Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 33

32/33

Claimed.

The first thing I notice when I wake is how relaxed and well-rested I feel. The second? The monkey on my damn back. I shift slightly, unsure if I’m imagining things but no, the monkey moves with me. Sage. She’s got one arm tucked under my neck, the other wrapped over my chest where her fingers splay like she owns the place, like she owns me. Her palm lies flat over my heart, as if she’s been keeping time with it in her sleep. Her chest is pressed tight against my back, the soft rise and fall of her breathing warming the space between us. One of her legs is hooked over my hip, anchoring herself to me. And that’s when it hits me, really hits me, just how close she is. How much heat is pouring off her. How dangerously aware my body is of every inch of her pressed against it.

Her thigh shifts in her sleep and grazes the top of my briefs. F**k. My cock throbs painfully against the fabric. Hard. Instantly and unforgivingly. My brain tries to catch up, tries to remind me she’s recovering, that she snuck into my bed sometime after I passed out, that she’s still asleep and I should definitely be the gentleman here. But this woman… Jesus feckin’ Christ. She’s not just some passing infatuation or war-born crush. She’s been a ghost in my life for years, hovering in the shadows, saving me from things I didn’t even know were threats, pulling strings and orchestrating chaos with surgical precision. She’s danger and comfort wrapped up in one maddening, untouchable, unforgettable package. And now? Now she’s wrapped around me like I’m the only thing anchoring her. I let out a slow breath, willing my body to relax, to not respond to every slight movement she makes. I know I should slide out carefully, give her space, respect the invisible line we haven’t talked about crossing yet. But hell if I can bring myself to move. Instead, I reach up and brush my fingers over the back of her hand where it rests on my chest. Her fingertips twitch. She murmurs something soft and unintelligible into my shoulder. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

I’m ruined. This woman, who’s faced death without blinking, who’s brought men to their knees and vanished like smoke, she crawled into my bed in the middle of the night, curled around me like I’m her safe place, and now I’m supposed to pretend I didn’t feel every goddamn inch of her? Right. Not happening. I stay still. I stay quiet. I just breathe her in and let her keep clinging to me like I’m hers.

There’s a soft knock on the door before it cracks open, Liam sticking his head in. “Boss, it’s almost 10:30, are you sick or something?” He stops, frozen in the doorway as his mouth hangs open and I glare at him as he begins to smirk with his eyebrows raised and I just point at the door. He raises his hands and stiffles a laugh. “Gotcha.” He whispers and leaves with a wink. I’d hoped that Sage wouldn’t wake, not yet, but that hope is crushed when I feel her tense and tighten her arms around me.

“Good morning darling.” She whispers into my back.

“Mornin’ little ghost. Fancy seeing you here.” I joke and attempt to roll over but she locks me in place with her limbs, surprisingly strong for her little frame. She peppers my back with kisses and then sensation crawls down my spine and straight to my cock, making my groan slightly.

“Sage, you’re flirting with danger.” I warn and she moans back as she pushes herself against me further, her hands sliding down my bare chest.

“I love danger.” She whispers back before her delicate little hand grabs my cock on the outside of the fabric there and pumps me once.

I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth, my entire body stiffening under her touch, except for the part she’s already got her hand wrapped around.

“Feckin’ Christ, woman.” My voice comes out low, gravelled with warning and arousal.

She giggles softly against my back, her breath tickling my skin. “You’re so easy to rile up in the mornings,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to my shoulder blade, then another a little lower,

I’m torn between grinding into her hand and grabbing her wrist to stop her before I do something she’s not ready for. Because the thing is, she’s still healing. The doctor said rest. She’s bruised, stitched up, half-running on adrenaline and caffeine, and here she is… trying to break me before breakfast. I shift under her again, finally managing to roll over. She goes with me, straddling my waist, her thighs bracketing me as she stares down with a smirk that could make any man weak. But it’s not just the smirk that kills me, it’s the softness in her eyes. That flicker of vulnerability she only ever shows when she thinks I’m too distracted to notice,

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” I murmur, brushing a strand of silver hair from her cheek.

