Page 50 of Reckless: Chaos

“Shhh.” His tongue flicks across my nipple and my back bows off the bed. “Just feel.”

He takes his time exploring my body, learning me with lips and teeth and tongue until I’m writhing beneath him. Every touch feels deliberate, purposeful, like he’s memorizing each spot that makes me gasp.

When his mouth closes over my breast, sucking hard while his fingers roll my other nipple, coherent thought becomes impossible. My hands fist in his hair, holding him closer as pleasure builds like lightning under my skin.

“Please,” I manage, though I’m not even sure what I’m begging for.

He lifts his head, eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you need.”

The question hangs between us, heavy with promise. His omega scent has grown stronger, sweeter, filling the room with notes of jasmine and desire. It makes my head spin, my body respond in ways I didn’t expect with a beta’s biology.

“Everything,” I breathe, tugging him back down. “You. This.”

His laugh is low and wicked against my skin. “So greedy.” But his own need betrays him—I can feel his hardness against me, his sweatpants already damp where omega slick leaks from his cock like sweet pre-come. The scent of his arousal fills the air, making my mouth water. It’s different from a beta’s response—richer, headier—his omega biology designed to tempt and entice, igniting a flame deep inside me.

He grinds against me slightly, and I can feel more slick coating him, making the fabric cling to his length. The intimate evidence of how much he wants this, wants me.

He slides lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses down my stomach. His hands hook into my sleep shorts, dragging them down my legs with agonizing slowness. When he settles between my thighs, looking up at me with those dark eyes, I almost combust on the spot.

“I’ve thought about this,” he admits, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh. “About how you’d taste. The sounds you’d make for me.” His tongue flicks out, a teasing taste that makes my hips buck. “About making you fall apart on my tongue.”

“Less talking,” I manage, threading my fingers into his hair. “More— oh fuck.”

He licks into me like he’s been starving for it, like he’s been dreaming of this moment. Each stroke of his tongue is precise, purposeful, finding spots that make me see stars. When he seals his mouth over my clit and sucks, I practically levitate off the bed.

“Just like that,” he murmurs against me, one arm draped over my hips to hold me still. “Let me hear you.”

My fingers tighten in his hair as he slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right. The dual sensation of his mouth and fingers makes my thighs tremble. Each touch builds the pressure higher, tighter, until I’m gasping his name like a prayer.

“Close?” he asks, but he already knows the answer. He can feel how I’m clenching around his fingers, how my body’s winding tighter with each stroke of his tongue.

“Yes—please—” The words break on a moan as he increases his pace.

“Come for me,” he commands, the vibration of his voice sending shockwaves through my core. “Want to feel you fall apart on my tongue.”

The orgasm hits me like a tidal wave, my back arching as pleasure crashes through me. He works me through it relentlessly, not letting up until I’m trembling and oversensitive.

When he finally pulls back, his chin glistening with evidence of my pleasure, the sight makes my stomach clench with renewed want. His omega scent has grown impossibly richer, and I can see his cock straining against his sweatpants, the fabric dark with slick.

“My turn,” I manage, reaching for him. The heat in his eyes as I pull him up for a kiss makes me burn.

“Careful, little beta,” he warns, even as he lets me flip our positions. “I’ve got plans for you.”

“My plans might be better,” I say, tugging at his sweatpants. He lifts his hips, letting me strip them off, and I can’t help but stare. His cock lies hard against his stomach, glistening with omega slick, practically begging to be touched.

When I wrap my hand around him, his sharp intake of breath makes desire coil tight in my core. The slick makes my grip glide smooth and easy as I stroke him, learning what makes his breath catch, what makes his hips buck.

“Sensitive here?” I ask, running my thumb over his tip where more slick beads. His whole body shudders in response.

“You have no idea,” he groans, head falling back against the pillows. “Been wanting your hands on me for so long.”

The confession makes something warm bloom in my chest. I lean down, replacing my hand with my mouth, and the sound he makes is pure sin. The taste of him explodes on my tongue—sweeter than a beta, addictive in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

His hands tangle in my hair as I take him deeper, encouraged by the way his thighs tremble under my palms. More slick coats my tongue with each bob of my head, and I can feel him fighting to keep still.

“Fuck,” he gasps when I hollow my cheeks. “Your mouth—I can’t?—”

I pull off just long enough to say, “Then don’t.” Before taking him deep again, humming around his length.

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