Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 98

Her Obsession.

When The World Flips.

76

The world was nothing but rope and sky and Sage’s laugh when she shoved again, harder, faster, until the swing arced so high my stomach tried to climb out my throat,

“You bastard!” I barked over the wind, half–protest, half–laugh. Then the crack sounded like a gunshot. The rope sang, the tyre lurched, and the whole bloody branch above us split with a rotten snap. Everything turned inside out. Air, rope, a clean, stupid second of weightlessness, then wood and wind and a cold that tasted like iron as I cartwheeled through space and hit the lake. The water hit me like a slap to the face. It was all shock at first, ice eating through my shirt, lungs burning, vision going white at the edges. I punched for the surface, cursing in a string of languages that’d make Ma blanch, and then my head broke free and I was gulping air so hard my ribs felt like they’d crack. Somewhere above the splutter and the cold, I heard her laugh, pure, insane, high–pitched, and then I saw her. She’d already kicked off her boots on the bank. Her shirt was gone, her pants being pulled off fast, everything about her streaked with reckless joy. She didn’t hesitate. No looking, no thought, she ran, jumping and screaming with happiness as she cannonballed right next to me, splashing me with more water.

“Jesus!” I croaked, more shocked than angry, but the sound of her scream, delighted, exultant, cut right through the cold.

She surfaced beside me, droplets painting her dark lashes, grin wide enough to split her face. “Again!” she shouted, eyes bright, and the sight of her laughing like a child in freezing water made something inside me unclench so hard it hurt. I swam over to her, hands rough on wet shoulders. She didn’t wait a second to wrap her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. For a moment, we just bobbed there, chests heaving, the lake around us whispering against reeds.

“You absolute madwoman,” I said, trying to sound stern but failing spectacularly.

She splashed me, water stinging my face, while laughing, eyes bright with that dangerous joy. “Best. Day. Ever,” she spat out between

grins.

I let the cold bite a little longer so that I could watch her glow in it. Then, because I had a stubborn streak and that needed punishing, I pulled her down and shoved my head under, dunking her once, short, sharp and when she emerged spluttering and furious and laughing all at once, I kissed her, fucking hard. We climbed out together, shivering, my clothes heavy, but the laughter wouldn’t stop, and the cold was setting in quickly. I hauled her toward Ruairí, who tossed his head like even he thought we’d lost our minds.

“Up you get,” I said, boosting her onto the saddle before she could argue. She gave me a look, but didn’t fight me. I swung up behind her, wrapping my arms around her dripping frame, and dug my heels in.

Ruairí took off at a steady canter, and I leaned into her, urging him harder, booting us both back across the field toward the house. Water streamed down my hair, down her shoulders, soaking into the saddle. By the time we thundered into the yard, every stable hand and guard had their eyes on us, and I didn’t care a damn. I swung down, caught her around the waist, and carried her through the front doors before she could set a single wet boot on the ground.

“Conner O’Neill!” Ma’s voice cut across the hall the second she saw us, her hands on her hips, fire in her eyes. “Drippin‘ bloody water all through my clean house!”

“Later, Ma,” I barked over my shoulder, not slowing. “Emergency.”

She muttered something about “eegit boys and their nonsense” as I hauled Sage straight up the stairs. My door creaked open under my boot, and I shoved us both inside, kicking it shut behind us. And Christ, the room. It still looked like I’d never left, like a bloody teenager lived there still. Playboy posters curling on the walls, half–faded from the sun. A shelf crammed with sports trophies, footballs, and medals, dusty but still gleaming. Old concert tickets pinned to the corkboard. My youth was preserved in amber and dust.

Sage’s eyes flicked around, wide, taking it all in. I felt heat crawl up the back of my neck. “You can laugh at all that later,” I muttered, setting her down. “Right now…”

1/2

12:53 Mon, Oct 20

When The World Flips.

76

I grabbed her hand, dragging her toward the en suite. The pipes groaned as I cranked the shower on, steam already fogging the glass. “… we need to get warm.”

I stripped my shirt over my head, the fabric slapping wet to the tile as I tossed it aside, then tugged at her sodden clothes. She just stood there, quiet, watching my face like she was waiting for me to flinch. I didn’t. I peeled the cold denim down her legs, wrung–out fabric heavy in my hands, and then pulled her with me under the spray. The shock of heat nearly buckled us both. She gasped, shivering in reverse now as her body scrambled to keep up. I braced my hands on either side of her shoulders, caging her under the water as it sluiced through her hair, down her face, plastering every line of her to me.

“Better?” I asked softly, brushing a strand of wet hair from her cheek.

Her eyes flicked up, guarded still, but softer than I’d ever seen them. She gave the slightest nod. I bent, kissed her forehead, then just stayed there, letting the water pound against my back and roll down her skin. No rush. No hunger. Just warmth, shared. She leaned into me slowly, like it was dangerous, like the act itself might undo her. Her cheek pressed against my chest, her breath steadying against my skin. My arms came around her instinctively, pulling her closer, tighter, until she was anchored there.

“You’re safe here,” I murmured into her hair. Not a promise I’d ever give lightly, but one I meant. “You’re mine, little ghost. And I’ll keep you warm, even if it kills me.”

Her fingers curled into my ribs, gripping hard, but she didn’t pull away. She just stood there, letting me hold her, letting herself be held. And for all the blood and madness we’d come through to get here, this, her trust in that moment, was the fiercest victory I’d ever had.

You know,” I said, voice half–tease, “while you’re in here, you should wash my back.”

She pulled away enough for me to see that tilt, one brow up.

“What? I’ve never had anyone wash my back before, and I can’t reach it myself.” I said, answering her unasked question and showing her just how poorly my hands were able to reach behind me.

Her confusion flicked into amusement fast. “You’re telling me you’ve never washed your back?” she said, laughing at the idea. Then, with that same no–nonsense practicality she had for everything, she stepped around me and reached for the washcloth. “Turn around.”

Chapter Comments

07

Write Comments

SHARE

2/2