Page 13 of Addicted Lies

Billie

Present Day

“Stay still.” Ford says from beside me. I awkwardly pin him with a glare from over my shoulder as I lie on my stomach.

“I can’t. You’re looking directly at my ass, and it’s weird.” I try to stay as still as possible, but I can’t. It’s not just because my ass is on display for him, but it’s also kind of ticklish in a painful way.

The buzzing sound starts again, and I glance over my shoulder to where one of his hands is wielding the tattoo gun, and the other holds my ass in place. His dark eyes lock onto mine. “If you don’t hold still, I’ll bite the other cheek.” I can’t help but smirk at his threat. “Stop it,” he growls, knowing full well how much I like his mouth anywhere on me.

I try to distract myself by looking around the room, taking in the darkly painted walls. It’s a small room in Ford’s home that he uses purely for tattooing. A tray and counter in the corner for his items and ridiculously good designs sketched by Ford hung on the wall. When I inquired about them, he said it was his adoptive mother, Anya, who had them put up for display. Apparently, she thought the room was dreary with bare walls, but part of me wonders if it’s because she was proud of his talent and wanted to showcase them. Then again, I don’t know if someone like Anya Ivanov has the capacity to be proud or encouraging like a normal parent might. I’ve never understood the twins’ relationship with her and River, but I know undeniably that the twins speak about them with reverence.

My leg twitches a little; I just can’t help it, and he sighs, pulling back and placing the tattoo gun next to him. I twist so I have a better view of him. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans, and he’s bare-chested, which is distracting as all fuck. Tattoos skate up his stomach, but my gaze always lands on the one at his throat.Bad to the bone.I always want to make a joke about throwing a bone and having him fetch it, but it feels too dangerous of a joke.

Ford is intentional, even when he seems aloof. He appears disinterested when, in actuality, he’s quietly listening. These are the few things I’ve come to notice about him in the last year. And in truth, it’s about all I’ve been able to uncover about him. I imagine the only person who really knows him is his brother.

But one thing remains the same—since the first time we were together, Ford Ivanov has been the one man I can’t take my eyes off of.

He leans forward and presses a kiss to the opposite cheek from the one he’s inking, then proceeds to bite it before he straightens back up.

“Ow!” I hiss.

“I warned you,” he growls. “Now, stay still.”

I let out ahumphas I lie back down, but I can sense his smirk.

This is the first tattoo that I convinced him to give me. And it took a lot of persuading to get him to agree. He has a fascination with biting my skin. He loves to tell me that I have the most perfect skin he’s ever fucking touched, and he wonders why I’d want to permanently mark it in any way. But I want to mark it, and I want him to be the one doing it.

I didn’t even ask permission to come over tonight; I just welcomed myself in and baked him a honey cake because it’s his favorite as I waited for him.

When he got home, he’d gone straight to his room, and I’m certain that when he does that, it means he’s been working for Eli. This time, he showered before he came out to the kitchen, so I know the cleanup must’ve been bad. It’s strange to know I’m sleeping with a killer. Then again, many of the members of my family are killers, so it’s not at all surprising that I would gravitate to one. I don’t think badly of them, although I know most people probably would. I might have an explosive temper, but not a killer instinct. And I don’t look down on them for it. Why would I? I love my family and would do anything for them. And they’d do the same for me.

My relationship with Ford is basically non-existent besides in the sexual context. And only Posie knows about us. Well, and Hawke, but I never cared to ask Ford about the discussion he had with him after the fiasco at Dutton’s house. Now I’m just especially careful around him so he doesn’t think it’s continuing.

Posie hasn’t told my brother, which I’m very thankful for because despite Ford and Dutton being friends, my brother would kill him without a second thought. And I quite like what I have going with Ford. In fact, when I came home this time, this was the first place I wanted to return to, mostly because I have needs that haven’t been met in a very long time, and he seems to be the only one daring enough to touch me.

We hadn’t spoken since we were caught by Posie. We don’t text or call, but he didn’t seem surprised when he found me in his kitchen tonight.

My leg twitches again, and the buzzing stops. I glance over my shoulder to see him pulling off his gloves. I don’t think the tattoo is completely finished, but I slip off the bed, embracing the break. He watches me with those dark eyes, his hands dropping to the sides of the chair, basically inviting me without a word. Another thing I’ve noticed about Ford is he always lets me initiate or act as if I’m in control. Initially. Or maybe he’s trying to restrain himself. Which, fuck that. I want to get off.

“I need to go soon,” I whisper. I did organize to meet with Hope and Ivy later. He nods as I slowly straddle him. “You’ll miss me, right?”

He doesn’t say anything, but I notice the swell of his cock beneath me. I love how responsive his body is to me; it makes me feel desirable.

I flick my honey-blonde hair over my shoulder, and his hand creeps up my back. I feel the moment he wraps my hair around his hand and wrist. He pulls on it, tugging my head back and exposing my neck.

“Give me something to miss,” he rumbles as he trails feather-light kisses down my throat and to the tops of my breasts that are exposed by the neckline of my dress. I should be on the bed, letting him finish the tattoo, but I really can’t help myself when it comes to him. I greatly underestimated the time it’d take for my first tattoo.

“Ford.”

“Hmmm,” he hums, the sound vibrating against my neck, and I begin a leisurely grind against his hardening cock.

“I’ll be in town more soon,” I tell him. I literally have a month left of college, and then I’ll graduate. Ivy will be done, too, and we’re looking at finding an apartment together.

“Mmhmm” is the only response he gives. We don’t really have in-depth conversations, even though I sometimes try to initiate them. Our relationship is strictly sex. And I really, really enjoy it.

He pushes my G-string to the side with the hand not gripped in my hair, and then he slips his fingers through my folds. And before I can stop myself, I’m riding his hand.

He grunts, and I can’t help but moan in response.

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