Page 15 of Her Wicked Promise (The Devil’s Plaything #2)

Robin

I hurry down the dimly lit corridor, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. Behind me, Stefan’s and Eva’s voices still echo in my head like a curse I can’t shake:

“Robin is worth no more to me than any of my other girls. When I’m tired of her, I’ll send her on her way.”

Just another girl. Just another transaction. Just another temporary amusement for the great Eva Novak.

How in the hell had I lost sight so badly of who Eva really is?

Stefan and Eva had both given the impression that they were going to bed after dinner.

But I’d seen a light sliding out from Eva’s study door.

I’d been about to knock, with every intention of asking Eva to come to my bed, or maybe slipping into her arms again right there in the study.

After our picnic, after yesterday’s tenderness, even though she’s been avoiding me all day, I thought… God, I’m such an idiot .

Stupid, stupid, stupid .

My room feels like it’s laughing at me when I reach it, the bed mocking me with its silk sheets and the memory of Eva’s hands on my skin.

I can’t go to bed, not in the state I’m in, so I walk around the room, circling again and again, chest tight, until something else begins to lick at the edges of my pain.

Anger.

How dare she?

How dare Eva use my family as bargaining chips, uproot me from them, drag me across the world, trap me in this gloomy castle—and not even care ?

How dare she touch me like I matter and then dismiss me like I’m nothing?

I’ve been too hung up on tiny moments of warmth from her that I ignored all the blazing red flags.

The long silences where Eva’s eyes went distant and cold.

Her obsession with control, with not letting me touch her, not deigning to have an orgasm herself when we were intimate until she had me fooled once more. Controlled once more.

She thinks I’m just another pretty toy. A little bird to keep in a cage until she gets bored with me and sends me flying back to my inconvenient family.

Well, I won’t cry over her. And I won’t hide in my room like a scolded child, either. It’s time someone told Eva Novak exactly what an enormous asshole she actually is.

My resolve hardens as I pull on a silk robe over my nightdress, the fabric cool against my heated skin. The anger feels good, feels clean. It burns away the hurt and leaves something sharper behind.

I storm into the hall, my bare feet slapping against stone as I make my way to Eva’s chambers. My hands shake slightly as I raise my fist to her door, but not with fear. With fury .

I bang on the door sharply, my knuckles stinging against the heavy wood. Without waiting for an answer, I twist the handle and barge in.

Eva is sitting at her dresser, still fully clothed and staring at herself in the mirror. Her reflected eyes meet mine and narrow as they take in my state—clenched fists, flushed cheeks, chest heaving with barely contained rage.

“Can I help you?” Eva asks coolly, her voice carrying that familiar edge of authority that usually makes my pulse skip. Tonight, it just makes me angrier.

“You’re going to listen to me,” I snap, advancing into the room. “And I’m going to tell you a few home truths someone should have told you a long time ago.”

She turns and rises from her seat, her expression unreadable. “You were eavesdropping on my conversation with Stefan, weren’t you?” she says, tilting her head as she observes me. “And you got your feelings hurt because I told him the truth—that you’re just another one in a long line of women.”

I flinch but force myself to meet her gaze, letting out a hollow laugh. “Oh, believe me, Eva, I know you could never love me. There’s no room in your heart for anyone but yourself.”

In the dead silence after my words, something is crackling between us like electricity before a storm. Eva’s amber eyes blaze golden-bright with something I can’t name—rage, pain, or maybe something wilder and more dangerous?—

She crosses to me too fast for me to even move and grabs me by the hair, her fingers tangling in the strands with enough force to make my scalp sting. Her face is inches from mine, her breath warm against my lips.

“It’s true,” Eva hisses, her voice raw and broken. “I could never love you. Never.” Her grip tightens, pulling me closer until our bodies are pressed together. “In fact, I hate you,” she tells me, her hands still twisting into my hair. “I hate you. I hate you ...”

But every time she says it, the word sounds less like hate and more like a desperate confession. Because I see the truth lurking beneath her fury.

She doesn’t hate me at all.

Something snaps inside me. I grab Eva’s face with both hands and kiss her hard, my anger bleeding into hunger, my hurt transforming into desperate need.

For a heartbeat, she freezes against me.

Then she’s kissing me back with equal ferocity, her mouth claiming mine like she’s trying to devour me whole.

