Page 36 of Reckless: Chaos

He makes a sound like I’ve gutted him, fingers digging into my hips. “Fuck. You have no idea what you do to me.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “How many times I’ve thought about having you like this. Getting you all wet and desperate for me.”

The tile squeaks under my palm as I brace against it. “Show me.”

“Oh, I will.” His lips trace the curve of my neck, careful to avoid my injured side. “Gonna take my time with you. Make you fall apart so slow and sweet you’ll be begging for it.”

My breath hitches as one hand slides lower, tracing patterns on my inner thigh. “Jinx...”

“Shh.” He nips at my earlobe. “Remember what I said about being still? About letting me take care of you?”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

“Good girl.” His fingers drift higher, teasing. “Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Take care of every...” A kiss behind my ear. “Single...” His hand inches up. “Need.”

The last word ends on a growl that makes heat pool low in my belly. “Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely...”

His hands glide over my skin with devastating tenderness, working shampoo into my hair with just enough pressure to make me moan. Every touch is careful, calculated, though I can feel him trembling with the effort of restraint.

“You’re killing me,” he mutters, working conditioner through the ends. “Making those sounds when I’m trying to be good.”

“Nothing good about you.” But I lean back into his touch as he massages my scalp.

“You got that right.” His laugh holds an edge of hysteria. “Here I am, soaking wet, trying to wash your hair without thinking about all the ways I want to wreck you, and you’re just...” He makes a strangled sound as I arch into his hands. “Fuck.”

“You started it with all that talk about taking care of my needs.”

“Your needs right now are getting clean, taking pain meds, and eating my shepherd’s cupcakes.” But his voice is rough as he helps me rinse, hands sliding through my hair with careful attention. “Everything else can wait until you’re healed.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Sweetheart, I’m too much fun. That’s the problem.” He reaches around me for the body wash, working it into a lather. “Now hold still and let me get you clean before I forget all my good intentions.”

I behave, mostly because the firm pressure of his hands feels too good to risk him stopping. He works the soap over every inch of skin he can reach without jostling my injury, touch clinical but somehow still intimate.

“There.” His voice comes out like gravel, rough with restrained need. Each sweep of the washcloth over my skin feelslike a promise, a preview of touches to come. “Think you can stand while I grab a towel?”

“Probably shouldn’t risk it.” I lean back against him, letting my ass press against the rigid length of him through his soaked jeans. His sharp inhale sends a rush of arousal through me. “Safety first, right?”

“Keep playing with fire, Glitch,” he growls, the words hot against my neck. “And once I get you clean and dry, I’ll show you exactly what happens when you push an alpha too far.”

“You keep saying that.” The threat-promise in his voice makes me shiver. “That a threat or a promise? Sounds like just words to me.”

His laugh sounds like it’s been dragged over broken glass. “Both.” His hands slide lower, possessive even through the soft terry cloth as he dries me. “Gonna take such good care of you once we’re done here. Make you forget all about that shoulder.”

Each touch as he dries me carries that same torturous care he showed in the shower, but there’s an edge of desperation now, a tremor in his steady hands that betrays just how close to breaking he is. The wet denim of his jeans does nothing to hide his arousal as he presses against me, and the growl that rumbles through his chest when I deliberately squirm makes the medical monitor chirp a warning.

“Easy,” he murmurs, but his voice is strained. “Let me get you settled first. Then...” His teeth graze my uninjured shoulder. “Then I’ll show you exactly what I’ve been thinking about since they wheeled you away from me.”

By the time we reach the bed, tension crackles between us like an overloaded circuit. The medical monitors beep steadily, broadcasting my vitals to the tablet Finn checks obsessively. Each soft chirp reminds me of our audience—pack members monitoring my every heartbeat, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of distress.

“Food first,” he says, but his voice has dropped to that dangerous register that makes my inner beta purr. His hands arrange pillows behind me with careful precision that barely masks his trembling need. “Then meds.”

“Then?” I arch against the pillows, letting the towel fall open. His eyes track the movement like a predator, pupils blown so wide the amber is just a thin ring. The scent of alpha arousal floods the room, making the monitor chirp a warning as my pulse spikes.

“Then,” he growls, and the sound goes straight to my core, “I’m going to worship every inch of skin that isn’t bandaged. Going to take you apart so slowly, so thoroughly, that you forget about everything except my hands on you.” His fingers trace my collarbone, carefully avoiding the bandage. “Going to show you exactly what happens when you scare your alpha like that.”

The possessive edge in his voice causes hunger to burn through me like a wildfire.

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