Obsessed

Chapter 36

Mark stood slowly from the couch, his strong arms wrapped securely around Ronnie. She clung to him, her legs locked around his waist, her arms looped tightly around his shoulders. Their eyes stayed locked, breath mingling between them in a haze of heat and emotion.

He carried her with ease, as if she weighed nothing at all.

The bedroom area was dim, lit only by the warm glow of the living room light, casting a soft shadow across the bed. Mark moved with deliberate care, setting her down in the center of the mattress like she was something precious.

Ronnie’s fingers traced the edge of his shirt, and he didn’t hesitate. He pulled it over his head and let it drop to the floor, revealing the strong, sculpted lines of his chest—evidence of the years he'd spent as a soldier, of the strength he still carried.

She ran her hands across his torso, fingertips gliding over every scar and ridge. He watched her with hooded eyes, a reverent silence between them.

Mark leaned down, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, then lower, hands sliding down her hips as he gently worked her pants and lace underwear down her legs. She lifted her hips to help him, letting him undress her fully.

When she was bare beneath him, he froze.

He looked at her—not just at her body, but all of her. The trust in her eyes. The quiet power in her vulnerability. She was breathtaking.

“Jesus, Ronnie…” he whispered.

She sat up slowly, her fingers fumbling at his waistband. With a deep breath, she undid the button and zipper, eyes never leaving his. Mark stepped out of his jeans and boxers in one smooth motion. He was strong, lean, and perfect. Every inch of him radiated control—and right now, that control was barely holding on.

He kissed her again, this time slower, deeper. He climbed onto the bed, hovering above her, their bodies brushing together, skin to skin, electric and warm. Every touch lit them up—his hands on her thighs, her fingertips along his spine.

They moved together like a perfect rhythm—no rush, just heat and tenderness. Every sigh, every kiss, every shared breath deepened the connection.

When he finally joined their bodies, Ronnie gasped—sharp and aching—as her body stretched to accommodate him. Mark groaned low in his throat, the sound primal, like he’d been holding back for too long. Her tightness wrapped around him, drawing him deeper.

He moved slowly at first, every thrust sending shivers through them both. Ronnie clung to him, her nails digging into his back, her lips finding his again and again. Their bodies moved in sync, chasing the fire that had been simmering between them for weeks.

At one point, Ronnie flipped them over, straddling him, taking control with a boldness that made Mark’s breath catch. His head fell back, eyes fluttering shut, a deep moan escaping as he gripped the sheets. “Veronica…” he gasped, his voice raw with pleasure.

She moved against him with purpose, hips rolling, sending sparks down his spine. His hands ran up her thighs, over her waist, unable to get enough of her.

Then, with a quiet growl, Mark sat up kissing Ronnies breast, Ronnies grinded her body harder against his moaning his name. Mark shifted them again, flipping her beneath him and reclaiming control. He kissed her everywhere—her neck, her shoulders, her chest—before driving into her deeper. Ronnie cried out, clinging to him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over them.

The apartment filled with the sounds of their passion—moans, whispers, the creak of the mattress, the sharp gasps that marked every peak they reached together. They gave in completely, bodies trembling and burning as they lost themselves in each other.

Again and again, they fell over the edge, pulling each other with them.

By the time exhaustion claimed them, the world outside had disappeared. All that remained was their tangled limbs, slick skin, and the soft rise and fall of their breathing.

Ronnie lay curled against Mark’s chest, her hand resting over his heart. He held her close, his fingers gently tracing the delicate tattoo up her spine as sleep pulled them both under.

For the first time in a long time, Ronnie felt safe.

And for the first time in years… Mark didn’t feel alone.

The smell of eggs and the distant hum of music stirred Mark from sleep.

He groaned softly, stretching as he blinked at the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. His hand ran down his face as the memories of the night before replayed in vivid detail—Ronnie's skin against his, the way her body moved with his, the way she’d whispered his name like a prayer and a promise.

A slow grin crept across his face, one of the rare, genuine ones that made him look years younger. He turned toward the other side of the bed, expecting to find her still asleep beside him.

But her side was empty.

Not just empty—neatly made.

He raised an eyebrow, still grinning, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He grabbed his pants and stepped into them, but when he glanced around, he realized his shirt was nowhere to be found. Typical.

Raking a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, he followed the scent of food and the sound of… was that Shakira?

He turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks.

Ronnie had her back to him, barefoot and wearing only his black thermal shirt. It fell to her mid-thigh, the sleeves rolled up at her elbows. Her platinum hair was loose and wild, bouncing with every sway of her hips as she danced to "Hips Don’t Lie" while stirring a skillet of scrambled eggs.

Mark leaned quietly against the counter, arms folded, watching her with a soft smile.

Her movements were fluid and carefree, like no one was watching—except he was. And every second made him fall a little harder.

Ronnie turned suddenly, a plate in her hand. She yelped, nearly dropping it when she saw him. “Jesus Christ!” she gasped. “How long have you been standing there?”

Mark’s smirk deepened. “Long enough to know your hips definitely don’t lie.”

She cringed and groaned, placing the plate down. “That was terrible. You should be arrested for that.”

He chuckled, the sound low and gravelly from sleep. “Guilty as charged. But we’ve got work in fifteen minutes…” He arched a brow. “I’m gonna need my shirt back.”

Ronnie looked down at herself, lips twitching with a mischievous smile. “Oh, this shirt? Hm. I don’t know, Marshalls. I think it looks better on me.”

Mark stepped closer, not missing a beat. “So what, you’re going to waltz into the precinct in just that shirt?” His eyes skimmed her legs. “What would the commissioner say?”

She made an exaggerated thinking face, tapping her chin. “Good point.”

Then, without warning, she reached down and tugged the shirt up and over her head in one smooth motion.

Mark froze.

There she stood—completely bare, unashamed, glowing in the morning light. Her porcelain skin practically shimmered. His mouth went dry.

“Jesus,” he muttered, reverently.

Before she could tease him again, he stepped forward, hands finding her waist and pulling her against him. He kissed her fiercely, deeply, the world falling away. Ronnie melted into it, fingers tangling in his hair.

In one effortless move, he lifted her and set her down on the counter, knocking a spatula and nearly sending the plate of eggs flying.

Ronnie laughed, breathless. “What about breakfast?”

Mark kissed down her jaw to the curve of her neck. “Screw breakfast,” he murmured, voice husky. “I only want you for breakfast.”

She gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders as his lips explored lower. Heat flared again between them, no less intense than the night before. Every touch still burned, every kiss still stole her breath.

And just like that, they were lost in each other again.