Page 181 of Overcast

I want him to carry it with him in dangerous situations and when he feels lonely. I wish for him to think about me from time to time like I know I will him. He claims himself as the dark to my light, but he gave me life and a surge of confidence that I could do anything I wanted.

Even through his threats, I discovered that I wasn’t as weak and worthless as I believed. He created me and helped bring out what I may have been if I had the support and love of a parent. I’ve lived my life in darkness, one extremely different from his, but there was no saving grace for me or candle burning bright to lead me in a different direction.

Until Marty.

“What are you doing to me?” Marty mutters, his breathing haggard and stranded as his fingers rake through my hair.

If my actions aren’t speaking as loudly as they should, then I need to change that immediately.

Taking him deeper, Marty curses above me in a pained melody as though this is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do—remain still. My hand finds his thigh as my other works the rigidness between my lips.

I want Marty on a high—me. I yearn for me to be a memory in his brain that he’ll never forget. There will be women after me, maybe one that’ll see past the blood and torture without reservation. One woman who will perfectly be the last piece of his puzzle.

Strong fingers wrap around my biceps, and I’m hurled upward into Marty’s face.

“What are you trying to do, kill me, sweetheart?” His hot exhales brush my nose and lips as he hovers over me, attempting to gather his normalcy.

“I wasn’t done yet,” I reply. What I believe was supposed to be a chuckle is a strained one at best.

“I don’t think I can take anymore,” he utters. “Not without coming in your mouth and—” I press my forehead to his.

“Do it.”

“Mhm.” He brushes our noses together. “I want to fuck you instead. However—” His skin disappears from mine as well as space between us. “—you should get some sleep, sweetheart.”

He’s pushing me away.

I could repeat what I’ve already said, that I don’t hate him or that he doesn’t disgust me; however, I don’t believe it’ll work. Actions speak louder than words, and even though I’m not the most bold, I can be with Marty in the right setting.

Clasping my fingers around the hem of my shirt, I pull it over my head, leaving my naked breasts to his perusal.

“You’re right,” I voice softly, turning for the door. “Good night.” I barely get it open before Marty’s palm slams into it, clicking it closed again.

His chest finds my back as he sandwiches me between himself and the plywood.

“You’re getting dirty,” he mumbles into my ear, the pads of his fingers brushing underneath the waist of my cotton shorts. “Sounds like you need to clean off.”

I arch my ass into his groin. “Please.” I’m whirled around before Marty lowers himself to lift me in the air, pressing his hard cock in between my legs.

“See what you did?” he taunts me as my hips wrap around his waist. “You’re worse than I ever was, sweetheart.”

“I have the scars,” I reply even though I should’ve kept that remark to myself. His eyes glimmer over in something I can’t describe as he glances down at my lips.

“Yeah, well...you’ll leave some on me, internally, when you’re gone.” My heart squeezes, rushing all the blood to my head.

Tears burn the back of my eyes at the mention of the inevitable, but I crash my lips into his instead to keep them from spilling.

His tongue immediately slides inside, needy and hungry, as he leads us to the already running shower. The water is cool, sending a shiver up my body and hardening my nipples against his chest. His hands knead my ass cheeks as his stubble brushes against my cheek.

“Pull your shorts to the side, baby.” I immediately do as he requests, and he lifts me so that he can maneuver his cock inside me. Able to help, he slides into me, and I wrap both of my arms around him for support. “Ah, yes—” He thrusts harder. “—there’s my baby right here.”

At his complete mercy, he holds onto me, taking his fill however fast and much he wants. I have nothing to support me but him, entirely.

“This,” he utters. “This is everything, sweetheart.” His mouth intertwines with mine again, heaving deeper as though he needs this more than I do. His frustration is evident, and I’ll gladly be an outlet for him.

“I don’t hate you,” I claim into his lips. “I could never hate you, Marty. Ever. You mean too much.” He claims my lips again, slowly as he does the same with our joining, easing in and out in a gentler rhythm.

There isn’t much more to say except that these moments mean more than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life. It’ll never be like this with anyone else.

Marty is my tormentor.

My savior.

He is the light that came into my desolate world and lit it on fire.

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