Page 65 of Reckless: Corruption

His hand slides from my hip to where we’re joined, his thumb finding my clit with unerring accuracy. The added stimulation nearly buckles my legs.

“Jinx,” I gasp, my rhythm faltering as pleasure overwhelms me. “I’m close.”

“I know, Red,” he growls, his hips thrusting up to meet mine. “Feel you getting tighter.” His free hand tangles in my hair, pulling me down until our faces are inches apart. “Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me when you fall apart.”

The crude encouragement pushes me closer to the edge. My movements grow erratic as I chase my release, grateful for his guiding hands keeping me on track.

“That’s it,” he urges, his thumb circling faster. “Let go, Glitch. Let me see you come.”

I’m right there, teetering on the edge, when something shifts in his expression. His eyes lock with mine, something primal and possessive darkening their amber depths.

“Mine,” he growls, the word vibrating with raw conviction. “You’re mine, Cayenne.”

The command in his voice pushes me over. Pleasure crashes through me in waves, more intense than before, my body clenching rhythmically around him as I cry out his name. Through the haze of my own release, I feel him shift, surging upward until we’re chest to chest, his arms locked around me like steel bands.

His mouth finds the junction of my neck and shoulder, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “Mine,” he growls again, the sound vibrating against my pulse point. “Say it.”

“Yours,” I gasp, the admission torn from somewhere deep and honest. “I’m yours.”

His teeth sink into my flesh, breaking skin in a deliberate claiming that draws blood. The sharp pain blends with pleasure in a chemical cocktail that sends fresh waves of release crashing through me. My enhanced beta senses make every sensation more intense—the copper taste of blood, the feeling of connection forming between us, the subtle shift in our combined scents as the bond begins to take hold.

The claiming mark says mine in a language older than words, primal and undeniable.

The sensation triggers something primal in both of us. I feel him stiffen beneath me, his rhythm faltering as he drives up into me one last time, shuddering as he finds his own release deep inside me. The mark on my neck pulses with each beat of my heart, binding us together in ways I don’t fully understand but instinctively recognize.

For a moment, neither of us moves, both trying to catch our breath. Then he pulls me down against his chest, his arms wrapping around me possessively.

“Told you I’d make you scream my name,” he murmurs against my hair, a smile evident in his voice.

I laugh, the sound muffled against his skin. “Smugness is not an attractive quality, you know.”

“Liar.” He shifts us to our sides, still connected, one hand tracing idle patterns on my back. “You find me endlessly attractive.”

“Your modesty, on the other hand, could use some work.”

His chuckle vibrates through both our bodies. “Modesty is overrated.”

We fall silent, content to just breathe together in the aftermath. His hand continues its gentle exploration of my back, trailing from my shoulder to the curve of my hip and back again. The touch is possessive but not demanding—marking territory already claimed.

His fingers find the spot on my neck, tracing the mark he left there with obvious satisfaction. A strange warmth spreads from that point of contact, something that feels almost like a connection forming—a tether between us that wasn’t there before. My enhanced senses detect the subtle changes—his scent lingering on my skin, my scent merging with his, a new equilibrium forming between us.

“Did you just...?” I leave the question unfinished, not even sure what I’m asking.

“Mark you?” His voice drops to that register that makes my skin tingle. “Yes. Completely this time.”

“I thought that was only for omegas.” I reach up, touching the spot that throbs in time with my pulse. It feels different somehow—warm, alive, buzzing with sensation that radiates through my body.

“Pack bonds aren’t just about designations,” he says, watching my face carefully. “They’re about connection. About choosing who you belong to.”

The word belong should trigger my independence alarms. Instead, it settles in my chest like a missing piece finally clicking into place. “I feel... something. Like a tether. A connection.”

His smile turns soft at the edges, that feral violence momentarily replaced by something tender. “That’s the bond forming. It’s not as strong as it would be with an omega, but it’s real.”

“So we’re what, pack-bonded now?” The concept is simultaneously thrilling and terrifying.

His expression grows serious. “Only a start. Not complete yet.” His thumb traces the still-bleeding mark, sending shivers down my spine. “The blood marks you as mine, but the bond won’t fully form until you’re ready to accept it completely. And it won’t be finished until you accept all of us. Until we all claim you. Until you claim us back.”

The thought of the others sends a pulse of warmth through me—Finn recovering downstairs, perhaps feeling echoes of what’s happening through his own connection to Jinx; Theo fighting his heat with failing suppressants, his omega instincts likely sensing the shift in pack dynamics; Ryker coordinating our escape while balancing all our needs. Each of them has become essential to me in different ways, their absence a hollow ache I never expected to feel.

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