Page 128 of The Toy Collector

Her nails scrape lightly across my skin as she says this, and my cock hardens beneath the thin fabric of my boxer briefs. She immediately shifts her weight so she’s pressing against it.

“Whatever you want, Toy.” I reach up to brush her hair back from her face. “Name the neighborhood. I’ll have a place by morning.”

She laughs, a soft, throaty sound that makes my heart contract. “So accommodating.” Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of my boxers, tugging them down past my hips, and immediately reaching for my hardness.

“I aim to please,” I groan.

“If I’m going to be your fiancée,” she says, beginning a slow, steady stroke, “I need a ring.”

I watch her face as she works me, the slight furrow of concentration between her brows, the way she wets her lips unconsciously. “Greedy girl.”

Her hand twists on the upstroke, and it’s exquisite torture. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” I’d give her the fucking moon if she asked for it like this. “I already have it.”

Her eyes widen fractionally, her rhythm faltering for just a moment. “You do?”

“It’s safe at the estate. Custom. Six carats. The diamond is shaped like a puzzle.” I reach for her free hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Black band.”

“So that’s the last piece.” She smiles, and there’s something almost tender in it before her expression shifts, becoming more calculating. Her grip on me tightens, her strokes quickening.

“And what about Ben?” she asks, and the name is a cold shock in the heated air between us.

But then her thumb circles the head, spreading the pre-cum that’s gathered there, and cold turns to fire as I realize what she’s doing—talking about killing a man while jerking me off like it’s the most natural combination in the world.

“We can kill him whenever you want,” I say, my voice rougher now. “Or I can have someone do it.”

She shakes her head, her hair falling forward to frame her face. “After graduation,” she says, her strokes becoming harder, more insistent. “I need to end one life before I start another.”

Fuck. The casual way she says it—like she’s discussing a haircut or a dinner reservation. It shouldn’t be so goddamn sexy. But it is. My hips rise to meet her hand, chasing the friction.

“Whatever you need.” I’m close now, tension building at the base of my spine.

She leans down, her lips brushing my ear. “I want to watch the light leave his eyes,” she whispers, and it’s nearly my undoing. I grab her wrist, stilling her movements before I come too soon.

“Not yet,” I growl, flipping us so she’s beneath me. But she laughs, pushing against my chest again.

“No,” she says, her eyes dark with desire and something else—something that looks like power. “Not like that. Not right now.”

And I find myself yielding, letting her maneuver me back into position. This woman who speaks of murder with the same breath she uses to demand diamonds. This woman who arranges me like I’m one of her puzzle pieces—as if I haven’t already surrendered every game to her.

I would burn cities for her smile. I would end bloodlines for her pleasure. But most of all—I would let her lead me, follow her onto whatever path she chooses, because the alternative is a world without her voice in my ear, telling me exactly how she plans to destroy a man who dared to touch her.

She pulls my shirt over her head in one fluid motion, her body unveiled like a secret I’ve already memorized but will never tire of reading.

Instead of straddling my hips as I expect, she crawls up my body with predatory grace, positioning her thighs on either side of my face. She’s facing away from me, toward my dick, which strains upward as if seeking her heat.

The scent of her arousal fills my lungs—dark honey, salt, woman.Mine.

“Is this okay?” she asks, lowering herself until her sex hovers just above my mouth.

I answer by gripping her hips and pulling her down against my tongue. She gasps, her back arching as I lick a slow path through her folds.

She’s already wet—slick and swollen from our earlier kisses, from the control she’s been exercising. I feel her thighs tense on either side of my head as I circle her clit with the tip of my tongue.

With a moan, she bends forward, and the hot, wet suction of her mouth engulfs me. The sensation is electric, a current that arcs from my groin to the base of my skull.

We find a rhythm together—her lips sliding down my shaft as my tongue delves into her entrance, her hips rolling against my face as my hands grip her ass, spreading her wider. I slip one finger inside her cunt while my tongue focuses on her clit, feeling her inner walls clench around the intrusion.

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