Page 60 of The Toy Collector

One of my hands slides over her hip, while the other finds her waist and tightens. Just enough to tell her she’s not going anywhere.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispers, but her voice falters when I nuzzle behind her ear, biting the shell. Her head tips to the side almost instinctively, exposing her throat.

“There’s a lot of things I shouldn’t be doing,” I rasp, and kiss the side of her neck again—harder this time, open-mouthed.

She makes a sound that’s not quite a moan, not quite a gasp, and her ass presses back into me before she realizes what she’s doing. I growl low in my throat; the sound meant only for her. She can feel exactly how hard I am.

When she finally turns her head, just enough to catch my eyes over her shoulder, she breathes, “So this is what you look like.”

I chuckle darkly, my lips still against her skin. “Do you miss the blindfold?”

She huffs out a breath that might be a laugh—might—but it turns into a gasp when my hands roam higher. One curls around her ribs, my thumb brushing the underside of her breast. The other dips beneath the drape of her skirt again, this time with more purpose.

Her back arches again—natural, reactive. Not a performance. Her ass grinds against me in slow motion, and I hiss between my teeth.

Our lips collide in a flurry of inevitability, punishment, and want. She opens to me, but before I can react, my toy slides her tongue into my mouth, her teeth grazing my bottom lip.

The kiss is hard, but so fucking perfect. She’s not some meek little toy tonight, she’s a woman on a mission. One I’m all too happy to help her with. When I finally pull back, her eyes are heavy-lidded, her lips swollen, her breath uneven.

“Do you like watching from the shadows?” I ask, grinding my dick against her ass again. “Watching people who have no idea you’re observing them?” My hand slides up her thigh, dipping under her skirt and continuing upward until I cup her cunt.

“Yes,” she moans.

“Why?” I ask, pushing her underwear to the side.

“Because…” She falters.

“Because what?” I prompt as I circle her clit. “Use your words, Miss Harrington.”

She laughs softly. “Why so formal when you’re playing with my pussy?”

Her hips stutter against my hand, breath catching as I circle her clit. “Because what?” I whisper again, right against her ear. “Tell me.”

Her head drops back onto my shoulder. Her mouth opens, but all that escapes is a whimper. I drag my hand lower, just barely teasing her entrance, not enough to satisfy, just enough to ruin.

“Because it’s power,” she finally says, voice cracked open. “Watching people pretend to be something they’re not.”

I smile against her skin, slow and dark. “And who are you pretending to be tonight, little doll?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. Her silence is the truth I’ve been waiting for.

My hand abandons her cunt, leaving her panting and half-wrecked already. I slide it around her waist instead, pressing her tighter to me. Her ass molds to the hardness of my dick, and I feel her shiver at the pressure.

Then, with my other hand, I reach into my jacket and pull out the cigar. Still wrapped. Still waiting. Just like her.

Chapter 22

Lorenzo

The weight of the cigar feels significant between my fingers. The dim light of the alcove catches on the cellophane wrapper, making it gleam like something precious, something forbidden.

We’re ten feet from Washington’s elite. The champagne flows freely out there, but here, tucked away in this darkened alcove, Piper and I have our own intoxication brewing. The distant murmur of political small talk forms a perfect soundtrack for what I’m about to do to her.

Piper’s breath hitches in her throat as I hold the cigar in front of her, showing it off. “What are you going to do with that?” she asks, her tone filled with wonder.

“Do you really have to ask?” I smirk, pressing a kiss to her throat.

“You’re not serious,” she whisper-hisses, but there’s no real protest in her voice, just the thrill of discovery hovering at its edges.

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