Her Obsession. Chapter 33

**Conner**

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. Fuck. 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."

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.”

Fuck. I nearly come undone just from that.