Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 78

Trophy Room.

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Sage

The silence that followed when Conner cut the comms was almost disorienting. No steady rasp of his breath in my ear, no gravelly mutters, no Liam cracking jokes on the other line. Just quiet. The mission was done, and for the first time in hours, I let myself breathe a little deeper.

Matteo leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Well,” he said, voice firm but not unkind, “looks like it’s bedtime, kids.”

I shot him a flat look. Naomi actually laughed. “Oh, I think not.”

I knew that tone. Mischief. Trouble.

Naomi pushed herself off the console, stretching her arms over her head like she wasn’t covered in bruises and stitches. “This is our chance, Sage. The guys aren’t here. Which means…exploring.”

I arched a brow. “I already know every room.”

“Oh, really?” She smirked. “But have you seen the trophy room?”

I froze.

Naomi’s smirk grew wider, like she’d caught me in a lie. “Didn’t think so.”

We slipped downstairs, our footsteps hushed against the wood. Naomi led the way like she owned the place, until we reached a heavy door I hadn’t bothered with before. She swung it open with a flourish. And there it was.

The air was cooler down here, the lighting softer. Shelves lined the walls, every surface filled with… pieces. Every bullet I’d mailed him, displayed in neat rows. Knives polished and mounted. A collection of photos, scribbled notes in my handwriting tucked behind glass. And in the center, a displace style freezer showcasing my severed hands. Well, not mine, but those of Conner’s enemies I had removed and sent to him gift–wrapped. Not grotesque, not hidden. Preserved, cleaned, and displayed with reverence. My knees went weak. He’d kept everything. Every single gift.

Naomi glanced sideways at me, her grin fading into something gentler. “Guess you weren’t the only stalker in this relationship, huh?”

My throat closed. I couldn’t answer. I just stepped further into the room, fingertips grazing the cool glass case like I had to prove it was real. Every little piece of me. Every hand, every bullet, every scrap of madness I’d left him, he’d kept them all. He’d kept me.

“This is… so sweet,” I whispered, and my voice cracked right down the middle.

Naomi threw her head back and laughed, loud and unrepentant. “Sweet? No, babe. This is deranged. You’re both a couple of nutcases!”

Heat rushed up my neck. “Hey! At least I’m not calling him daddy and begging to be spanked like some naughty toddler.” I jabbed a finger at her, glare sharp enough to cut.

She smirked, nudging my shoulder with mock affection. “Oh, don’t worry. Give it time. You’ll be begging for it soon enough.”

I choked on my laugh, but it spilled out anyway, shaky and warm. And for a second, just a second, I let myself feel it. This. Being here. With Conner. With Naomi. Laughing, teasing, living like it was normal. It was the best thing I’d ever had in this miserable, bloodstained

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12:49 Mon, Oct 20

Trophy Room.

excuse for a life. But the thought curdled as quickly as it came. Reality crept back in, sharp and heavy,

“What are we going to do about Yakov?” I asked quietly, the words tasting bitter. “You know we can’t do this forever without being caught, Just being here, with them, it’s a risk. One mistake and they’ll all pay for it.”

Naomi’s smile softened into something thinner, sadder. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight across her ribs. “Yeah. I know. We’ve basically thrown them into the deep end without floaties…”

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The silence that followed pressed in heavy, filled with things we didn’t want to say. The weight of Yakov’s name. The ticking clock of Ari’s warning. The knowledge that what we had right now was fragile. Temporary.

I looked around the room one last time, taking it in, the shrine to everything I was. Everything he saw in me. My obsession mirrored back at me, but made holy in the way only Conner could.

Naomi nudged me again, lighter this time. “We’ll figure it out,” she said, like it was that simple. Like it wasn’t already written in blood.

Naomi bumped my shoulder again, and I let out a tired sigh, rubbing at my ribs through the shirt Conner had buttoned me into. The adrenaline from our snooping was wearing off, and my body was screaming at me to stop pushing it.

“I should probably get back upstairs before Conner gets home,” I muttered, pulling my eyes from the glass cases. “If he catches me wandering, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Naomi smirked, tilting her head with a mischievous glint. “That’s exactly why I’m staying up. I’m due for another spanking, and I don’t intend to miss it.”

I groaned, shaking my head. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But you should’ve seen the look on Liam’s face earlier. Dead serious. Full ‘daddy‘ mode. Gave me chills.” She shivered dramatically, then winked. “Why would I sleep when I can go wandering until he finds me? Way more fun.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You’re actively hunting punishment. Do you hear yourself?”

“Yes. Loud and clear. And unlike you, I’ve decided to embrace the crazy.” She stretched like a cat, eyes glinting with defiance. “Go curl up with your Irish teddy bear, Ghost. I’m going to prowl the grounds until mine comes storming after me.”

I shook my head again, laughing despite myself as I turned toward the stairs. “You’re a menace.”

“Correction,” she called after me, sing–song, “I’m his menace,”

Her words echoed in the hallway as I climbed carefully back toward Conner’s room, my body aching, my heart heavier than I wanted to admit. He’d saved my ass in more ways than one, so I guess I owed it to him to do the right thing and get into bed.

