Page 64 of Reckless: Collision

“You look beautiful like this, piccola.” His Italian accent thickens, vowels stretching like honey dripping from a spoon. The temperature in the room seems to rise three degrees from his presence alone, air molecules rearranging themselves around his will. “All spread out and desperate on our sheets.”

I should cover myself. Should feel shame or embarrassment at being caught. Instead, my body arches toward his voice, seeking something I can’t name.

“That’s it.” He leans against the doorframe, those dark eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin. “Show me how you pleasure yourself thinking of us.”

The command in his voice bypasses my brain entirely, going straight to my core. My fingers resume their path downward, and I gasp at how wet I am—soaked and swollen and aching.Dripping.

“Tell me what you were thinking about.” His accent thickens as he watches, making no move to join me. “Which one of us had you moaning so prettily?”

“All of you.” The confession tears from my throat as I finally touch my clit, the contact sending electricity arcing through my system. “Fuck, Theo?—”

“Slower.” His artist’s hands grip the doorframe like he’s physically restraining himself. “Make it last. Show me how you want to be touched.”

My fingers obey without conscious thought, falling into a rhythm that builds the pressure gradually. Every circle around my clit sends fresh waves of pleasure coursing through me.

“That’s it, beautiful girl.” His praise wraps around me like silk. “Now tell me—what do you imagine us doing to you?”

“Ryker holding me down.” The words spill out between gasps as I increase the pressure. “Jinx marking me up. Finn taking meapart. You—” I break off with a moan as my other hand pinches my nipple.

“Me?” The single word carries depths of dark promise.

“Teaching me submission.”

His growl fills the room. “Look at me, Cayenne.”

I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze through the haze of building pleasure. The hunger I see there makes me clench around nothing.

“Faster now.” His command brooks no argument. “Show me how you come thinking of us claiming you. Making you ours.”

“I can’t—” But I can. I am. My hips buck against my hand as the pressure builds to something astronomical.

“You can.” His voice drops impossibly lower. “And you will. Come for me, piccola. Come thinking of how perfectly you’d fit in our pack.”

The orgasm hits like a system crash, wiping every thought from my mind except pure sensation. My body arches off the bed as waves of pleasure roll through me, each one stronger than the last.

Through it all, Theo watches with those dark artist’s eyes, cataloging every reaction like he’s planning to recreate this moment later.

When I finally collapse back against the sheets, trembling and oversensitive, he hasn’t moved from the doorway.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, then pushes off the frame. “Get dressed, piccola. Ryker’s waiting to teach you something else entirely.”

He disappears up the stairs before I can process his words, leaving me to deal with the aftermath of what just happened. Of what it means that I came harder from his commands than I have from actual physical contact.

“Fuck.” I press my hands to my burning face. “I am in so much trouble.”

“Screw it.” I push off the bed on shaky legs, ignoring how my thighs stick together. A shower would be the polite thing to do—the proper way to handle getting caught masturbating by an omega who just helped orchestrate the best orgasm of my life.

But I’ve never been good at proper.

Let them smell exactly what they do to me. Let them deal with their own frustrated alpha urges while I learn to ride whatever death machine Ryker has planned.

I grab fresh clothes from my suitcase, pulling on a sports bra that does nothing to hide how my nipples are still hard. The leggings cling like a second skin, and I know my arousal will seep through soon enough. Good. The petty part of me hopes it drives them all crazy.

Theo wanted a show? Fine. But turnabout is fair play.

My hair goes up in a messy bun, exposing my neck where I still carry Jinx’s partial mark. Another deliberate choice. Another fuck you to their careful control.

I check my reflection in the window, and Jesus—I look thoroughly debauched. Flushed skin, kiss-swollen lips—and when did I bite them that hard—eyes still dark with afterglow. Combined with my lemon-sharp scent probably broadcastingfreshly orgasmed betato anyone with enhanced senses...

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