Page 40 of Her Cruel Empire
“Mine,” I growl. “You’re mine.” I bite her collarbone, and she jerks beneath me, clenching tight around the dildo. “Tell me.”
“Yours,” she breathes. “I’m yours.”
That does it. My self-control vanishes in an instant.
I drive into her, thrusting hard and fast, but with unerring aim. Her hips meet mine, rising to meet every stroke. Her hands clutch my back, nails digging in as her gasps become frantic little cries. “You don’t come until I say,” I pant in her ear. “You will obey me, Robin, or you will regret it.”
I keep thrusting, feeling her heat rise with mine, watching her face grow flushed. “Please,” she gasps. “Please let me.”
“No.”
Her cry becomes a sob. She’s trembling under me, struggling to hold back.
“Please, I have to. Please, please?—”
“Who do you belong to, little bird?”
“You,” she whimpers. “Please, Eva, I’m yours. You know I am. Please. I won’t disobey you again--”
“Then come for me,” I say. “Right now.”
Robin sucks in a deep breath, her whole body shaking, her legs wrapping around me as she comes in a long, jerking shudder.
I fuck her through her climax until she’s begging me to stop, and only then do I let myself go, grinding down against the ribbed harness until I find my own release. When it comes, it’s more like a punch in the gut than the usual wave of pleasure, and I roll off of her feeling even more frustrated than before the orgasm.
Because I don’t think I believe her. She meant it in the moment, certainly...but she has a curiosity to her that will not be vanquished. And I have no idea what to do about it.
For a few moments, I can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but lie there feeling Robin’s chest rise and fall under my arm across her.
Her hand slips into my hair, fingers combing through the strands with impossible gentleness. Like she’s petting something wild that might bolt.
That tenderness could break me completely.
I jerk upright, rolling away from her warmth, her softness, her sickly-sweet honesty. I wriggle out of the harness and pull on my robe.
“Eva?” Her voice is small, uncertain.
I don’t meet her eyes. Can’t. If I look at her now—naked and rumpled and glowing from what we just did—I might never leave this room.
“I have work to attend to.”
“But—”
“I said I have work.” The words come out sharper than I intended, but I don’t soften them. Can’t afford to.
“Will you…” Robin starts, then stops. Starts again. “When will I see you?”
The question is so quietly asked, so carefully neutral, that it nearly undoes all my careful reconstruction.
“When I decide you will. In the meantime, do not leave this room, little bird, or you will not enjoy the consequences. I can teach a lesson kindly, as you’ve just seen—but I can also be cruel.”
With that, I walk to the door without looking back.
I make it only a few steps down the corridor before my legs threaten to give out. I press my back against the wall, breathing hard, my body still humming with the aftershocks of what just happened.
I’ve fucked presidents’ daughters and cartel queens and contract killers who moan more tunefully than opera singers. I’ve had women beg me to take them away from their gilded cages, and others who’ve tried to put bullets in my brain when they realized I wouldn’t.
But no one has ever looked at me the way Robin does. Like I’m not some mythic creature to hide from in the dark. She looks at me like I’m…
