Page 51 of The Toy Collector

“Or maybe Slade did,” she allows. “Either way, he sounded sincere.”

I hum with approval. “If those were their jobs, what was yours, Toy?”

She hesitates, then lifts her chin. “To listen.”

“To obey,” I correct softly, dragging my knuckle across the inside of her knee. “But listening is a good start.”

She licks her lips, emboldened now. “You already knew I’d ask to stay. You let me think I had a choice, but this was always your plan, wasn’t it?”

I lean in and kiss the top of her thigh, right above her panties. “Everything I do is by design.”

“Even this?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. “The food. The wine. The questions?”

“Especially this,” I say.

Her next breath is jagged, full of weight she doesn’t know how to hold. “You don’t need to sacrifice me to make a point.”

“No,” I state firmly. “I need you to see how power works. So when I hand you yours, you’ll know what to do with it.”

My toy might think she’s the pawn, a future sacrifice. But she couldn’t be more wrong. There’s no version of this life where I let her go.

Eyeing the last dish that we haven’t touched yet, I pull away from her and stand up. “Now,” I drawl, stalking toward the untouched dish. “Let’s see if you have room for dessert.”

Chapter 19

Piper

Time has gone liquid. Hours stretch and collapse around me, slippery and meaningless. I came here for a meeting—how long ago was that? I have no idea. I don’t know how long I’ve been perched on the cold glass—just that I can feel every trembling echo in it, like I’ve become part of the table.

My skin prickling with each shallow breath I take. The tie is tight across my eyes, soft but unforgiving in its purpose. The darkness is complete, and I’m finding that I love it. There are no questions in the darkness, only an onslaught of sensations. Sensations I’m growing addicted to.

He hasn’t spoken in minutes, but I feel him watching. The weight of his gaze falls heavy on my exposed skin, a tangible pressure that pins me as effectively as hands. I hate that I’m waiting. That I’m not fighting. That some dark, twisted part of me wants whatever comes next.

His footsteps circle the table. Each footfall is muffled but precise, like the slow ticking of a bomb. When he finally stops in front of me, I feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the spice of his cologne mingling with something darker, something male.

I open my mouth, intending to ask what’s for dessert. But before I can force the words across my lips, he speaks. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and the words drop into the silence like a stone, creating ripples I feel in my core.

His fingers find the first button of my shirt. The small plastic disc scrapes against the buttonhole with a sound that’s loud in the quiet room. One. Two. Three. Each button falls open, exposing more of me to the cold air and, well, to him.

“Keep still,” he commands when I shift slightly, and there’s no mistaking the command in hisvoice.

When he reaches the last button, he pushes the fabric from my shoulders. It whispers down my arms, pooling somewhere behind me. His hands find my bra next, fingers tracing the edge of the lace before slipping behind me. One expert twist and it falls loose. My nipples harden instantly.

“Lift,” he orders, hands on my hips. I comply, raising just enough for him to drag my skirt and underwear down in one efficient motion. Then I hear them land with a soft flutter somewhere to my left.

Now that I’m completely naked, I almost welcome the cold glass beneath me. It’s a delicious contrast against my heated flesh. I’m so wet, and even though I shouldn’t want him, I do.

I tilt my head, straining to interpret what I’m hearing. “What are you doing?” I ask, too curious to keep quiet. The question barely leaves my mouth before something cold lands on my shoulder. “Ahh!” I yelp. I jerk reflexively as, whatever the wet and icy substance is, trails down to my breast.

“It’s lychee sorbet,” he rasps, his voice closer to my ear than I expected. “With chocolate. Sweet and messy. Just like you.” The way he saysjust like youmakes my stomach clench.

I barely have time to process his words before something warm replaces the cold. His mouth, I realize with a gasp. His tongue traces the path of the melting sorbet, licking and sucking the sweetness from my skin. The contrast between the freezing dessert and his hot mouth sends electric currents racing through me.

“You know what I taste when I lick your skin, Toy?” His voice is a growl now, vibrating against the top of my breast where his mouth presses.

“N-no,” I gasp, barely able to think straight.

“Possession. Ownership. All fucking mine,” he growls.

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