We stumble backward toward the bed, a mess of hands and mouths and barely contained violence. Eva’s fingers clutch at my robe, yanking it loose as I pull her closer, needing to feel her skin against mine.

This isn’t like our other encounters. This is raw and desperate, fueled by pain and fury and the terrible need to prove something neither of us can articulate.

Eva pushes and shoves me until I fall back onto the bed, following me down in a cascade of dark hair. Her hands are everywhere—skimming over my nightdress, pushing it up my thighs, finding the places that make me gasp and writhe beneath her.

“I hate you,” she whispers against my throat.

“No, you don’t,” I manage, pulling the buttons of her blouse free with more force than finesse. “You hate that you care.”

She makes a sound that might be a sob or a laugh, pressing her mouth to my collarbone. “I hate that you’ve gotten under my skin. That I can’t stop thinking about you.”

I shove her blouse aside and pull her down for another kiss, our tongues meeting in a clash of teeth and need.

“I hate that I want you,” she breathes, sliding a hand between my thighs. “Hate that I want to see you shatter apart for me, then beg for more.”

Her fingers press into my wet heat without preamble, the delicious friction making me cry out. “I hate that you drive me fucking crazy,” I spit back.

Eva’s eyes flash, and her touch becomes punishing. I buck beneath her, clinging to her shoulders, nails biting into her skin. It’s almost too much, but I can’t bring myself to stop her, to do anything other than let her consume me completely.

“More,” I pant, and she gives it to me, fingers stroking me hard and fast. Pleasure builds, hot and sharp, and I’m so close, so close?—

“Is this what you want, little bird? Is this what gets you off?”

“Yes,” I moan, rocking into her. “Please, Eva, I?—”

With a smooth movement, she removes her hand and rolls me onto my stomach, pinning me beneath her. Her hand comes up, tangling in my hair again and tugging sharply, forcing my head back.

“I want to show you,” she whispers into my ear, and the roughness of her voice only makes me wetter. “Get on your hands and knees so I can show you how much I hate you.”

I obey without thinking, pushing up on my hands and knees, canting my hips in offering. The position leaves me open and exposed, vulnerable in a way that makes my cheeks burn and my breath catch.

Eva doesn’t waste any time, positioning herself behind me and spreading my thighs with her hands. Her touch is gentle, almost tender, and I let out a low moan.

“You’re dripping for me, little bird,” she murmurs, tracing a fingertip through the slickness between my thighs.

I groan, burying my face in the pillow, the shame burning as hot as the pleasure.

“That’s it,” she croons. “Let me hear how much you hate this.” And then I feel her tongue against my swollen clit, hot and insistent, and I gasp into the pillow, my body arching of its own accord.

“God, Eva,” I choke out, my voice muffled by the pillow. “That’s?—”

She licks me again, harder this time, her tongue moving in a slow, deliberate stroke from clit to?—

“Eva!”

Her hands tighten on my hips as I pull away, startled. Holding me in place, she presses her mouth between my ass cheeks and licks me right there .

Oh, fuck.

I gasp as her tongue twitches against the tight ring of muscle, the sensation sending a zing of pure pleasure straight to my clit. “Oh, my god, what are you?—”

She licks me again, a low sound rising from her throat, and the vibration of it against my flesh makes my knees shake.

Her tongue is hot and insistent, and it’s too much, too much.

But she doesn’t let up. Her fingers find their way inside my soaked pussy, fucking into me with a delicious rhythm until I’m rocking back against her, chasing the sensation.

“Do you hate this?” she purrs.

“Yes,” I lie, and she rewards me with another flick of her tongue.

“Are you sure?”

My hands fist in the sheets, the sensation almost overwhelming. “God, yes. I hate it so much…”

She chuckles, a dark sound. “You’re spilling down your thighs, little bird. If you hate it so much, why are you soaking wet? Still, if you really don’t want me to do it…”

I bolt upright as I watch her leave the room completely, heading into her adjoining bathroom. My clit is throbbing so hard I feel like I could come without a touch.

I’ve never felt so desperate, so needy, so utterly wrecked.

I hear water splashing, and she reappears a moment later, dabbing her damp face with a hand towel. “Well?” she asks. “If you hate me so much, why are you still here?”

I glare at her. “You know what I really hate? That strap-on you use.”

Her eyes darken, and she lowers the towel, watching me hungrily.

“I hate it when you fuck me with it,” I go on.

“Do you?”

