“Every one.”
King hums. “Share with the class?”
Oddly at ease, I explain each tattoo decorating my body. He sees the cross on my chest that matches Tommy’s. Then I explain the lion tattoo I got with friends after our friend died, and the unicorn after I got drunk out of my mind with a couple of friends. Some stories are longer, so it takes a bit to get through them, but King listens intently to each one, like a toddler enjoying story time.
Finally, I get to the tattoo on my ankle. I always save this one for last, and I don’t know why. My mind flashes with spotty childhood memories as I take a shaky breath.
“And this one is my first tattoo ever,” I say softly, reminiscing.
“Ride or die,” Kingsley reads. “Why that?”
“It’s something my biological parents used to say to me.” I run my finger over the messy, uneven letters engraved on myankle. “It was our family motto, if you will. Mum and Dad have it tattooed on their ankles, too.”
“That’s awesome. My parents would never get a matching tattoo with me,” he scoffs. King gazes at the stark, tattooed letters on my arms, his eyes wide with wonder, before a realization suddenly strikes him. “But… I thought you were adopted at twelve?”
“I was.”
His nose scrunches. Put the pieces together, Prince. “Then how do you have a matching tattoo with your bio parents?”
I guess I’ll have to piece it together for him myself.
“I got my first tattoo at eight years old.”
My mind flashes back to my mother pinning me down while my father tattooed small, unprofessional letters on my ankle, my frantic kicks and screams not enough to make them stop. To think, once my ankle was done, and the puncturing stopped, I totally felt like the coolest kid in class for being the only one with a tattoo.
King’s brows furrow. “That’s insane.”
“It was the incident that got me officially taken away from them.” I pause, eyes hitting the bedding. “And the last time I ever saw them.”
Why am I sharing this with him? I won’t even talk to Thomas about the shit surrounding my biological parents, yet the words flow out to Kingsley like shit I can’t hold in.
His chin lifts, almost as if he doesn’t believe me. “They never came looking for you? Tried to win custody again?”
“Not once,” I say bitterly, my fists so tight my knuckles turn white. “They said we were ride or dies. Clearly they chose die.”
“I say fuck them,” he spits, his face etched in something between disgust and pure anger. “I’m sure you were better off without them as parents.”
Seeing his anger ignites something dangerous inside me. “Yeah, fuck them.”
Kingsley’s staring hard, likely thinking about my folks, but when he looks at me, his expression softens a bit, like he’s been busted.
I quirk a smile. “King Beaumont—Mr. Emotionless—getting angry for little ole me?”
He rubs the back of his neck, but his words are firm. “Anyone who could toss you away isn’t right in the head.”
Will he have that same thought when he finds out I’ve been lying to him?
I push the thought away. The guilt can chip away at me when I’m alone. Not when I have a prince in my arms.
“Still sore?” I ask cheekily.
“Considering it’s only been a couple of hours, yes.”
Huh. It has only been two hours. Ask my dick, and it would have said it’s been days since it was buried in Kingsley’s tight hole.
I rub his thigh dangerously close to his groin. “Can I see?”
He puckers his lips. “Why? So you can stick your dick back in me?”
