Page 13 of Her Wicked Promise (The Devil’s Plaything #2)

Eva

I wake before dawn with restless energy. I’ve been brooding for days about Robin’s defiance, the way her light refuses to dim even in the shadows of my castle. She looks at me sometimes like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve—or a monster she’s attempting to tame.

And instead of finding that an irritation, I find it…

Charming.

But sometimes, I don’t like the way she thinks about me. Sometimes I don’t like that she sees me as some gothic creature who only exists in darkness and blood. As a vampire who can’t walk in the day.

Leon explained that reference to me when I asked him about it.

I can’t literally control Robin’s thoughts. But I can certainly influence them.

The staff are startled when I go down to the kitchen and tell them to prepare a picnic. The head cook blinks at me like I’ve spoken in tongues.

“A picnic, ma’am?”

“You heard me.” I gesture impatiently. “A picnic for two. Make us something appropriate for the weather—and set it up in the gardens.”

It’s still cold, but it’s getting warmer, and Robin, for some reason, finds it entertaining to roam around the gardens.

The kitchen staff scatter like startled birds, whispering among themselves, and I return to my study to do some work—if I can get my mind to cooperate. For a moment I consider calling Robin in again. Having her there with me, kneeling by my side, helped quiet my mind the other night.

But no. I need to learn to do without her. She won’t be here forever, so I can’t make her a habit.

Besides, I’m seeing her at lunch.

By noon, the castle gardens have been transformed by late winter sunlight.

The trees are starting to sprout again, and the air smells faintly of fresh grass.

A soft blanket has been laid on the grass beneath an ancient oak tree.

The spread is carefully arranged—fresh bread still warm from the kitchens, local cheeses, fruit that gleams like jewels, and a bottle of wine from our extensive cellars.

I send Mrs. Kovacs to fetch Robin. But as I stand there surveying the scene, I feel like a stranger in my own body. Like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s life.

What the hell am I doing?

And after being unable to focus on work again all morning?

“A picnic?” Robin’s voice makes me turn. She approaches across the grass, her hair loose around her shoulders, her boots scuffing against the soft earth. She eyes the setup with surprise and something that might be amusement. “How very provincial of you.”

I almost bristle at the gentle mockery, but the smile she gives stops the retort in my throat. She looks different out here—less like a captive and more like someone who belongs in gardens and sunshine.

A Las Vegas girl, used to desert instead of mountains.

“Don’t sound so shocked,” I say instead, settling onto the blanket with what I hope passes for casual grace.

Robin laughs. “You probably haven’t sat on the ground since you were six.”

The observation hits closer to home than I’d like. “Maybe not since then,” I admit.

She settles beside me on the blanket, close enough that I can smell that synthetic strawberry shampoo. For a moment, we sit in surprisingly comfortable silence, surveying the grounds.

“You’re a bit of a recluse,” Robin says eventually, and not unkindly. “Hidden away in your castle, ruling your empire from the shadows.”

“My father was a paranoid man,” I find myself saying, the words coming out before I can stop them. “He saw enemies everywhere, betrayal in every shadow. He was always preparing for the next attack, the next knife in the back. With good reason.”

Robin turns to study my profile. “And you think you’ve inherited that paranoia?”

“By necessity, yes. I can’t trust anyone completely.”

“Because getting close makes you vulnerable,” Robin agrees softly.

The understanding in her voice prompts a further confession from me.

“It’s difficult, being a woman in my position.

The Consortium didn’t want me when my father first suggested it, though he overruled them.

Some wings of the organization still look for ways to undermine me.

After my father was shot…” I pause, remembering those dark days.

“It was only luck that they rallied behind me. Luck and fear.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Robin says firmly. “I don’t know them, but I know you. You earned their respect.”

“Did I? Or did I just scare them into submission?”

For a moment, I let myself look vulnerable—too human. Robin’s blue eyes study my face like she’s seeing me for the first time.

“Maybe both,” she says honestly. “But who cares about the past? You’re here now, aren’t you? Sitting on the grass, eating bread and cheese like a normal person.”

I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. “Is that what normal people do?”

“Among other things.” Robin reaches for a piece of bread, tearing it in half and offering me a portion. “They also worry about mundane things like grocery bills and whether their favorite TV show will get renewed.”

“How refreshingly ordinary.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Isn’t it?” I ask, genuinely curious. “If you had power, if you could shape the world to your will, why on earth would you choose ordinary ?”

Robin considers this while chewing thoughtfully. “Because ordinary is safe. Because it doesn’t require armed guards and bulletproof cars. Because you can love people without wondering if they’ll use it against you.”

Love. She says the word like it’s a simple thing.

“I wanted to talk to you about Leon,” I say, suddenly desperate to change the subject.

Her face shutters slightly, but she nods for me to go on.

“What you saw was not him plotting against me. He was carrying out my wishes. The man you saw him having a robust conversation with, shall we say, is the man who is supposed to oversee the upkeep of the school. He’s been pocketing the money the Novaks have donated over the years. ”

“ Ohh ,” Robin breathes. “So Leon was?—”

“Explaining how things will work from now on. And I’ve been organizing upgrades to the village school.”

Robin’s face lights up. “You’re really doing that?”

The delight in her expression makes warmth spread through my chest—an odd buzzing sensation I don’t entirely recognize. “Yes. New paint, playground equipment, whatever else they need.”

“That’s wonderful!” Robin’s enthusiasm is infectious. “They’ll be so excited. Some of those kids are so bright, they just need better resources.”

I find myself staring at her lips as she talks, at the way her hands move through the air, at the passion that transforms her entire face when she discusses something she cares about. When was the last time I felt passionate about anything beyond power and revenge?

What the hell is happening to me?

“You care about them,” I observe. “The children.”

