Page 46 of Shattered Obsession

“Hey!” I exclaim, wielding the spatula like a flag of warning. “That’s mine!”

His grin is utterly unrepentant, a cheeky sparkle in his eye. “Worth the risk,” he declares, the defiance in his tone punctuated by the way he savors the bite.

I roll my eyes, yet despite myself, I can’t help but smile; it’s infuriatingly easy to be around him. Even mundane moments like this feel lighter, infused with a joy I didn’t know I was missing.

After we’ve finished our meal, plates haphazardly stacked in the sink, we curl up together on the couch in the dim glow of the living room. Xander wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side with effortless ease.

We sit in a cozy bubble, half-watching an old movie that flickers on the screen, casting playful shadows that dance across his face. I steal glances at him, entranced by the peacefulness etched in his features, the way the light highlights the strength of his jaw and the gentle curve of his smile. Safe. That’s what this moment feels like.

I head to the kitchen to grab a drink, but as I pass the front window, something catches my eye, sending a chill down my spine. My breath stutters as I scrutinize a car parked across the street, its headlights dimmed but its engine still running, a quiet presence that feels all too intrusive. It’s likely nothing—people idle all the time—but my chest constricts with anxiety, and my fingers curl tightly around the edge of the curtain.

The silhouette inside the car shifts, and I instinctively take a step back, my heart pounding violently against my ribs like a frantic drum. A name flits through my mind—Damian—though I can’t discern a face through the glass.

“Everything good?” Xander's voice breaks through my thoughts, his tone casual yet laced with a hint of concern.

I force a steadying breath, turning back towards him, determined to push the unease aside. “Yeah. Just thought I saw… Never mind,” I reply, waving my hand dismissively, unwilling to disrupt the fragile peace we’ve carved out for ourselves tonight.

Xander comes up and presses his forehead to mine without a question. He breathes the hush into me. That small, wordless tether is fierce in its simplicity. I let him hold the worry with me so it becomes less of a thing I carry alone.

Perhaps it’s nothing.

We walk back to the couch, sinking into the cushions. I curl into Xander’s side, letting his warmth envelop me as his hand begins to rub absently at my arm, a soothing motion that grounds me. I focus on the weight of him, the steady sound of his heartbeat, and the soft hum of the movie drifting through the air.

But despite the distraction, the image of the dark car lingers in my mind, the shadowy figure inside a haunting reminder that my past may not be as distant as I wish it to be. I quietly command myself to let go, to compartmentalize this dread that threatens to consume my newfound sense of safety.

For now, I will allow Xander’s arm to anchor me, to be my shield against the ghosts that might still be lurking in the shadows. For now, I choose to believe that I’m okay.

The first rays of sunlight slip through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed. I stir, tangled in sheets that still smell like Xander. He’s awake before me, though, his breathing steady and his body shifting beside mine.

I watch him like someone memorizing a map. He watches me back with an intensity that is not ownership but reverence. His hand knows the small rules now: press there to steady a breath, and pull closer if a shadow shows.

“Morning,” I murmur, my voice rough with sleep. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand trails over my hip, slow and deliberate. My chest rises and falls faster as his fingers trace up my torso, brushing lightly over my nipple before circling it with maddening patience. My body arches into the touch, a shiver rolling through me. I should feel self-conscious. I should feel vulnerable, half-asleep and half-exposed. But instead, I feel wanted. Desired. His hand slides lower, slipping between my thighs, teasing me with a touch so light I almost whimper.

My body responds instantly, wetness gathering as he presses his fingers against me, rubbing slow, lazy circles over my clit.

“Xander…”

He leans over me, bracing on one arm, his hair falling across his forehead as his eyes lock onto mine.

“You okay?” The care in his tone steadies me.

“Yes. Please don’t stop.”

He smiles softly, then pushes his cock into me, slowly at first, stretching me until I gasp.

The weight of him settles over me, heavy and safe. My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. The steady rhythm builds, his pace quickening as my body matches his. The morning light feels like it’s wrapping us both in a cocoon, sealing out everything else, every shadow, every ghost. His lips find mine, then my jaw, then my throat, kissing me as if I’m the only thing tethering him to this world.

My nails drag lightly down his back, pulling a groan from deep in his chest. I whisper against his ear, “I’m so close.”

“Talk to me,” he urges, his thrusts harder now.

“I need you, Xander. Don’t stop.” He growls low, the sound vibrating through me, and I fall apart beneath him, pleasure crashing hard and fast. My body clenches around him, and he follows, spilling into me with a groan that makes my whole body hum.

We collapse, tangled in sheets and sunlight. His forehead presses to mine, both of us breathless. It’s just us, just the quiet morning, just the warmth of his body, just the certainty that despite everything I’ve lost, I still have this.

He moves beneath the sheets like someone practicing care, slow and deliberate. We trade lazy, private jokes and kisses. Even the morning sex is a reclamation; it’s built of consent and quiet commands and the soft humor of people who have seen each other broken and stayed anyway. We lie tangled, warm and honest, and I think that maybe ordinary is the most radical thing we have—a day that is simply ours.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN