Page 51 of Reckless: Corruption

My knot swells impossibly larger, catching fully on his rim with each thrust. The resistance makes us both groan—the perfect edge of pleasure-pain.

“Ready?” I ask, feeling my own release building rapidly. “Ready for my knot, omega?”

“Please,” he begs, cock fully hard again, leaking against his stomach. “Need it. Need you.”

With one final thrust, I push my knot past his rim, locking us together. The pressure is exquisite, perfect—his body stretching to accommodate me as I begin to pump him full.

The first pulse of my release triggers his second orgasm. He cries out, back arching off the bed as pleasure overwhelms him again. His body milks my knot, demanding every drop I have to give.

“Mine,” I growl, leaning down to bite the junction of his neck and shoulder. Not breaking skin, but leaving my mark. “My omega. My mate.”

“Yours,” he agrees, voice wrecked and beautiful. “Always yours.”

I roll us carefully, keeping my knot firmly seated inside him as I position him on top. The change in angle makes him gasp, his spent cock twitching with interest again.

“We’ll be tied for a while,” I remind him, hands gripping his hips. “Might as well make the most of it.”

Understanding dawns in his heat-hazed eyes. He braces his hands on my chest, experimentally rocking on my knot. The movement sends sparks of pleasure through both of us.

“That’s it,” I encourage, guiding his movements. “Use me. Take what you need.”

He finds a rhythm that makes us both groan, grinding down on my knot while I continue to fill him with short pulses of release. My hands roam his body, pinching his nipples, stroking his cock back to full hardness.

“One more,” I demand, feeling another orgasm building in my own body. “Give me one more, omega.”

His movements grow frantic, desperate. When I wrap my hand around his cock again, he shakes his head. “Don’t need—just your knot?—”

The admission sends fire through my veins. I grip his hips harder, grinding my knot directly against his prostate. “Come for me. Now.”

He obeys beautifully, back arching as he comes dry this time, his body too spent to produce more. The rhythmic clenching of his inner walls triggers another release from me, my knot pulsing as I pump him fuller still.

When he collapses against my chest, we’re both trembling, sweat-slick and satisfied. For now. His pre-heat will demand more soon enough, but this brief respite allows me to hold him close, to stroke his damp hair from his forehead.

“I didn’t…” he begins, and I know what he’s going to say. No come.

“You took suppressants,” I murmur against his temple, not accusatory, just stating a fact to remind him.

He nods against my chest. “Wanted to wait. For her.”

The admission should hurt, but somehow it doesn’t. Because I understand. Because I want the same thing. Because what started as me protecting a troublesome beta has grown into something deeper, something that connects all of us.

“Next time,” I promise, feeling my knot begin to subside. “Next time, she’ll be with us.”

He looks up, eyes clearer now between heat waves. “You’re not mad?”

I brush my thumb across his swollen lips. “How could I be mad when you gave me this? When you trust me to take care of you even in the middle of chaos?”

His smile is soft, genuine. “Alpha.”

“Rest while you can,” I advise, knowing his pre-heat will flare again soon. “I’ll check on them when we’re able to separate.”

He nods, already drifting into that blissful post-orgasmic haze. As I hold him, my mind inevitably turns to the sickness below, to our betas fighting for their lives, to the world falling apart outside our walls.

The alpha in me wants to shut everything out, to focus solely on my omega’s needs during his heat. But leadership doesn’t allow that luxury. Even as I hold Theo, my mind assembles the pieces of our next move.

Mona gets the equipment she needs—whatever it takes. Cost, legality, risk—all secondary to developing that vaccine. If Sterling’s creating a beta genocide, we need more than just our pack’s survival. We need a cure for all of them. And we need it before Alexander finds us—which, based on past patterns, gives us less than a week until we need to relocate to the safe house.

In the back of my mind, I hear the echo of Mona’s clinical assessment—how the virus targets beta DNA markers with surgical precision while leaving alphas and omegas completely untouched. It’s not just a virus; it’s designation warfare on a global scale.

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