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I’m so screwed up.
“Sit up,” Ford orders, the tone of his voice brooking no argument.
I do as he says, allowing the duvet to slip lower revealing my sheer tank top. It’s pretty much see-through. My nipples peak with the sudden cold. Ford’s gaze darkens.
“You’re not wearing a bra,” he comments, stating the obvious as he looks at me from beneath a flop of dirty blonde hair, my sheer top leaving nothing to the imagination.
“You noticed?” I laugh, and it sounds more broken than I care to admit.
“With you, I noticeeverything.” He cocks his head to the side, his gaze zeroing in on the tattoo that sits between my breasts and over my heart. “You never did tell me what that tattoo means, what any of them mean, for that matter.”
“It’s not important.”
“Of course it is. I want to know everything there is to know about you. All of it. Every last secret.”
“And If I don’t want to share?”
“Then I guess I’ll have to find a way to persuade you.” He shrugs, moving closer.
I bite my lip, my core clenching at the look of fire in his eyes that he shuts down just as quickly as it appeared.
“I thought you’d come here to distract me, not talk. I kinda dressed for the occasion,” I say half-heartedly, pushing away the covers to reveal a pair of scanty lace knickers in a colour not dissimilar to his eyes. And by distract, I mean fuck. Because fucking is a sure-fire way of taking me out of my head,isn’t it?
“Stand up,” he orders, that beautiful hint of a smile dropping, replaced instead by a look of sheer concentration. His gaze rakes over every inch of my skin as I stand before him. But he doesn’t try to touch me. He just stares for five long minutes, pacing around me, scorching my skin with his hot stare. “Take off your top, Asia,” he commands, the deep cadence of his voice like a hot sun burning my skin.
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Then I’d say you were trying to poke the beast. Either that, or you’re a tease. Are you a tease, Asia?” Ford says stepping close. The words are cruel, but he says them so gently that they come out as a caress. Ford rakes his gaze over me as he waits for my response, and I get the feeling that being loved by Ford is just like his left hook, powerful enough to floor you.
“What if I don’t want to… fuck you, I mean?”
Even though his grey-green eyes flash with challenge, his words are calm, unemotional. “Remove your top, Asia.”
I don’t.
Ford’s gaze darkens, but again his voice shows no emotion. “I won’t ask again.”
My arms hang loosely at my side as I stand before him, willing him to act. Somehow this has become as much about me getting Ford to crack as it is Ford trying to get me out of my head. I guess it’s working somewhat because right now all I can think about is how far I need to push Ford until he lets go of some of that self-control and fucks me until we’re both nothing more than a collection of broken pieces scattered across my bedroom floor.
“I always win, Asia,” Ford murmurs as he runs his finger along the collar of my vest top. He leans in close and just when I think he’s about to kiss me, he rips my vest from down the middle, exposing me completely. I draw in a surprised breath, my heart pounding just behind the tattoo that Ford is staring at so intently now. He leans forward, his gaze following the movement his finger makes tracing the outline. The fact his attention is focused solely on my ink and not my breasts is sexy as fuck. I know he wants me, that’s obvious by the strain of his cock against his jogging pants, but he surprises me by not being a typical man who can’t be in front of a pair of exposed tits without salivating over them or trying to grope them.
“You’ve been hurt a lot, Asia,” he mutters as he presses the flat of his hand against my tattoo. My heart speeds up at his touch, my nipples peaking to painful points as though they are trying to get his attention. I’m suddenly desperate for him to take them in his mouth, but he doesn’t.
“This tattoo is an outward display of how disappointed you are with those who’ve let you down, who’ve never valued you enough, who’vehurtyou... All that pain is like a dagger to the heart, am I right?” he asks, lifting his gaze to meet mine. His dirty blonde hair a messy flop that I’m dying to run my hands through.
“Am I right, Asia?” he persists.
I pinch my mouth shut, not willing to agree or disagree.
“You’ve bled. Youstillbleed, more so now than ever.”
We stare at each other. My mouth pops open ready to admit how close he is to the truth, then he does something that has me choking back those words. He licks my tattoo.
He fucking licks it.
He runs his tongue upwards from the sharp point of the blade to the tip of the handle and my heart fucking thunders.
“You were willing to pierce your father’s heart to save us all. Doing what you did took guts, no matter how I feel about you putting yourself in danger like that.”
