Page 32 of Her Cruel Empire
“Of course not.” The words come out too quickly, too airy. Like I’m brushing off something insignificant.
Because I need a moment to quell the possessive hunger currently eating at my composure.
I move to the fireplace, using the moment to collect myself. Robin shifts behind me, probably reading the tension in my shoulders.
“I have to leave for Zurich.” I turn to face her, keeping my voice level. Professional. “Later this morning. I’ll be gone overnight, and possibly for a few days.”
Her face falls slightly—just a flicker, but I catch it in the mirror hanging on the nearby wall. Interesting.
“While I’m away, you’ll stay inside the castle.” I step closer, letting authority creep into my tone. “You will not go into the grounds. You’re not a prisoner, of course, but you’re…vulnerable. There are people who would take any chance to hurt me, and they might see you as a soft target.”
Robin’s eyes widen. “Am I in danger?”
Perfect opening.
I close the distance between us until I’m close enough to smell her skin—soap and kitchen warmth and a synthetic strawberry scent that should repel me…but doesn’t. I drop my voice to a whisper, soft and deadly.
“Of course you’re in danger.”
I give myself a moment to enjoy the fear and confusion warring across her expressive face. She needs to understand the weight of what she’s done. The world she’s entered.
And then I add lightly, “What did you think would happen when you sold yourself at auction?”
Robin doesn’t answer. Just shrugs—small, stiff, defensive. The gesture irritates me more than her silence.
“Why did you do it?” The question slips out before I can stop it. “Auction yourself off like?—”
“Nothing fits.”
She cuts me off, nodding toward the wardrobe. “I’m not some glamazon supermodel, like I guess you prefer your women. Everything in there is…” She trails off, shrugs again. “Wrong.”
Wrong. Everything is wrong for her soft curves and honest beauty.
Guilt slices through my irritation. I didn’t even consider it. Every woman I’ve had before fit the same mold—tall, lean, interchangeable. Built like expensive accessories.
“I’ll have new clothes brought in today. But you won’t be needing them right now.” The words come out sharper than I intended, and she flinches. “Come here.”
She steps closer, and I let hunger replace guilt. This is familiar territory.ThisI can control.
“Take everything off. Slowly. I want to see every inch of what belongs to me.”
The command comes out low and rough. Robin’s breath catches, but she doesn’t hesitate. Her hands go to the hem of that oversized sweater.
She pulls it over her head slowly, revealing that creamy skin that glows red-gold in the firelight—and her simple cotton bra from yesterday. The leggings go next, sliding down thick thighs that I want to bite, and when I see she’s not wearing any panties, I groan.
Standing naked in the morning light streaming in the window, and gilt with firelight from the other side, Robin looks like a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Soft, curved belly. Full breasts tipped with pink. The strawberry blonde curls between her thighs hiding a molten center that I bet tastes sugary sweet.
“Kneel.”
She sinks to her knees on the rug, hands folded in her lap. Waiting.
I circle her slowly, drinking in every curve. Every tremor. The way her breath quickens when I trail a finger across her shoulder.
I tip her face up with a finger beneath her chin. “You’re mine until the thirty days are up. Mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
“Good girl.”