“Of course I do.” Robin looks at me like the question is absurd. “They’re kids. They deserve every chance to succeed, to dream, to become whatever they want to be.”

“Even if they come from nothing? Even if their parents are just…ordinary?”

“Especially then. Everyone deserves a chance. Everyone deserves someone who believes in them, who sees the good in them. Including you, Eva.”

I’m used to my name being spoken with fear, with respect, with the careful deference of those who know exactly what I’m capable of.

Robin says it like she sees something in me worth saving.

I stand quickly, and she looks up at me, startled. “This has been lovely,” I tell her. “But I need to get back to work.”

And I head back to the castle before she can say another word.

That night, I’m sprawled across my bed, still dressed in the same clothes from our impromptu picnic.

I skipped dinner again, and now I stare at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the afternoon.

The way Robin smiled when I admitted I hadn’t sat on grass in decades.

The passion in her voice when she talked about the children.

The moment when she looked at me and said that everyone deserves someone who believes in them.

Even me…

A soft knock at my door breaks through my spiral of thoughts. I sit up, already knowing who it is before I call out, “Come in.”

Robin stands in the doorway wearing a simple cotton nightgown that I picked out for her myself. It should look innocent, but somehow makes my mouth go dry. And her eyes are dark with something unspoken—a question, a need, a decision she’s finally made.

I don’t speak. I can’t trust my voice not to betray the desperate want that’s been building in me for weeks. Instead, I lift my hand slightly—a gesture so small it could be dismissed as nothing, but Robin reads it perfectly.

She steps inside and closes the door behind her with a soft click.

Without a word, she walks towards the bed, pulling off her nightgown and letting it drop to the floor as she approaches. She’s naked underneath, the sway and swell of her breasts mesmerizing me at once.

She slides in beside me, settles herself on the pillow beside me with a smile. No fluttering eyelashes. No coy simper. Just an open invitation.

An offering.

An act of generous submission.

I move over her gently to cover her, aligning our bodies, sliding my thigh between hers, sinking down on top of her in a movement that feels natural.

Necessary. And yet different. It might seem like I have control, but we both know that Robin is pulling me this way and that like the moon pulls the tides.

I kiss her for a long time, until her legs are trembling around mine and she’s writhing against me.

I slide down a hand to pet her between the legs. She’s slick, swollen, and so, so ready. And I want to give her what she needs.

Give it to her. Not take her power away, not try to control her, not use her with greed and selfishness, but try to earn what I really want from her.

I kneel up between her thighs, pushing up her legs with my arms hooked under her knees, so that her pussy spreads wide.

I line up so that I can press my cunt down on hers, rubbing up and down the length of her in a slow, slick slide.

My hard clit catches hers, and she bucks, a low moan escaping her.

It’s such a gorgeous little noise that I have to bend down and kiss her again.

I keep rubbing against her, feeling the hot pulse of her clit and the soaked folds of her pussy, making her squirm around beneath me. She’s so sensitive. So responsive. Every sigh, every noise, makes me want to draw out another, and another.

I keep moving, my body a wave rising and receding over and over against hers.

The tension is mounting between us, the pressure rising, the heat growing.

Her tits bounce as I increase the rhythm, her nipples hard points, and I lean down to flick one of them with my tongue, catch it softly between my teeth.

I’m in control of the pleasure she’s getting, but there’s no feeling of power, no smug sense of triumph. Only the driving desire to make her feel good, to make her cry out, to hear her gasping for me.

And when she moans my name, begs me to let her come, it’s no longer against her will. It’s a reciprocal gift.

“Eva, please!”

“Not yet,” I murmur, shifting so my clit slides directly against hers. Her fingers dig into my back as her hips lift, seeking the friction she craves. “Soon. But not yet.”

She whimpers, a beautiful, needy sound that makes me ache. My breath is coming in short pants now, the familiar heat building inside me. I’m so close, and from the way her legs are trembling and her eyes are glazed, she’s right there with me.

“Come for me,” I pant out at last, unable to hold back myself, and she cries out, her body stiffening beneath mine.

The orgasm rips through her, and I ride her through it, watching her face twist, desperate and gorgeous at the same time.

My own climax rushes through me too fast, almost painful, making me shudder and gasp, and I collapse sideways onto the sheets, breathing hard.

Robin curls up against me, and I find myself wrapping an arm around her instinctively.

This is intimacy. Connection.

And, I realize, as clarity begins to seep in, the kind of vulnerability that could destroy me if she chose to weaponize it.

I should send her back to her room. Should restore the distance between us before this goes any further. Should remember that she’s here temporarily, that this arrangement has an expiration date. We’re almost a third of the way through it now.

Instead, I hold her closer and watch the moonlight paint patterns on the ceiling.

“What are you thinking about?” Robin asks softly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my bare chest.

“Nothing important.”

But Robin sees through me—she always sees through me. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“I’m actually an excellent liar. It’s a professional requirement.”

“Not with me.” Her voice is quiet, certain. “You can’t lie to me, Eva.”

The truth of that statement settles in my gut. But she’s right. From the moment she walked into my world, Robin Rivers has seen straight through every wall I’ve built, every mask I’ve worn.

She’s dangerous in ways she doesn’t even understand.

We lie in comfortable silence after that, our breathing falling into sync. Robin’s fingers continue their lazy exploration of my skin, and I find myself relaxing in ways I haven’t in years.

Because for the first time in my adult life, I’m not thinking about power or control or the next strategic move.

I’m thinking about morning light in her hair and the way she laughs when I say something that surprises her.

I’m thinking about village school and children’s dreams and what it might be like to be the kind of person who builds things instead of just destroying them.

I’m thinking about love—that impossible, terrifying thing I’ve spent my entire life avoiding.