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“But I failed… I’m a failure…”
“You, Asia, are far from that. You’re fucking incredible,” Ford responds, kissing my tattoo.
He lowers his body and kneels before, his hands trailing over my waist and hips until he’s in line with my throbbing core. Despite my inner turmoil and self-loathing, my body is very aware of how close he is to the spot I want him to touch the most.
“And this,” he says, his fingers feathering over my barbed wire tattoo wrapped around my thigh, “This is a warning for others not to get too close. You’ve kept people at a distance for a long time. You don’t let people in easily for fear of them carving another scar in your heart… yes?”
He doesn’t wait for me to agree, instead he leans forward and runs his nose along my tattoo, and up, up, up until he reaches the delicate spot between my legs, the tip pressing against my mound. He breathes in deeply, making a kind of humming noise. My knees almost buckle at the sheer fucking animalistic nature of his actions. Ford grips my hips, sliding his tongue once over my lace-covered pussy, then stands.
“The dove,” he says, moving behind me, “Represents everything you long for. Freedom from your past, from the memories that haunt you. Freedom from the disappointment, the pain. But more than that, it’shope, Asia. It’s new horizons, and a peaceful future,” he says, his fingers kneading the knots forming in my shoulders. He steps closer, his body flush against mine as he massages my neck and the base of my skull. I can feel just how much he wants me as his cock presses into my lower back.
“Am I wrong?”
“They’re just tattoos, Ford. They don’t mean anything other than decoration, and even if they did, it doesn’t change a thing. I’m still the King’s daughter. I’m still Monk’s sister. Pink and Camden’s mum are still in danger and I still feel fucking helpless in this skin,” I admit.
“Theydomean something,” he says, stepping in front of me once more. “You were born unmarked. A blank fucking slate, Asia. You’ve tattooed your skin how you see fit because this skin you wear isyours,so stop thinking it’s any different now you know who your father is. There isn’t one part of you that belongs to the King. You aren’t his. Understand?”
“And yet you were marked by your parents… none of those scars you wear are a choice you made.” My voice trails off as I reach up and pull at the collar of his t-shirt, my fingertip running over the tattoo on his collar bone. “So what does that mean for you, huh? They marked you permanently with that tattoo, with these scars. The King might not have scarred me on the outside, but believe me Ford, I have just as many scars on the inside. We can’t get away from the fact that I’m still his daughter and you’restilltheir fucking son, no matter how much we both wish it wasn’t true,” I respond, panting. The look in his eyes has me swallowing hard. It was a cruel thing to say, and I regret it immediately.
Ford steps back from my sharp words and rips off his t-shirt, removing his joggers and pants too until he stands before me naked. His eyes narrow, emotion flashing across his face. Anger, passion, determination lights up his features, shining through the controlled exterior. The façade is cracking.
“I amnottheir son,” he snaps, staring at me with the same look he gave me in the Tower. “And you arenothis daughter!”
“Ford, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”
“No, you listen to me right the fuck now,” he pants interrupting me, his nostrils flaring as the crack widens, a crevice forming. “I embrace these scars. I embrace these two words, not because my parents pinned me down and scored them into my skin but because I survivedthem. These are my battle scars and they are a reminder that I fought, and fucking won. I’m still here, Asia. I’m still fucking standing. I could’ve had this tattoo removed, I haven’t. Why? Because I accept what was and I accept what is. Iama Bad Boy. Just like I’m a fighter, a lover, a friend... Just like I’myours,but most of all I’mme, scars and all. They may have made me, given me fucking life, but I am no more their son than you are the King’s daughter.”
“Ford…”
“Look at me,” Ford says, holding his arms out wide, the muscles tensing and flexing. “I’m battle-worn and goddamn weary. Some days I can barely fucking breathe because of all the shit I’ve had to live through. But I do. I fucking do and you will too. You are not your father’s daughter. This skin you wear, it’s yours. So fucking own it!” he shouts, his voice rising with passion.
For a split second we just stare at one another. The emotion cracking and snapping between us. Then like two magnets, we are pulled together by an unknown force and the whole world implodes, just like I knew it would.
Ford cracks open and I fall right in.
