Page 23 of Her Cruel Empire
Everything about her makes me want to break her. Destroy her completely. Show her how foolish her innocence is.
But for now I simply pause, my toes pleasantly warmed by her hot, wet cunt, as I let her feel how vulnerable she really is.
Chapter 8
Robin
When she first told me to strip, I was mortified. My generous curves couldn’t be hidden away anymore, and for a few horrible moments I thought she was going to realize what an absolute waste of money I’d been, that she was going to make a face, tell me quickly to cover up again.
But the look on her face was so far away from disgust that it gave me a shot of confidence.
She wanted me. Badly. Her eyes roamed all over me, taking it all in, and the amber irises only gleamed more golden.
And now, lying naked on this soft rug while Eva sits fully clothed in her throne-like armchair, her foot planted firmly on my pussy, I’m not mortified at all. I’m not even embarrassed.
The only desire I have right now is to come, and I’m not even sure how I got here so quickly.
So desperate. So willing to throw away my dignity and beg her to let me ride her damn foot to orgasm…
She’s studying me like I’m some new artwork she bought and paid for. I suppose I am, in her mind. While I undressed, the rational part of my brain kept screaming that Mrs. Kovacs might walk in, or Leon with his hard eyes and massive frame, or any of those dangerous men who orbit Eva like dark satellites. What would they think of the American girl sprawled out like this?
But now? Now I wouldn’t care if the entire village filed in to watch, if Leon stood at her right hand, if every killer in Eva’s employ lined up to see what she’s doing to me. I need release so desperately that I’m shaking with it.
What kind of person does that make me? What’s wrong with me that Iwanther to control me completely?
And how the hell did I never realize I had these feelings inside me?
Eva’s foot rests comfortably but firmly, her toes positioned exactly where I’m most sensitive. I’m laid out before her like a sacrifice, knees slightly bent, completely exposed while she remains pristine and in control. The firelight flickers deliciously hot across my skin, but all I can focus on is the weight of her gaze and the promise of what’s coming.
And I can feel how wet I am. Soaking. The evidence of my arousal is probably visible to her, and it only makes me burn hotter, makes me understand with crystal clarity that my body doesn’t belong to me anymore.
“Such a beautiful mess you’re making,” Eva murmurs. “Tell me what you need, little bird.”
“Please,” I whisper, the word barely audible over the crackling fire and my own thundering heartbeat. “I need to come.”
Then she begins to move.
Her toes massage against my clit with careful, slow pressure, and then she drags them down and around, finding each sensitivity and exploiting it mercilessly. The sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—intimate and degrading and absolutely incredible all at once. I should be humiliated by this position, by letting her use herfootto do this, but I’m beyond shame now. Beyond everything except desperate, clawing need.
My head rolls helplessly against the rug as waves of sensation wash over me. There’s something about the power dynamic, the way she’s still fully dressed and seated while I’m completely vulnerable, that makes this more erotic than anything I’ve ever imagined. She looks at me like I’m something that exists solely for her entertainment.
And God help me, in this moment, I want to be exactly that.
“You like this,” she observes, not a question but a statement of fact. “Look how you respond to me. How grateful you are to be owned.”
I can barely think straight. The lightheaded feeling washing over me makes me feel like I’d do absolutely anything she asked. Murder someone. Disappear forever. Forget my own name.
“Please, Eva,” I beg, my voice coming out breathless and broken. “I need?—”
“I know what you need.” Her foot stills, and I whimper at the loss of movement. “But you’re going to have to earn it.”
She slides her foot away, leaving me empty and aching, and I actually cry out in disappointment. The sound echoes, and I wonder if it’s audible outside this room. But I don’t care. Let them hear. Let them all know what she’s reducing me to.
And then she’s moving, graceful as a panther, kneeling between my spread thighs.
The sight of her there, perfectly composed while I’m falling apart, sends another rush of heat through me. Her amber eyes are dark with something that makes my breath catch—possession, satisfaction, maybe even affection. But it’s the kind of affection a collector has for their most prized piece.
She runs one hand along my soaked seam, barely touching, and I arch toward the contact.
