Page 46 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

Alex lets out a low laugh, clearly amused. “That’s cute,” he murmurs, brushing my hair back so he can see my face. “You like what you see?”

I blink. Still staring. Too stunned to pretend otherwise.

“Yeah,” I say, too fast. “Bigger than I expected.”

His grin spreads, cocky and slow. “Oh, yeah?”

I roll my eyes, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Well, your other head.”

My pulse still races, but curiosity wins. I reach out, slowly, wrapping my fingers around him.

He twitches in my hand, and the sound he makes—half-groan, half-growl—sends a fresh rush through me.

“Now stroke it,” he instructs, voice deeper, rougher. “Like this.”

His hand covers mine, just like last time, guiding my movements—slow, firm strokes up and down his length.

I follow his lead, watching his face as his jaw tenses, his chest rising and falling with every exhale.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his fingers sinking into my hair.

I lean forward, my breath ghosting over him.

“Lick the tip, like a popsicle,” he instructs.

I follow his instructions, running my tongue over the soft, sensitive skin, tasting the saltiness of him.

Alex lets out a low, shaky groan.

I flick my tongue over him again, this time taking my time with each stroke.

“Good girl,” he breathes, tightening his grip around the nape of my neck, guiding me.

Encouraged, I flick my tongue over him again, wetting the head of his cock, watching his abs clench as he struggles to stay still.

I kiss the tip softly, then run my tongue along his length, pressing wet kisses down the vein along the underside.

His hand flexes in my hair.

“Now…” He says panting. “Open wide and take me in.”

I lick my lips, nerves spiking, but do as he asks. I part my lips and slide down and around his shaft.

The guttural moan that tears from his throat is worth everything.

“Fuck, Elena,” he hisses, hips jerking slightly. “Just like that. Take your time.”

I work him deeper, feeling the stretch of my cheeks, the heat, my jaw adjusting as I find my rhythm.

“That’s so good, Darling,” he groans. “So good for me.”

His fingers tighten in my hair as I bob my head, licking and sucking him, learning what makes him curse and grip me harder.

“God, you feel amazing,” he growls, his hips starting to thrust up into my mouth, controlled but desperate.

I look up through my lashes, seeing his head tipping back against the chair, his fingers clawing against my scalp, his mouth parting slightly as he lets himself go.

I’m doing this to him.

Me.

I feel powerful.

I’m drunk on it.

My core throbs with need, but I focus on him, letting the sound of his broken moans guide me.

“Fuck—I’m gonna come,” he groans. “Take it. Be a good girl and swallow it all.”

I nod, moaning around him, making him shudder.

I move faster, lips sliding, sucking harder. His body tenses beneath me—every muscle pulled tight—until he lets go with a raw cry of my name, fingers gripping my hair like he’s holding on for life.

He comes hot and thick against my tongue, spilling deep, and I swallow, just like he wants. The taste, the sound of him, the way he shudders, makes my whole body pulse.

When he’s done, he gently eases me off, brushing his thumb over my wet, swollen lips.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, looking down at me like I’m the only thing in the world.

I study his face, breathless, heart pounding.

“That was a first,” he murmurs, a lazy smile spread across his face.

“A first?”

“No one’s ever let me guide them like that,” he says, voice rough, still catching his breath. “No one’s ever trusted me like you did.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, still kneeling between his legs, flushed and smug.

“Well,” I smirk, looking up at him, “I’m clearly a fast learner.”

He stares like he wants to drag me onto his lap and have his way with me, like I’ve just become his new favorite sin.

“Plus, you make it easy,” I say, grinning up at him. “You’re a very convincing teacher.”

Heat curls in my chest—there’s something heady about knowing I gave him a first.

He lets out a strangled laugh, fingers sliding into my hair again, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. “Convincing?”

“Sexy,” I correct, lifting my chin. “Unreasonably sexy. Like, unfair-to-the-public levels of sexy.”

His eyes darken, mouth curving with something wicked. “Then consider this your A-plus.”

I bite down a smile. “Do I get a gold star?”

“Maybe.” He leans in, lips at my ear. “If you’re a naughty girl.”

Heat sparks low. I clench, just to feel it—the afterglow, the ache, his breath skating down my spine.

“I think…” I whisper. “I’d like that.”

And for the first time, I almost can’t wait either.

He makes me feel wanted— craved —like every breath I take is something he needs to touch.

The sound of splashing water, music, and carefree laughter drifts through the air as Alex and I step outside onto the sunlit patio to rejoin the festivities.

