Page 19 of Kiss & Collide
He groaned, a guttural, ragged sound that made her stomach twist with desire. His fingers curled into her hips. “You feel so good.”
He pulled out and thrust in again, and this time they both groaned. His pace was brisk, which was good, because thiswasn’t going to take her long at all. As his hips snapped against her ass, she could already feel the tightening in her lower belly, and her thighs were starting to shake.
“Please tell me you’re close,” he said.
“Almost.”
He slid a hand around in front of her and between her thighs, parting her. “This good?” His fingers found her clit and she moaned again.
It was all over after that. She came hard, gripping the couch to balance herself as her legs went boneless. He thrust twice more, his left hand digging into her hip hard enough to leave marks, before he let out another groan from deep in his chest. He slumped over her back as she panted.
Gradually his grip on her eased. “Bathroom?” he muttered.
She lifted a limp hand and pointed to the left. “Through that door.”
He slipped out of her and disappeared to clean himself up. When her trembling legs could support her again, she stretched luxuriously, reveling in the aftermath of a really good orgasm, and walked back through the flat, retrieving her clothes and shoes from the floor. That was an excellent way to relieve stress. Maybe they could make it a semi-regular thing.
She ducked into her bedroom to dump her rumpled clothes on the bed. As she came back to the living room, sliding into her black silk robe, she found Chase across the room, examining her record collection.
“What are you doing?” Her voice sounded a little too hostile and accusatory. He was just looking. Still, having someone in her space poking through her stuff always made her twitchy. It’s why she liked to go to the guy’s place. Except that Chase was some eternal university student who didn’t really have a place.
Typical Chase, he seemed unfazed. He glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. “I was right to be intimidated by you.”
She scowled. “Intimidated?”
BEHIND HIM, VIOLETdrifted closer as Chase flipped through a bunch of records. There was a whole bookshelf of vintage vinyl, rows and rows of it, mostly of bands he’d never heard of. There was all of Bowie’s discography, which was familiar enough, but there was a lot more. The Misfits, Suicide, the Cramps, Urban Blight, the Slits, the New York Dolls … album after album. To the left, on another bookshelf, she had a pretty impressive stereo setup, with a turntable and massive speakers.
Up until now, if he’d been pressed to guess what Violet did in her free time, he’d have said “planning the invasion of a small island nation.” Instead, she collected records—vintage vinyl, and judging from the stereo, she listened to all of it.
“You’re intimidating because you’re cool,” he explained, sliding one record halfway out. “I’ve never evenheardof the Stooges.”
“Oh.” Her scowl melted away. “They’re a proto-punk band from America. Their first self-titled album came out in sixty-nine.” She tapped the corner of an album. “But I prefer their third,Raw Power, from seventy-three. Iggy Pop was at his peak on this one.” She ran her finger down the spine. “Williamson on guitar took them to a new level.”
“Oh my god, forget it. You’re not cool. You’re anerd.” That was probably the most he’d ever heard her say about anything other than racing, and it was absolutely the most enthusiastic he’d ever heard her sound.
She scowled again. “I am not. I’m just a collector.”
“Come on, Violet, this is extremely nerdy. I bet you’ve got them all cataloged in a spreadsheet. You do, don’t you?”
She hiked one perfectly arched black eyebrow at him. “Do I look like a spreadsheet kind of person?” She paused for a beat, then shrugged in discomfort. “It’s handwritten.”
He chuckled, running a finger down the row of records, each one in a protective clear plastic sleeve. “Where did you find all these?”
“Some online. All my traveling helps. I find amazing stuff in Japan. Vinyl’s huge there.”
“Why vinyl?” Violet definitely struck him as an early adopter of technology. Her phone was never far from her hand. This whole collection was instantly available online. Why the vinyl and the record player?
“I like hearing it the way it was originally intended to be listened to. Nothing beatsVenus in Fursby the Velvet Underground on vinyl. Digital just isn’t the same. And …” She went quiet.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Never mind.”
He nudged her elbow with his. “Say it.”
“Well …” She pulled that Stooges album out enough to look at the cover. Some shirtless guy in goth makeup gripping a microphone. “This groundbreaking punk album barely sold. You could go see these guys play live whenever you wanted, at Max’s Kansas City or Whisky a Go Go, or a million other shitty clubs. They were making magic and nobody even knew it at the time. The vinyl …” She sighed before sliding the record back into place. “It’s the closest you can get to being there for the magic.”
It was cute, actually—that she was so passionate about something so niche. “You must really love music, huh?”
