Page 5 of Her Wicked Promise (The Devil’s Plaything #2)

Eva

E ven furious—especially furious—Robin Rivers really is magnificent. I can practically taste the anger rolling off of her. She’s trying so hard to maintain control, to project strength.

And she has no idea how much I crave that fight in her.

She steps abruptly to the door, and I assume for a moment she’s going to walk out, but her hand moves to the lock, twisting it hard until it gives an audible click. Then she moves to the one interior window and closes the venetian blind with an angry tug of the cord.

“If you want privacy—” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“I don’t want to chance my family seeing me this angry,” she tells me between gritted teeth. “Alicia and Dane are coming after breakfast to see Maisie.”

“Lovely. I’d be delighted to meet them, too.”

Ah, she’s beautiful when she’s angry. Beautiful and dangerous and completely unaware of the power she wields over me.

“This doesn’t mean you’ve won,” Robin hisses.

But oh, little bird, it does. The moment she led me into this room and locked the door, she told me exactly what this conversation was really about.

Robin’s voice stays low but steady as she begins ticking off demands like she’s negotiating a business contract instead of the terms of her own surrender.

“Maisie must be completely stable before I leave. I stay in contact with my family while I’m at the castle.

You will provide them a stipend to live off while I’m gone—and you will make sure they’re protected while I’m away. ”

Each word is delivered with crisp precision, and with each point she makes, she steps closer. Close enough that I can smell the faint strawberry of her shampoo, see the gold flecks in her blue eyes, count the faint freckles scattered across her nose.

“And if I want to leave the castle or visit the village,” she continues, her chin tilted at that defiant angle that never fails to make my pulse pick up, “Then I will. Do you understand me?”

I let her finish her little speech, let her think she has some semblance of control in this situation. It’s amusing, really—Robin Rivers laying down terms as if she has any leverage beyond the desperate love that’s driven her to this moment.

“Is there anything else my little bird would like to demand?”

My words drip with derision, but beneath the mockery, something else stirs. An unfamiliar thrill that has nothing to do with victory and everything to do with the fire blazing in Robin’s eyes. She’s not broken. She’s not begging. She’s standing toe-to-toe with me and demanding respect.

It’s intoxicating.

Robin steps even closer, close enough that if I reached out, I could touch her. Close enough that I can feel the heat of her anger.

Or is it a different kind of heat? I wonder…

“That’s the deal, Novak,” she says through clenched teeth. “Or there’s no deal at all.”

The use of my surname instead of my given name makes me want to laugh. She’s trying to create distance, trying to remind both of us that this is business, not personal. As if anything between us could ever be anything but personal.

She saw to that the moment she cracked my heart open and tried to wriggle her way inside.

“You are infuriating.” I grab her hips and slam her back against the door. Robin’s breath leaves her in a sharp exhale. But she doesn’t struggle, doesn’t try to push me away. Instead, she meets my gaze with that stubborn defiance that makes me want to devour her whole.

“And still delicious,” I murmur, before crushing my mouth to hers.

Robin’s hands come up to push against my shoulders for half a heartbeat before her fingers curl into the lapels of my jacket, dragging me closer instead of shoving me away.

Her body knows the truth even if her mind won’t admit it.

She’s mine.

I take what I want because I can . Because I always have.

Because I refuse to believe that anything in this world is off-limits to me.

If I want the Gattos gone, I make it happen.

If I decide later that I want the Colombos gone, too, then I’ll make that happen.

And if I decide I want another thirty days to play with a delicious strawberry blonde from Las Vegas…

I’ll throw as much money at her as I need to.

So why is my heart beating so fast? Why does the feel of her mouth under mine feel not like a victory, but like I’m falling, swooping, flying?

We break apart gasping, but I don’t let her catch her breath. Can’t let her think too hard about what we’re doing or she might remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.

“I’ll agree to your demands,” I say against her throat, my hand skimming up her thigh with deliberate slowness. “But only if you remember one thing.”

My fingers press between her legs through the fabric of her jeans, and I feel her whole body go rigid. “You belong to me, Robin. And I will expect my money’s worth.”

My words are designed to remind her exactly what she is to me. What she’s always been—a purchase, a transaction, a beautiful object for my collection.

But perhaps those words are supposed to remind me , as well.

Robin tries to speak, but only a whimper escapes as I press harder, finding the heat of her through a layer of denim. The sound shoots straight through me, starts up a throbbing in my cunt that seems to echo the rapid beat of my heart.

“Say it,” I demand. “Say that you’re mine.”

“I hate you,” she breathes, but her hips cant forward into my touch despite her words.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m not. Not the way it counts.”

“Liar.”

Because she is lying, and we both know it.

Her body is betraying her, already responding to my touch like she’s been starving for it.

Like she’s spent this last week apart from me craving exactly this —the push and pull, the anger and desire, the way we set each other on fire and burn everything down around us.

We fall into each other like enemies declaring war, hands everywhere at once, frantic, clawing, needy. My fingers work at the button of her jeans while she tugs at my jacket, pulling it off my shoulders violently.

I slip my hand inside her jeans, past the barrier of simple cotton, and find her slick and hot. Robin’s head falls back against the wall with a soft thud, her mouth falling open on a gasp that sounds like surrender.

“Always wet for me,” I murmur against her ear, stroking slowly, deliberately. “Still mine, no matter what you tell yourself.”

Robin’s response is to yank up my dress and slide her own hand into my underwear, fingers finding me easily. “You’re a selfish, greedy, narcissistic asshole,” she hisses in my ear. “I’m not yours and I never will be.”

My fingers press into her easily and she bucks forward to meet me, gripping my shoulder for leverage. We rock together, each thrust burying my hand deeper inside her.

