He adjusted himself once then finally spoke, voice gravel and smoke. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jane.”

I smiled.

“Careful,” I murmured. “You’ll ruin the line of your suit.”

He stepped forward, closing the last breath of space between us, and cupped my jaw with one possessive hand. His thumb traced my bottom lip, smearing the red just enough to remind me who it belonged to.

“The line’s already ruined,” he growled against my mouth. “I’m two seconds from turning you against the wall and fucking you until that dress is on the floor and my name is the only sound you can make.”

I leaned in, let my lips brush his, and let him taste the promise.

“Then don’t waste the two seconds,” I whispered.

His grip tightened and a low, dangerous sound rumbling in his chest like he was fighting against the temptation of ruining me.

Xandra cleared her throat, amusement in her voice.

“I’ll… give you two a minute” She melted into the shadows with a soft, delighted laugh, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving us alone beneath the chandelier’s cold, glittering fire.

Tonight, Neven would watch a ghost walk in wearing his regrets. And Caesar? He was going to wreck me all over again, harder, deeper, until my lipstick smeared across his mouth, until my thighs shook so badly I couldn’t walk straight, until the only name I remembered and the only name I could scream was his. He was going to make me scream his name so loud the chandeliers trembled. Over and over and over, until the entire city knew exactly who I belonged to. Caesar. Only Caesar and forever, Caesar.