Page 72 of Reckless: Corruption

“This is... ambitious.” She looks up, studying Cayenne with new interest. “Your sister knows what she’s doing.”

“She’s insane,” Cayenne states flatly. “But brilliant. And possibly our only hope.”

Elena nods once, decision made with certainty of someone who’s survived by trusting instinct. “We can provide most of this. The rest...” She gestures to another omega across room. “Javier has contacts in medical supply.”

As Elena organizes our supplies, I pull Cayenne aside, movements unsteady as pre-heat builds despite Mona’s suppression. “We need to learn everything they know about virus mutation. If Roman hasfixedwhat Mona sabotaged, she needs to know exactly what changed.”

She nods, already moving toward Elena’s workstation with focus that reminds me of Finn during critical calculations. “I’ll download whatever data they have.”

The next hour passes in feverish blur, my ability to track time fragmenting as pre-heat consumes more attention. My skin feels too tight, too hot, senses overwhelmed by scents of so many omegas in one space—each unique melody competing for attention. By the time we finish, sweat soaks my shirt and hands tremble visibly, heat building toward inevitable release despite Mona’s experimental suppressant.

“We need to get you home,” Cayenne says, concern evident as she watches me struggle to focus on simple tasks.

“My office first,” I manage, leading her down side corridor, each step requiring more concentration than last. “Need to... cool down before the drive.”

My private office at Sanctuary is small but comfortable—space where I coordinate underground matters without interruption. The scent is mine alone, familiarity providing momentary relief as threshold closes behind us. I sink into chair, head tipped back as I fight for control, searching for conductor’s baton that will organize my body’s chaotic performance.

“Theo?” Cayenne kneels beside me, cool hand finding my burning forehead, touch both relief and torment against sensitized skin. “What can I do?”

The contact sends electricity through overheated system, unexpected sforzando in already intense movement. My eyes meet hers, finding concern mingled with something darker, something responding to pheromones I can’t control despite Mona’s suppressant—resonance between instruments not meant to harmonize but finding themselves in complementary keys nonetheless.

“I’ll be okay,” I assure her, words unconvincing even to my ears, notes played without conviction. “Just need moment.”

“Your heart is racing.” Her fingers find pulse at my wrist, touch clinical but still sparking through my system, each point of contact igniting flame.

“Pre-heat,” I remind her, forcing smile through fever burning beneath skin. “Everything gets... intense.” The word is laughably inadequate—like calling tsunami “wave,” like describing symphony as “notes.”

She studies me for long moment, air between us charged with unspoken possibilities. When she speaks, her voice carries weight I hadn’t expected, depth of understanding transcending designation barriers.

“Would it help if I... took the edge off?”

The suggestion sends heat pooling low in belly, counterpoint to fever burning across skin. “You don’t have to?—”

“I want to.” Certainty resonates as she moves closer, hands settling on my thighs, weight and warmth of touch sending tremors through overheated system. “Let me help you, Theo. Like you’ve helped me.”

My omega instincts surge at her offer, need drowning propriety like forte obliterating pianissimo. “Please.” The word escapes as barely more than whimper, desperate note in ongoing composition.

Her smile turns predatory as she positions herself between my legs, fingers working belt with deliberate slowness that makes my heart stutter in anticipation. “Just relax,” she murmurs, breath warm against my stomach as she pushes shirt up. “Let me take care of you for once.”

My head falls back as her fingers find their target, freeing my already hard length from confinement. The cool air hits heated skin, drawing a gasp from my lips, the sensation almost too much for my over-sensitized nerves.

“Beautiful,” she whispers, and I risk looking down to find her studying me with undisguised appreciation, her eyes dark with desire that echoes my own. “Just like all of you.”

Before I can respond, her lips close around me, wet heat engulfing the head of my cock in a sensation so intense it stealsmy breath. A broken moan escapes me, my hands flying to her hair, not guiding but simply holding on as pleasure threatens to drown me in its intensity. The visual alone is almost too much—her lips stretched around me, her eyes fluttering closed in concentration, her cheeks hollowing as she takes more of me.

She takes her time, exploring with both hands and mouth, learning what makes me gasp and what makes me groan with the same methodical devotion she brings to her hacking. Each swirl of her tongue, each gentle scrape of teeth, each perfect pressure of her hand builds a composition of pleasure I can barely withstand. Her technique is precise yet passionate, like everything else she does—part calculated skill, part raw enthusiasm.

“You taste amazing,” she murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak, breath cool against wet heat. “Like salt and something darker... something that makes me want more.”

Her words send fresh waves of pleasure through me, verbal appreciation as potent as physical sensation. When she takes me deeper, her moan vibrates around me, pushing me dangerously close to edge already.

“Cay,” I warn as pressure builds embarrassingly quickly, heat coiling tight at base of spine. “I’m close?—”

She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, lips swollen and wet, glistening in dim light. The sight of her like this—on knees for me, eyes dark with desire, lips reddened from their work—is image I’ll carry forever, visual melody I’ll revisit in quiet moments.

“Then come for me, omega,” she commands, and the role reversal—beta commanding omega—sends unexpected thrill that tips me over completely.

Release crashes through me like timpani after building tension, pleasure whiting out thought completely. Through itall, she stays with me, working me through each pulse until I collapse back, momentarily sated.

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