Page 11 of Reckless: Chaos

“Says the man who just helped me break out of pack quarantine.” Her eyes meet mine, serious now. “Why did you really plan all this? Before the virus, before everything?”

Because you make me want to be reckless. Because you challenge every system I create. Because watching you break through my security makes me want to show you how to break through everything else.

“Because sometimes,” I tell her, tracing patterns on her palm like writing code, “the most beautiful things in life can’t be calculated. They have to be experienced.”

“That’s very profound for someone who color-codes his protein shakes.”

“Says the woman who names her algorithms after Disney villains.”

Her laugh fills the space between us, real and bright and perfect. When she kisses me again, my careful analysis tries to catalog every sensation—the soft press of her lips, the way her fingers curl into my tactical vest, the sweet hint of adrenaline on her tongue. But each point of data dissolves into pure sensation, my carefully constructed algorithms failing against the reality of her touch.”

She tastes like sunrise and possibility, and I let myself get lost in it. In her. My hands slide under the compression shirt I so carefully picked out, finding warm skin and soft curves. Everything about this moment defies calculation—the way she arches into my touch, the small sounds she makes against my mouth, the feeling of her fingers tangling in my hair.

“Your contacts,” she murmurs between kisses, “are ridiculously unfair.” Her teeth graze my lower lip. “Do you have any idea what your eyes do to me without those glasses in the way?”

“Gathering data on that now.” I trail kisses down her neck, cataloging every shiver, every caught breath. “The results are promising.”

“Nerd.” But she says it like an endearment, like something precious.

I pull back just enough to look at her—hair wild from the wind and hay, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kisses. Beautiful in a way that defies analysis.

“What?” she asks, suddenly self-conscious under my gaze.

“Just...” I trace the curve of her cheek, letting myself be honest in a way I rarely am. “I’ve wanted this. You. For weeks now. Watching you challenge everything I build, break every system I create. Making me want to be less careful. Less controlled.”

“Is that what this is about?” Her eyes search mine. “Teaching the control freak to let go?”

“No.” I lean down, pressing my forehead to hers. “This is about showing the chaos agent that sometimes the most carefully planned falls are the sweetest.”

Her hands frame my face, and there’s understanding in her touch. Understanding of what it means for someone like me—someone who plans contingencies for his contingencies—to orchestrate this moment of perfect abandon.

“Your brother,” she says softly. “Would he understand this? Choosing to fall?”

The question should hurt, but somehow it doesn’t. Not here, not with her. “Maybe. Someday. But right now?” I brush my lips against hers. “Right now I’m choosing this moment. This fall. You.”

She pulls me down into another kiss, and this one tastes like promises. Like understanding. Like two people who’ve spent their lives analyzing systems finally letting themselves be part of something that can’t be calculated.

My hands find skin again, and this time there’s no analysis. No careful planning. Just the pure chemistry of touch and taste and trust.

“Tell me something else,” she says, arching as my lips find the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Something real. A first.”

“My first time?” My teeth graze her earlobe, feeling her shiver. “Or my first love?”

“Both.” Her nails scrape gently along my scalp, making my breath catch. “Tell me a story, Professor.”

I smile against her skin, letting my hands wander. “Her name was Alice. Computer science grad student. She used to leave me riddles in compiled code.”

“Of course she did.” Cayenne’s laugh turns into a soft gasp as my fingers trace patterns on her stomach. “Did you solve them?”

“Every single one.” I lift my head to meet her eyes, letting her see the truth there. “Until the final puzzle. The one where she asked me to choose between her and the pack.”

Understanding floods her expression. “What happened?”

“I chose the pack. She chose Cambridge.” My thumb traces her bottom lip. “Your turn. Tell me a first.”

She catches my thumb with her teeth, playful. “Which one?”

“All of them.”

---