Page 74 of Without a Trace

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I kissed him until I felt the tensionsnapsomewhere across the room—a rubber band stretched too far.

Sloane choked. “Scarlett!”

Lena’s full-on gasped echoed throughout the room.

Alden swore under his breath.

Trace stood, I didn’t have to look to know it. The way the energy in the room flipped. The way everythingtightened.

I pulled back from Rhett, breathless but smiling.

He looked stunned. Truly ruined.

Standing like nothing happened, I grabbed my glass and took a slow sip—savoring the heat still lingering on my tongue.

Then turned back to the circle. My eyes grazing each one of them, daring someone to speak.

“Well,” I said, licking the taste off my lip. “That was fun.”

Then I spun the bottle again.

And the room didn’t dare breathe.

I was drunk on it now.

The chaos. The tension. The way every breath felt like it could tip into violence or lust or both.

It landed on Alden.

The room stiffened.

His eyes lifted. Met mine.

“Truth or dare?” I asked, my voice a blade wrapped in silk.

He didn’t blink. “Dare.”

I licked my lip, slow. “Come sit behind me. Wrap your arms around my waist. And whisper in my ear what you’d do to me if no one else were here.”

Sloane gasped. “Scarlett—”

“Don’t,” I snapped. “Let him play.”

Alden didn’t move at first. Then—he stood. Quiet. Controlled.

Crossed the room.

Sat behind me on the floor like he was surrendering something ancient.

His legs bracketed mine.

His arms wrapped around my waist—slow, sure, reverent.

His mouth brushed the edge of my ear.

“I’d fuck you against this floor,” he whispered. “Slow at first. Just to feel you beg. Then rough enough to make you forget everyone else exists.”

A visible shiver rolled through me.

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