Page 10 of Her Cruel Empire (The Devil’s Plaything #1)

Eva

R obin Rivers fell asleep on the rug.

Not in the grand bed I had prepared for her. Not even curled up in one of the many velvet lounges scattered throughout the castle. No. The rug. Still warm from the fire, flushed from her orgasm, in the lazy aftermath of surrender.

I left her there. Not because I don’t want to touch her again—but because I do . Rather too much. It took a great deal of effort to pull away, to let her sleep instead of waking her once more with my mouth between her thighs.

I left instructions that no one was to enter the Great Hall, and I went back to work.

The work never stops. I don’t sleep much, so my study is really my sanctuary. The door clicks shut behind me and I sink into the chair behind my desk. Usually after I’ve introduced my new toy to her new environment, she goes off to her room and thinks about how goddamn lucky she is.

Robin just fell asleep. And I find it so utterly charming it’s unnerving.

My laptop screen glows with unread emails. Logistics. Weapons manifests. Transfer requests. The usual chaos of running a multinational empire.

And I can’t focus on a single damn thing.

Instead, I see her . Robin. Face tilted back, lips parted.

Her pupils blown wide, swallowing the blue.

Her breath hitching as she waited patiently for me to give what she so desired.

She didn’t perform, didn’t fake anything.

No scripted moans, no arched-back theatrics.

Just heat and awe and the raw, unfiltered realness of it.

I’ve fucked actresses. Models. Diplomats’ wives. Every single one tried to impress me with their writhings and athleticism before I overwhelmed them so much that they gave way.

But Robin—my blush-reddened Robin—she was sweet and obedient and giving from the start.

I reach for the security tablet without thinking, my fingers finding the castle’s internal cameras with muscle memory. She’s not in the Great Hall anymore—ah. There she is. Creeping through the corridors, returning to her room at last, a dazed look in her eyes as she smiles to herself.

My fingers move almost without my own permission, scrubbing back through the footage. To an hour ago. To the moment she came apart for me.

I watch it over and over again. The way those large, soft tits spilled to each side. The loud cry wrenched from her lips. The flutter of almost-pain as pleasure crashed over her. I slow the footage down, studying every micro-expression, every involuntary tremor.

I’m looking for artifice. For pretense. For any sign that she was performing for me.

I find nothing.

No practiced angle of her head to catch the light.

No theatrical gasps designed to stroke my ego.

Just raw, honest pleasure. The kind of response that can’t be faked, not with that level of detail.

Not with the way her pupils dilated, the flush that spread down her throat, the genuine shock in her expression when she realized what I’d done to her.

I replay it yet again, my own breath growing short. I’ve never done this—never found my own hand slipping into my underwear like I have no control over it. Never touched myself over footage of a woman I’ve contracted before.

Usually, when I want something, I take it. I could go to her room. Enjoy her again.

But I also want to let Robin rest.

And most of all, I want to come, despite the fact that my initiations—my first-night show of power and skill—are designed in part to show my own self-control. I always make them come first, make them melt completely for me, and show my iron will by not allowing them to touch me.

Not needing them to touch me.

I suppose I’ll have to touch myself instead.

I slide my fingers into slick heat, my clit already aching and swollen. I match the rhythm of her body on the screen. Let her guide me. Every breath, every moan, every tremble, I chase them all. Replay them again and again. Her pleasure is mine. Her cries are for me .

My hips lift, chasing the edge, tension coiling tighter and tighter until the world narrows to her lips, her thighs, her voice as she cries out.

I come with a ragged gasp, my orgasm ripping through me. And then, panting, one hand still buried in my cunt, I reach with the other for the tablet and delete the footage.

Robin Rivers will have no privacy while she’s in my house.

Every hallway, every suite, every inch of this castle is under my control, and cameras are everywhere.

But the mere idea of this interlude existing digitally—the notion that someone else might ever have the slightest chance to see her so vulnerable… No. I won’t allow it.

I did think, even as we flew home, that she might have been an extremely sophisticated spy.

As soon as I bought myself this new toy, of course, Leon ran a background check.

He gave me the nod before we ever boarded the plane.

I still had my suspicions even then. But our time tonight in the Great Hall convinced me.

She’s real. Genuine. Authentic in a way that I haven’t seen for many, many years.

And I want to take her apart so thoroughly that she forgets any life existed before me.

I set the tablet down too hard, the crack of metal on hardwood echoing sharply. Thirty days. That’s how long I have her. Thirty days, and then she’s free to go.