“Oh, yes. I bet I’d hate it even more in my ass.” And with that, I turn over on the bed again, flat on my stomach, my chin resting on my folded arms, and wait with my heart pounding.

She actually growls , a primal, animalistic sound, and then I hear her crossing the room and opening a drawer. A few moments later, she returns, and I can hear the click of the harness fastening into place.

She presses against me from behind, a silicone shaft sliding between my legs, and I push back against her with a moan. The click of a plastic cap—and then her fingers sliding down between my cheeks, lubing me up, opening me gently.

I’ve never done this before. I’ve always wanted to, but the few people I dated in the past weren’t exactly adventurous.

Eva is different. Everything with her is different.

I gasp as her finger enters me, and she pauses, her finger motionless inside me while her other hand strokes my hip, waiting for me to adjust. When the discomfort has faded, I push back, trying to take her deeper. She moves slowly, gently, working me open.

The pressure is intense, the fullness almost too much, and yet I want more, want to feel her filling me, taking me, fucking me. And at last she deems me ready. Her fingers withdraw, and she gets up on her knees behind me.

Slowly, so slowly, she pushes the toy into me. There’s a moment of sharp discomfort, and then I’m spreading wide, wider, my body opening to her. Her hand presses comfortingly between my shoulder blades, holding me steady as she sinks in deeper, and I let out a low cry.

“Are you—” she begins.

“I’m fine,” I snap, desperately trying to breathe. “Please, Eva. Please, I need?—”

“I’ll give you what you need.”

And then she’s moving, the shaft sliding out of me before pushing back in, and the sensation is indescribable, filling me completely.

I drop onto my elbows, my face pressed into the pillow, the air forced from my lungs. I feel like I’m coming apart, like every cell in my body is breaking open, and the only thing keeping me together is the feel of Eva inside me.

She fucks me steadily, relentlessly, her hands gripping my hips, her breathing ragged. And then one of her hands leaves my hips, slides under me to find my aching clit, and her fingers begin circling, matching the rhythm of her thrusts.

“Do you hate this?” she pants out, and I moan in response, beyond words, my body moving in time with hers.

“Say it,” she demands, her fingers pressing harder, her hips picking up speed. “Tell me how much you hate this.”

“God, yes, I hate it,” I gasp, and the words are both a lie and the truest thing I’ve ever said. “I hate how much I want you. How much I need you. How fucking good this feels.”

Her breath hitches, and her hips jerk against mine, and I can feel her losing control. A desolate sense of triumph runs through me as she moans aloud. For once, I made her break before I did.

For once, I won.

And then I’m falling, ripping apart, every muscle tightening, my mind blanking to everything except the pleasure roaring through me. I feel her shuddering, fucking me through it, until I reach back and shove her hand away, too over-stimulated.

She pulls out of my ass and I hear a click, a soft thud on the floor, and then she climbs back into the bed, wrapping herself over me like a blanket.

For long moments, we lie there on the bed, our chests heaving, our skin slick with sweat.

Neither of us speaks. The only sound is the slow steadying of our breathing. My body still hums with aftershocks, but my mind is crystal clear for the first time in hours.

I wriggle out from under her eventually and turn over to find Eva still watching me, her eyes dark and unguarded. There’s something vulnerable in her expression.

“I should go,” I croak out, and though I make no move to leave, Eva’s hand shoots out to grab my wrist.

“Stay,” she says, and her voice cracks slightly on the word. “Please.”

The plea is so unlike her usual commanding tone. Eva Novak, who orders and expects obedience, is asking. Not demanding. Asking.

“There’s no point,” I sigh. “You made it clear I mean nothing to you.”

“I…” Eva starts, then stops. She looks away, then back at me, something like pain flickering across her features. “I’m sorry.”

It might be the first time Eva Novak has ever apologized to anyone in her entire life, because she almost stumbles over the words like they’re foreign to her tongue.

“Sorry for what?” I ask quietly.

“For...” She closes her eyes briefly, as if gathering strength. “For what I said to Stefan. For reducing you to nothing when you’re…”

“When I’m what, Eva? Tell me, or I’m leaving you to sleep alone.”

I wait another few moments for her to woman up and tell me, but when her gaze slides away from mine, I’ve had enough. I pull away from her and stand up. “Goodnight, Eva,” I throw over my shoulder.

At least this time I’m the one walking away. I just wish it felt more like a victory than it does.