Page 17 of Her Wicked Promise (The Devil’s Plaything #2)

Eva

F rom my study window, I watch Stefan and Robin return from the village, their heads bent close in conversation like old friends sharing secrets. Robin’s laughter drifts up through the crisp afternoon air—bright, unguarded, genuine.

Heat curls in my chest, sharp and unwelcome. Jealousy, though I refuse to name it that. I’ve never been jealous of anyone in my life, least of all my uncle. And for God’s sake, I know Robin has no romantic or sexual interest in him.

But seeing her so relaxed, so at ease with Stefan when she’s never that way with me—not since Paris—it claws at me.

You wanted her off balance, I remind myself. You’ve worked to keep her unsettled. For her own protection.

The rationalization won’t take hold, though. The truth is more complicated, more dangerous. I keep Robin off balance because anything else would give her power, and power makes her a threat—not to my business, but to me . To the walls I built up around me years ago.

When she’s uncertain, she needs me. When she’s comfortable, she might realize she doesn’t.

But watching her with Stefan, seeing her laugh and smile without that wariness she carries around me like armor, I realize I want that ease for myself. I want to be the one who makes her feel safe enough to be herself.

The thought is so fundamentally at odds with everything I am that I turn away from the window as though flinching from the daylight.

I text Leon: Send Stefan to my study.

When Stefan enters, I don’t look up from the contracts spread across my desk, though I’m not reading them. Haven’t been for the whole morning.

“We need to talk,” Stefan says, his voice carrying an edge I haven’t heard since he told me that Dimi was in serious trouble in a Moscow prison. We got him out, but it was touch-and-go for a while.

I set down my pen. “Then talk.”

He moves to the leather chair across from my desk, but doesn’t sit. Instead, he stands with his hands clasped behind his back. “Robin is a lovely woman, but if word gets out that she’s anything more than a temporary?—”

“Enough.” My voice is sharp enough that it cuts him dead. “Don’t speak to me of Robin. Speak to me of vengeance. What have you learned about the man who killed my father? Who tried to kill me, too?”

After a moment, he admits, “Nothing concrete yet.”

“Then you’re no use to me.”

Stefan’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes. “I’ll leave this afternoon and continue digging.”

“Good.” I turn back to my papers, dismissing him. But he doesn’t leave. I can feel him watching me, weighing me, finding me wanting.

“She’s changing you, Eva. If I have noticed, our enemies will notice, too.”

I don’t look up. “Get out.”

“Your father would tell you the same thing I am.”

Now I look up, furious that he should invoke the name of Zoltan Novak. “My father is dead. And until you find his killer, your opinions are worth exactly nothing to me.”

Stefan nods once, sharply. “Understood.”

When the door closes behind him, I’m alone with my rage once more.

I cross to the window and look in the direction of the village below, though it’s hidden by the forest from this angle.

Still—somewhere down there, Robin walked with my uncle, laughed at his jokes, felt comfortable in a way she never does with me.

The thought makes me want to break something.

Later that night, once Stefan is gone and the dinner hour is long past, I send for Robin.

The plan is simple: I’ll make love to her, let off the pressure building in my chest, and regain my equilibrium. Sex has always been my solution to emotional complications—physical release for psychological tension.

When she appears in my doorway, wearing that soft nightdress that makes me want to tear it off her, I expect the usual dance. Her nervous energy, my advance, the sweet surrender that follows. Instead, she crosses her arms and plants her feet like she’s preparing for battle.

“You know what?” she says, her voice steady and strong. “You think you’re some mysterious ice queen, but the fact is, you’re just a jerk.”

I blink, startled into surprised laughter. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean it.” Robin’s blue eyes flash. “I’ve had enough of your games. Stop blowing hot and cold.”

The steel in her voice catches me completely off guard. This isn’t the soft, yielding Robin who melts under my touch. This is someone new—someone with spine and boundaries and zero patience for my emotional manipulation.

“I’m not your blow-up doll, Novak,” she continues.

“I’m a human being. You want me in your bed, available whenever you want?

Then you commit to being available to me—emotionally.

At least for as long as I’m here. No one else has to know—not the staff, not the villagers, not your uncle—but I deserve more than this on-again, off-again bullshit. ”

I stare at her, something unfamiliar unfurling in my chest. Admiration, maybe. Respect. She’s very angry—color high in her cheeks, eyes blazing, every inch of her radiating self-righteous indignation. God, she’s annoying.

And I want her.

A slow smile tugs at my lips. “You’re demanding a commitment from me?”

“I’m demanding basic human decency.” Robin lifts her chin even higher, defiant. “Think you can manage that?”

The challenge in her voice excites me. I’ve had women beg, bargain, threaten, and manipulate to get closer to me. But none of them has ever demanded better .

None of them has ever looked at me with such disgust and simply told me to grow up.

“Fine. I agree to your terms.” I move closer until I can smell her strawberry scent once more—light and sweet, it makes me think of the spring mornings that are creeping closer across the mountains.

“If you mean it,” Robin says, her voice softer now but no less determined, “then kiss me like you mean it.”

Not kiss me like you want me or like you need me—like you mean it . As if she can see past all my games and walls and armor to something real underneath.

Something worth wanting.

I step close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her skin. My fingers graze her jaw, tracing the delicate line from her ear to her chin. “Robin.”

“Eva.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but there’s no uncertainty in it now. Only challenge and invitation and something that might be…

Hope.

I take my time kissing her. No games, no power plays, no seduction. Just the taste of her mouth and the difficult truth that I like this Robin. I like her fire, her demands, her refusal to let me hide behind cruelty.

