The Devil In Her Dreams By Jasmine Novels & Stories

Silence. "She did that alone?" Roman asked quietly. The humor had left his voice entirely. "Alone. No payment. No one asked her to." Dmitri put his phone away. "She found out about it, built the case, and handed it to Interpol anonymously. Then went back to her apartment and kept running romance scams to pay off a debt that wasn't hers." I said nothing for a long moment. The woman who looked like she needed saving. Who used that illusion as a weapon. Who had forty-one women's freedom somewhere in her ledger that she'd never told a single person about.

My breath caught in my throat when I saw that caramel waves draped over her shoulder. She was in a black fitted dress that perfectly complemented her skin tone, and I didn’t need to see behind her black-stoned fox mask to know it was her. Jasmine. The stranger I had lost myself to, and unfortunately, Cashmere’s sister. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and I could feel my vision blur as I refused to blink. There was no need to sugarcoat it… I wanted her. I wanted the taste of her cherry lipstick again—the softness of her lips, the heat in her hazel eyes, and the way her dimples flash when she smiles. Everything about her sent my heartbeat into a rhythm I hadn’t felt in years.

I just lay there, listening to the wind hit the cabin walls. Eventually, fatigue seeped in. Usually, the nightmare came as soon as I closed my eyes. Sasha’s face smiling up at me, then morphing into blood and shattered bone. Hands wrapping around my throat, strangling me until I woke up gasping for air. Tonight, the nightmare didn't come. Instead, the darkness disappeared, and I saw Jasmine. She was just standing there, looking right at me. She looked a lot like the first time I saw her: long dark hair billowing in the breeze, beautiful hazel eyes sparkling under the sun. She was in a beautiful field, wearing a sundress, reaching out to me. My lips slowly curled into a smile as I watched her

I shook my head, throwing my face away as I stepped closer, letting the loud music consume me. I moved closer and closer to them. There was a chair at the other corner of the room with a half naked slut sitting on it and sipping a red wine from a glass slowly as she eyed me seductively. She was dressed in a silk jacket, and shorts. Under the unbuttoned jacket was a bra. I scoffed, feeling disgusted before making it to where Drake was. Drake smirked at me, his hand roughly squeezing tight on the bitch's breast. “What's up?" He greeted, still squeezing the boob.

Alessio Holy. Fucking. Shit. I gaze down at the naked blonde beauty on my bed, lying exactly the way she would in any man's fantasy. Her soft milky skin is flushed with the sheen of desire, her rose-blushed nipples diamond hard, her legs are spread wide and her pussy glistening, begging to be fucked. It's like I'm looking at an angel. An eroticized version of the angel I stole and brought to my unhallowed hell. Hades—God of the Underworld—would have been proud, but dare I say that not even Persephone—the Goddess of Spring—was as enchanting as this being in my bed.

With practiced precision, she applied gloss, fluffed her curls, and added just enough jewelry to sparkle without looking desperate. Her eyes glowed with determination. And mischief. “Alex Phillips,” she whispered to her mirror with a wicked grin. “You won’t forget me this time.” Jasmine's thinks she can steal what's mine and get away with it, but I'll put her in her place. She turned off the lights and walked out.

“Keep them open. I want to see your eyes. They're beautiful.” She opened her eyes. There was something wrong with her. It was the only way she could explain giving in to him this way. Still, she couldn't help it. He wasn't a gentleman. Not like Lev. He was the devil. And she couldn't pretend for too long anymore that her body didn't crave this devil.

On a small, deserted street, a woman with matted hair and shabby clothes walked without direction. Her face was dirty, her eyes wild, chuckling while talking to herself. That was Madame Dania. After years of being locked in a secret room in Damian's mansion, she was now free, but that freedom did not bring her peace. "Hahaha... they think they can stop me," Dania muttered in a high tone, her eyes glancing into the air as if someone was there. "Felix... Felix, where are you? I'll show you... me... I'm better than anyone..."

The questions. It didn’t. The marks on my palm stayed. Door #2. Soon. I stared at those words until the water ran cold. Until the steam cleared and I saw myself in the mirror. Not the same Jasmine who went to sleep at midnight. Not the girl who used to laugh too loud or forget her charger or eat cereal at 2 a.m. This Jasmine looked… hollow. Like she was waiting for something that might not ever come back. —

Offered herself. And when she said I'll do anything, my cock twitched in my goddamn slacks. Pathetic. But true. I drag on my cigar, exhaling smoke toward the tinted glass. Outside, the city blurs by. Inside, it smells of fear, chloroform, and roses, the crushed bouquet we threw in the car with her. She stirs, groaning softly. My eyes snap to her. Her lips part, full and pink. Her lashes flutter like she's fighting the weight of the drug. For a second, she looks like some porcelain doll someone forgot in the wrong neighborhood. Too soft. Too pretty. Too breakable.