Page 54 of The Toy Collector

“Why?” I demand.

“BecauseIdecide when you get what you want, and right nowIwant you to earn it.” He blows cold air onto my folds.

“I won’t do it,” I state, my voice firmer now.

His fingers pump faster, harder, curling against that spot with each thrust while his tongue flicks mercilessly over my clit. The pressure builds, a tidal wave gathering height before crashing down.

“That’s it,” he urges. “Give it to me. Let me feel you come on my tongue, on my fingers. Show me what a good little toy you are.”

I shatter on his fingers, a broken cry tearing from my throat as pleasure crashes through me. My inner walls clench around his digits, pulsing with each wave of my orgasm. He doesn’t relent. Just keeps driving into me, merciless and precise, toward another peak.

“I could spend hours here,” he groans, “mouth full of your cunt, and still never get enough.”

His tongue circles my oversensitive clit, gentler now but no less insistent. His fingers continue their relentless assault on that spot inside me, the dual stimulation overwhelming in its intensity.

I’m moaning loudly, calling out for a god I don’t believe in because that’s the only name I have to cry out.

His fingers curl, press, stroke that perfect spot while his tongue draws tight circles around my clit. I’m babbling now, incoherent pleas falling from my lips. “Please, please, I need… I can’t… oh fuck!”

“Tell me what you need,” he demands, the words vibrating against my clit.

“Your cock,” I gasp, too far gone to feel self-conscious. “I want you inside me.”

“Beg for it.”

“Please fuck me,” I almost scream. “I want to feel you stretching me.”

His mouth leaves my core, and I whimper at the loss. Rather than feeling used, feeling shame at how completely I’ve surrendered to him, I feel only a bone-deep satisfaction mingled with a persistent, gnawing hunger for more.

Well, I didn’t completely surrender. I held on to the one thing I’m not ready to deal with.

I feel him move, then his hands are on my ankles, pulling roughly. “Hey!” I yelp, startled.

“Didn’t you say you want my cock?” he croons almost mockingly.

“I did… I do,” I acquiesce.

“Then let me get you into position.” He grunts as he lifts me off the table and sets me on my feet. It’s too primal, too raw to be from exertion.

Once my feet touch the floor, he spins me around and quickly bends me over the table, squashing my breasts against the glass.

“Look at you,” he moans, voice thick with appreciation. “So eager for me.” With each word, he kicks my legs further apart.

“Yes,” I agree. When he grabs handfuls of my ass, I arch my back and moan. “Please fuck me.”

The sound of his zipper being lowered is like music to my ears. Then I feel him, the blunt head of his dick sliding through my wetness. I cry out, shameless in my need, and push my ass back to try to take him inside. He pulls back just enough to deny me, a punishment for my impatience.

“Last chance,” he says, positioning himself at my entrance again. “Say it. Tell me who I am.”

I shake my head again, defiant even as my body betrays me—cunt clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled.

“So be it,” he rasps, winding my hair around his hand.

Tugging at my hair, he makes me turn my head enough for him to capture my mouth in a kiss that steals what little breath I have left. This kiss is different from the first—messier, filthier. His tongue winds around mine, every stroke making my clit throb.

“You don’t deserve to know who I am,” he murmurs against my lips, and I feel the head press firmer against my entrance. “But you can call me Enzo.”

I have no time to process this revelation before he’s pushing inside me, stretching me open around his considerable girth. The intrusion burns slightly—a delicious ache that has me gasping.

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