Page 114 of The Toy Collector

Piper

The past two weeks blur together like watercolors left in the rain—endless nights of highlighting textbooks until the words swim, mornings waking to Enzo’s fingers tracing my spine, afternoons of him quizzing me relentlessly between stolen kisses.

Every time I tried to focus, he was there, simultaneously my greatest help and my most devastating distraction. Now I stand at the front of the lecture hall, gripping the podium like it’s the only thing keeping me upright, acutely aware of how the recycled air presses against my skin.

A dozen pairs of eyes pin me in place as I stand in front of Georgetown’s most selective political students. Some gazes are curious, others glazed with boredom, a few already mentally packed for Christmas break.

But not me. I’m almost done presenting and defending the paper I handed in just before Thanksgiving.Almost.The light behind me hums, casting my shadow long across the floor while my final slide glows against the monitor—a neat bulleted conclusion.

The words fall from my mouth like I’ve rehearsed them a thousand times, which I have. In front of my bathroom mirror. While cooking dinner. Under Enzo’s watchful gaze as he lounged on my couch, interrupting every few minutes to correct a point or challenge an assumption.

Heat crawls up the back of my neck from the memory of how those practice sessions usually ended—with papers scattered across the floor and both of us naked. I clear my throat and force my mind back to the present.

The wood of the podium is smooth under my fingertips. I trace small circles against it, grounding myself in the present moment as I methodically dismantle the counterarguments to my thesis. My voice grows steadier with each point, even as I feel a trickle of sweat slide down my spine.

Professor Levi leans forward in his seat, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin. His gray eyes narrow slightly, and I see it coming before he even opens his mouth. “Miss Harrington, you argue that economic incentives are the most effective. What about cases where economic leverage fails to change behavior?”

My mind blanks for a half-second. Then it fills with Enzo.

Three nights ago; my apartment, books spread across the kitchen table as Enzo forced me to my knees and undid his pants.

“Focus, Toy,” he murmured, lips against my ear as I squirmed. “If your professor asks this, what will you say?”

He wasn’t happy with the answer I gave, and instead of giving me time to change my argument, he shoved his cock down my throat. While I gagged on him, he helped me get a better grasp on the concept and how to verbalize it in a way that couldn’t be challenged.

“You’ll remember that answer now, won’t you?” he asked as he let me up for air.

He was right. The memory is seared into me.

“Historical evidence suggests that economic failure is often a matter of insufficient incentive rather than the wrong approach altogether,” I begin, my voice clearer than I expected. “If we look at the Baltic states in the early two-thousands…”

The answer flows from me, perfect and polished, even as my inner thighs tingle with the ghost of Enzo’s touch. I don’t stumble or hesitate. I channel every ounce of focus into getting through these last ten minutes without combusting.

I finish with a crisp, “Thank you for your time,” and a silence falls over the room like a dropped curtain.

Professor Levi’s face remains impassive. Twenty-three years in politics before academia has left him with a perfect poker face. But then—there it is. The smallest nod, a twitch at the corner of his mouth that just might be approval.

“Thank you, Miss Harrington,” he says, making a small note on his legal pad.

Relief floods through me, leaving my fingers trembling against the podium. I did it. I actually did it. Months of research, two weeks of intense preparation, and one very distracting benefactor later, I’ve survived my presentation.

We’re dismissed with nothing more than a collective exhale as everyone starts packing up their things. Since our grades won’t be announced until the end of January, I try to push it out of my mind as I shoulder my bag and join the stream of bodies filing out of the lecture hall.

My legs feel like they’re moving through syrup as I push through the heavy door of the building. The sharp December air hits me like a slap, stealing my breath for a moment before my lungs remember how towork again.

Georgetown looks like a postcard in winter—bare tree branches lined with a dusting of frost, old brick buildings standing solid against the pale sky. I inhale deeply, letting the cold burn my throat on the way down. It feels clarifying somehow.

Christmas break stretches before me like an unmarked canvas. Weeks of freedom before the next semester begins. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure what to do with this new lightness.

A part of me wants to call Lena and meet for drinks to celebrate. But another part wants to crawl into bed and sleep for a week straight. Preferably with Enzo spooning me. Just as I think the last part, I see him.

He’s leaning against his sleek black SUV, parked illegally at the curb like he owns the entire fucking city. Hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored coat, shoulders relaxed despite the cold. A slow smile spreads across his face as our eyes lock across the distance.

Every nerve ending in my body lights up like a struck match. The exhaustion that weighed on me moments ago evaporates, replaced by a humming awareness that makes my skin feel too tight.

I’m already moving toward him, my pace quickening with each step until I’m running the last few feet, launching myself into his waiting arms. He catches me effortlessly, possessively, like I belong nowhere else. My heart free-falls into him, tethered only by the brutal certainty that no one else would ever catch me.

Then his mouth claims mine, hot and unapologetic, tongue pushing past my lips. The contrast is electric—his heat against my wind-chilled lips. We kiss like we haven’t seen each other in days instead of mere hours. His tongue sliding against mine with a possessiveness that makes me dizzy.

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