Page 9 of Her Cruel Empire (The Devil’s Plaything #1)

Robin

W hen she first told me to strip, I was mortified. My generous curves couldn’t be hidden away anymore, and for a few horrible moments I thought she was going to realize what an absolute waste of money I’d been, that she was going to make a face, tell me quickly to cover up again.

But the look on her face was so far away from disgust that it gave me a shot of confidence.

She wanted me. Badly. Her eyes roamed all over me, taking it all in, and the amber irises only gleamed more golden.

And now, lying naked on this soft rug while Eva sits fully clothed in her throne-like armchair, her foot planted firmly on my pussy, I’m not mortified at all. I’m not even embarrassed.

The only desire I have right now is to come, and I’m not even sure how I got here so quickly.

So desperate. So willing to throw away my dignity and beg her to let me ride her damn foot to orgasm…

She’s studying me like I’m some new artwork she bought and paid for.

I suppose I am, in her mind. While I undressed, the rational part of my brain kept screaming that Mrs. Kovacs might walk in, or Leon with his hard eyes and massive frame, or any of those dangerous men who orbit Eva like dark satellites.

What would they think of the American girl sprawled out like this?

But now? Now I wouldn’t care if the entire village filed in to watch, if Leon stood at her right hand, if every killer in Eva’s employ lined up to see what she’s doing to me. I need release so desperately that I’m shaking with it.

What kind of person does that make me? What’s wrong with me that I want her to control me completely?

And how the hell did I never realize I had these feelings inside me?

Eva’s foot rests comfortably but firmly, her toes positioned exactly where I’m most sensitive.

I’m laid out before her like a sacrifice, knees slightly bent, completely exposed while she remains pristine and in control.

The firelight flickers deliciously hot across my skin, but all I can focus on is the weight of her gaze and the promise of what’s coming.

And I can feel how wet I am. Soaking. The evidence of my arousal is probably visible to her, and it only makes me burn hotter, makes me understand with crystal clarity that my body doesn’t belong to me anymore.

“Such a beautiful mess you’re making,” Eva murmurs. “Tell me what you need, little bird.”

“Please,” I whisper, the word barely audible over the crackling fire and my own thundering heartbeat. “I need to come.”

Then she begins to move.

Her toes massage against my clit with careful, slow pressure, and then she drags them down and around, finding each sensitivity and exploiting it mercilessly.

The sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—intimate and degrading and absolutely incredible all at once.

I should be humiliated by this position, by letting her use her foot to do this, but I’m beyond shame now.

Beyond everything except desperate, clawing need.

My head rolls helplessly against the rug as waves of sensation wash over me.

There’s something about the power dynamic, the way she’s still fully dressed and seated while I’m completely vulnerable, that makes this more erotic than anything I’ve ever imagined.

She looks at me like I’m something that exists solely for her entertainment.

And God help me, in this moment, I want to be exactly that.

“You like this,” she observes, not a question but a statement of fact. “Look how you respond to me. How grateful you are to be owned.”

I can barely think straight. The lightheaded feeling washing over me makes me feel like I’d do absolutely anything she asked. Murder someone. Disappear forever. Forget my own name.

“Please, Eva,” I beg, my voice coming out breathless and broken. “I need?—”

“I know what you need.” Her foot stills, and I whimper at the loss of movement. “But you’re going to have to earn it.”

She slides her foot away, leaving me empty and aching, and I actually cry out in disappointment. The sound echoes, and I wonder if it’s audible outside this room. But I don’t care. Let them hear. Let them all know what she’s reducing me to.

And then she’s moving, graceful as a panther, kneeling between my spread thighs.

The sight of her there, perfectly composed while I’m falling apart, sends another rush of heat through me. Her amber eyes are dark with something that makes my breath catch—possession, satisfaction, maybe even affection. But it’s the kind of affection a collector has for their most prized piece.

She runs one hand along my soaked seam, barely touching, and I arch toward the contact.

“Look at the mess you’re making,” she says. “All over my expensive rug.”

Heat floods my cheeks, but not from embarrassment. From want so sharp it feels like dying.

Her fingers slide over me again, delving deeper this time, and I groan.

“To make up for this...” She holds up her fingers, showing me the evidence of my arousal like it’s a crime I’ve committed. “You’re going to have to come from just one touch. Do you think you can do that for me?”

The challenge in her voice makes my stomach clench with need. Can I? I’m not sure. I’ve never been this worked up before, never felt like every nerve ending in my body was on fire, never understood that I could want someone this desperately.

“I don’t know,” I admit, my voice small and scared. Not of her, but of what I’m becoming under her hands.

“Then we’ll find out together.” She leans closer, her breath warm against my ear. “One touch. And if you don’t come from that, you won’t come at all. But first, you’re going to beg me properly.”