“Not if I die first,” she teases, leaning down, her nose brushing mine, lips hovering close.

I reach up, one hand wrapping around her wrist gently, the same hand that nearly ruined me a second ago and bring it to my chest, holding it there. “You sure about this?” I ask quietly. “You’re still healing. And after everything… you don’t owe me anything.”

“Shh.” Her finger presses softly to my lips, silencing me with that same calm confidence that’s always undone me. “This is for me.”

Claimed.

Then she moves, slow, deliberate, sliding her body down mine like liquid silk. There’s mischief in her eyes, yes, but beneath that? Focus. Tenderness. A quiet kind of power. She hooks her fingers into the band of my briefs and I swear my breath catches as she tugs them down with the help of her foot, all while keeping that unbothered, almost smug little look on her face. My cock springs free, painfully hard, and the cool air kisses my skin before her hand does, small, sure, and unhesitating and then her mouth…

“Jesus…” The word falls from me like a prayer as her tongue licks a long stripe from the base up, swirling around the head once, twice, with infuriating precision. I groan, low and wrecked, my head falling back against the pillow. She wraps her lips around me and slides down, her hand gripping what she can’t fit in her mouth, and there’s a lot. It’s like she’s mapping me, learning every inch of me with her tongue, and it’s not rushed. It’s intentional. Reverent.

My hands fist in the sheets, my control slipping.

“Kinda feels like this is for me,” I manage on an exhale, half-laughing, half-moan, my voice already ragged.

She pulls off with a soft pop, her eyes locking on mine with a heat that could melt stone. “It is,” she whispers. “Because I want you to know how it feels to be claimed.”

F**k.. I nearly come undone just from that.

Domestic Ghost.

She says she wants to claim me and fuck she is. But it’s more than that. She’s ruining me. Ruining me with that pretty little mouth and those cold-blooded hands that somehow feel like silk on my skin. She sucks my cock like she’s worshipping it Like it’s not just sex, it’s a fucking promise. Her mouth is hot and wet, het tongue moving like she already knows every part of me, like she’s studied me for years and now finally gets to devour what’s hers. It’s been a long time. Too long since I let anyone close. The few times I did try to move on, the women never stuck It didn’t take long to figure out why, ghosts don’t like competition Every date disappeared after even the briefest connection. Sage had been in the shadows, protecting me even then. Watching. Waiting. But never in my life, never have I been with a woman like this. The knowledge that those same hands, soft on my skin now, are stained with more blood than my own… it does something twisted to me. She’s a force, a weapon. Ruthless. Cold. Feared by men with armies and syndicates and war in their veins. And yet right now, she’s on her knees, treating me like I’m something worth worshipping. Her softness isn’t weakness, it’s lethal in a different way. And I’d take this death a thousand times. She licks, sucks, bobs, her pace merciless, hungry, perfect. She takes me deeper, her throat tightening around me, gagging slightly as her nose presses to my base. Her eyes water, but she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t flinch. Just moans around me like she fucking loves it. I grip the sheets, the muscles in my thighs tensing as I fight for control 1 lost the moment she touched me.

“Fuck.” I groan, breathless, ruined. “Sage, I’m gonna cum…”

It’s meant as a warning, but she takes it as a challenge. She sinks deeper, her hands locking around my hips as she hums around me, sending vibrations all the way through my spine and I break. My release hits like a damn freight train, pleasure crashing over me in waves as I cry out her name like a man undone. She swallows it all, never flinching, milking every drop from me like I’m hers to drain. And I am. There’s no question now, no room for denial. I’m hers. Completely.

