Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Ford is a god in bed. And every time we have sex, it hammers home the fact no other man will ever even come close to what he can offer me.
I stare at the ceiling and swallow hard before I ask, “Why did you never tell me about the things you liked? I mean, we’ve been fucking for over a year, and I never knew you were into…this stuff.”
“‘This stuff’?” He knows exactly what I’m talking about; he’s just trying to mock me for saying it out loud.
I’ve learned a few things about Ford during our time together. One, he’s a petty bitch, and two, he’s very intentional in how and why he does things. Well, except when his control snaps. But we’re alike in that way, I guess.
“The pain, the belt, the slapping, the biting, all of it. Why did you never tell me? I could’ve…” I lick my lips, searching for the right words. “Tried to cater to your needs earlier.”
He removes his hand from my thigh, and I immediately feel the disconnect. Until he sits up and then lies with me so both of our feet are facing the headboard. He’s on his side, head propped on his hand, staring down at me. He looks more beast than man right now, a glaze of satisfaction in his dark eyes. His hair is a mess from air drying after the rain. Tattoos mark his beautiful body, and the muscles of his abs and arms are cut to perfection.
“Because I didn’t think you could handle it,” he confesses.
Ordinarily, I might be mad by the assumption, but I’m too exhausted to fight him. Also, he’s not entirely wrong. I might’ve been intimidated by his demand. I mean, hurting him isn’t exactly something I thought I’d be signing up for. But watching the way he gets off on it? The way the control switches between us fluidly in the bedroom? I like it. A lot.
“So why now?” I ask.
He shrugs as he caresses my collarbone with the backs of his fingers. The shirt I was wearing has long since been discarded, thrown to the floor among the mess of his own wet clothes. “Because you needed to see the real me. Well, part of it, at least. To be honest, I thought you might run the other way.”
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, too afraid to reach for him because I feel like it might scare him away. Ford and I don’t usually do deep talks, but there are so many things about this man that remain a mystery, and I want to know. I want him to let me in, little by little.
He watches me for some time, the space between us seeming to grow wider and wider, and I think it’ll swallow me whole before he finally answers. “Because I’m not good for you, Billie. I thought you seeing this side of me might scare you, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I hoped that it would. I can’t offer you more than this- my body. This might be exciting for you, but I have no self-control when it comes to you, and I’m scared I’ll do something reckless one day because of it.”
I bring my hand up to cover his, and his nostrils flare, reacting to the tender touch. I often feel that Ford struggles when I bring any level of softness between us that might be considered normal for others, especially when we kiss.
My eyebrows furrow, and I stare at him, my gaze dipping to the words tattooed on his throat. Bad to the bone. I can’t help but wonder if it’s some kind of self-branding. Ford has always had a quiet confidence and self-assurance about him, but it’s moments like this that I see him waver as if he’s unsure how to act or what to say around me. Like I’m some little princess who has to be protected… from him.
“I feel the same, you know. I can’t keep my hands off you, either. Is that so bad?” I ask quietly. This is the first time he’s let me see the way his mind works.
“It’s different.”
“How?” I push, and his jaw tics like he doesn’t like being pressed. I’m certain he’ll get up and leave, but instead, he averts his gaze.
“Because I have issues with addiction,” he confesses.
My mouth opens and closes. Did I hear him right? “As in, you’re using drugs?”
“No.” He shakes his head and sits upright.
I follow suit, putting my hand on his leg to stop him from leaving. “Explain it to me.”
He looks away as if ashamed, and it’s the most vulnerable I’ve seen this powerful man. Sitting naked in front of me, tempted to tell me tidbits of the life he lives that I’ve never known.
“Not anymore,” he admits. “My biological mother was addicted to crack. She overdosed when we were twelve, so it was just me and Hawke. We stole, cheated, and lied in order to survive. And when we started filling out in size, we’d physically hurt people. We were no better than animals.” I try not to react as if any small movement might interfere with every shocking thing he’s telling me.