Page 126 of Without a Trace
I dropped to the sheets, chest heaving, body limp, pulse racing.
But I wasn’t done.
Trace leaned over me, hands on my cheek. “You still want more?”
I looked up at him, eyes wild. Craving to see what happened when the man who always held back finally let go.
“Take me,” I whispered.
Trace looked ready to break.
His back pressed into the mattress, arms tense at his sides, chest rising hard and fast as I climbed over him—slow, deliberate, dripping with control.
Alden remaining beside us, stretched against the headboard, a hand on my thigh as I settled above Trace. His fingers slid lazily across my skin—a quiet reminder that this wasn’t just about pleasure.
It was about power.
“You sure?” I asked, fingers curled against Trace’s chest, teasing his lips with my thumb.
“I’m sure.”
His voice was strained. Low. Pulled from somewhere deep and raw.
Reaching between us, I lined him up and sat down in one slow, agonizing roll of my hips.
Trace’s head hit the pillow, a curse trembling from his lips.
“Fuck,” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut for a second, as if being inside me knocked the breath from his lungs. “Scarlett…”
I rocked once, letting him feel every inch.
“Look at me,” I whispered.
He opened his eyes and I moved—deep, slow, controlled.
Trace’s hands found my waist and gripped hard, holding me like I might vanish.
“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” I murmured.
“All the fucking time.”
My hands slid up his chest, feeling the tension ripple beneath, his hips rose to meet mine.
“You wanna know what I thought about?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“Tell me,” he rasped.
I leaned down, mouth near his ear. “What it would feel like to make you completely come undone.”
His groan was guttural.
I rode him harder—hips snapping, moans echoing. He met every thrust, hands roaming my body, eyes glassy with need.
“I missed you,” he muttered, head back, eyes wide and wrecked. “Missed you so goddamn much.”
“Then don’t hold back.”
I pressed a hand to his chest, riding him harder. Every motion deliberate. Every gasp drawn from the center of him.
