we show off our different scarlet letters
Warm laughter spills out of Flora as easily as the cocktail that slips from her hand, crashing down into the sand. Whatever conversation she’d been having scatters like hels startled by a wave, because suddenly there’s a body behind her, solid and familiar, the scent of salt and sweat and something electric clinging to him.
Her first instinct is to jab back an elbow, the muscle-memory flickering through the haze of rum and firelight, but Spice’s mind buzzes giddily across the bond, a telegraphed pulse of mischief that makes Flora hesitate. Then the warmth of Kaisel registers: broad chest, slick with salt, pressing against the back of her slouchy sweater. The faint rasp of his stubble brushes her temple as his arm hooks around her middle, and gods, it’s impossible not to laugh, the sound bright and helpless as his grip hauls her half off balance.
"Sorry!" she calls out over her shoulder; though whether it’s for the drink sacrificed to the sand or the company she’s abruptly abandoned, even she isn’t sure. Her curls tumble against his shoulder as she twists in his hold, grin curving wide. "You looked like you were having a fun ride, earlier," she teases, voice light but her pulse a quick, traitorous flutter beneath his hand.
Because despite the alcohol and the chaos and the heat, there’s a thrill in being stolen; dragged laughing into the dark by someone who feels this alive against her.
Her first instinct is to jab back an elbow, the muscle-memory flickering through the haze of rum and firelight, but Spice’s mind buzzes giddily across the bond, a telegraphed pulse of mischief that makes Flora hesitate. Then the warmth of Kaisel registers: broad chest, slick with salt, pressing against the back of her slouchy sweater. The faint rasp of his stubble brushes her temple as his arm hooks around her middle, and gods, it’s impossible not to laugh, the sound bright and helpless as his grip hauls her half off balance.
"Sorry!" she calls out over her shoulder; though whether it’s for the drink sacrificed to the sand or the company she’s abruptly abandoned, even she isn’t sure. Her curls tumble against his shoulder as she twists in his hold, grin curving wide. "You looked like you were having a fun ride, earlier," she teases, voice light but her pulse a quick, traitorous flutter beneath his hand.
Because despite the alcohol and the chaos and the heat, there’s a thrill in being stolen; dragged laughing into the dark by someone who feels this alive against her.
