Vile Intentions: A Dark Sports Bully Romance

by Savannah Rose

  Beth deserves a heck of a lot better than the likes of me. When she falls into bed with the man she’s intent on spending the rest of her life with, I want her to remember when he dropped down to one knee, when he took her hand in his and promised her forever. That’s not what I’ve given her. And I know that as time trots on, I’ll steal even more of her dreams. But more importantly, nothing good happens to those who get too close to me. I don’t allow her to back away right now, though. I don’t allow her to protect her heart and shade her soul from further damage.

  Right now, I do the selfish thing and I’ll kiss her until I’m dizzy and out

  of breath.

  “Maverick,” she whispers, her voice pained and broken.

  Her hands jut out and she pushes at my chest. I grab her by the wrists, staring deep into the sadness I put in her eyes.

  When she no longer struggles against me, I press my lips against hers again. Sucking and taking. Greedy in the way that I push her pants from her thighs and slip my fingers between her folds.

  All her defenses fall to the side and she moans, giving me everything before I even have the chance to take it from her.

  “You can’t just leave like that,” she whispers the words against my lips.

  In response, I hook my fingers in her shirt and pull, causing tiny little pink buttons to pitter-patter at our feet.

  “Maverick.” Her back arches. Her knees weaken.

  “I’m fucking sorry,” I tell her and mean it like I’ve meant nothing before. It’s the truth. I am sorry. So very sorry. Not just for what I’ve done in the past, but for all the ways I’ll fuck up her future for as long as I’m a part of it. And even after.

  I bite down on her lip, leaving my mark on top of all the marks she’s been sinking into her lips while panicked about where I was. As she moans into my mouth, I dip my fingers even deeper, covering them in her warmth, and moistening her up real good before flipping her around and bending her over.

  I don’t need to see the innocence in her eyes as I lose myself inside of her. And I don’t need to see her face to know just what she looks like. As unlikely as something like this should be, Bethany has managed to imprint herself in ways that are inerasable.

  Because I’m selfish, I’m going to make sure that even if she forgets what it’s like to want me, she’ll never forget how good I could make her feel.

  Unbuckling my pants and ushering them down, I free my cock from its restraints. My hands are steadied around Bethany’s lips as I hold onto my control and slowly work my way inside of her. Her pussy parts, keen on accommodating me, despite her tightness. It’s just as slowly as I ease my way in that I ease my way out. My cock glistens with evidence of her arousal as I pull back.

  “Maverick,” she whispers, my name a prayer on her lips.

  When all is said and done, I’m gonna miss her. That much is clear.

  “Beth,” I grunt back, and keep one hand gripping her hip while I fist a lockful of her hair in the other.

  Her legs tremble a little and she presses her palms against the wall in front of her, searching for stability. It’s not a bad decision. As soon as her hands slap against the wall, I take and I take and give back tenfold.

  In no time, I’ve reduced Beth to the most beautiful mess of moans and screams. It’s almost surprising that I’m not singing like a little bitch because this…is…heaven. Too much heaven. Too real, too raw, too pure, too perfect.

  Beth jerks back, intentional or not, I haven’t a clue. But that is exactly what pushes me over the edge, filling her to the brim with the warmth of my cum.

  When I pull out of her, she doesn’t even try to fake strength. She collapses in a puddle on the floor, breathless and glowing. I scoop her into my arms and, for a moment, contemplate carrying her back to her own room. But this conversation isn’t done. In fact, it hasn’t even started yet. I at least owe it to her to answer some of the questions she has and so I lay her on my bed.

  Her eyes are slightly hooded when she looks up at me, but that doesn’t stop her from putting weight behind her words.

  “Where were you, Maverick?”

  The force of her words make me feel like nothing more than a small child, uncertain of how to handle a scolding.

  “A lot of places,” I say and then, “you cooked. We should eat.”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “I am,” I admit. “And we’ll talk, but…”

  “You’re covered in blood.”

