Page 81 of Reckless: Corruption

I take him into my mouth with deliberate slowness, savoring the weight of him on my tongue, the taste of salt and musk and primal male. His grip tightens in my hair, not pushing, just... holding. Controlling without forcing.

“That’s it,” he encourages, voice roughened by desire. “Take what you can handle. We’ll work up to the rest another time.”

The promise of future encounters sends a shiver through me. I hollow my cheeks, suction increasing as I work him with growing confidence. His taste, his scent, the sounds he makes—all of it feeds something primal in me, some need I didn’t know I had until this moment.

“Look at me,” he commands.

I obey, eyes lifting to meet his without breaking rhythm. The visual connection intensifies everything—his pleasure evident in the tightness of his jaw, the heat in his gaze.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, something like wonder in his voice. “My perfect, stubborn wildcat.”

The nickname sends an unexpected thrill through me. His. His wildcat. The acknowledgment I’ve both craved and feared.

His control begins to fray as I take him deeper, his hips making small, aborted movements that tell me how hard he’s working to maintain restraint. Each sound I draw from him feels like successfully bypassing security, each throb against my tongue a sign of my power even in submission.

“Enough,” he finally growls, pulling me off him with careful but firm pressure. “Stand up.”

I comply, shakier than I’d like to admit. He gives me no time to recover, lifting me with alpha strength that steals my breath. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries me to the wall, pressing me against it with his body.

“Last chance,” he murmurs against my neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Don’t you dare,” I manage, fingers digging into his shoulders.

A sound that’s half laugh, half growl rumbles from his chest. “My stubborn wildcat.” His hand slides between us, finding me embarrassingly wet and ready. “So fierce. So independent.” His fingers tease my entrance, gathering moisture before moving to circle my clit. “And yet so responsive for me.”

Any clever retort I might have had dissolves into a gasp as his skilled fingers work me higher. His mouth finds my neck, teeth scraping over my pulse point with just enough pressure to make me shiver.

“Do you want me inside you?” he asks, voice rough with need. “Do you want to feel your alpha claim you properly?”

“Yes,” I breathe, past pride, past hesitation. “Please, Alpha.”

The title slips out without conscious thought, but the effect on Ryker is immediate. A growl vibrates through him as he positions himself at my entrance.

“Mine,” he declares simply, then pushes forward in one smooth thrust that steals my breath.

The stretch is exquisite, borderline too much after weeks without this kind of connection. His size forces my body to yield, to accommodate, to surrender in the most primal way possible.

“Breathe,” he instructs, holding still to let me adjust. His control, even now, speaks volumes about what this means to him. Not just release, not just dominance. Care. Connection.

When I nod, he begins to move—slow, deep thrusts that hit exactly right. My head falls back against the wall, legs tightening around his waist to pull him deeper.

“That’s it,” he encourages, pace increasing. “Take what you need.”

His permission unleashes something in me. My hips rock to meet his thrusts, matching his rhythm, seeking more. One of his hands supports my weight while the other finds my clit again, circling with devastating precision.

“Ryker,” I gasp, pressure building faster than expected. “I’m close?—”

“I know,” he murmurs against my neck. “I can feel it.” His teeth find my earlobe, biting gently. “Come for me, Cayenne. Show me what surrender looks like.”

The command, the stimulation, the overwhelming fullness of him inside me—it all crashes together, sending me hurtling over the edge. My body tightens around him as pleasure washes through me in waves, each one stronger than the last.

He fucks me through it, pace never faltering, prolonging the sensation until it borders on too much. Just as I think I can’t take any more, his rhythm changes, grows more erratic.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep, his release evident in the pulse I can feel inside me and the groan he muffles against my neck. His hands tighten possessively, holding me against him as if afraid I might disappear again.

For long moments, we stay like that—connected, breathing hard, coming down together. His weight pins me to the wall, but it feels like security rather than restriction. When he finally eases back enough to meet my eyes, what I see there steals my breath all over again.

Tenderness. Satisfaction. Something that might, in time, become more.

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