Page 227 of Overcast

My lips crash into hers, ruthlessly, deprived, all in. I never thought of asking someone to marry me until Stormi became a victim, and I was thoroughly obsessed with her. I can’t shake her, stuck to me like a sweet piece of candy for me to save for later.

Except I want her all the time.

My tongue parts her plush mouth, hitting hers immediately, and my cock stands on end. It missed her. I longed for her, and I’m—dare I say—blessed that she’s still with me.

My fingers begin to bunch up the fabric of her dress. The need to sink inside her and ferociously claim her making its way to the surface of my brain.

“I want five kids,” I say between kisses.

Five kids, what the fuck?

“I want three,” she counters.

“Done.”

“And I prefer to stay in the cabin.” I nod, going in for another deep kiss where she proceeds to melt into me. “We talk about things like a normal couple.”

“Couple?” I shake my head. “Nah, sweetheart, that’s boyfriend-girlfriend shit. I want you as my wife. Only mine. Married shit. The whole nine.”

“You need to get fixed up.”

“Not before I get to fuck my soon-to-be wifey.” I wrap my arms around her small waist, pressing her into my body where she belongs. “Then we’ll go.”

“Fixed up,” she mutters against me. “You’re bleeding.”

“Blood doesn’t bother me,” I reply, grabbing her ass and hauling her frame upwards until a jagged pain batters through my leg.

“See,” she verifies. “You said you’d do anything.”

“Not so soon,” I retort gruffly. “I want you.”

“Don’t you still want to be alive when we get married? I’m not going to walk down the aisle with a corpse.” I groan when she breaks our kiss, lacing one of her hands with mine and calls out to Emmy.

“I wasn’t done yet,” I complain like a little bitch.

“Too bad.” Emmy and Mills stride through the room, both with shit-eating grins on their faces.

“Congratulations,” Emmy beams, her smile wide and, I swear to God, tears.

“Are you fucking crying?” I snap. “And why the hell are you two still listening to our conversation?”

“Because I told them to,” Reagan’s voice replies from behind them. “I can not wait to plan this wedding.”

“Fucking Christ,” I mutter, squeezing Stormi’s hand. “There’s still a chance for you to get out of this. I can’t run after you yet. You’ll have a head start.”

She tugs on my arm, demanding my attention that I freely give her. “I like it here. Just like this...with you.”

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