The pool shimmers under the afternoon glow, surrounded by white-cushioned loungers, cabanas, and clusters of guests clad in chic designer swimwear.

Philippa’s bachelorette entourage is gathered near the private bar, all sun-kissed skin and champagne flutes, looking like something out of a high-fashion editorial. Andrew’s crowd—a mix of business moguls and trust-fund heirs—stands near the outdoor lounge, trading stories over cocktails.

Everything looks perfect.

Except for the fact that as soon as we step outside, I feel it.

Broderick’s stare.

His eyes sweep over me once, slowly, lingering just a second too long. And Alex notices.

His fingers tighten slightly around mine, his jaw tensing, but he says nothing. The air between them is thick, unreadable, but I feel it settling in my chest—a silent, territorial tension.

I force a smile, pretending not to notice.

“Let’s get some food,” I say quickly, tugging Alex toward the buffet, desperate to redirect the energy before something happens.

Alex lets me lead him away, but I can feel the silent challenge still hanging between them.

Riley, sprawled poolside with a margarita, has clearly clocked the whole thing. The second we pass, she slinks over, looping her arms around me like we’re about to share something scandalous.

“Oh, babe,” she murmurs, eyes glinting. “Your life is officially the world’s hottest territorial pissing match.”

I shoot her a warning look. “Stop it.”

“What?” she grins. “I mean, I love a good brooding, possessive stare-down, but at some point, you do realize they’re gonna have to fight it out in some high-stakes, shirtless duel, right?”

Alex arches an eyebrow. “You think I’d lose?”

Riley releases me, lifting her drink like this is all some sport. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” She scrunches her nose, feigning innocence.

Alex’s chuckle is low, but the edge beneath doesn’t go unnoticed. His fingers tighten around mine in a subtle, unmistakable claim. He leans in, lips brushing my ear, voice a silk-draped threat.

“I don’t have to fight for you,” he murmurs. “You’re already mine, ?lskling .”

Riley takes a long, slow sip, eyes flicking from Alex to Broderick, then back again.

“Honestly? I’d pay to watch.”

I groan. “Not helping.”

She winks, tapping her glass against mine.

Alex smirks, but I feel the tension humming off him as he squeezes my hand again.

Before the conversation can spiral further, we get intercepted by none other than Philippa’s friends. A group of perfectly polished socialites, all boobs, sleek blowouts, and designer bikinis. And the second they see Alex, their conversation dies mid-sentence.

“Oh my God,” one of them gasps, gripping another girl’s arm. “Is that Alexander Westerberg?”

“It is,” another whispers, eyes going wide. “Philippa, you did not tell us he was coming!”

Philippa, who’s now beside us, takes a leisurely sip of her champagne and gives a pointedly amused glance my way. “Elena’s plus-one.” The way she says it is neutral, but there’s an unspoken meaning beneath it. Philippa’s friends, however, are not neutral.

“Oh my God, Alexander, I loved your last campaign,” one of them purrs, touching his bare forearm. “The Paris spread? Absolute art.”

“Didn’t you date Madison Walsh?” Another giggles, twirling a piece of her hair.

“Wait, weren’t you just in Milan? What was it like?”

The fawning only gets worse. Philippa’s friends lean in closer, lilting laughter, fingers brushing Alex’s arm like they can’t help themselves. He eats it up.

That signature smirk slides into place—smooth, magnetic, lethal. The kind that makes women lose their footing and their dignity in the same breath.

He’s in his element. Untouchable.

I haven’t seen this version of him since the Geek-Fest panel. This isn’t Alex , this is Alexander . The public persona. Polished and charming. He slips into it like it’s a second skin.

And I should be fine with it.

But something twists low in my chest, sharp and tight. Not jealousy. Not exactly.

Just the sickening awareness that I have to share him. That even with his arm around me, the world doesn’t see us . They see him .

Unattainable, desirable, and still up for grabs.

The worst part?

I don’t even need to look. I feel Broderick watching. Across the patio, his presence clings to me like smoke. His stare—sharp, quiet, accusing—lands between my ribs.

What are you doing with him?

Alex must sense it.

His hand slides lower on my waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make a point. His stance shifts subtly, cocky and deliberate. Like he’s staking territory. Like he wants Broderick to see.

And I can’t tell if it’s pride or panic that fills my lungs. Desperate to move past the moment, I turn to Philippa. “Everything looks perfect,” I say, forcing a bright, easy smile. “I just want to make sure you have everything you need.”