Obsessed

Chapter 35

The weight of silence hung in the apartment like a fog, heavy and unmoving. Ronnie sat tucked against Mark on the couch, her head resting beneath his chin, his arms wrapped securely around her. The dim light from a nearby lamp cast long shadows over the room, lending it a kind of quiet intimacy that neither of them spoke into.

Mark hadn't moved. He held her like she might shatter if he let go.

Ronnie breathed in his scent—earthy, musky, laced with faint tobacco. It grounded her. Anchored her. For the first time in hours, her heart had slowed to something near normal.

Mark shifted slightly, adjusting his arm. She noticed the stiffness in his movement, the way his eyes looked distant, even haunted. It wasn't just her. He was carrying ghosts, too.

"I never spoke about it," he said suddenly. His voice was low and rough, like gravel.

Ronnie looked up, not speaking, only listening.

Mark stared ahead, eyes unfocused. "Afghanistan. I was part of a six-man unit. We were tight. Like brothers. You have to be out there. You don’t survive otherwise."

She could hear the tightness in his throat, the tension coiled behind every word.

"We were stationed near Kandahar," he continued. "Our job was to intercept weapons transports—intel said insurgents were using a village as a supply chain. We were told it’d be a clean operation. In and out."

Ronnie stayed quiet, her hand resting gently over his where it gripped her side.

"We went in just before sunrise. It was quiet. Too quiet. That should’ve been the first sign." He gave a humorless chuckle. "But we were trained to follow orders. We split up—two pairs, me and Kyle, the other guys swept from the north."

He swallowed hard. Ronnie could feel his heart beating under her cheek.

"There was a kid. Maybe eleven. Just standing there in the room. Frozen. He had something clutched in his hands. I raised my gun ready to take him out but Kyle told me to hold back. I did. And that was the mistake."

Ronnie looked up at him, eyes wide, throat tight.

Mark’s jaw clenched. "It was a bomb. Hidden under his shirt. As soon as the others approached, it detonated. Took them out instantly. Kyle was hit with shrapnel and bled out before I could stop it. I was tossed back, sharp metal ripping though my right shoulder and chest. I tried to crawl to my team but... It was too late."

His voice cracked at the last word.

Ronnie slowly reached for his hand and held it in hers.

"When I got back to base, I couldn’t look anyone in the eye. My CO said it wasn’t my fault. It was... an accident. But that didn’t matter. I kept thinking—what if I had just stepped up? What if I’d been the one who took the lead? What if I just took the kid out like my instincts told me? Maybe Kyle would still be here."

Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them back.

"I came home with a medal while my brothers came home in a box. They called it bravery. All I felt was guilt. Survivor’s guilt. Every time I close my eyes, I see them. Hear them. The silence right before the blast. The look on that kid’s face. I dream about it. I can’t forget."

Ronnie leaned forward and cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing just under his eye.

"You didn’t let them down," she said softly. "You didn’t fail them. You survived. And now, you're saving lives here."

Mark shook his head slightly, looking down.

"Sometimes I think I wasn’t supposed to make it out."

Ronnie’s heart squeezed. She slid into his lap, facing him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Don’t say that," she whispered fiercely. "You were meant to survive. You were meant to be here. You were meant to help me. To help all the women he's hurt. You’re not alone, Mark. Not anymore."

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face in the curve of her neck.

They stayed like that, wrapped around each other like broken things glued together by understanding.

In the shared silence that followed, something shifted.

Pain didn’t vanish—but it was seen. Heard. Held.

And for both of them, that was a beginning.

Ronnie pulled back slightly, her fingers still fisted in the fabric of Mark's shirt. Her blue eyes searched his face, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then she whispered, almost breathlessly, “Mark…”

He met her gaze—steady, calm, but there was something burning underneath. Something raw and aching. It matched the storm behind her own eyes.

And that’s when it happened—the shift.

Something unspoken passed between them, a silent agreement that words would only ruin. Ronnie’s breath caught as she leaned in slowly, brushing her lips against his. Soft. Testing. Just a whisper of contact.

Mark inhaled sharply, the taste of her skin already sinking into his lungs like oxygen. Then he kissed her back—tentative, then deeper. Their mouths moved together in perfect sync, weeks of tension unraveling in a single moment.

Ronnie shifted, straddling his lap, her knees pressed against the outside of his thighs as she adjusted herself over him. Her hands slid up his chest, palms flattening against his shirt, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart pounding beneath.

Mark's fingers slid under the hem of her shirt, slow and deliberate, brushing along her waist and tracing the curve of her spine. Her skin was soft and warm, goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch. Ronnie’s breath hitched.

Then, in one fluid move, she reached down and tugged her shirt over her head, tossing it carelessly to the floor.

Mark's breath caught in his throat.

She was stunning.

Her porcelain skin glowed beneath the dim lighting of the apartment, and her black lace bra cradled her curves perfectly. Her hair tumbled over one shoulder, slightly tousled, her lips pink and parted. There was a quiet vulnerability in her eyes, but also something fierce—like she was taking control of something that had been taken from her long ago.

Mark swallowed hard, reverently placing his hands on her waist, thumbs brushing her ribcage. “Ronnie…”

She silenced him with another kiss, this one deeper, more demanding. He responded instantly, his hands exploring, mapping the shape of her like she was something holy.

He kissed her neck, slow and tender, letting himself savor the taste of her skin. Ronnie arched into him, a soft moan escaping her lips as he moved to her collarbone, then lower, his lips brushing the tops of her breasts.

“Mark…” she whispered again, but this time it was breathless, filled with need.

His fingers reached behind her, unclasping her bra with practiced ease. The lace slipped from her shoulders and she let it fall away, baring herself completely to him.

Mark stilled.

Not because he didn’t want her—God, he did—but because the sight of her left him breathless. She was beautiful. Every curve, every inch of skin, every small imperfection he didn’t see as flaws but as parts of the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.

His hands moved to her hips, grounding her as he looked up into her face. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice low, voice trembling with restraint.

Ronnie nodded slowly, her hand cupping his cheek. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

And with that, he pulled her close again, their bodies tangled, their hearts pounding as the world outside fell away.