Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
The palpable tension sits with us in this room like an insufferable weight, and I can’t stand it. Hate how much we’re both hurting when we never set out with that intention, so I extend a slight peace offering by changing the subject. “How did you manage to purchase this place so quickly? Aren’t there contracts and waiting periods?”
“When you have money, you don’t really have to wait for anything, do you, little chaos?” I can’t argue with his logic because I know he’s right. I’ve seen my family members buy many things, not in the legal way. So I shouldn’t really expect anything less from him, considering who his family is. But Ford’s right about something else, too. Besides his modest home, I don’t often see him spending his money. He wears plain, affordable clothes and lives a humble enough life. He’s not lavish like Hawke, who spends most of his money on women and partying.
“Now, drop the pants.” He nods to my jeans, this time without the smoldering gaze he had on them before. I remove my jeans and toss them on a chair in the corner. I actually wore panties today in an attempt at modesty. I was just planning to slip them to the side so the artist could finish my tattoo. He eyes the silky garment but says nothing.
I climb up onto the bed and get situated on my stomach. After a moment, I feel his hand on my ass, and then he adjusts my panties so he can see the cheek with the half-done tattoo.
“Are you starting?” I ask nervously. When I look over my shoulder, he’s smirking. “Shut up. Tell me when you’re starting,” I grumble and lay my head back down. I was the same the first time, and although I know what I’m in for now, it doesn’t lessen the apprehension. I can understand why some people get addicted to it. The rush and anticipation. The thrill in the subtle pain.
I’m relieved when his callused hand leaves my ass; it’s as if my tension has been sucked away with the removal of his touch. Noises begin as he prepares the ink gun. I brought headphones today, hoping they’d help me to forget about the pain. The first half of the tattoo wasn’t the most painful thing I’ve ever felt, but I can’t say that I loved it either. I’m sure this will be my one and only tattoo, and I’m not even sure why I asked him to do it in the first place. He’d just shown me his tattoo room for the first time, and it felt like I was seeing a part of him not many got to see. The fact that he was marking me felt special, and I left the design up to him.
“Stay still,” he warns.
“Wait. Count to three.”
He chuckles as he cleans my skin, and then the gun starts buzzing. He counts down from three. It’s the same as last time. I fall into a semi-relaxed state, trusting him entirely.
I give in to the experience but angle my head so I can’t see what he’s doing.
I usually like watching him work, and he’s gifted. There’s no denying that. I’ve seen him add to Hawke’s tattoos, but I don’t want to watch as it happens to me.
I’ve also heard he’s very gifted with a set of crowbars, but that’s not something I ever want to see. He has a set of crowbars tattooed on his chest, so they must mean something to him at, least. I’ve overheard Hawke sharing stories about how Ford crushes peoples’ heads in with them, and I always cringed at the thought. I understand that Ford is dangerous, but to me, he never has been. The buzzing stops, and he turns the machine off. Then I feel coldness on my ass.
“Is it done?” I ask, not yet ready to look, even though I can’t properly see it from this angle.
“It is. You can look now.”
I move my gaze from him to my ass and see a perfect heart. Half of it is red, and the other half is black—two halves meeting together to make a perfect whole. I love the unique beauty of it. The curve on the red side has a Q representing a queen card, and in the curve of the new half, he added a K, which I assume is for a king card. I don’t know if it means anything beyond that. I’ve been driving myself crazy by overthinking everything lately, and this can’t be another thing that monopolizes my mind. So, I accept it for the beautiful piece of art it is. And in a way, it kind of helps me accept the beauty of what Ford and I are. Or were.
I’m smiling as I face him, genuinely grateful for how beautiful it is. But the moment our eyes meet, my heart stutters at the intensity of his gaze.