Page 115 of The Toy Collector

“I take it you did well,” he murmurs against my mouth, not really a question.

“I think so,” I breathe back, aware of how his body shields me from the wind, creating a pocket of warmth between us. “He nodded. Professor Levi never nods unless you’ve impressed him.”

Enzo’s thumb brushes over my bottom lip, his eyes following the movement. “Good girl.”

Two simple words, but they send a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold. I press closer, seeking more of his heat, more of the solid certainty of his body against mine.

“I knew you would,” he says, and there’s something in his voice—pride, but also the quiet confidence of someone who never doubted the outcome. It makes me feel both seen and small, like I’m a puzzle he solved long ago.

He kisses me again, harder this time, teeth catching my lower lip in a gentle bite that makes me gasp. My toes curl in my boots, and I can’t stop the small moan that escapes when his hand slides down to grip my hip, fingers digging in just enough to remind me who I belong to.

When he finally pulls back, the air between us is foggy with our mingled breath. His eyes are darker now, pupils dilated, and there’s a tension in his jaw that tells me exactly where his thoughts have gone.

Without a word, he reaches behind me and opens the passenger door of the SUV. The command in the gesture is unmistakable. “Get in, Toy,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.

I hesitate for just a moment—not out of reluctance, but because the transition always takes my breath away. One minute I’m Piper Harrington, Georgetown political student with a promising future; the next I’m his, stepping willingly into the world he creates for us.

He shuts the door with a solid thunk, and I watch through the window as he walks around to the driver’s side. The outside world recedes as he slides in beside me, his presence filling the car with something heavy and electric.

Pulling away from the curb, he steers with one hand while the other rests on my thigh. “Tell me about the presentation,” he says, his eyes on the road as we merge into the flow of Georgetown traffic.

“I think I nailed it,” I say, unable to keep the pride from my voice. “Though I did blush at one of Professor Levi’s questions, thanks to you.”

“Oh?” One dark eyebrow lifts, his lips curving into that knowing smile that makes my stomach flip. “And why is that?”

“Because all I could think about was you asking me the same question while I was on my knees.” Heat creeps up my neck at the memory. “With your dick in my mouth.”

His chuckle is low and dark, vibrating through the small space between us. “That was the point, Toy. Every time you answer a question in that classroom, I want you to remember who really taught you.” The words coil in my belly, hot and undeniable.

His fingers tighten on my thigh, inching higher, and I have to press my legs together to quell the immediate ache that blooms between them.

“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to redirect the conversation before I combust. “I thought we’d go back to my place to celebrate.”

“Ourplace,” he corrects. “You thought we were going back toourplace to celebrate.”

He’s not wrong; there’s nomyplace anymore; it’s ours, and I secretly love that. I smile softly at him, reaching out and running a finger across his cheek. I smile.

“Yeah, I guess that’s what I meant.”

Enzo’s eyes remain fixed on the road, but there’s something in his profile—a slight tightening at the corner of his mouth—that makes my heart skip. “We are going to celebrate,” he says simply. “Just not at home.”

“Then where?”

Heglances at me then, those ice-blue eyes holding mine for a beat longer than is safe while driving. “You said you wanted to know me, Toy. There’s no better way than meeting my family.”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush. “Your family?”

“My mother. My cousins.” He says it casually, as if he’s suggesting a trip to the grocery store rather than introducing me to the people who shaped him. “We’re flying to Cleveland.”

“Cleveland?” My voice comes out higher than I intended. “Now? Today?”

“Yes, today.” His smile is slow, predatory, satisfied at my reaction. “Is that a problem?”

“No. I mean…” I shake my head, trying to organize the sudden flood of questions. “I just didn’t expect… you never talk about them.”

“Because they’re mine,” he says simply. “But now you’re mine too. So it’s time.”

Something warm unfurls in my chest at his words, a giddy excitement that makes it hard to sit still. “What are they like? Your mom, is she…”

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