Page 20 of Her Cruel Empire (The Devil’s Plaything #1)

Robin

T he sound of rustling fabric jerks me from sleep.

I blink, disoriented, and find a woman I don’t recognize folding clothes into a Louis Vuitton suitcase. She moves quickly and quietly as she tucks my few belongings into the expensive leather case.

“What are you doing?” I sit up, my voice rough with sleep.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she murmurs something in her language, the only word I catch: “Novak.”

“Eva?” I hazard, my heart picking up speed.

The woman gestures vaguely toward the door, as if to say ask her yourself , then continues packing. The sight of my clothes disappearing into that case makes my stomach twist with uncertainty.

The door swings open without a knock, and Eva sweeps in. She’s already dressed—impeccably, as always—in a charcoal suit and those soaring stilettos she favors. Her presence fills the room instantly.

I didn’t see her again yesterday. I went looking for her, even; crept up to the door of her study, but I was too afraid to knock. What if it was the ice queen behind that door, rather than the seductive force of nature I’ve started to crave?

My ego just couldn’t take another annoyed dismissal, and so I crept away again, and even asked for dinner in my room. I figured I would stay where she could find me easily, if she needed me.

If she wanted me.

But apparently she hadn’t, because eventually I went to bed, and now it’s morning, and Eva is clearly dressed for business. My heart sinks.

“Good. You’re awake.” Her amber eyes rake over me, taking in my rumpled hair and the way I’m clutching the sheet to my chest.

“Are you going away again?” I ask tentatively.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“We’re leaving for Paris this afternoon.”

“We?” The word comes out stupid, confused.

Her look suggests she might be thinking the same thing. “Yes. We . I have business there, and you will accompany me.”

My pulse jumps. Paris. The word alone sends a thrill through me, but the way she says it—like it’s a command, not a request—reminds me exactly what I am to her. “But I don’t even have my passport?—”

Eva sighs, that familiar sound of fond exasperation. “That didn’t bother us on the journey here. Why should it bother us going to Paris?”

B ecause international borders are actual things? I want to say, but I bite my tongue. She talks about crossing borders like they’re mere suggestions.

The maid finishes packing and slips out, leaving us alone. Eva’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer than necessary, and I feel that familiar heat building in my chest.

“Get ready,” she says, her voice softer now. “We leave in two hours.”

The private jet is even more luxurious than I remember. Cream leather seats, polished wood accents, and a quiet that speaks of serious money. Eva sits across from me, phone in hand, scrolling through something with laser focus.

I’m pretty sure it’s not her Instagram feed.

I nurse a glass of champagne—real champagne, not the cheap bubbles we served at Murphy’s—and try not to stare at her. But it’s impossible.

I’m so desperate for her to acknowledge me.

Every few minutes, she’ll frown at something on the screen, and I find myself leaning forward, wondering what’s captured her attention. When she glances at me, I can’t breathe. When she doesn’t, I feel like I’m suffocating.

I’m ridiculous, I tell myself. Desperate for her attention.

But the champagne makes me bold. Or maybe it’s the way she keeps stealing glances at me as the flight goes on.

“Are you a member of the Mile High Club?” I ask teasingly. “And are you going to induct me?”

Her fingers pause on her phone. For a moment, she doesn’t respond, and I wonder if I’ve overstepped. Then she looks up, and her eyes are dark, heavy-lidded with the kind of desire that makes my breath catch.

“There’s a bed in the back,” she says, her voice cool, controlled.

I take another sip of champagne, feeling reckless. “That doesn’t count. It has to be in the bathroom.”

One eyebrow arches. “Is that so?”

I shrug, trying to look casual even though my heart is doing loops in my chest. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

“In that case,” she says, rising smoothly to her feet, “come with me.”

I follow her down the narrow aisle, my nerves and excitement battling for control. Even the bathroom is stunning—marble accents, gold fixtures, and a lot bigger than I expected. For a moment, I just stare.

“You wanted it here,” Eva says, stepping closer. Her voice is low, commanding. “Don’t make me regret humoring you.”

My breath catches. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She pushes me lightly against the door, and I forget how to think. Her hands are everywhere, her mouth hungry and demanding. The confined space makes everything more intense, more desperate. I can taste the champagne on her lips, smell her perfume mixing with the expensive soap from the dispenser.

My clothes are still on, but I feel exposed. Wrecked.

Her teeth graze my ear. “You really haven’t done this before?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t even been on a plane before you.”

“So I get to corrupt you.”

Her hands tug my pants and underwear down, and her fingers trail along my skin, making me shiver. Then she pats the side of the sink. “Up,” she tells me. “And then hold your pussy open.”

I climb up and spread my legs, feeling absurdly vulnerable. She kneels between them, her face inches from the place I need her most. “This is mine, isn’t it?” she murmurs.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“It’s yours.”

“Tell me why.”

“Because you own me,” I breathe.

“That’s right.” She leans in, her breath warm and soft against my folds. “Now be a good girl and stay still.”

Her tongue flicks at my clit, and I gasp. I clutch the edges of the counter and try to hold still. To stay silent. But her tongue swirls around and around, and then plunges deep inside me. I’m not sure how long I can stay quiet, because the pleasure is already so intense.

Eva’s tongue slides back to my clit, and she sucks the nub gently between her lips.

The feeling is intense, and I let out a strangled moan.

She sucks harder, and a wave of pleasure-pain rolls through me.

I close my eyes and try to hold still but her tongue is relentless, flicking and teasing until my thighs begin to shake.

