Chapter One
Jane Sparrow ran her fingers through Jacob’s old baby blanket and suppressed a shudder. The crooked stitches felt rough. The fabric looked more ragged than ever. She’d royally fucked up. Again.
She didn’t do it on purpose. She wanted Jacob to keep her a little longer. She didn’t want him to lose interest. Jane belonged to Jacob once a week and he was special. Millions of women would die to own one of her unique creations. They worshipped her talent with the needle and thread. Jacob was the opposite. He didn’t care about outward appearances. A single searing glance from him and she felt exposed. Undone.
Jane debated undoing all her hard work and presenting the smug bastard with nothing but the dirty fabric. She clutched the hateful object in her hands and expelled a sigh. It was nearly impossible to picture Jacob as a brawling infant. He always reminded her of a marble sculpture, hard and infallible.
She touched the old stains on the ratty object over and over again and imagined it was the firm, tanned lines of his muscled forearm she was petting. He only allowed her the privilege of casual touch once. He made the rules. She existed to obey. That was how their arrangement worked.
“I need him,” she said to her empty work room.
The rest of the world didn’t believe Jane could do wrong. Each couture wedding gown she produced received raving reviews. Her work demanded perfection. Jacob expected blind obedience. Both her work and Jacob kept her sanity in check.
Jane sagged her shoulders and took the blanket with her. She left her work room and prepared for her night with Jacob.
After she set an alarm on her phone, she filled the bathtub with hot water and wondered if the tub could fit two people. Closing her eyes, she saw herself sitting between Jacob’s legs, his cock resting against the curve of her ass, his teeth on her neck. Jacob would fist her hair then bite down hard. He’d leave his personal brand for the entire world to see before he’d whisper sweet nothings in her ear.
As she felt the moisture between her legs gathering, her heart started to beat dangerously fast, and she wondered if she was having a panic attack.
Dangerous thoughts. Jane would begin to envision him in her bed, in her home. Jacob cooking her breakfast. She laughed. Ridiculous thoughts. Fantasies of a little girl, not a grown, practical woman.
When did she start to want more than what he could give?
She slipped out of her clothes and soaked in the bath. She closed her eyes and let the world slip away for a few minutes. Half an hour later, after her alarm went off, Jane stepped out. She dried herself then opened her enormous wardrobe.
Choices. Choices.
Her closet must look like a wet dream to most women but none of the clothes screamedher. Apart from the dresses she made, Jane did not possess a lick of fashion sense. She paid her assistant Mary generously for that, to make her good look in front of the press. Jane could barely remember the time looking at clothes made her happy.
Tonight, she purposely chose to wear sexy underwear in the hopes of somehow cushioning the blow of Jacob’s disappointment. She picked a simple strapless dress she knew Jacob would like and then dressed slowly, carefully. It sculpted her body, highlighted the swell of her breasts. Something light, airy, and inexpensive, cloth he could easily rip with his big and rough fingers.
In her head, Jane could already hear the whistling sound the tearing cloth would make. Each time he made her strip, or she did so voluntarily for him, Jane felt a little bit humiliated. Exposed, with nothing left to hide. Emptied.
Just like that, her pulse spiked.
That was the effect Jacob had on her. Even if he wasn’t in close proximity, she’d dream of him. How he made her body react. How he rendered her speechless. Jacob was a magician. He always came up with a thousand different ways to own her and she couldn’t get enough.
Jane applied minimal makeup—a dash of black eyeliner and a light smear of lipstick called Blood Red over her lips. She studied her reflection and saw her mother. She always loathed her mother for being weak, for constantly bending over backward for the prick who’d knocked her up.
Jane always prided herself on being a strong woman. Self-sufficient. Confident. Someone who didn’t take shit from anyone. That was the image she worked hard to build. Jane’s entire life sometimes felt like a fabrication. Reputation meant nothing to Jacob. He was a refreshing change.
She no longer looked like a world-renown wedding gown designer. She looked like a woman working a street corner. Jane was both thrilled and appalled at herself for a job well done.
“Jacob’s not my father and I’m not my mother.” Talking to herself never did help.
Doubts crept inside, like they always did before they began their session. She met Jacob a year ago, at the local BDSM club Black Feather. Jane had only wanted to check the local scene out and took pains to hide her real identity. Then Jacob found her. He unmasked her after a single night, tore down all the walls she put up with effortless, predatory grace. He didn’t care who she was. To him, she was just another nameless, eager sub eager to please, looking for relief.
Jacob became her newfound drug, her addiction.
She started to mark the days they’d meet on her calendar. Dangerous man. Jane didn’t wait on men. She pulled the strings in her past relationships. Maybe that was why none of them lasted more than a month.
Eventually, Jacob would find a shiny new toy, someone younger, less fucked-up than her. Then he’d discard her. What then? Jane would crumble. Fall apart. She didn’t think she’d ever be the same again. Yet, she kept seeing him. Taunting him. Failing him.
She left the bathroom and picked up her purse. Nothing in there but her wallet, her keys, and her cell phone. She put on the fur coat Jacob had given her last Christmas and tucked the baby blanket in one of her pockets. Then she left for Jacob’s apartment.
****
Jane’s hands started to shake. Same thing every week. She felt like she was at war with herself each time she stood in front of his door. Not too late to back out. Leave quietly. Jacob was probably on his laptop, answering leftover work emails, unaware she was unable to bring herself to use his key.