Mac clears her throat.
“Okay, Logan, kitchen—help me get food before these two start undressing each other with their eyes.”
“Already happening,” Chace mutters, earning himself a smack from Sam.
I can’t help laughing as Trey straightens up and moves behind the couch, hands sliding over my shoulders. He dips his head, his breath warm against my ear.
“I missed you.”
“I can tell,” I tease, tilting my head up slightly.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my temple, careful to avoid the mask.
“Careful, you’ll ruin your reputation,” I whisper back.
He chuckles low, the sound rumbling in my bones. “Too late for that.”
The rest of the house fills with chatter and laughter—Sam raiding the fridge, Chace flipping through the TV channels, Logan and Mac bickering affectionately in the kitchen.
Trey moves around the sofa and drops down beside me, stretching an arm along the back of the couch before pulling me in until my head rests on his shoulder. His other hand finds mine under the blanket, thumb brushing against my knuckles.
“Had a good night?” he asks quietly, eyes on the TV but attention entirely on me.
“Yeah,” I say softly, smiling up at him. “It was perfect.”
He hums, the sound deep and content.
“You smell like popcorn and peppermint.”
“You smell like trouble,” I shoot back.
He grins. “Always.”
For a moment, everything feels suspended—the laughter from the kitchen, the glow of the fairy lights, his arm warm around me, the mask drying tight on my face as I lean into him and whisper,
“Welcome home.”
Chapter thirty-seven
Trey
Earned It – The Weeknd
The morning light slips through the curtains, soft and gold, crawling across the bed until it finds her.
Sera is tangled in the sheets, wearing nothing but my t-shirt—the one that hangs off her shoulder and barely covers her hips. Her hair’s a mess of red fire spilling across my pillow. She looks like decadent sin wrapped in sunlight.
I shift onto my side, sliding a hand down the curve of her waist. Her skin’s warm beneath my fingers, impossibly soft. The shirt’s ridden up high, exposing miles of bare thigh, and when she stirs, pressing herself back into me, my breath catches.
“Morning, Dove,” I murmur against her neck, my voice still rough with sleep.
She hums, sleepy, smiling without opening her eyes.
“Mm…morning.”
I brush her hair aside, pressing a kiss to the back of her shoulder. Her breath hitches, the tiniest sound, but enough to spark the fuse inside me.
“You always plan on torturing me this early?” I whisper.
