Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 79

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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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.

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