Page 10 of Reckless: Chaos

When he kisses me, it’s everything a first kiss should be—soft but insistent, careful but hungry. He tastes like adrenaline and dawn light, like secrets shared in parked cars and trust earned in midnight escapes. His hands frame my face with a gentleness that belies the strength I know they possess.

I melt into him, letting myself fall one more time. Because this? This moment wrapped in morning glory and newfound trust? This is worth any punishment Ryker can devise. Worth any consequence that comes our way.

Worth absolutely everything.

Chapter 3

Finn

Some data changes you forever.

Like the exact pressure of Cayenne’s fingers gripping my tactical vest. The precise angle of morning light catching green-gold in her eyes. The mathematical perfection of how her body fits against mine as I kiss her again, unable to resist the gravitational pull between us.

I’ve spent weeks cataloging her habits, her movements, her small tells. Learning her like I learn systems—methodically, thoroughly, completely. But nothing in my careful observation prepared me for how she tastes like adrenaline and sunrise. How she makes my carefully ordered world tilt on its axis with just one kiss.

She pulls back slightly, breath coming quick and sharp. A smile plays at the corners of her mouth—the real one, not the defensive smirk she usually wears. “That’s one way to celebrate not dying.”

“I had several contingency plans,” I tell her, letting my hands slide from her face to her waist. “Death was not an acceptable variable in any of them.”

Her laugh carries notes I’ve never heard before—free, unguarded, genuine. “You really did plan this whole thing, didn’t you? The security bypass, the skydiving certification, all of it?”

“I like to be thorough.” My eyes catch on an old barn across the field, weathered wood painted gold in the morning light. Perfect. “Come on. I’m not done being thorough with you yet.”

Her eyebrow raises at that, heat flickering in her expression. “Is that your way of saying you want to get me alone, Professor?”

“That’s my way of saying I want to catalog every sound you make when I touch you.” The words come out rougher than intended, but her sharp intake of breath tells me she doesn’t mind. “For science, of course.”

“Of course.” She lets me lead her toward the barn, morning dew soaking our boots. “Always the analytical one.”

If she only knew how she breaks down every wall of analysis I possess. How she makes me want to be reckless instead of careful. How she makes me forget about viruses and threats and pack politics with just one kiss.

But maybe it’s time she did know.

The barn door protests with a groan of ancient hinges as I guide her inside. Shafts of morning light pierce through gaps in the weathered boards, turning dust motes into floating gold. The scent of hay and wood and history surrounds us.

“Very serial killer chic,” she teases, but her pulse jumps under my fingers where they rest against her wrist. “Planning to murder me after that romantic skydiving gesture?”

“If I wanted to murder you,” I back her toward a hay bale, cataloging every micro-expression that crosses her face, “I wouldn’t have bothered with the romance first.”

She hits the hay with a soft ‘oof’, pulling me down with her. “No? Not your style?”

“I prefer...” I trace the line of her jaw, watching her pupils dilate. “A more thorough approach.”

“Tell me about your first kiss.” The request comes suddenly, catching me off guard. Her fingers play with the collar of my tactical gear. “Was it thoroughly planned too?”

I laugh, settling beside her in the hay. “God no. I was fourteen, at a chess tournament in Dublin. Sarah McKinnley. She beat me in six moves and then kissed me behind the concession stand.”

“Of course it was at a chess tournament.” Her smile lights up the dusty air between us. “Of course she beat you first.”

“Thoroughly humiliated me, then thoroughly kissed me.” The memory makes me smile. “What about you? First kiss?”

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Absolutely not.”

She pokes my ribs. “Fine. I was thirteen. Tommy Rodriguez. He helped me hack the school’s grading system to change his D in math to a C-.”

“Criminal from the start,” I murmur, brushing hay from her hair.

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