  “I am,” I say again. “And we’ll talk, but…”

  She crosses her arms over her chest and sits up rim-rod straight. “Your face is bruised. Your lip is busted and by morning you’ll have a big fucking blue ring around your eye. You can’t just waltz in here, fuck me and pretend that everything is fine.”

  Blowing out a breath, I take a seat beside her on the bed. “Everything is not fine,” I tell her. “And maybe nothing will ever be fine, but before I willingly walk my way into the darkness, can I just enjoy the food you cooked and pretend for a moment that I didn’t royally fuck tonight up?”

  I’m pretty sure she has tears in her eyes, but she doesn’t meet my gaze for long enough that I’m able to swear it as a fact.

  “Fine,” she says and pulls a blanket from the bed, covering herself before she stomps her feet all the way to the dining room. The one that no one has ever used. The one I’d never had plans on using.

  Home, I think. Despite the fact that I love being able to know what that feels like, I hate it too. You can’t miss the things you’ve never had. But now that I do have it, I know exactly what I’ll be missing once it’s gone.

  I sit at one end of the table and Beth sits at the other, occupying the only chair that’s not at the opposite end of the room. As odd as I find it, I don’t ask her what’s with the arrangement. Instead, I pluck one of the oversized spoons from the middle and start dishing chicken and rice and broccoli onto my plate. Beth doesn’t follow my lead. Instead, she sits, staring daggers into me. If I didn’t know that I was in deep fucking waters with her before, I sure as shit know it now.

  Sighing, I lift my plate, settling it in the palm of one hand as I use the other to drag a chair over to her. Not just because I miss her closeness. But also because I feel like an ant under her gaze.

  I pick up the spoon again and put a decent helping onto her own plate before holding a fork up to her. She grabs it and holds onto it the way one holds onto a weapon, defensive. The sight of her almost makes me laugh.

  “Eat,” I tell her. “Or stab my eye out. The choice is up to you, but please, do something, anything other than staring into the spot I just left.”

  “You loved your mother. You still love her. That tells me there’s no way you could have done what you think you did.”

  “I don’t remember my mother, Beth. And maybe what I’m feeling isn’t love, but guilt.”

  She swallows and her entire face contorts as though she forced shards of glass down her throat. When she reaches out to touch me, her hands shake with what I’m afraid is disappointment. And she gets to feel that. She honestly does. Beth knew my mother and knew that a woman like that should have been granted more time on this earth than scum like me.

  I shovel food into my mouth and chew quickly. It’s obvious that Beth will continue this conversation whether I’m ready to have it or not. And when she gets to the tough part, regret will push itself to the forefront until I feel like I’m chewing ash.

  “Guilt is what you should feel for leaving the way you did. Guilt is what you should feel for coming home looking like that and refusing to fucking tell me where you’ve been or what the hell happened to you. Guilt is not what you feel when you’re not fucking responsible, Maverick. Hurt, yes. Pain, yes. Grief, absolutely.”

  She’s wrong.

  So very wrong.

  I don’t know which conversation to tackle first. One the one hand, I want to tell her about my mother. Tell her what happened. Pull back the curtain and allow her to s
ee that yes, I am every bit the monster she first thought me to be. That conversation would end it all. I know Beth and I know that once I really open up to her, she won’t give a damn about where I’ve been tonight or why my face is all bruised up. Maybe it’s a cop out, but it’s still no easier than the alternative.

  I scoop more food into my mouth and rush through the rest of what’s on my plate before uttering another word to her. When that first word leaves my lips, however, I don’t stop. Not until I’ve told her everything.