But Robin’s fingers are also driving me higher, relentless and knowing.

I will not come before her. I will not allow her that.

“You tell me I’m greedy,” I pant. “But look at you, little bird.”

Her other hand clasps the back of my neck and she pulls me in against her forehead. “You’re the one who looks desperate, Eva,” she tells me through gritted teeth.

Desperate isn’t even close to describing it.

The whole world has narrowed to the feel of her hot, wet cunt around my hand, to slick thrusts punctuated by harsh breathing.

My thumb slides over her clit, and she jolts like she’s been shocked.

I rub tight circles, coaxing a gasp from her lips, a gasp she tries to suppress by burying her face in my neck.

Her breath is hot on my skin, her teeth grazing, marking.

But any sense of triumph dies as she twists her fingers inside me, making me gasp and clench down on her.

She lets out a soft scoff that infuriates me. Is she laughing at me? She needs to remember who’s in charge. I redouble my efforts, but no matter what I do, she doesn’t want to lose herself.

Not to me. Not again.

Well, we’ll see about that.

My free hand finds the hem of her t-shirt, yanks it up to reveal that white cotton bra that has haunted my dreams since we parted.

Her nipples are hard inside it, and I pull her breast out roughly, let the heavy flesh fill my palm.

The nipple is tight, flushed dark pink. I roll it between my fingers, pinch until she cries out, until she bucks into my hand frantically.

She’s struggling, fighting herself and me at the same time. Her hair is a mess, falling over her flushed and damp face, and I did that . I provoked that from her. And I love the chaos I’ve wrought.

But I want more.

I pinch harder at her nipple, twist until she’s writhing, until she’s fucking my hand in earnest. God, the sounds she makes as I stoke her heat…

Her eyes meet mine, and she adjusts her fingers, bending them inside me, seeking out that detonator. Pressured. Steady.

And then she finds it, makes my whole body shudder against her.

“You like that?” she rasps out, taunting and vicious.

“You can’t win against me,” I pant back. “Remember that, little bird. I. Always . Win.”

I know she’s close. I can feel it in the flutter of her cunt, in the tension of her thighs. But she’s fighting it, biting her lip, eyes screwed shut.

“You might be able to buy my body,” she grits out, “but you’ll never own my heart, Eva.”

And with that, she gives up the fight, her body going rigid and her head thrown back. She rides my fingers, letting her whole body give in to what it wants.

It’s the most intense feeling of power I’ve ever had, watching her lose control. Watching her nuclear meltdown on my fingers.

And now I can take my own satisfaction. I press my hand over hers where it still wriggles inside me, knowing she’ll hate herself as soon as her orgasm dies away, so I keep up the rhythm, grinding down onto her fingers.

Her expression shifts from pleasure to clarity, from clarity to anger, and I laugh with vicious delight as I come, reveling in this feeling, this total and complete possession.

Who the hell needs her heart when I can take every other thing from her?

For a moment, we stay pressed together against the wall, breathing hard and trying to remember how to think. Robin’s fingers are still inside me, and I can feel the rapid beat of her heart against my chest.

She pulls her hand away first. I withdraw my fingers from her slowly, deliberately, bringing them to my lips. Robin watches with narrowed eyes as I taste her, humming with satisfaction at the flavor I’ve been craving ever since she left.

“Yes,” I say with smug satisfaction. “Still delicious.”

Robin glares at me, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, eyes bright with rage. And something else beneath it. I wonder what it is?

My smirk widens again as I smooth my hair back into place, every inch the composed businesswoman despite what just happened between us. “Alright, little bird. You have yourself a deal.”

Because she does. All her little demands, all her attempts to maintain some semblance of control—I’ll give her what she wants.

I’ll let her stay until Maisie is stable, let her call her family while she’s away, let her roam my castle like she owns it, even let her go down to the village if she really wants to mire herself in despair.

I’ll have her followed and protected, of course.

But I can afford to be generous now that I have what I really want.

“Great,” she says flatly. And then that bright look in her eye crystallizes and I recognize it at last, as sure as looking into a mirror.

It’s cruelty.

“But you should know, Eva, that just because I’m going back with you, it doesn’t mean I feel anything for you. I’ll do what you want, but only because I have to. Not because I want to. As long as you understand that, then we have a deal.”

I stand stock-still, staring at her in something that must be shock. Because I’ve never felt this level of surprise. No one has ever dared speak to me like that before.

Anger rises up in me, but I douse it cleanly. She’s trying to claw back an iota of control. That’s all.

So without flinching, without missing a beat, I take a step back and put out my hand, still damp with her own pleasure, and say, “Deal.”

After a moment, she takes my hand, and we shake.

And then Robin shoves past me toward the door, where she fumbles with the lock for a moment before getting it open, and I can see the tremor in her hands that she’s trying so hard to hide.

I watch her storm down the corridor, her spine rigid with wounded pride and lingering desire. The smirk fades from my lips, though, as the familiar satisfaction from winning a battle of wills fails to flood me.

I got what I wanted. I got her .

So why isn’t that enough?

Robin thinks she’s negotiated terms that will protect her, that will give her some measure of control over what happens next.

But every demand she made—staying in contact with her family, being able to leave the castle, having a say in when she comes to me—only makes her more appealing. Only makes the game more interesting.

Robin Rivers wants to play by her own rules? Fine. I’ll let her think she’s winning right up until the moment she realizes she’s lost everything.

After all, the most effective prisons are the ones that feel like freedom. By the time I’m finished with Robin Rivers, she’ll beg me to keep her. She’ll choose the cage willingly, grateful for the bars that keep her safe.

And then she’ll never want to leave me.