Page 60 of Addicted Lies

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.

CHAPTER 28

Ford

It takes her a moment to get off the bed, and when she does, she steps over to the mirror and turns around so she can properly see the tattoo. I considered tattooing my initials on her ass, but I figured she might kill me for it. Though if I died, I guess I’ll always be remembered by anyone who looked at her ass.

“I need to cover it,” I tell her.

Her golden eyes meet mine, and her silence fills the room.

When my family finds out that I purchased not one tattoo parlor but several of them, I’m sure they won’t be surprised. They all know how much I love to tattoo. I’ve done most of my father’s and brother’s ink since the moment River bought me my first tattoo gun. It was a weird present to give a teenager. I remember when he placed it in front of me for the first time, then rolled up his sleeve and told me to practice on him. Hawke and I had been with him and Anya for just shy of two years at that point, and it was then I realized how much I trusted them and how I’d be willing to die for them. No one has ever made a point to care about what my brother or I cared about. And despite how ruthless both River and Anya are, they treat those they care for well.

“I love it,” she finally says, then turns to grab her jeans from the chair. Bending over to put them on, she gives me a clear view of her ass, and I fight the urge to bite it. It’s fucking torture as my fingers dig into my palms to physically restrain myself.

Fuck, this woman does all kinds of crazy shit to me.

She stands back up, and my hand is already stretching out for her. It pauses midair when she asks, “Do you think it’s fine to sit on it for a few hours? I’m going to the movies.”

A dangerous sound escapes my throat, but it’s not loud enough for her to hear. “With who?”

“Matthew,” she answers without hesitation, then steps into my space as I grab the wrap. My teeth grind as she averts her gaze. I know she’s doing it to intentionally piss me off. And, dammit, it’s working. Her wrist dangles close to my face, and I notice she’s wearing a bracelet she’s fond of.

I slowly cover the tattoo, my focus locked on the task at hand because I’m certain if she looked into my eyes right now, they would be anything but friendly.

“You should cancel,” I suggest.

“No, I shouldn’t,” she says defiantly. “I just want to know it’s fine to sit on. I didn’t ask for your opinion on whether or not I should keep my date.”

“He’s a dickhead,” I growl as I finish securing the wrap.

“He’s someone who can provide me with the things I want from a man.”

I laugh, and it’s nothing short of sinister. “And what is it that you think you want, Chaos? Do you think he’ll take kindly to when you take a blowtorch to his front lawn?”

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