Page 79 of Reckless: Corruption

The question hits my core processes, accessing insecurities I usually protect with multiple firewalls. In my world, surrender means system failure. Vulnerability means exploitation. Every layer of security I’ve built has been to prevent exactly this kind of access to my source code.

But this is Ryker—the alpha who’s seen me crash and still wants me running. The man who divides his attention between a sick beta, a heat-suppressed omega, a feral alpha, and me—but still makes me feel like I’m the only program in his system. The way he asks—like it’s strength, like it’s power, like it’s choice—makes something shift inside me. Maybe surrender isn’t a system crash but a conscious reboot.

“I can try,” I whisper, the most honest answer I can give.

He studies me for a long moment, searching for something in my expression. Whatever he finds must satisfy him, because he nods once, decision made.

“Kneel.”

The command, delivered in that alpha voice that bypasses all rational processes, nearly buckles my knees then and there. But some part of me—the part that ran, the part that still fears vulnerability—hesitates.

“Why?” Not refusal, just... needing to understand.

“Because I need to know you can.” His honesty bypasses all my security protocols. “Because you need to know you can.” His hands find my shoulders, firm pressure but not force. “Because sometimes submission requires more strength than dominance.”

The words resonate in places I didn’t know could be accessed. With a deep breath, I lower myself to my knees, the training mat offering minimal cushioning against the hard floor.

Ryker circles me slowly, each step measured and deliberate. Not predatory, exactly, but... assessing. Appreciative. His hand brushes my hair, fingers tracing the curve of my neck.

“Good girl.”

The praise shouldn’t affect me. I’m not Theo, not an omega wired to respond to alpha approval. But warmth spreads through my chest anyway, satisfaction blooming at having pleased him like a successfully executed code.

“Hands behind your back,” he instructs, voice carrying that same compelling authority. “Wrists crossed.”

I comply, the position pushing my chest forward slightly, making me feel exposed despite being fully clothed. Vulnerable in ways that have nothing to do with physical danger and everything to do with emotional firewalls dropping.

Ryker completes his circuit, coming to stand before me. His expression gives nothing away, but his scent has deepened, turned richer, more intense.

“You ran because you were afraid,” he states, eyes never leaving mine. “Not of Sterling, not of danger. You’ve never feared those things.” His hand tilts my chin up, ensuring I can’t look away. “You ran because you were afraid of this. Of connection. Of surrender. Of letting someone else have administrative access to your system.”

The assessment hits with surgical precision, finding vulnerabilities I’ve hidden even from myself. “Maybe,” I admit, voice steadier than I feel.

“No maybe.” His thumb traces my lower lip, the touch barely there but electric. “I see the way you follow Jinx into chaos and pull back from structure. The way you calculate odds then deliberately choose the reckless path. The way you open yourself to Theo then build firewalls the next day.”

The observation stuns me with its accuracy, its insight. He’s been watching me—not just tactically, but... seeing me. All of me.

“And what is between us?” I ask, needing to hear him say it.

“Everything,” he answers simply. “Desire. Conflict. Challenge. Respect.” His thumb brushes my cheekbone. “Trust, if you’ll let it grow.”

The honesty in his voice, the vulnerability beneath his strength, undoes me in ways no command ever could. “I want to,” I whisper. “I want to trust you.”

“Then surrender to me. Not forever. Not completely. Just for now. Just in this.” His voice drops lower. “Let me show you how good it can be when you stop fighting.”

Heat pools low in my belly, need coiling tight. “Yes.”

The single word seems to unleash something in him. His hand tightens in my hair, tilting my head back at a sharper angle. “Yes, what?”

The question confuses me for a moment before understanding dawns. “Yes... Alpha.”

A growl of approval rumbles from his chest. “Stand up. Strip. Everything but the sports bra.”

The command sends a shock of both arousal and panic through my system. We’re in the training room. Anyone could walk in. But the door is closed, and the look in Ryker’s eyes—hungry, possessive, determined—makes rational concerns seem like background processes running at low priority.

I rise, fingers finding the hem of my tank top. Each item of clothing removed feels like disabling a firewall, leaving me more exposed, more vulnerable. When I’m down to just my sports bra and panties, I hesitate.

“Everything but the bra,” Ryker reminds me, voice firm but not unkind.

---