by Bea Paige
He nods tightly and stares at me as though he wants to counter that statement with something more serious, instead he grins. “It was a fucking great kiss though. Want to share another?”
“Do you ever let up?” I ask, a whole lot frustrated and a little flattered. Plus, I kind of would like to share another kiss too, but he really doesn’t need to know that.
“When it comes to you, Asia, never.”
With that, he returns to his own sketch and remains quiet for the rest of the lesson.
After lunch I head out to the sports field and the outhouse beyond. When I arrive, Ford is already working out. He’s skipping, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and trainers. I slip inside the room quietly and stare at him, enjoying the view of the tight muscles across his back and arms as he moves. He’s light on his feet and fast, the rope whizzing beneath his feet and over his head quicker than I can see. I’m pretty sure he knows I’m here, but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing.
Is he putting on a show for me right now? Was Sonny correct about Ford’s interest in me or are we both getting all the wrong signals? Ford doesn’t give much away, and he’s still refused to open up in Mr Burnside’s group therapy sessions when the rest of us have conceded and shared a little. I doubt Ford will ever get enough credits to escape Oceanside. He barely even tries. I’m not sure he really gives a damn about that though. Something tells me that this place is just a stop gap within a life he won’t give up. Being here is meant to change us. Mr Carmichael’s vision is to get us all to see the error of our ways and be a useful part of society. Which is already kind of insulting, I am useful.
Ford is just doing his time. Playing the game to a certain extent by following the rules he wants to follow, but ultimately I get the distinct impression none of this really matters. I would, however, like to know what does. He’s the perfect definition of a dark horse; mysterious, aloof, intriguing, wild, but completely untouchable.
Eventually, after another five minutes of perving, I cough. “Hey,” I say, not quite able to get out much more than this feeble greeting.
After another minute, he drops the rope and turns to face me. Sweat slides down his face and falls from his chin. For some reason I expected him to be covered in tattoos, but apart from a small one on his right collarbone that says ‘Bad Boy’ there aren’t any. Unless of course you count the countless white scars scattered across his chest. They’re round, some of them are puckered, some smooth, all of them suspicious. I hold my breath.
He drops his gaze from me to his chest, his finger tracing across one of the nastier looking scars just beneath his rib cage. “Cigarette burns courtesy of my parents,” he says, without a trace of emotion in his eyes.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, not sure what else to say but suddenly feeling the urge to pull him into my arms.
“What for? You didn’t do it,” he counters, picking up a hand towel hanging from a hook on the wall. He wipes his face, then hangs it back up.
“I’m sorry anyway,” I whisper. He catches my gaze, his face impassive. His grey-green eyes void of emotion. He seems to make a decision though and swipes a hand through his sweaty hair before laying himself bare.
“My mum was abusive, my father too, though to a lesser degree. I’ve lived in care since I was ten. Ten years too late, if you ask me. I don’t fit in anywhere. I’m distant, abrasive, cold. I don’t like to talk about my past. I don’t like to talk about my feelings. Instead, I train, and I fight. I’m here because I like to fight too much, not because I get taken over by the rage like Sonny and lose my mind, but because fighting focuses it. My crime…? I’m an illegal ring fighter. I’m notorious in the underground fight clubs in London. Grim Fight Club is my home away from home. I fought Camden there once before and won. That’s why he dislikes me so much. That’s why our crews are at war now because he knows I’m a threat. That’s about it,” he reels off leaving me gasping.
“Damn,” I say. Talk about information overload. I mean, he’s just revealed a shitload about himself and he’s not even blinked. There’s no emotion. None. The guy’s a machine. Plus, what the fuck is Grim fight club? My gaze flickers to the ‘Bad Boy’ tattoo. It’s not particularly professional looking, just two words etched into his skin. “Is that what you are?” I ask, motioning towards it.
