Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 69

Her Obsession.

Take Everything and Give It Back.

Sage

The dark is soft here. Not the choking kind I’ve lived in, but the kind that strokes over skin and says rest. I blink awake to the low hum of the house and the warmer, steadier hum of him. Conner. I’m in his bed. He’s on his side, back to me, one arm thrown above his head like he fell asleep guarding the ceiling. He smells like soap and smoke and something that’s just him, clean heat and safety. There are wires taped to my chest and a cannula tugging at the crook of my elbow. My brain notes them; my body rejects them. I start plucking things off on instinct, tape, leads, the little clip on my finger, I need quiet, quick. One monitor ticks a soft protest; I thumb the switch and it obeys. Good machine. I slide closer, slow as a thief, and fold myself around him the way I’ve wanted to for years. Arm under his, palm spread over his sternum, face tucked between his shoulder blades. My thigh hooks over his hip; my ribs complain and I tell them to shut up. He’s so warm. My breathing finds his rhythm and the ache in my chest loosens. How did I get back here? My memory stutters, cold water, stone, gravel in my teeth and then dissolves under the steadiness of his heartbeat. Maybe I brought myself. It’s a very me thing to do. Doesn’t matter. I’m here. After the last two days, I deserve this. I deserve him.

A thought slips in, sharp. Is he mad I left?

Probably. He should be.

The thought snags on another, lower and hotter. Fix it. Make it better. Make you better. The ache between my thighs pulses like a second heartbeat. My mouth is already at his shoulder before I catch myself, lips ghosting over warm skin, breathing him in. He shifts under me, a small sound, and the guilt hits at the same time as the want. No ghosts stealing from sleeping men. Wake him.

“Conner,” I whisper against his skin, feather–light. “Darling.”

He makes another sound, half sigh, half growl and rolls onto his back, dragging me with him. His eyes open, heavy with sleep, then sharpen when he finds my face. The relief in them guts me.

“Hey, little ghost,” he murmurs, voice rough. His hand comes up to cradle the side of my head, thumb at my temple. “You’re back.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, the words small and real. “I had to go.”

“I know.” No accusation, just truth. His thumb keeps moving, soft, like he’s soothing the apology out of me. “Are you hurting?”

“Yes,” I admit. Then, softer, mouth twitching, “Not everywhere though…”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Sage…”

“Let me,” I whisper, shifting closer, careful of bandages and bruises. “Please. I need…” I swallow. “I need you.”

He searches my face, all that old iron in him melting to something warmer. “Slow,” he says, a promise and a warning in one. “No heroics.”

“Never,” I lie.

His hand slides to my jaw. I press a kiss into his palm first, claiming, apologizing, thanking, then I tilt until his mouth meets mine. It’s not the wild thing I’m good at. It’s slow, deep, a kiss that tastes like the first clean breath after breaking water. His other hand finds my hip, anchoring me, guiding me over him without jarring the places that hurt. Heat climbs my spine, low and insistent. The ache becomes a hum.

“Mad at me?” I breathe against his lips.

“Later,” he says, and it makes me smile, because later means there is a later. His fingers drift up, splay over my ribs and pause when I flinch. He moves higher, over safe ground, palm flat between my shoulder blades, holding, not taking. The hunger eases into something steadier. I nose along his jaw, leave small kisses there and at the corner of his mouth like I’m mapping him for keeps. He lets me, meeting me kiss for kiss, patient in a way men like him never learn, except, apparently, for me. My thighs spread further over his, my bare sex rubbing against the cotton of his pants, making him moan.

“Sage, baby, slow down, you’ve just been in a bloody cóma.”

I ignore his pleas and climb my way down his body to his feet, taking his pants with me. Despite his protests, he lifts his butt slightly to accomodate my actions until his thick, hard, length is slapping his stomach and clearly, his mind and his body are working against eachother. This part of him? It wants me, and it doesn’t care about some silly little coma. I crawl my way back up his body and hover over his cock, twitching to get closer to my sex.

1/2

7:28 pm D

Take Everything and Give It Back

“Sage…” he warns in a whispered growl.

I grab his cock from underneath me, angling it upward, and begin to pump him in my fist, swirling his tip through my lower lips. He throws his head back with a hiss as his hips unconsciously buck, making the tip slide just enough in that I moan, too.

“Slow,” I promise him, right before I slide down the entire way and he fills me completely. I lean forward to kiss him again, and he doesn’t miss the small wince at the movement. He growls low and, in one quick, precise movement, flips us, laying me gently on my back without ever leaving me.

“You want me this bad, baby? Then lay back like a good girl and let me give it to you.” And he does, soft, gentle, consuming, claiming. Every thrust is a promise and a threat, and I love it. I fucking love it all. His hands are quick at undoing the buttons on my shirt, and he wastes no time taking a hard, pebbled nipple into his mouth, swirling and flicking his tongue like he was born to do just this.

“Conner,” I moan as my back arches, pushing my breast farther into his mouth.

“That’s it, baby, you like that? Is this what you imagined all those nights you stayed away from me? Is this what you thought about when you would play with your pretty little pussy without me?”

Something between a whimper and a moan leaves me as he continues to fuck into me, hitting all the right places at once, and I realize I’ve stayed away for far too long, wanted this for too long, needed this, all of this,and I can’t hold myself back.

“Conner, I’m going to…”

“Cum for me, baby. Cum all over me. Milk me, baby, fucking take everything from me and give it all right back. Fuck!” He ends on a string of curses as my body clenches, tightening around him, pleading with him not to leave me, and he waits, just until the last of my orgasm ripples through me and then he lets go, filling me with his own. Claiming me as his.

Chapter Comments

Heather Sweat

4 days ago

so good yes

10

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