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12:50 Mon, Oct 20

Her Obsession.

She Wants The Killer.

The door creaked open, and the sound of boots hit the hardwood. I lifted my head from the pillow just in time to see him step into the room, arms overloaded with bags, half a dozen at least, dangling from both hands like he’d raided an entire shop. But it wasn’t the bags that made my breath catch. It was him. The mask was still on, the same one I’d pressed into his hands hours ago. Matte black, sharp angles, shadowing his face until only those piercing eyes shone through. And beneath it…blood. Not dripping, not fresh, but smeared across his shirt and streaked faintly over his brow. It wasn’t grotesque. It was art. A masterpiece painted in violence and loyalty. Proof that he’d gone to war in my name and come home to me without faltering. My heart thudded hard. My thighs pressed together as the thought slid in, wicked and unstoppable: good boys deserved rewards.

He kicked the door shut with his heel, bags thunking down onto the dresser in a heap. His gaze found mine instantly. Even through the mask, I felt it pin me.

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“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice rough, still carrying the weight of the night.

I swallowed, pulse hammering. My body ached everywhere, but the sight of him, bloodstained, masked, mine, burned through every bruise. I sat up straighter, sheets pooling at my waist.

“Darling…” My voice was low, husky, carrying all the hunger I’d been biting back. “Do you have any idea how good you look right now?”

His head tilted, a faint smirk curling his mouth beneath the mask. He set the last bag down and started toward me, slow, deliberate, a predator returning to his den. And all I could think was: yes, my good boy. Come and get your reward.

Conner

The way she looked at me, like the blood on my shirt wasn’t ruin but proof, lit something in my chest I didn’t know I had. Most women I’ve been with? They’d flinch. Tell me to clean up. Pretend the violence wasn’t part of me. But Sage? She fucking loved it. Her eyes drank me in like I was the prize, not the monster. And Christ, that did something to me. For the first time, I didn’t feel like I had to hide it, the mess, the fight, the mask. She wanted all of it. Wanted me like this. My smirk sharpened under the black angles of the mask. If my girl liked it, then my girl was damn well going to get it. I prowled forward, every step slow, deliberate, letting her see the way my body moved with the kill still fresh on it. My shirt peeled off, bloodied cotton landing on the floor. The pants followed, shoved down in one swift tug until I was stripped bare, skin alive with the ghost of adrenaline. But the mask? The mask stayed on. Her eyes widened, pupils blown wide as she dragged them up my chest, over my throat, to the shadowed cut of my face. She licked her lips, and my cock twitched hard at the

sight.

Feckin‘ hell, I thought, a savage satisfaction humming through me. My girl wants the killer as much as the man. And that? That was mine to give her. I crawled onto the bed, caging her in, letting her feel the weight of me and the promise of what I was about to do. “You like me like this, don’t you, little ghost?” I growled softly, voice thick.

Her breath shivered out. She didn’t answer with words; her hips arched up against me instead, desperate and honest. And that was all the permission I needed.

The second her hips rolled against me, I snapped. I’d thought maybe I’d ease her into this, take it slow, be careful because she was still healing, but Christ, the way she looked at me, the way her eyes devoured me like I was hers in every way that mattered… I lost all restraint. I ground down against her, the mask shadowing my face, and her moan was sharp and desperate, like the sound alone could carve me open. My fingers curled under her thighs, dragging her to the edge of the bed, spreading her wide, needy.

“You want the killer?” My voice was gravel, all dark hunger. “You fucking got him.”

She gasped when I lined up, when I slid in deep, all the way, without pause, without mercy. Her body clenched around me like she’d been starving for this, for me, for exactly this version of me. And maybe she had, hell, maybe I had. I braced a hand over her throat, not to hurt, not to choke, but to hold her steady, to remind her who was inside her now. Who she belonged to. Each thrust was hard, punishing, relentless, my hips slamming into her like I was branding her with every stroke.

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12:50 Mon, Oct 20

She Wants The Killer.

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“Fuck, Sage…” I groaned through clenched teeth, the mask hot on my face, sweat slicking my brow. “Look at you, taking it like you were

made for me.”

Her nails raked down my back, her legs locking tight around my waist, pulling me closer, deeper. She didn’t want soft, she didn’t want careful, she wanted to be fucked by the man who went to war for her, blood still drying on his skin. And I gave her every goddamn ounce

of it.

“Cum for me, little ghost,” I growled against her ear, pounding harder, faster, until she broke beneath me, shattering with a cry that made my head spin. Her body clamped down on me, pulling me over the edge, and I let go with a raw snarl, spilling into her, owning her in every possible way. I didn’t take the mask off. Not even when I collapsed over her, my chest heaving, mask dragging across the curve of her cheek. She didn’t want just Conner tonight. She wanted everything, every dark, twisted thing inside of me and fuck me, I loved giving

it to her.

Chapter Comments

Tanya Gordon

4 days ago

this is beautifully written.

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