Page 11 of Overcast

He’s tall, big and wide.

The muscles in his back ripple underneath his shirt and his inky hair only adds another intimidation element to him.

We reach his area; he pulls me forward, just to trip me up onto my knees. One of my palms saves me from face-planting, and the other is still within my stranger’s grasp. Something tight wraps around it before I’m peering over at him, hunched down behind me.

Without sparing a glance, he straightens my spine by hauling me upright before tying my other wrist.

Standing, he towers over me then leans in to lift me under my armpits and flips me onto my butt.

He reaches out, the pad of his thumb brushing a piece of wavy blonde hair out of my eyes. It’s then that ours meet for the first time without using his body as a vice or anchor.

He’s beautiful.

In another circumstance, I’d stare at him—from afar—and admire his face’s sharp features—the handsome, ruggedness of his kind characteristics when he’s not glaring.

However, his stares are penetrating like he sees me, and I feel small under his watch. I’ve never been gaped at with such intensity, let alone curiosity. My cheeks stupidly flush under it when his velvet-looking lips set in a fine line.

“This won’t take long.” His palm finds my chest before shoving me backward onto my spine. My weight crushes my hands as a thick cloth promptly covers my face.

Then the surprising slash of cold water filling my mouth and nostrils.

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