And after watching her shatter so perfectly for me, thirty days feels like a countdown to losing something I’ve barely begun to claim.

This is a problem . I don’t like problems I can’t quantify. And right now, my entire body is still humming. If someone else had bought her—if one of the Gattos had won that bid instead of me—or one of their even worse friends?—

I stand up too fast, my chair spinning away from me.

They would have destroyed her. They destroy everything they touch. Girls like Robin don’t survive that kind of violence. They get carved up and sold for parts, for fun, for message-sending.

My hands are clenched into fists, my teeth grinding. The rage that floods through me is hot and possessive and completely irrational. Robin is mine, after all. No one will touch her but me.

As for the Gattos, I was right. They are beneath me. But what I saw in Vegas—what I chose to walk away from in disgust—it still won’t leave my mind.

Now that Robin’s here, sleeping like a lamb in the lion’s den, I find I can’t stop thinking about all the other lambs.

I glance at the clock, make a few mental calculations. Yes, it’s around midday in Vegas. I reach for the phone.

The line rings only twice before Brie Colombo answers. Her voice is cool and low, amused. “Eva. To what do I owe the shock of a lifetime?”

“I’ve been rethinking our last discussion,” I say smoothly. “You wanted a discount. I’ll give it to you.”

There’s a pause.

“I assume you’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

“No,” I agree. “I want something in return.”

Another beat of silence.

“What kind of something?”

“I want the Gattos eliminated.”

Brie laughs. A light sound, bright and dismissive. “I see. Just a little mob war, that’s all. Come on, Eva. Just tell me you want to clean out the city entirely.”

“No. Just the Gattos. I want them gone, every last leech. And I think you’re the woman for the job.”

“Word is, you were meeting with them yourself just yesterday.”

“I did. And now I want them obliterated.”

She exhales slowly. “Look, destabilizing Vegas isn’t in my best interest. I won’t burn it all down to satisfy your bloodlust. I’d need a damn good reason to start something like that. So what did they do? Insult your taste in shoes?”

I roll my neck. The muscles are tight. I don’t like needing to justify myself, but I do. Just this once.

“They’re trafficking women,” I say flatly. “They took me into one of their auctions as though I’d approve. But I don’t. And so now I want them gone.”

Silence.

Then Brie’s voice drops into something hard and lethal. “You have proof of this?”

“You have my word. And a new deal on any arms you might need to remove them from the face of the earth.”

Another pause. Then: “Well, I’ll think it over.”

But I can almost hear the sharp turn in her mind. Brie’s clever. Cunning, anyway. She smells the rot too. And she has a weakness for taking the moral high ground.

It’s a new experience for me.

“If what you’re saying is true,” Brie goes on, “I think the Styx Syndicate might be interested as well.”

“They’ve never exactly rolled out the welcome mat for me.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“Then let me know when you’ve made your decision.” I end the call, satisfied.

The Gatto problem is in hand.

Still, I’m left with the bigger problem: Robin.

I sit again and lean back in the chair. Let the tension bleed out of my shoulders. My mind is sharper now, free of the Gatto irritation.

But she’s still there. In the shadows of my thoughts.

The war between protection and possession rages in my chest. I want to wrap her up and keep her safe from every hard thing in this world.

I also want to strip away every innocent thought in her head until she’s begging for my touch, desperate for my approval, ruined for anyone else.

I could walk into her room right now. Wake her with my hands, my mouth. She’s mine, after all. Bought and paid for. I could have her on her back, her knees, however I want her.

My fingers tighten on the tablet’s edge until the metal bites into my palm.

This is ridiculous.

I force myself to set the tablet aside and reach for my phone instead. Leon answers on the first ring. Always does. “Yes?”

I almost ask him to clear my schedule for the next month. The words are right there, begging to be spoken. Cancel everything. Make Robin the center of my attention for thirty days.

But that’s impossible. The Consortium doesn’t run itself, and whimsy is a weakness I can’t afford.

“Get Markov to draw up a new proposal for the Colombos,” I say. “Half price on everything, and throw in anything due to become obsolete next year. We might as well clear stock.”

To give Leon credit, there’s only the slightest pause before he says, “Of course.”

I hang up and rub my eyes, finally feeling like I could sleep.

But the security tablet screen flickers as movement catches my eye.

Robin is stirring, rolling onto her side.

For a moment, I think she might wake up, and my body tenses with anticipation.

But she settles back into sleep, and I’m left aching with a want I can’t satisfy. Not yet, anyway.

Soon, though. Because thirty days is all I get, and I plan to make the most of it.