Page 161 of Without a Trace
“Maybe I like it that way.” I laughed.
“So…” I panted, voice wrecked, “do I get, like, a trophy now? For ancient bathtub seduction?”
Trace huffed a laugh against my shoulder. “You’re so drunk.”
I smiled, teeth grazing his jaw. “Drunk on bond dick. Big difference.”
He bit back another groan, shaking his head like he didn’t know whether to laugh or lose his mind.
I tipped my chin, still sprawled over him like a queen after conquest. “Do we have, like, a royal title now? Or am I just your mystical bathtub whore?”
“You’re fucking unhinged,” he muttered.
I licked his neck. “And you love it.”
He didn’t argue. Just wrapped his arms tighter around me, burying a grin in my hair as I slurred, “I better glow after this. I swear, if I don’t glow, I want a redo.”
“You’re glowing, Sunshine,” he murmured. “Trust me.”
Scarlett
Trace was still asleep.
Sprawled like a heathen across my bed, one arm flung over his eyes, the other tangled in my sheet like he belonged there.
I should’ve been exhausted. I was exhausted. But the second the sun cracked through the gauzy curtains, my mind flipped back on like a flipped breaker. Thoughts sparking. Blood humming. Skin still oversensitive.
The bond still burned under my skin. Not painful—just present. A low, simmering awareness I couldn’t switch off. Every time he shifted in his sleep, I felt it. Like a string pulled tight between us.
I slid out of bed, careful not to wake him, and padded toward the table where my phone was charging.
One percent.
Figures.
I sat cross-legged on the floor in his old t-shirt, waiting for the screen to come alive. When it did, my messages lit up—mostly missed ones from Sloane and Lena.
Shit.
I hadn’t texted them in… days?
I chewed my lip, staring at the blinking cursor. Then typed.
Scarlett:
sorry I’ve been MIA
a lot has happened
like maybe ancient curse level “a lot”
also maybe I slept with two of them
maybe at the same time
maybe I’m not even sorry
also I’m bonded??? whatever that means