“Please,” I whisper immediately. “Please touch me. I need you to touch me so badly I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe. I can’t?—”

“Better.” Her lips curve in that cat-like smile that’s becoming as essential to me as oxygen. “But I want to hear you say exactly what you want me to do.”

My face burns, but the words spill out anyway, desperate and shameless. “Touch me. Please. Make me come. I’ll do anything you want, anything at all, just please?—”

“Anything?” The word hangs in the air between us, loaded with promise and threat and possibilities that both terrify and thrill me.

“Anything.” And I mean it. I’ve become someone I don’t recognize, and the scary part is how much I love this new me.

How much I love what she’s doing to me.

She gets back into her chair and repositions her foot between my thighs, pulled back so that she isn’t touching me yet, her toes poised over where I need them the most. But she doesn’t move. Not yet. She’s savoring this moment.

“You understand that your body belongs to me now,” she says conversationally, as if we’re discussing the weather instead of my complete surrender. “Your body, your pleasure, every reaction—it’s all mine to control.”

“Yes,” I breathe, and feel something fundamental shift inside me. Some last piece of my old self cracking apart.

“Good. And when I make you come with this single touch, it will be a physical example of exactly who owns you. Who you belong to now.”

I nod frantically, beyond words, beyond everything except need.

“Because you do belong to me, Robin. Even after these thirty days end, a part of you will still be mine. You’ll still feel my hands on you, still crave this feeling. Because while you’re here with me, I will change you. Make you into something new. Something that exists solely for my pleasure.”

Yes. I already know it. She’s turning me into her creature and I’m helping her do it. This arrangement will change me forever.

Change me in ways I can’t even comprehend yet.

I can be someone completely different from that desperate, broke woman who can barely keep it together for her family…

And I welcome the idea.

But before I can process that revelation fully, her toe presses down onto my clit—firm, deliberate, perfect. “Come for me.”

It’s a command.

The orgasm hits me as hard as the lightning in the storm outside.

My back arches off the rug as waves of pleasure crash over me, more intense than anything I’ve ever felt.

It’s like every nerve ending in my body ignites at once, sending liquid fire through my bloodstream.

I cry out—loud enough for the entire castle to hear, loud enough maybe for the village below—but I don’t care.

I don’t care even one tiny bit.

It seems to go on forever, tumbling through me in spirals that leave me gasping and shaking and completely destroyed. When it finally begins to ebb, I feel like I’ve been taken apart and rebuilt as something entirely different.

Something that belongs to her.

Eva withdraws her foot, looking supremely satisfied as she watches me try to remember how to breathe. There’s something shrewd in her expression, like she’s observing every tremor that runs through me, every whimper that escapes my throat.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs, and the approval in her voice makes dangerous warmth bloom in my chest. “You’re going to be such a delicious little plaything.”

The possessiveness in her tone only sends aftershocks of pleasure through my still-trembling body.

And then the combination of the intense orgasm, the warm fire, and the soft rug finally overtake me. My eyelids grow heavy, and despite being naked and exposed on the floor of a strange castle, I feel oddly safe.

Protected.

As I drift into a doze, I catch a glimpse of Eva’s face in the firelight. For just a moment, her expression seems to soften. Then my eyes close, and I’m floating in a haze of satisfaction and belonging.

When I wake, the fire has died down a little, though the room is still comfortably warm. The storm outside has blown itself out. The night is now a true black, thick and impenetrable.

And Eva is gone.

Reality crashes back over me and I shiver. What did I do? What did she do? The memory of her touch, of the noises I made, the way I begged, makes my face burn with a mixture of shame and renewed arousal.

I scramble to my feet, legs still unsteady, and hurriedly pull my clothes back on. I hook up the bra, muscle memory kicking in even as my mind reels with the magnitude of what just happened.

I need to get back to my room. I need to think about this, about what it means. About the way my body is still humming with satisfaction and the way part of me is already wondering when Eva will touch me again. When she’ll own me again.

She hasn’t even touched me with her hands, yet.

Hasn’t even kissed me.

I slip out of the Great Hall as quietly as possible, padding through the dark corridors on bare feet.

The castle feels different now—not so intimidating anymore, but alive with possibilities that both thrill and terrify me.

Even the portraits of all those gruesome, bloodthirsty ancestors of hers can’t stop the excitement bubbling away inside me.

When I finally reach my room and close the door behind me, I lean against it and try to catch my breath. But even here, in the safety of my temporary sanctuary, I still feel that something fundamental has changed tonight.

The auction was one thing. But tonight? I crossed a line. I gave Eva a piece of myself that I can never take back. I let her claim a part of me.

And the most terrifying thing?

I think I want to give her more.