Page 79 of The Collector
"You don't need to apologize," he said, voice low, rough as if it had been sifted through gravel. "You don't need to cover anything."
Mynx felt the way he tried to eliminate her vulnerability in the moment. Mynx realized that. He saw everything in that moment she'd been holding back—the hunger, the helplessness, the fear threaded through all her quiet strength—and didn't recoil. Didn't flinch.
His fingers moved up her body, grazing her arm. Mynx watched the motion, felt the heat in his gaze on her skin— its hunger, unflinching—as if he were trying to memorize her body. Then his lips found hers, demanding and urgent, without hesitation. He took what he needed and returned it fiercely.
His mouth claimed hers with a force that bordered on desperation. His tongue pushed past her lips, exploring, demanding, taking everything she had to offer. He wasn't gentle, nor was he careful. It was the kind of kiss that came from desire wrapped in deep need.
Mynx's fingers moved instinctively, tracing the contours of his chest beneath his filthy shirt. She felt the tension in his muscles, the way his body held itself rigid as if he couldn't fully let go. As she worked the buttons loose, her eyes didn't leave his face. She took in every detail of him, memorizing the moment.
His lashes were thick and dark, closed in silent surrender to the kiss. His cheekbones were sharp, carved like defiance. The stubble along his jaw and chin was like sandpaper against her skin, grounding her in the moment—reminding her this wasn't a dream, wasn't a memory. It was Raven. Here— Now. He was hers, and she was his.
"You're so beautiful," he said, the words a raspy whisper, a quiet confession. "I want you so badly it scares me." His hand tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.
She leaned down, her lips brushing his—not to claim him this time, but to reassure him. To say I see you without words.
His hands found her waist, tentative at first, then firmer, anchoring himself to her as if he were afraid she might vanish. She could feel the tremor in his grip—not from hesitation, but from restraint. He was holding back, barely. Mynx wanted him to lose himself in the moment. In her. To find sanctuary in the raging heat between them.
Mynx shifted her hips, slow and deliberate, feeling the friction build between them. She felt his hardened length pulse between them as it begged for her attention. She rubbed her core slowly and deliberately against him, the friction slow and deep. His breath hitched. She watched his face as she moved—watched the way his control frayed with each rotation of her hips, the way his eyes darkened with need. Still, he held back.
"You don't have to hold back—." She whispered, her voice low, steady. "Not with me."
That was all the permission he needed.
His hands slid across her, the roughness of his palms moving with a slow friction against her skin, tracing the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist. She arched into him, her breath catching as his mouth found the hollow of her throat, then the edge of her collarbone, each kiss a vow, each touch a reckoning. Felt each stroke of his luscious, full tongue as it lapped at her nipples, first one and then the other. A deep moan fell from her now parted lips as she allowed herself to surrender to his touch.
She peeled the shirt from his chest, revealing the bruises, the scars, the stories etched into his skin. She kissed each one like a promise. He groaned, low and guttural, and the sound wentstraight through her. Her core clenched with the desire to be filled by him.
Her fingers fumbled with the waistband of his pants, urgency rising like a tide. He reached up, cupped her face, and for a moment—just a moment—they paused. Eyes locked as their breathing synchronized in their shared need.
"Just so we're clear, this isn't just sex. It's everything." His words were raw and lust-filled at the same time. Raven unchained the last bit of her restraint with those words. He watched her, waiting for her reaction.
"I know. I feel that way too."
"Are you sure this is what you want —Mynx? Me—? The man about to crawl into your sheets wearing the blood of three dead men—and not hesitating. The Capo of the Kings."
She should've recoiled. Should've told Raven to leave, to wash the blood off, to be someone else. But she didn't. Because the truth was, she'd never wanted anything more. Not despite the blood. Because of it. It meant he was strong. Fierce. Unapologetically lethal. And that made him sexy as fuck.
Mynx didn't say the words out loud. She didn't need to. What she said was simpler. She reached for his hand—blood still tacky on his knuckles—and laced her fingers through his.
"You said I was yours. Now hear it back. You're mine, Raven. Blood, scars, sins, and all."
He rolled her over, pinning her wrists to the bed. The weight of him pressed down, awakening something primal—desperate—in both of them.
His mouth found hers savage and unrelenting. Teeth bruised Mynx's lips as he devoured her like he could consume every piece of her and still never have enough.
Then he released one hand, reached down, and wrapped his fingers around her throat—tight.
"Mine." The word came in a growl, his eyes locked on hers.
Chaos swirled in those eyes that were now almost black in their desire. It wasn't lust or love. But something deeper. Darker. As if he'd entirely surrendered to the storm she'd awoken inside him. His grip wasn't cruel—it was worship twisted into possession—primal need.
His clothes were gone before she could blink. Yet somehow his touch never left her. Mynx writhed in the pleasure of it.
His hands were everywhere.
Cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples.
Raking down her stomach with his hands, he pulled at her, kisses trailing down her stomach, her navel, and her hips.