Page 49 of Reckless: Chaos

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling as if it might hold answers. The friendship bracelet on my wrist suddenly feels heavy, a reminder of everything I’m afraid of losing.

“I need to make a call.” The admission costs me something.

“Ah.” Theo settles beside me, propped on one elbow as he looks down with those dark eyes that see too much.

I trace the lines of his tattoo to avoid meeting his gaze. “Ah,” I echo, because apparently my stellar conversational skills have abandoned me along with my sanity.

“Why?” Just one word, but it carries the weight of everything I’m not saying.

Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s the partial claim mark still tingling on my neck. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me like he already knows all my secrets but wants me to tell him anyway.

“I miss my girls.” The truth spills out like blood from a wound. “There are just some things I can’t talk to you guys about and I just...” I fidget with the bracelet, remembering how I’d complained through its entire creation. Now I’d give anything to be back in that moment, surrounded by friendship and certainty.

“Hey.” His fingers catch my chin with an artist’s precision, the same delicate touch he uses on piano keys. When he swipesaway a tear I didn’t know had fallen, the gesture feels like a melody. “Alright.”

“Wait, what?” Hope blooms dangerous and bright in my chest.

“Not right now.” His smirk carries notes of mischief. “It’s three in the morning.”

“Oh, how dare you come at me with logic.” But I lean into his touch, letting it ground me like a perfect chord progression.

“Give me until the afternoon and I’ll find a way for you to chat with your friends.” His palm cups my cheek, thumb tracing patterns that feel like music against my skin. “Some songs need harmony to be complete.”

“Thank you.” The whisper carries more vulnerability than I intend.

“You’re special, you know.” The words flow like lyrics, his voice dropping to that register that makes omegas so deadly. “A spark of chaos in our ordered composition.”

Something shifts in the air between us. Usually, our moments together are peaceful, comfortable—the quiet movement in a larger symphony. But tonight feels different. Electric. Like the moment before a crescendo breaks.

I find myself staring at his lips, wondering if they’d taste as sweet as his scent. If kissing him would feel like dancing, like music made flesh.

His scent deepens, night-blooming jasmine turning heady and rich. The shift makes my stomach flutter with anticipation.

“Cayenne.” My name becomes an aria in his mouth, full of promise and passion. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

He doesn’t move to claim my mouth immediately. Instead, his fingers trail from my cheek to my throat in a slow glissando that makes my pulse jump. Like any true artist, he’s savoring the anticipation, composing each moment with deliberate grace.

His other hand slides into my hair, angling my head just so. The position should feel vulnerable—me on my back in his nest, him hovering above me like a gathering storm. Instead, it feels like the opening notes of something magnificent.

When his lips finally brush mine, it’s devastating in its gentleness. A taste, a tease, a promise of more. He pulls back just enough to gauge my reaction, those dark eyes holding secrets I desperately want to learn.

“More,” I demand, threading my fingers through his hair.

His laugh vibrates against my lips. “So impatient.” But he obliges, capturing my mouth again with more intent.

This kiss is different from any we’ve shared before. There’s no comfort-seeking, no pack dynamics at play. This is pure want, rising between us like a symphony reaching its peak. His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him, letting him set the rhythm.

He tastes like midnight and magic, like every dark dream I’ve ever had about him made real. One of his hands slides down my side, finding the strip of skin where my shirt has ridden up. The touch sends electricity dancing across my nerve endings.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against my lips. “My fierce little beta, always rushing headlong into danger.” His teeth graze my bottom lip. “Let me show you how to slow dance with it instead.”

The playful threat sends heat spiraling through me. His hands slide under my shirt, fingertips tracing patterns on my skin that make me arch into his touch. When I tug at his hair, trying to urge him faster, he just smiles against my mouth.

“Patience,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to strip my shirt over my head. His eyes darken as they roam over newly exposed skin. “I want to savor this.”

I reach for him, but he catches my wrists, pinning them gently above my head. “Let me play with you,” he says, and the hunger in his voice makes me shiver. His free hand trails downmy arm, across my collarbone, between my breasts. “Let me learn what makes you come undone.”

“Theo...” My voice catches as his mouth follows the path his fingers blazed, hot and wet against my skin.

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