Page 34 of The Toy Collector

I light a cigar first—thin, dark, perfectly wrapped—letting the smoke curl toward the ceiling like a whispered promise. Something about the ritual soothes the more primal ache beneath my skin.

Then I settle onto the couch, lying on my back. My dick hasn’t softened since the interview. Not even flooding her throat with my cum took the edge off. If anything, it sharpened it. A groan builds in my throat, escaping before I can stop it. Fuck, I can still smell her pussy on my fingers.

Just as I’m about to give in to the carnal need thrumming through my veins, Piper steps into view. She walks in like nothing happened—like she didn’t kneel for me, didn’t orgasm with my fingers deep inside her.

Her posture is perfect, her movements calm. If she’s shaking, she doesn’t show it. And I study her closely—looking for the crack. But there isn’t one. I zoom in, anyway. Just to be sure. Her mouth is relaxed, her gaze steady. She drops her bag by the table like this is just another day.

“Good girl,” I rasp, the words meant only for me. My fingers twitch, craving her skin, craving the slow, inevitable moment I stop watching and start taking.

I adjust my position on the couch, my fingers deftly working at my belt. As soon as I’ve released my hardness from its confines, my hand wraps around the length with a familiar grip. My breathing remains steady and controlled, eyes locked unwaveringly on the screen before me.

Pre-cum is already forming into glistening beads, and I spread it gently over the sensitive tip and down the entire length, feeling the slick smoothness under my fingers. The sensation is intoxicating, an electric charge buzzing through my body with each deliberate stroke, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me.

A guttural growl tears from my throat as I fuck my fist to the image of my toy. Her hips sway with a tantalizing rhythm, each step a silent invitation. The dress she wears clings to her curves, accentuating her deliciously round ass with precision.

My grip tightens, strokes turning brutal, punishing.Mytoy.Mine.

“Fuck,” I hiss through clenched teeth, my hand moving with increasing urgency.

The same hand that had expertly made her come during the interview is now working my hardness. The symbolism isn’t lost on me; this connection through touch, this limb that bridges us, is driving us both toward the brink of release.

My grip turns punishing. I stroke faster. Harder. Like she’s still on her knees for me. My breathing becomes ragged, echoing the rising intensity. I can feel the tension building, my muscles tightening, and my body responding in anticipation.

I’m on the brink, so incredibly close to the edge, teetering on the precipice of release.

“Turn around,” I grunt. “Let me see that pretty face.”

I fixate on her full, pouty lips as she parts them ever so slightly. My mind immediately plunges into a memory of the tip of my cock brushing against her soft, moist lips.

The warmth of her mouth enveloping me, inch by agonizing inch. Her tongue, slick and teasing, circling the sensitive rim. Fuck. That’s the memory that finishes me. My climax crashes over me, and my body convulses with pleasure. Thick, white ropes of cum erupt from my dick.

I’m groaning her name. “Piper! Fuck!” I’m fucking drenched, my cum slicking my hand and staining my clothes—but I don’t care. I wipe my hand on my slacks and sit up.

Just as I’m about to set the tablet down so I can clean up, I see it. Seehim—the driver. What the fuck is he still doing there? His usefulness and job ended the second she crossed the threshold. He definitely shouldn’t be inside my toy’s home.

My entire body freezes as I watch him move closer, too close. Without warning, he reaches out and brushes her.

He. Fucking. Touches. Her.

Then he says something, but the rage pounding in my head drowns out his voice. His hand lingers on Piper’s lower back. She nods, but she doesn’t even look at him. In fact, she looks uncomfortable.

“Who do you think you’re touching?” I roar, surging to my feet.

Although there’s no way he heard me, the driver quickly removes his hand, but it’s too late. The damage is done. He touched what’smine.

Reaching for my phone, I don’t hesitate to call Maria. It only rings once before there’s a reply.

“I need the driver who took Piper Harrington home to come pick me up at my office. Now.” My tone is clipped, my words angry. And instead of waiting for a reply, I hang up.

Grabbing my keys and coat, I stride out the door and into the waiting elevator. Even though I get a text halfway down to let me know the driver is on his way, it feels like I’m pacing the lobby for an eternity before he pulls into the spot in front of the building.

My body feels tense, wound tight like a spring ready to snap as I stride out through the gleaming glass doors, each step landing with a deliberate heaviness. The air feels cold as it brushes against my skin, a stark contrast to the heat of my nerves.

With calculated precision, I navigate around the sleek, polished car, its surface reflecting the world in a distorted dance of light and color.

I open the door and slip into the backseat, the leather cool and smooth beneath me, positioning myself directly behind the driver, every movement purposeful and controlled.

“Where are we going, Mr. Russo?” The driver’s voice wavers as he glances at me nervously in the rearview mirror.

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