Page 64 of The Collector
"Saints give comfort," he said quietly. "Monsters get things done."
She looked at him through mascara-streaked eyes. "Then—let's be monsters. Just long enough for them to feel the way that we do."
The Collector smiled back at her in the rearview mirror, nodding as she straightened.
"If you only knew how much you should fear monsters, Elanah," he thought, as silence curled between them. "You'llnever make it out of this alive—not because I want you dead… but because this world doesn't spare anyone who learns to wield their pain the way we do."
"Then it's agreed. We take down the Kings."
Chapter 17
Mynx
Before Mynx could blink, Raven scooped her into his arms and carried her to the dressing chair. He sat, placing her on his lap, his movements deliberate, possessive. Her breath hitched as he pushed her knees apart, her panties tugged aside faster than she could protest.
Raven grabbed her chin, forcing her gaze to the mirror. "Do you see how beautifully you come undone when I touch you? See how your body grasps at my fingers—begs for me. That's because it knows who it belongs to."
Mynx gasped, her body betraying her even as her mind screamed for control. Heat pooled low in her belly, molten and insistent, but her heart thrashed against the cage of her ribs. "We don't have time for this, Raven," she said, voice trembling between desire and defiance.
His brown eyes met hers in the reflection of the mirror, filled with a mix of tenderness and clear possessiveness as he grasped her hips and pulled her hard against him, forcing her breath to quicken.
The mirror showed both of them—him steady, her unraveling. And in that reflection, she wasn't sure what she saw. The girl who needed comfort or the woman she was becoming, willing to give anything to keep it—to keep him, no matter what they faced. He was everything she wanted, everything she needed.
Mynx knew words wouldn't be enough to convey how she truly felt. So, she did the only thing she knew would resonate with Raven—she submitted to his fast, hungry touches as he moved against her, to the searing heat of his demanding kisses.
Between them, time thinned. Every press of skin, every gasp was a word unsaid. And when Raven slowed, leaning his head against hers and tangling their breaths together, she realized he hadn't just seen her; he had chosen her.
Mynx hadn't known she could feel this and still survive it.It was everything. Raven was everything.
"We have time for whatever the fuck I want. This is my club. I make the rules. I always get what I want. And right now, I want that pretty pussy of yours to beg me—to cry for me."
Raven plunged his fingers deeper, and Mynx arched into him, chasing friction, chasing release. Longing tangled inside her, each stroke unraveling her, pulling her into the chaos of the moment.
"Greedy little girl," he murmured. "You want to come? You want to feel what it means to be mine?"
"Yes," she whispered, raw and exposed. "Oh God, yes. Raven—make me come." He was everything she had ached for during the quiet hours spent in her thoughts for the last few days. He was danger in human form, protection cloaked in violence, seduction carved from restraint. She had survived without softness for most of her life, and he made her question whether she would ever crave it again.
"Stand up," he said, voice like a command etched in fire. "Bend over the dressing table. I want you to see yourself when I takethat last bit of resolve—the part still telling you to fight me. Because you are mine, Butterfly. And when you see that look on your face, when you feel how you respond to me, you'll know you want to be mine forever."
Mynx stood slowly, her legs trembling—not just from arousal, but from everything she was feeling. Raven freed himself with practiced ease, and she braced her hands on the dressing table, the cool surface grounding her momentarily even as heat surged through her.
She watched him in the mirror, her breath shallow, her pulse a drumbeat beneath her skin. Raven moved behind her, steady, unrelenting, and something in her chest cracked open.
He's mine.
All of him—the soft parts he hides, the hard edges he wields, the broken places he never lets anyone see.
All parts I would kill to protect.
The mirror reflected more than their bodies—it reflected the truth she'd never dared to speak aloud.
He's mine.
And no one—not the Kings, not the past, not even Raven himself—could take that away.
When he entered her, it wasn't soft. It wasn't romantic. It was possession—raw, deliberate, and punishing. Each stroke dragged her closer to the edge, not just of release, but of surrender. Her breath hitched, her body responding faster than her mind could catch up.
She clenched her jaw, trying to hold onto something—dignity, defiance, maybe even the version of herself that used to believe she could control this. But Raven knew her rhythm.