Page 113 of The Toy Collector

“Look at me,” I command.

She does, those green eyes locking with mine—half-lidded, hungry. For the first time, there’s no hesitation. My toy’s finally accepting what I’ve been telling her all along; she’s mine.

“Fuck. Piper,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

I capture her mouth in a brutal kiss, a battle of lips and teeth and tongue. I devour her, tasting the sweetness of her mouth, swallowing her gasps. Her tongue slides against mine, challenging, surrendering, then challenging again.

My toy pulls back, locking her gaze on mine. “I need to know how you know all those things about me?”

“After I first saw you, I investigated every aspect of your life,” I admit, my voice steady despite the fire in my veins.

“You did what?”

I nod. “I did a complete background check. Your educational records. Your medical history. Your favorite coffee order.”

“Keep going,” she urges.

“Then I broke in and installed cameras all over your apartment,” I admit. “Sometimes I watched you through the feed. But other times, I came here and watched you sleep.”

Her eyes widen slightly, but not with shock—with recognition. As if something has finally clicked into place. For a moment, I think she might push me away, might finally decide that my obsession crosses some line she can’t accept.

She bites my bottom lip, savage and sure, sending a sharp sting straight to my groin. When she releases my lip, her eyes are dark with something wilder than lust. “From now on,” she says, her voice strong, “you ask me. If there’s something about me you want to know, you ask me directly.”

“I promise,” I vow, and mean it.

She rewards me by leaning forward, teeth grazing the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder. Then she bites down. The sting of it is delicious, unexpected. My hips jerk forward involuntarily as she gasps against my skin; the sound vibrating through my body.

“Again,” I growl, and she obliges, biting down harder, sucking the spot. The thought of wearing her brand, of everyone seeing the evidence of her passion on my skin, sends a surge of possessive pleasure through me.

Water drums against our bodies, the air thick and heady with heat. The glass separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom is completely fogged. The world outside this shower stall is irrelevant. Nothing exists beyond her body against mine.

I slide one hand up, trailing over her ribs, between her breasts, before wrapping around her throat. I don’t squeeze—I don’t need to. The weight of my hand there, the implicit control, is enough.

For several heartbeats, we remain frozen like this—her back against the wall, her legs around my hips, my hand still loosely encircling her throat. The water begins to cool, but I can’t bring myself to move yet. To separate my body from hers feels sacrilege.

When I finally look at her, her eyes are heavy-lidded, but clear. There’s no regret there, no second thoughts. Just a quiet certainty that mirrors my own. This was inevitable. This was right.

I lean forward, pressing my forehead against hers. “Mine,” I whisper, not as a question, not as a demand, but as a simple statement of fact.

She closes her eyes briefly, her lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. When she opens them again, there’s a peace there I haven’t seen before.

I ease her legs down, letting her stand on unsteady feet while keeping her pressed against the wall for support. Water sluices between our bodies. After switching off the water, I help her out of the shower and dry her body before my own. The look in her eyes tells me there’s something on her mind.

Before I can ask, she places her hand on my chest, right above my puzzle tattoo. Her palm presses directly over my heart. “I’m not mad you stalked me,” she says, almost too soft to hear. “Or that you looked into my life,Lorenzo.”

The way she says my full name makes it clear she’s annoyed she figured it out on her own and didn’t hear it from me. And the fire in her green eyes confirms it.

Fuck, my stubborn toy is perfect. No wonder I want to spend all my time worshiping her.

“But I can’t be yours,” she continues, her fingers tracing the outline of the puzzle piece. “Not until I know who you really are.”

She steps closer. Her breath ghosts over my chest, and then she licks the skin above my heart in a way that’s fucking lethal to my self-control. A low groan rumbles out of me.

“And until I know your mind as well as I know your heart and body,” she breathes, voice shaking slightly, “I don’t want to see Ben.”

Her words confuse me, but then I get it. When she demanded to see him before, it was a reaction. Now, she’s refusing to embrace the darkness until I’ve proven myself to her. And fuck if that doesn’t make me want to tear the whole fucking world apart just to give her what she’s asking for.

Chapter 40

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