Page 61 of Collide

It takes a moment for my breathing to slow, my body still pulsing from the intensity of it all. Alex pulls away, his breath just as ragged.

I look up at him through my lashes, dazed, lips parted, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

His eyes are dark and hungry, watching me like he witnessed something holy.

His thumb drags lazily across my thigh.

“Fuck, that was…” I pant, my tongue unable to find the words.

A slow, satisfied grin tugs at his lips.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to my shoulder, his voice still thick with need. “And so, so beautiful.”

My skin burns under his touch, but before I can say anything, he leans in, kissing me deeply, stealing whatever breath I might have had left.

Alex pulls away, withdrawing his fingers from my pussy and slipping them into his mouth.

My eyes widen, and my heart almost goes into cardiac arrest.

Did he…after a mind-altering orgasm—he doesthat?

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he groans, licking his lips.

My lungs seize with want. Luckily, my mind manages to recover.

“You can’t have dessert before dinner,” I tease, surprising myself.

He smirks, laying his head on my chest as we watch the rain outside.

I don’t know where this night will end, but for the first time…

I don’t care.

Chapter 10

Your Song

New York in early July is brutal. The sun stings my skin, the concrete simmers underfoot, and Riley has dragged me to the fourth apartment of the day, sweat beading on both our brows. She initially moved into a cramped studio in Queens, sharing the space with two other women, both aspiring models. But now that she’d landed a job at an art gallery, she’d finally had enough of living with two skinny bitches who were way too in love with nose candy—and had definitely stolen her Doc Martens.

Not that I blamed her. Between their manic energy and shared sleeping arrangements, I didn’t know how Riley lasted as long as she did. And considering the way her patience had worn razor-thin by the second apartment viewing today, I doubted she’d survive another night. I glanced at her sideways, noting the tightness around her eyes and the relentless tapping of her fingernails against her thigh.

God, please let this place not suck.

“So, what does the ad say for this place?” I ask, falling into step beside Riley as we head toward the next apartment.

“Two-bedroom, some tech guy, but at least I’ll have my own room.” She shrugs, tucking the tattered newspaper under her arm.

“I wish you’d let me help you, babe.”

I’ve had a sizeable trust fund sitting untouched since my twenty-first birthday, something I always resisted using. The prize money from winningStarstruckand royalties from my first album—modest but enough—meant I never had to. With me staying with Philippa and my father gifting me an apartment, offering Riley support feels only right. She’d been there when I needed someone most. The least I can do is return her kindness and loyalty.

“Elena, I can’t do that, you know I can’t,” Riley chides, her lips pressing into a thin, stubborn line.

“Why not? It’s just money. Might as well go to someone I love—someone who needs it,” I insist, nudging her shoulder gently.

She smirks, side-eyeing me playfully. “Okay, rich bitch, you gonna be my sugar mama now?”

“Yes, absolutely. Especially if it means you can stay in New York without working three jobs just to stay afloat.”