“That’s what I’m told. That’s what my parents called me every damn day for ten years. It’s a reminder they sought fit to scar me with.” He shrugs. No emotion. Nothing.
Fuuuckkk. “I’m…”
“Don’t. No pity.”
“Okay, no pity.” God only knows I understand his need for that even when I can’t understand the lack of emotion.
“Now you,” he states, pointing a finger in my direction.
“What?”
“You know what. I can’t help you be a better fighter if you don’t lay it on the line for me. That is why you’re here, right? I need to know where the rage comes from so I can help you to hone it into a useful weapon. Talk.”
“You’re kidding me, right? You’re not Mr Burnside and this ain’t no therapy session.”
“Not kidding, not in the slightest. Talk, Asia.”
“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head and backing up against the door. I reach for the handle, my gut twisting with anxiety. I can’t switch off the emotion like he can. I can’t reel off my past hurt as easily and emotionless as he just did. There are some things I’m just not willing to share, and despite the little snippets about my life that I’ve given up in Mr Burnside’s therapy sessions, they’re nothing compared to what I’ve kept hidden. Nothing.
“Then I can’t help you,” he says flatly.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Won’t help you,” he rephrases.
“Then I’m out,” I say, turning my back on him and reaching for the door. I’m running. Again. What the fuck is it with this place? I don’t run ever, and yet I find myself doing it once more.
26
“Wait,” he snaps, drawing me back around to face him again.
“Why? You said you won’t help me unless I spill. I can’t. So, we’re done.”
He sighs, his fists curling at his sides. I notice them, he notices me noticing them, and he releases his fingers. I watch as he wiggles them, losing some of the tension that his body still holds.
“You might not have realised it, but that was hard for me. I’ve told you more about my shit than I’ve told anyone. Like I said, I don’t share. I just did. You owe me.”
“I don’t owe you anything. That was your decision, I didn’t ask you to tell me shit. I came here to train. I didn’t agree to sharing.” I turn my back on him once more and pull the door open. He’s on me in seconds. I’m yanked back against his chest, the door slammed and locked before I can do a thing about it.
“Ford!” I shout, but his name is snatched from my lips as he twists me around to face him, forcing me backwards. I’m trapped between the wall and his body. His firm, sweaty body. He smells like a man. I’m not sure how else to put it. He may only be my age, but Ford is not a kid. Not in any sense of the word. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I grind out trying to shove him off me. He’s too strong. Wily fucker.
“Lesson number one. When I ask you to do something, you do it or face the consequences.”
“What consequences?”
For a split second he seems to consider something. Then he shows me.
Fisting my hair in his hand, he yanks my head to the side, then runs his tongue up the length of my neck before biting my earlobe. “Every time you disobey me, I’ll deny you what you want the most,” he whispers, grinding his hips against my own. Hitting the spot that’s been tingling from the moment I stepped into this room, even though I’m only just realising that now. It’s like my brain has finally caught up with my body. “But if you do as I say, do as I ask, then I’ll make you see stars.”
Motherfucker.
“Get off me,” I demand, but neit
her he nor I believe that’s what I really want.
“You’re good at lying to yourself, aren’t you, Asia?”
“Fuck you.”
“Is that an invitation?” He stares at me intently, the heat between us growing. He loosens his hold.
“Get off me,” I repeat, but when I don’t take the opportunity to escape, his nostrils flare at the silent approval. How have I ended up here again? Camden in the maze now Ford in the outhouse. The only person who didn’t steal a kiss from me was Sonny, and I’ve been avoiding him for days now.
“Make me,” he growls, crowding me again. My hips jerk as he reaches between us and grasps my heated crotch over my leggings. I’m embarrassingly wet.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” I shout, but I don’t move. I don’t and I have no idea why.
“Make me, Asia,” he repeats, running his mouth against my jawline. He pulls back, his lips hovering over mine as he captures my gaze with the heat of his. Between us his hand is gently moving against my mound. I’m about half a second away from jumping his bones, but something in me knows that’s exactly what he wants. He wants me to lose my inhibitions.
