Her Obsession. Chapter 34

She says she wants to claim me and fuck...she is. But it’s more than that. She’s ruining me. Ruining me with that pretty little mouth and those cold-blooded hands that somehow feel like silk on my skin. She sucks my cock like she’s worshipping it. Like it’s not just sex, it’s a fucking promise. Her mouth is hot and wet, her tongue moving like she already knows every part of me, like she’s studied me for years and now finally gets to devour what’s hers. It’s been a long time. Too long since I let anyone close. The few times I did try to move on, the women never stuck. It didn’t take long to figure out why, ghosts don’t like competition. Every date disappeared after even the briefest connection. Sage had been in the shadows, protecting me even then. Watching. Waiting. But never in my life, never have I been with a woman like this. The knowledge that those same hands, soft on my skin now, are stained with more blood than my own… it does something twisted to me. She’s a force, a weapon. Ruthless. Cold. Feared by men with armies and syndicates and war in their veins. And yet right now, she’s on her knees, treating me like I’m something worth worshipping. Her softness isn’t weakness, it’s lethal in a different way. And I’d take this death a thousand times. She licks, sucks, bobs, her pace merciless, hungry, perfect. She takes me deeper, her throat tightening around me, gagging slightly as her nose presses to my base. Her eyes water, but she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t flinch. Just moans around me like she fucking loves it. I grip the sheets, the muscles in my thighs tensing as I fight for control I lost the moment she touched me.

“Fuck,” I groan, breathless, ruined. “Sage, I’m gonna cum...”

It’s meant as a warning, but she takes it as a challenge. She sinks deeper, her hands locking around my hips as she hums around me, sending vibrations all the way through my spine and I break. My release hits like a damn freight train, pleasure crashing over me in waves as I cry out her name like a man undone. She swallows it all, never flinching, milking every drop from me like I’m hers to drain. And I am. There’s no question now, no room for denial. I’m hers. Completely.

She sits back on her hunches, lips glistening, cheeks flushed, looking like the damn goddess of war after a conquest, except she’s not holding a sword, she’s holding me. Her eyes wander slowly over the entire length of my body, a slow, assessing drag that somehow makes me feel both laid bare and worshipped. I'm wrecked. Sprawled out, breathing heavy, cock twitching in the aftershocks of her mouth and she just smiles. That quiet, knowing smile like she planned this all along. She leans forward again, soft now, tender and presses a kiss over my heart. Just once. No words. Like she’s marking it, claiming it, sealing something between us. Then she slides off the bed, catlike and casual, like she didn’t just ruin me completely. “I’ll get breakfast started, darling,” she murmurs with a wicked little grin, already halfway to the door. “Take your time.”

She walks out with a sway in her hips like she owns the fucking world. Correction: my world. And she’s still wearing my shirt. That green button-down, the one I usually save for business meetings and bullshit family dinners is hanging off her frame like it was made to be stolen. Just like me. That’s her shirt now. Just like I’m her man now. I lay there, arm slung over my face, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. What the fecking hell is this girl made of? Steel? Smoke? Fucking magic? I should feel unmoored, off-kilter. I should be worried that a deadly ghost of a woman is barefoot in my kitchen, cooking breakfast in nothing but my shirt like we’ve done this a thousand times. But all I feel is…peaceful. High, maybe. Or drunk. Or both. On her. On this. My chest still burns where her lips touched. My cock’s still twitching like it’s waiting for round two. And my brain is still short-circuiting, trying to process how the hell I ended up in bed with the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met and why it feels so feckin’ right. I finally roll onto my side and groan into the pillow, dragging a hand through my hair.

“She’s gonna kill me,” I mutter to no one in particular.

“Or worse,” I add after a beat, “make me breakfast and never leave.” And feck me, I think I’d let her.

I managed my way out of bed, took a quick shower and threw on some clothes before I made my way downstairs. She was at the stove, barefoot, humming something low and sultry under her breath, my shirts barely covering the curve of her ass. She moved like she belonged here, like she'd always belonged. I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, just...watching. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. This is what she looked like all those times she snuck in her. Well Kind of, more clothes, and break and enter vibes. She was a damn paradox. Cold-blooded killer. Softest hands. Deadliest aim I’ve ever seen. Now she was stirring eggs like this was a Sunday morning and we didn’t just survive a war.

"You're staring," Nico's voice said beside me, and I damn near jumped. I hadn't even heard the fucker approach.

Liam and Matteo were behind him, all three of them grinning like idiots.

"Shut it," I muttered.

"No, no, this is beautiful," Matteo said, arms crossed, watching her sway. "Our little ghost is domestic."

“She’s not little,” I corrected without thinking. “She’s...precision.”

"Locked-me-in-a-closet kind of precision," a fourth voice muttered, and we all turned to see Jason, the same man Sage had once locked in the pantry when he’d stumbled on her presence months back. He froze like a deer in headlights the second her eyes cut toward him over her shoulder.

“Morning,” she said with that same honey-laced voice that made my blood heat.

Jason physically backed up. “Nope. Nope, I forgot something. I'll come back later.” And he turned and nearly tripped over his own damn feet bolting out of the kitchen. The rest of us lost it.

“She didn’t even raise a hand!” Liam wheezed.

“She didn’t have to,” Nico said. “She’s the damn boogeyman.”

“No,” I said, watching her flip a pancake with deadly grace. “She’s mine.”

It felt like a promise, a vow etched into my goddamn bones. She stilled for half a second, barely perceptible, unless you were watching her. A flicker of pink dusted her cheeks before she turned her face back to the stove. How cute. I need to make her do that more often.

“She blush?” Liam asked, raising a brow.

“I thought she was born without tear ducts or shame,” Matteo chimed in, crossing his arms with a grin.

“Keep talkin’,” I warned, tossing a kitchen towel at them.