Page 42 of The Toy Collector

She shifts, deliberately rubbing herself against my hardness, causing me to growl. And then, she fucking smiles. Like the air between us isn’t charged with arousal. And it nearly undoes me.

Instead of giving in, I slide my hands to her hips and still her movements, holding her in place so I don’t come in my pants from the friction.

“You had your punishment and reward,” I murmur, voice low and wrecked. “And I reminded you what the truth fucking feels like.”

With those words, I lift her off my lap, set her down on the couch, and rise to my feet. I could take her now. Bend her over this couch and fuck her so full of me she tastes it for days. But this was about getting the truth, and I believe she gave me that.

“Now that you’re finally being honest, you’ll start your internship in three days.”

Chapter 16

Piper

Blackwood Strategic Advisory stretches before me, a gleaming expanse of razor-sharp angles. It’s the kind of space designed to make you feel small, scrutinized, your every flaw and secret written across your skin like a confession.

If I’m completely honest with myself, I wasn’t sure I’d return. Not even when I got into the car that waited for me outside my apartment this morning.

The interview was one thing. But having the owner show up in my fucking home and spank me like some unruly child… no, not like a child. My reaction to what he did was anything but innocent, and that might be what sickens me the most.

Despite changing my locks, I’m not sure that’ll be enough to keep him out if he decides to come back. I mean, it’s not like I gave him keys before. However he got in, it was illegal. Even thinking about it sends heat between my legs, dampening my panties. Gah, I really need to stop thinking about it.

In three…

Two…

One…

I take a breath, smooth my skirt, and step inside the intimidating building.

Just like the last time I was here, Maria meets me at the glass doors, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm against the floor. She’s all crisp efficiency and tailored lines, her hair pulled back in a sleek chignon that doesn’t dare shed a single strand.

“Follow me, Miss Harrington,” she says, her voice as neutral as her expression. It’s not a request.

“Please, call me Piper,” I mutter as I do my best to keep up with her.

Wemove through the lobby like soldiers on a mission, Maria’s strides purposeful, mine struggling to keep pace. The security checkpoint looms ahead, a gauntlet of metal detectors and watchful eyes.

After placing my belongings in the tray, I turn to the humming scanner, holding my breath as I step through it. It’s just like the interview, this sense of being weighed, measured, stripped down to my component parts to see if I meet some unspoken standard.

I wonder if I’ll ever get used to it.

Clearly above the security measures, Maria walks around and waits on the other side, impassive, as I gather my belongings with fingers that tremble just slightly.

She guides me over to the elevators, explaining the different floors as we ascend. I can barely keep up with everything she says, and I have a feeling I’ll get lost here a lot.

When the elevator doors slide open, the main office floor unfolds before us, a cavernous space of glass and steel and muted colors. Sunlight slants through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting geometric shadows across the polished concrete.

Everywhere I look, there are sharp edges and clean lines, a precision that borders on sterile.

We pass sleek conference rooms with glass walls, their occupants engaged in hushed conversations that slice off as we walk by. The open-plan desks stretch out in orderly rows, each one a mirror image of the last. There’s a hush to the place, a focused energy that crackles like static in the air.

“This is where you and the other two interns will sit. You’re allowed to decorate your cubicle as long as it’s done tastefully, and in accordance with the handbook—”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, too quick and too loud. I’m buzzing with a weird, nervous energy. “So, no drunken selfies. Got it.” Then I press my lips together, shooting Maria an apologetic look. Christ almighty, I have no idea what just possessed me to say that.

Maria smiles indulgently. “That would not be appropriate, no. However, if you ever feel like sticking it to HR, that’s exactly the kind of thing that makes them hold seminars and fire interns,” she informs, dryly.

“Understood,” I croak.

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