Then, when I’m right on the edge, she stands, her lips glistening. She takes a handful of my hair and pulls my face to hers, pressing her tongue into my mouth so I can taste myself. “I want to watch you while you come,” she breathes. “And I want you to make me come while I do.”

She takes my hand and guides it up her skirt, helping me push aside the silk of her panties, where I find her slick and ready.

I rub her clit, watching her expression, loving the way her eyes flutter shut, and her breathing quickens.

She unbuttons her blouse and guides my other hand into the cup of her bra, and together we pull out her breast, her dark nipple already hard.

Once my fingers are busy, she yanks up my top and tugs down my bra, letting my tits fall out into her hands.

“God,” she sighs. “These are so luscious.”

I can’t deny the thrill of pleasure her words bring. Her hands cover my breasts, her thumbs teasing my nipples, and her eyes are locked on mine, a smile playing at her lips. “And your mouth is luscious, too. Open it.”

I obey, letting her press two fingers into my mouth. “Suck,” she says, and I close my lips around her fingers, sucking them, tasting her. “That’s right,” she purrs. “That’s good.”

Her other hand leaves my breast, trailing down my body until she finds my clit once more, rubbing it in a slow, firm circle, mimicking my movements in her underwear. “Oh, you love this, don’t you? You love having your pussy played with.”

I nod, my eyes wide, and suck harder, making her chuckle. “Such a good girl. Now let’s see what happens if you keep going. And don’t stop.”

Her fingers slide in and out of my mouth, and her other hand picks up speed just as mine does, rubbing me, pressing into me, circling and swirling just as I’m doing for her. I can tell she’s getting closer; she’s getting wetter and her breath is quickening, her body arching toward me.

My fingers dip into her pussy, making her moan.

“Ah, that feels so good,” she pants, her fingers fucking my mouth deep before withdrawing, rubbing across my cheek, smearing the saliva across my skin.

“I’m going to make such a mess of you, everyone will know exactly what I’ve been doing to you when we get to Paris. ”

I moan, wanting to beg, but her fingers are in my mouth again, her thumb circling my clit.

“Come for me,” she says, and her voice is husky and dark, and her fingers are thrusting deeper into my mouth, and then her own cries are mingling with mine, and I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can’t do anything but feel the waves crashing through me.

She leans into me. “Robin,” she whispers against my throat, and the way she says my name makes me tremble.

After we disentangle our fingers from various places, we stay pressed together, breathing hard. The plane hums around us, carrying us toward a city I never thought I’d see.

“We should—” I start, but she silences me with a kiss.

“We should,” she agrees, but neither of us moves for several more minutes.

We finally make it back to our seats, and not long after, Paris spreads out below us like a dream made of light. The Eiffel Tower glints in the sunshine, and the Seine winds through the city like a ribbon of silver. I press my face to the window, unable to contain my wonder.

“It’s so beautiful,” I breathe.

Eva watches me with a faint smile. “You’ve never been?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve barely been outside Vegas.” I laugh at myself, feeling suddenly foolish. “I’m sorry, I must seem like a complete hick.”

“You seem bewitched,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that makes me look at her more closely. “It’s…refreshing.”

A car is waiting when we land—yet another sleek black vehicle with tinted windows. Leon sits in the front with the driver, and I slide into the back seat beside Eva. As we glide through the city, I can’t stop staring out the window.

The buildings are older here, more elegant than anything in Vegas. People stroll along the sidewalks with a kind of casual sophistication I’ve never even approached myself. Everything feels like something from a movie.

“Thank you,” I say suddenly, turning to Eva.

She looks at me with raised eyebrows. “For what?”

“For this. For all of it.” I gesture toward the window, toward the city flowing past us. “I never in a million years thought I’d see Paris. And now here I am, seeing it from the window of a limousine with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Eva’s expression shifts, becoming unreadable. “Robin?—”

“Look, I know this thing between us isn’t exactly orthodox,” I continue, needing to say this before I lose my nerve. “But this is still amazing for me. So…thank you.”

She inclines her head slightly, and I think I see something soften in her amber eyes. “You’re welcome.”

But as we pull up to a gleaming hotel, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve said too much. Revealed too much. Eva’s face has gone carefully blank, the way it does when she’s putting up walls.

Don’t get attached, I remind myself. This is a contract deal. Nothing more.

But if this isn’t happiness, then what is?

We step out of the car, and Eva’s hand briefly touches the small of my back as she guides me toward the hotel entrance. The touch is possessive, protective, and it sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cool Paris air.

The hotel lobby is marble and crystal, intimidating in its grandeur, even after Castle Blacklake. But Eva moves through the foyer like she belongs here, and I try to match her confidence even though I feel completely out of my depth.

“Ms. Novak,” the concierge says, bowing slightly. “Your suite is ready.”

“Thank you. And the arrangements for tomorrow?”

“All confirmed, as requested.”

Tomorrow. I wonder what business Eva has here, what meetings she’ll disappear to while I’m left to wonder about the woman I’m falling for.

Because that’s what’s happening, isn’t it? I’m falling for her. Despite everything—the arrangement, the money, the clear boundaries she’s set, despite the fact that she blows hot and cold, despite the fact that she’s clearly an international criminal with blood on her hands…

Despite it all, I’m falling for Eva Novak.

And I have no idea what that means for either of us.

As we step into the elevator, Eva’s reflection catches my eye in the polished doors. She’s watching me with an expression I can’t read, her amber eyes thoughtful.

The elevator rises, carrying us higher into the Paris sky, and my heart soars with it, even though I know it’s dangerous. Because the higher it flies, the farther it will fall.

Because it has to fall eventually. What goes up must come down.

Right?