75. Scarlett
Scarlett
T he robe hit the floor. Soft. Final.
Neither of them moved at first.
Trace’s eyes were heavy, breath shallow. His chest heaved once—like he was holding something in, or about to let everything out.
Alden didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just stared as if he’d imagined this moment a hundred times and still hadn’t prepared for the reality of it.
I stood there—bare, unashamed, fire licking at the edges of my skin—silent.
Trace moved first, crossing the room with purpose. One hand cupped my jaw, the other slid to my waist.
“Fuck,” he breathed against my mouth. “Scarlett.”
And he kissed me.
God, did he kiss me.
It was all bite and broken rules, his hands gripping my hips, torn between reverence and restraint. I fisted his hair, moaned in his mouth, thighs pressing together, desperate for friction.
Behind us, Alden still hadn’t moved.
But I felt him.
Watching.
Burning.
Trace kissed me with the fury of someone who hated how much he still loved me.
Eventually he pulled back, breathing hard, eyes black with want.
“I swear to fucking god,” he rasped, “I’ve dreamed about this.”
I turned toward Alden, voice a whisper now.
“And you?”
“Since the day I met you.”
I stepped to him—chest to chest—let his hands slide up my bare waist.
“Then show me.”
And they did.
I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.
Not with both of them.
Not with something pulsing beneath my skin—ancient, electric, terrifying.
Trace’s mouth found my neck, hot and open. Alden’s hands moved with purpose, like he already knew my fault lines.
They surrounded me, not colliding, but converging—two storms drawn to the same center.
When Trace’s fingers brushed my wrist, my body sparked.
I gasped—too sharp, too sudden for pleasure alone. My skin burned beneath my bracelet. Just for a second, a flash of heat fading before I could speak.
Neither of them seemed to notice.
But when Alden touched the same spot moments later, he froze. His brow furrowed like he’d felt it too.
“Scar,” he murmured, low and uneven. “What was that?”
I shook my head, dazed, lips parted but useless.
We didn’t stop.
Couldn’t.
Bodies tangled. Breath caught. Heat swelled. Every moment set off another burst beneath my skin. Chest tightened, lungs working too hard. The room felt charged—too much, too fast, too far gone.
Trace moaned against my thigh. Alden kissed my shoulder. I was scattered—held and haunted.
Then it flared again. That same place on my wrist.
Trace’s head lifted fast, eyes darting to Alden who sat up, still and wide-eyed.
“I felt that.” He looked to Trace. “Not her. You.”
My pulse cracked like thunder as
I pushed up on shaky arms. “It’s not just sex.” I whispered, though I didn’t know what it meant, only that it felt bigger than anything I’d ever known.
Trace’s stare pinned me. Softened.
“No,” he said. “It’s not.”
I didn’t know what had happened between us.
But I could feel it—still burning under my skin, pulsing beneath the silver on my wrist.
Something had started. And I knew, deep in my bones, none of us could take it back.
Trace kissed me like he was starving.
Alden touched me like he already knew the way my body came undone.
I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began—hands on my waist, in my hair, trailing down my spine. My back hit the bed. breath punched from my lungs. The cool sheets kissing heat-flushed skin as Trace’s mouth returned to mine, all tongue and need and desperation.
“Fuck,” he breathed, grinding his hips against me. “You feel like a fucking dream.”
His hand slid between my thighs, fingers teasing light—too light.
“More,” I whispered, voice cracking, back arching.
And then Alden was there, moving behind me, lips on my neck, one hand gripping my hip as Trace slid two fingers inside me and I cried out, head tilting back into Alden’s chest.
“God,” I moaned, “I can’t—”
“Yes,” Alden growled in my ear, biting gently down the side of my neck. “You can.”
Their hands moved in tandem—Trace working me open, Alden’s, fingers rough as he pinched and rolled my nipple until I gasped.
I’m not supposed to love them both.
But I did.
Not with hearts and flowers.
With fire.
With ruin.
With the way they worshipped every inch of me like they’d die if they couldn’t touch me.
Trace pushed my thighs apart, tongue sliding through wet heat, licking slow and deep. “You taste so fucking good,” he murmured into me. “Sweet little mess.”
My fingers tangled in his hair, eyes squeezed shut.
Alden kissed down my back. “Keep going,” he whispered. “Let him hear you fall apart.”
And I did.
I shattered with their names on my tongue—Trace between my thighs, Alden’s fingers in my mouth, their bodies surrounding me.
And as I broke apart, I thought
If I can’t have peace… then let me have this.
Let me have them.