“I’m touching you like this and you’re letting me?” he kind of states, almost surprised by the fact. The thing is. I don’t really want him to let go. I want him to touch me. I’ve been wanting it ever since he pinned me beneath him on the field the first week I arrived here, and all those times since when he’s stood up for me. Except, of course, that truth is harder to share.
“Enough,” I push his hand away roughly, giving him a shove. But it’s half-hearted and he knows it. He cocks his head, looking at me with fascination then steps back into my space and cups my mound once more.
“Tell me something, Asia,” he repeats, his circling finger making me go mindless. If this is how he can make me feel with his hand over my clothes, I can only imagine what it’d be like when he gets beneath them. Damn, I’m in trouble.
“I’m not telling you shit,” I grind out, goading him. Let’s see how far he’s willing to go.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
The heel of his palm presses firmer against my crotch, right on the spot that makes me squirm. A moan escapes my lips, colouring my cheeks, and I do what he knew I would. I lose my inhibitions. He pulls back slightly, watching me as I grind helplessly against him. Sensation swells outwards from that tiny nub between my legs, scattering up my spine and prickling my scalp. My mouth pops open, another moan escaping as he increases the pressure. What the fuck is happening here? Okay, stupid question… But, really, what the fuck is going on?
His breathing quickens with mine, as though I’m touching him in the same way he’s touching me. Except my hands are pressed against the wall behind me, my nails digging into the stone as I hang on for dear life.
“Do you always wear your emotions on your sleeve, Asia? Or are those ones just for show? Do you have hidden depths just waiting to be discovered?”
I can’t answer him. All I can think about, all I can feel is the swell of an orgasm teetering around the edges of my consciousness. It builds deep within me, curling outwards, upwards. I push back against Ford’s hand, wanting to chase the pleasure. Needing it like I’ve never needed anything. Just as it’s about to expand and shatter, Ford pulls his hand away and my eyes snap open. His pupils are dark, and just for a second it’s as though I can see right into his soul. There’s a glimmer of something there, something worth knowing.
“Ford…?” I manage to pant, my pulse racing. He closes his eyes briefly and when he opens them again the hollowness is back.
“Don’t bother looking, Asia, there’s nothing to see,” he says, placing his hand back between my legs and cupping me once more. I move against his hold, out of my mind with need. He allows me a few moments of blissful torment before grasping my hips with his free hand and forcing me to still.
“The decision as to whether I let you come is down to you. Give me something to work with and I’ll give you what you’ve been dreaming of ever since our tussle on the field. Then and only then will I teach you how to fight.”
“I know how to fight. I have no idea why I even came here today,” I bite out, trying not to launch myself at him and kiss him until his mouth is bruised.
“You’re a scrapper, Asia. You’re not a fighter. There’s a difference. Besides, we both know why you came here today, and it has less to do with learning how to fuck up Monk once and for all and more to do with the heat between your legs. So, are you going to share now so I can make you come?”
“No,” I respond reflexively, the word releasing from my lips before I can even think about his offer. It’s a knee-jerk reaction and one I instantly regret.
He lets me go, backing up. “Get out.”
“Wait, what?” I kind of stumble forward, my head all twisted up, my fucking body on fire and my clit throbbing for release. Every single part of me burns. I’ve never, ever felt like this before. Who is this guy?
“You heard me. GET OUT!” he shouts, startling me.
But I don’t move. I can’t.
“Do you have a problem with simple instructions, Asia? I said get the fuck out.” He’s mad. So damn mad, and I have absolutely no idea why. I mean, I do, I guess. But this seems like so much more than me not willing to tell him a little bit about my past. I don’t understand.
“I don’t understand,” I repeat out loud this time. Shaking my head, I force away these sudden feelings of disappointment and confusion that stirs within me.
I want to come.