The kiss deepens, and at last Robin melts into my arms with a soft sigh that goes straight to my clit.

But she doesn’t wait for me to lead, to control the pace. Her fingers tug at my shirt, pulling it from my waistband, eager to touch skin. I help her, hastily unbuttoning and shaking off my clothes. Her nails graze my stomach, sending shockwaves of desire through me.

I reach for the straps of her nightdress, slowly sliding them down her shoulders. The fabric slips to her waist, exposing her luscious breasts. I brush my thumb over a nipple, watching it tighten, then tug it gently.

With a challenging look, she reaches for my tits and scoops them out of my bra so she can mirror my actions, pinching my nipples until they harden into tight peaks. Her touch isn’t gentle or tentative; it’s bold and brazen.

Yes, I like this Robin very much.

“Do you plan on keeping your promise?” she whispers against my lips, her breath hot and demanding.

I don’t answer with words. Instead, I slide my hands down her sides so that her nightdress slips to the floor, leaving her bare, her curves pressing into mine. She makes a sound deep in her throat and wraps her arms around my neck, tugging me closer even as I press her against the wall.

“No more games, Eva,” she insists, pulling away just enough to speak.

“No more games,” I promise.

And those words seal the deal.

I sink to my knees, tracing a path down her body with my mouth. Her skin is warm, smooth. I hear her breath hitching as I kiss her hips, her thighs. She’s trembling, ready, but I take my time, letting my breath whisper over her hot flesh.

Her hands thread through my hair, not guiding, just holding.

I nuzzle her soft thatch of curls, inhaling her scent.

And then I lift one of her legs, hooking it over my shoulder.

She leans back, bracing herself on the wall behind her.

I can feel the tension in her thigh, the quiver of muscles as she opens herself to me.

She’s already wet, her pussy glistening. I can’t resist, can’t hold back. My tongue flicks against her, tasting her sweetness. Her grip tightens in my hair, and she lets out a soft moan as I tease her with long, slow strokes, enjoying her soft sighs and breathy whimpers.

“Eva…” Her voice is a low murmur.

I smile against her and increase the pressure, flicking her swollen clit with the tip of my tongue. Her hips buck, and I grab her ass with both hands, holding her in place while I lick and suck and nibble until her legs are shaking and her breath is coming in ragged gasps.

It doesn’t take all that long. I’ve learned her body, learned how to drive her wild. Within minutes, she’s whimpering and trembling and coming against my mouth, her whole body quivering with the force of her orgasm. I ease back and she looks down at me, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glazed.

It’s a sight I could get used to.

When her orgasm has faded, I slide her leg from my shoulder and rise, pressing her against the wall and kissing her hard, let her taste herself on my lips, her tongue seeking more.

I cup her face with one hand, tracing the lines of her throat and collarbones with the other.

She shivers at the touch, goosebumps rising on her skin.

“Your turn,” she says firmly.

I take her hand and lead her not to the bed, but to the chaise longue in the corner, sinking down onto the cushions and spreading my legs in invitation.

She sinks down at the end of it and leans down, her hair falling around her face in a cascade of red-gold. I reach up and tuck a strand behind her ear, trailing my fingers along her jaw, and she smiles. It’s a soft, sweet smile, full of tenderness.

Her tongue touches me softly, a tentative exploration. My hips lift, chasing her touch, and I put a hand on the back of her head. “Good girl,” I murmur as her tongue flickers against me with more confidence, finding my clit and circling it slowly.

The pleasure is delicious, a slow burn. I close my eyes, letting myself get lost in the sensation. Robin takes her time, exploring every fold and crevice with her mouth. She sucks and licks, finding her way, testing out different rhythms and patterns.

When I look down, her blue eyes are fixed on mine, watching my reactions, learning what I like. It’s intoxicating, this focus, this intensity.

“That’s good,” I encourage her, stroking her hair. “Keep going.”

Her breath hitches at the command, and she presses harder, sucking my clit into her mouth and sending sparks of pleasure through my body. I buck against her, grinding my hips, needing more, more, more.

“Fuck,” I gasp out, pushing her face harder against me. “Oh, yes. Like that. Don’t stop.”

Robin moans, a low sound of desire, and the vibration pushes me even closer to the edge. Her tongue moves faster, and her hands are on my thighs, keeping me spread wide open for her.

The heat builds and builds, and I’m right there, right on the edge, and then Robin slides two fingers inside me and curls them, and the sudden fullness sends me over the edge. I come with a strangled cry, my hips jerking, my pussy pulsing around her fingers.

Robin keeps licking and sucking until the sensation is too much and I push her head gently away. She sits back on her heels, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “You’re welcome.”

I let out a breathless laugh, feeling giddy and boneless and entirely unlike myself. “Get up here,” I say, tugging her by the arms.

She climbs onto the chaise longue beside me and snuggles up to my side, her head resting on my shoulder. The contact is comfortably intimate, and I find myself relaxing into it, wrapping an arm around her and enjoying the feel of her soft body pressed against mine.

And then we just lie there, our breathing slowly returning to normal.

Outside, the wind picks up, rattling the ancient windows. Another storm coming. I can feel it in the air, in the way it seems to press closer. But here, in this bed with Robin warm and safe in my arms, the approaching tempest feels like someone else’s problem.

For now, this moment is enough: the steady rhythm of Robin’s breathing and the delicate warmth spreading through my chest.

Robin is mine. And I am hers.

For the time being.