She sits back on her hunches, lips glistening, cheeks flushed, looking like the damn goddess of war after a conquest, except she’s not holding a sword, she’s holding me. Her eyes wander slowly over the entire length of my body, a slow, assessing drag that somehow makes me feel both laid bare and worshipped. I’m wrecked. Sprawled out, breathing heavy, cock twitching in the aftershocks of her mouth and she just smiles. That quiet, knowing smile like she planned this all along. She leans forward again, soft now, tender and presses a kiss over my heart. Just once. No words. Like she’s marking it, claiming it, sealing something between us. Then she slides off the bed, catlike and casual, like she didn’t just ruin me completely. “I’ll get breakfast started, darling,” she murmurs with a wicked little grin, already halfway to the door. “Take your time.”

She walks out with a sway in her hips like she owns the fucking world. Correction: my world. And she’s still wearing my shirt. That green button-down, the one I usually save for business meetings and bullshit family dinners is hanging off her frame like it was made to be stolen. Just like me. That’s her shirt now. Just like I’m her man now. I lay there, arm slung over my face, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. What the fecking hell is this girl made of? Steel? Smoke? Fucking magic? I should feel unmoored, off-kilter. I should be worried that a deadly ghost of a woman is barefoot in my kitchen, cooking breakfast in nothing but my shirt like we’ve done this a thousand times. But all I feel is…peaceful. High, maybe. Or drunk. Or both. On her. On this. My chest still burns where her lips touched. My cock’s still twitching like it’s waiting for round two. And my brain is still short-circuiting, trying to process how the hell I ended up in bed with the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met and why it feels so feckin’ right. I finally roll onto my side and groan into the pillow, dragging a hand through my hair.

“She’s gonna kill me,” I mutter to no one in particular.

“Or worse,” I add after a beat, “make me breakfast and never leave.” And feck me, I think I’d let her.

Ianaged my way out of bed, took a quick shower and threw on some clothes before I made my way downstairs. She was at the stove, barefoot, humming something low and sultry under her breath, my shirts barely covering the curve of her ass. She moved like she belonged here, like she’d always belonged. I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, just…watching. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. This is what she looked like all those times she snuck in her. Well Kind of, more clothes, and break and enter vibes. She was a damn paradox. Cold-blooded killer. Softest hands. Deadliest aim I’ve ever seen. Now she was starring eggs like this was a bunday morning and we didn’t just survive a war.

You’re staring, Nicos voice said beside me, and I damn near jumped. I hadn’t even heard the fucker approach.

Liam and Mettes were behind him, all three of them grinning like idiots.

Shut it, I mullered

“No, no, this is beautiful, Matteo said, arms crossed, watching her sway Our little ghost is domestic.

“She’s not little,” I corrected without thinking ‘she’s precision?

‘Locked me in a closet kind of precision, a fourth voice muttered, and we all turned to see Jason, the same man Sage had once locked in the pantry when he’d stumbled on her presence months back. He froze like a deer in beadlights the second her eyes cut toward him over her shoulder.

“Morning,” she said with that same honey-laced voice that made my blood heat.

1/2

8:05 pm P p DD.

Domestic Ghost.

༠:།

Jason physically backed up. “Nope. Nope, I forgot something. I’ll come back later.” And he turned and nearly tripped over his own damn feet bolting out of

the kitchen. The rest of us lost it.

“She didn’t even raise a hand!” Liam wheezed.

“She didn’t have to,” Nico said. “She’s the damn boogeyman.”

“No.” I said, watching her flip a pancake with deadly grace. “She’s mine.”

It felt like a promise, a vow etched into my goddamn bones. She stilled for half a second, barely perceptible, unless you were watching her. A flicker of pink dusted her cheeks before she turned her face back to the stove. How cute. I need to make her do that more often.

“She blush?” Liam asked, raising a brow.

“I thought she was born without tear ducts or shame,” Matteo chimed in, crossing his arms with a grin.

“Keep talkin’,” I warned, tossing a kitchen towel at them.

Chapter Comments

R

Visitor

2 days ago

Nope, Nope, I forgot something I! Sooo funny!!

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