Page 53 of The Toy Collector

“A little warning would be nice,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

My hands grip the edge of the table until my knuckles ache. The bite of cold is almost too much—until his mouth follows, hot and demanding, turning discomfort into a pleasure so acute it borders on pain.

His lips trail lower. I feel his teeth scrape against my hip bone, and I suck in a breath—unable to see, but hyper-aware of where he’ll strike next. My thighs quiver with anticipation, with the effort of keeping still when every cell in my body wants to arch, to seek, to demand.

More cold—this time on the inside of my thigh, so close to where I’m aching that I cry out. The sorbet drips, followed by his mouth. He sucks hard at the tender skin, the gentle pain blooming into something darker, needier.

“Please,” I hear myself whisper, hating the desperation in my voice but unable to contain it.

“Please what?” His breath brushes my slit—close enough to tease, cruel enough not to touch.

I clench my jaw, refusing to beg more explicitly. My stubbornness earns me a sharp bite on my other thigh, the sting making me jerk. “You know what I want,” I manage, my voice hoarse.

“I want to hear you say it.” His thumbs press into the creases wherethigh meets hip, spreading me wider. “Tell me how badly you want my mouth on your cunt.”

The crude word sends a shock through me, a jolt of electricity that makes my already wet sex clench around nothing. I open my mouth, but pride glues my tongue to the roof. I can’t—won’t—give him the satisfaction.

My silence stretches between us, taut as a wire. I feel him shift, his hands leaving my thighs. For a moment, I think he’s giving up, pulling away. The loss of his touch ruins my determination.

“P-please lick my pussy,” I beg, blushing.

Then his mouth is between my legs before I can brace for it. No warning, no teasing approach—just the sudden, searing heat of his tongue gliding through slick folds. I cry out, back arching off the glass, hands flying to his hair to anchor myself against the onslaught of sensation.

“Fuck.” The word is snarled against my pussy, his mouth sealing over my clit, sucking hard enough to make stars explode behind my eyelids.

My fingers tangle in his hair, yanking, trying to guide him where I want him. He allows it, lets me grind against his face, sets a rhythm that builds the pressure coiling inside me.

The stubble on his jaw scrapes the tender skin of my inner thighs, a delicious counterpoint to the soft heat of his tongue. I’m close—so close—when he suddenly pulls back. I whimper at the loss, hips lifting to chase his mouth.

“Say it,” he demands, voice rough with desire.

“Say what?” I ask, confused.

“Say who I am.”

The request cuts through my haze of arousal. I shake my head, panting. “No.”

His thumb finds my clit, pressing just enough to keep me on edge. “Say it, and I’ll take off the blindfold.”

The offer is tempting—to finally see his face, to connect the voice and hands and mouth to a real person. But something in me rebels at the idea of giving in so completely.

“I can’t,” I whisper. Because I know. I know exactly who he is. But if I say it, I can’t pretend I don’t know he’s the one who’s been watching me, fucking up my world piece by fucking puzzle piece.

The moment realization dawned on me, I should have fled. I’m still here because I stubbornly refuse to acknowledge it. But if I say it out loud, I can’t pretend I don’t know.

He exhales sharply, a growl caught in his throat, before sealing his mouth over my clit again—rough and ravenous. The sensation is so intense it borders on painful, exquisite torture that has me arching off the desk. His hand presses down on my lower abdomen, holding me in place while he feasts.

“You’re dripping,” he groans against my swollen flesh. “So fucking wet for me, Toy.”

And then his fingers press into my entrance, two thick digits working in rhythm with his mouth. The stretch burns slightly, a delicious fullness that has me crying out. He curves them upward, finding a spot inside me that makes my vision white out behind the blindfold.

“There,” I gasp, grinding down on his hand. “Oh God, right there.”

He chuckles, and the sound is all I need to know I won’t like what comes next. “Say it,” he demands again.

“No,” I repeat, shaking my head for emphasis.

“Last chance, Toy,” he growls.

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