I don’t want to leave.
I want him to teach me to fight.
I don’t want to share my past.
I need revenge.
I’m so fucking confused.
“You’re not making any sense.” I take a step towards him. “Finish what you started, Ford.”
Now it’s his turn to deny me. “No,” he bites out, turning his back to me. “You’re not worth the trouble.”
The rage descends.
I don’t know why it happens so suddenly or with such force, but it does. It grips hold of me and forces my feet towards him. Within two strides I’m grabbing his arm and yanking him around to face me. Without a second’s hesitation, I raise my hand and slap him across the cheek as hard as I can. The sound of my palm hitting his skin is deafening, but nowhere near as deafening as the silence that follows. I’m breathing heavily, my body shaking with denied pleasure and pent up emotion. There’s a sudden chill and a darkness in his eyes that makes me regret my actions immediately.
For the first time in a long time, I cower.
“There she is,” he bites out, stalking me.
I back away not understanding what’s happening between us. He’s just flipped on a dime and I have no idea how to handle him.
“That rage you just felt, that emotion, it makes you weak, Asia. Vulnerable. It will get you killed. You cannot rely on any kind of emotion to win a fight. Do you understand?”
“I’m not vulnerable. I’m not weak,” I insist, even though that’s exactly how I feel right now.
“No?” he questions, pressing me back up against the wall, aligning his body perfectly against mine, his hands pinning my arms to my sides. Somehow he’s right. The sudden rage is gone as quickly as it appeared, and I’m left empty, wanting, cut open, raw, helpless.
Bereft somehow. All of that.
“Tell me one thing, something,” he says, his gaze softening. Not enough to let me really see him, but enough to let me know he isn’t a monster.
“My mother was a heroin addict. When I was born, I was too…” I whisper the words, releasing them before I’d even made a conscious decision to do so.
Ford nods once, then presses his forehead against mine and reaches between my legs once more. He doesn’t try to kiss me even though I really, really want him too. Instead, he slides his hand beneath the waistband of my leggings and knickers. His fingers find my slick heat and my eyes flutter shut at the sensation of
his skin against mine.
“Look at me, Asia. Don’t take your eyes off me,” he demands. His voice is thick with feeling. With lust. It breaks me that little bit more and as much as I want to keep my eyes shut, I can’t deny him this. Right at this moment, I’m not sure I’ll be able to deny him anything.
My eyes snap open as he pulls back slightly, watching me react to the way he’s touching me. His finger finds my clit, circling gently. I moan, and he bites down on his lip in response, his chest heaving. I wonder why he’s holding back, why he doesn’t try to kiss me. I want to ask, but the feeling he's stoking within me won’t let me concentrate on anything but how fucking good I feel. I’m so damn wet. So hot for him. He’s dangerous for my heart, this one. I understand that simple truth in the moment, but I don’t care.
When his fingers circle my entrance, I whimper at his gentleness, at the way he’s coaxing me, drawing my orgasm out. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.
My lips part as he sinks his finger inside me right up to the knuckle, the pad of his thumb pressing on my clit gently as he does so.
I let out a low, steady moan.
He leans in closer, flicking his gaze between my eyes and lips. I want him to kiss me so badly, so fucking badly. But I’m so caught up in his gaze and the sensations as he moves his finger in and out of me in a gentle rhythm that I can’t move.
“That’s it, Asia. Come for me,” he mutters.
As his lips hover over my own, his soft breaths fluttering across my skin, I do exactly what he asks and see stars.
An hour later I’m a sweaty mess. My muscles are roaring with pain at the strenuous exercises Ford has made me do and I’m barely standing on wobbly legs. Whilst he too is sweaty and panting, he’s nowhere near as physically affected as I am. We’ve sparred. He’s taught me how to punch with conviction and where. I’ve learnt a lot.
Ford hands me a bottle of water. I take it from him, open it up and drink the whole lot in one go.