Page 180 of Overcast

And I’ve been shoving his back.

He’s done more for me than my own father has. He protected and fought for my dignity. He promised that no one would hurt me, and he’d shield me from all evil—even him.

I did it for you. I did it because he fucking touched you and said fucked up shit about what he still wanted to do. I saw the look in your eyes when I asked, so I executed him. And I’d do it again, over and over to anyone who dared fuck with you. Do you understand me?

I’m moving down the hallway, determined to express how appreciative I am. To ensure—because it seems to mean something great to him—that I don’t hate him. I genuinely don’t. And it’s important to me that he’s aware. We may come from two different worlds, but I think fate may have played a part in this. No matter how much I wish the beginning never happened—it’s part of our story now.

The whizzing of the shower alludes that Marty is either about to jump in or has already. My hand shakes, but I still knock on the door gently. I’ll let fate decide if my words get to debut or if this is yet pushing another boundary.

It swings open, Marty’s frame filling the space, and I can’t even look up like a coward, already starting to chicken out.

He’s too much for me—too intense.

There is no way I could ever hold that in the palm of my hand and call it mine.

“What’s wrong?” he asks me.

Everything.

Every single thing is wrong.

I wouldn’t change anything about Marty, not the killing, the justice he believes is given, his broodiness, and bossy attitude. However, I’m not the woman that would be able to carry his load and not make him feel condemned or that I’m judging him every time he looks at me.

But now—Bianca—I stand by my decision to give him whatever he needed to do.

“Stormi,” Marty presses more sternly when I don’t respond.

I stride forward, compelling him to take a step back and give me room inside, kicking the bathroom door closed.

His hazel eyes peer down at me in confusion and worry, and it’s then that I know I’m truly in love with him. If that’s the right feeling. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before, but this strong emotion that surges and takes over my whole body is so powerful that it can’t be anything else.

Marty’s hand comes up to my cheek, his thumb brushing the heated skin there. “Are you upset?”

I could slam my head against this wall right now for all his worrying about me. The real question should be, is he upset? I wasn’t the one that had to come face to face with the person that almost killed my sister. I’m not the person that had a group of men roll up on Reagan’s house and try to kill her again.

He puts me first, plain and simple.

Sinking down to my knees, Marty’s hand falls, along with his brows. He’s already taken off his jeans and only stands in his boxers, the perfect mold of a man that won my heart in the most unconventional way.

I’m not your villain that turns into the prince.

They’re overrated anyway.

Tugging down at the cotton, elastic material, Marty attempts to put space between us.

“What are you doing?” he chides, as though he’s scared I’m going to bite his dick off or something.

With my fingers still wrapped about the waistband, I tug him back into place and peel down the rest of the fabric.

His cock springs free, hardening right before my eyes, and I grip the base, giving it one slow jerk before placing the tip in between my lips.

Both of Marty’s hands find the base of my head, but I feel the slight buckle in his knees.

Pumping him at my own leisure, I glide my tongue underneath the softness of his length, feeling powerful and expressive in the only way I know how without my words getting muddled and cut off.

A small piece of me will always belong to him, I gave it away somewhere between the first day we met and now.

And I don’t want it back.

---