Page 102 of The Toy Collector

Her eyes widen, pupils blown with arousal and something darker, something that matches what lives inside me. She doesn’t pull away from my hand. If anything, she leans into it, trusting me even as she interrogates me.

“You’ve already changed me,” she argues.

“Have I?” I challenge. “Or have I merely unlocked parts of yourself that you didn’t know existed?”

She shudders above me, her rhythm growing erratic, her breathing shallow. Not from fear, but from how close she is to having another orgasm. My honesty is pushing her there faster than any physical touch could.

“Is this…” she gasps, grinding down harder, chasing her pleasure even as she demands more truth. “Is this love to you?”

I feel my control slipping, the question piercing something vital inside me. My hand slides from her throat to the back of her neck, pulling her down until our foreheads touch, until we’re breathing the same air.

“This is everything,” I tell her, the words scraping my throat raw with their honesty. “Everything I have. Everything I am.”

She kisses me then, her tongue sweeping into my mouth like she’s trying to taste the truth of my words. I kiss her back just as desperately, just as honestly, letting her take what she needs.

When she pulls back, her eyes are wild, her cheeks flushed. “More,” she demands, and I’m not sure if she means more truth or more pleasure. I decide to give her both.

I can’t hold still anymore. The control I’ve clung to splinters inside me like bone snapping under pressure, and with a growl that doesn’t sound human even to my own ears, I seize her hips and flip us both in one fluid motion, pinning her beneath me.

Her back hits the mattress with enough force to drive the air from her lungs in a surprised gasp, her eyes widening. But there’s no fear there, only expectation, anticipation, a dark hunger that matches my own.

I drive into her without preamble, thrusting deep enough to make her moan.

“Tell me you’re mine,” I snarl into the hollow of her throat, dragging my mouth over the skin I’m about to fucking brand with every thrust.

Another thrust, deeper, harder. Her legs wrap around my waist, ankles crossing at the small of my back, pulling me in like she can’t get enough.

The sound she makes isn’t quite a moan, isn’t quite a sob—it’s surrender and defiance wrapped in one breathless noise. Her nails rake down my back.

“Answer me,” I demand on a groan. She shakes her head and presses her lips together. “Why did you start this game and demand honesty if you can’t play by your own rules?”

There’s no way I can be gentle when she still refuses to answer my question. I know she’s mine, and she’s already admitted it to me days ago. But I still want to hear it again. I’ve been brutally honest with her, so it’s only fair she does the same.

“Look at me,” I demand, one hand fisting in her hair to tilt her face up. Her eyes meet mine, glazed with pleasure but still sharp. “You think I don’t already know the answer?” I punctuate each question with a thrust that makes the headboard slam against the wall.

A flush spreads across her chest, up her neck, staining her cheeks. Her inner walls clench around me, her body responding to my words as much as my touch.

“Why do you need to hear it?” she gasps, teeth bared like she’s still fighting, even as her body surrenders.

I slow my pace, making each thrust deliberate, forcing her to feel every inch of me. One hand slides beneath her, lifting her hips to change the angle, hitting deeper, where I know she needs it most.

She moans at that, her back arching off the bed, pushing her breasts against my chest. I take advantage, my mouth finds her nipple, teeth scraping sharp before I suck.

Every brutal, worshipful stroke is a brand, a vow, an offering she didn’t even have to ask for. I’m giving her everything—not just my body, but the darkness she’s been asking about, the truth of what lives inside me.

“Enzo,” she gasps. My name, raw and needy, like she’s finally accepting who and what I am to her.

“Tell me,” I demand, feeling her tighten around me, knowing she’s close. My hand slides between us, finding where we’re joined, my thumb circling her clit with the same relentless rhythm as my thrusts. “Come on me, baby, while you tell me what we both know.”

Her body responds instantly, clenching around me, her head thrown back as pleasure overtakes her. I don’t slow, don’t gentle my touch, driving her higher, pushing past that first peak toward something more devastating, more complete.

“I can’t…” she starts to protest, oversensitive, overwhelmed. But I know her body better than she does—know what she craves, what she’ll beg for if I push her just right.

“You can,” I assure her, my voice rough with exertion and something dangerously close to reverence. “You will.”

Her orgasm builds faster, harder, her body trembling beneath me, around me. I feel my own release approaching, a tight coil of pressure at the base of my spine, but I hold back, determined to watch her fall apart again before I allow myself to follow.

“Enzo!” My toy claws at my back, screaming my name like a prayer and a curse combined.

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