Page 199 of Collide
I flush, laughing again. “Yes. I don’t even have anything to compare it to, but my God, Riley. Had I known it could feel likethat…”
She throws her head back. “Thank you, God! Because if a man that hot couldn’t bring you to the peak, then honestly? Set him on fire. Return to sender.”
I laugh so hard my insides hurt, clutching a throw pillow to my chest. For a second, the weight on my heart lifts. I’m just a girl with her best friend, confessing the best and only sex of her life.
“I mean, I didn’t even know my body could do that.” My eyes go wide.
Her mouth drops open. “Wait, like multiple times?”
I nod.
“Like, back-to-back?”
I nod again, face buried in the pillow now.
She shrieks. “Elena! Oh my God, this is not a drill. This is a sexual awakening. This is a spiritual reset. You had a whole-ass transformation.”
“Stop,” I groan, but I’m grinning now, warmth buzzing in my chest.
“Okay, but seriously. Give me the full run down,” she says, stealing the bottle from my hand. “I want details. I want angles. I want scenery.Paint me a picture.”
I hesitate, biting back a smile. “It was…slow at first. Gentle. He took his time with everything, like he wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere. Like he wanted to savor the experience.”
Riley gasps. “Okay, I need to write that down.” She holds a fake pen and scribbles on her palm like a notepad.
I laugh again, head falling back onto the pillows. “Yeah, except now I’m left dealing with the aftermath of it all.”
“Yeah, well”—she shrugs—“at least you had the best possible distraction before the shit hit the fan.”
I sigh, taking another swig of vodka.Cheers to that.
She nudges me with her foot, grinning. “Such is life, babe. So, are you gonna give me the rest of the play-by-play, or do I need to waterboard it out of you?”
Chapter 27
Breathe Me
Mark wants to talk before the crisis meeting at Pacific Records later this morning. My dreams teeter on the edge of something I can’t hold steady, slipping further from my grasp no matter how tightly I clench. Alex is off dealing with his own fallout.
Mark shows up at my apartment, bagels and coffee in hand.
“Thanks for breakfast,” I murmur, my fingers curling around the paper cup like it’s the only solid thing left in the room.
Mark sinks into the chair across from me, a heavy sigh dragging out of him. The bags under his eyes are dark and deep, the kind of exhaustion that no amount of coffee can fix. He must’ve been up all night with Kylie, trying to put out fires I hadn’t even seen catch yet.
“This is a mess, Elena.”
I pull a bagel apart with shaking hands, the crumbs scattering across the table. “It feels like it’s being blown out of proportion,” I say, though the words feel hollow even as they leave me.
“I wish it was.” Mark scrubs a hand over his jaw, rough and unshaven. “But I think it’s time I remind you about your contract.”
“What do you mean?”
He levels me with a look, the kind he only uses when he’s about to tell me something I won’t like. “The morality clause.”
The words thud between us, foreign and sharp.
Back when I wonStarstruck, when everything fell apart after my mom died, my old manager walked away without a backward glance. Mark stepped in, assigned by the label, the ‘fixer’ they promised would put me back on track. He renegotiated the terms with Pacific Records, secured me a three-album deal. I had signed without reading it. I trusted him.