  “You wanna know what happened to my mother, Beth?” She swallows, but doesn’t get the chance to answer. “I was being a selfish little prick…that’s what happened. She wasn’t supposed to be on the road that day, but I had gotten into a squabble with my friend and moaned and moped until she had no choice but to come get me. It was raining and I didn’t give a damn that she could hardly see what was happening on the road because I wanted her attention. Demanded it the way I demand every goddamn thing in my life.” Beth’s shaking her head at me. Even without looking at her I know she has tears in her eyes. Not me, though. At least not yet. “She was so busy paying attention to me that she ran the car under a parked trailer. She died on the spot. I had to be cut from the wreckage. I guess you could call me lucky. Doesn’t really feel that way, though. I spent weeks in a coma. Months in a body cast. When I woke up they had already laid her to rest. My father didn’t tell me where she was buried. He didn’t exactly want her murderer showing up to her grave. Can’t even say I blame him, to be honest.” I laugh the most humorless laugh known to man.

  “You didn’t kill your mother, Maverick,” Beth says and her voice hitches. “It was an accident.” I can’t bring myself to look up at her and see the tears in her eyes.

  “You know what the worst part is?” She shakes her head. A part of me knows she’s silently telling me she doesn’t want to or need to hear anymore. I tell her anyway. “I don’t remember a damn second of it. Thanks to my father, though. Papa dearest was never shy about letting me know exactly how much of a monster I am. But that’s not really what you’re asking, is it? You wanna know why I left, Beth? I left because I didn’t want you looking at me the way you’re looking at me now. I left because I’m a coward. I left because this is not your burden to carry. I left because I needed to breathe and scream and throw my fists against something. I needed to be a monster without you witnessing it.”

  I look away from her, wanting to grab onto the thread of hope she’s constantly extending to me; the gift of forgiveness and redemption that I always see in her eyes.

  “Maverick?” She whispers and pulls me to her, capturing my lips with hers. Everything inside me shatters and I feel like I’m falling rapidly down a cold, dark hole, but there’s a light at the end.

  Beth places her hand on my heart. “You’re not a monster, Maverick.” Her words sound so honest. So real. With everything in me, I want to believe them. Unfortunately, deep down, I know that it’s only a matter of time before Beth knows just how wrong she is.

  40

  As night rolls into morning, the sun doesn’t shy away from drowning us in its rays. I press my eyes tighter, not ready to wake up just yet. Not equipped with the tools, the strength, the knowledge of how to tackle today.

  Maverick broke last night. Maverick also hurt me last night. Deep in my soul, the pain still tumbles, and a part of me hates that he’s capable of doing that to me. The other part of me is happy that he no longer has to carry his burdens alone.

  We might have set out with two completely different goals in mind. I needed his money. He needed my citizenship. As things stand, we’re so much more than that to each other. No matter how safe I feel cocooned in Maverick’s arms, I’m still impossibly terrified.

  “Last night was heavy,” he says, sleep clinging to the tendrils of his voice. He’s not wrong.

  I crane my neck up to stare into his early morning face. The pain is still there, though fading into the lines of a smile. For a moment, I wonder just how long this rhythm has taken over his life. How long he’s been covering his hurt with smiles. Rinse. Repeat. Hide again.

  “I was thinking,” he whispers, tracing a finger down my face. “We should do something to celebrate.”

  I arch a brow at him and pull the sheets higher. “Celebrate?”

  He scrunches up his face and tugs the blanket from my grasp. “Yeah, celebrate. Make sure today’s not as shit as yesterday was. Celebrate the fact that I actually made it back home because…whew…” he pretends to wipe sweat away from his brow, his face turned up into faux exasperation.

  “I don’t know, Maverick,” I say. He might want to make light of the situation, pretend like what happened wasn’t a big fucking deal. Yes, we ended the night in each other’s arms. But the way we ended the night in each other’s arms… The entire charade with Jessica, Maverick leaving the way he did, the blood on his face when he finally came back, Maverick believing he killed his mom. There are a heck of a lot more things that don’t need celebrating than there are things that do.

  “You’re a party-pooper,” he says. “That much I’ve always known. But you’re also deathly bored…and maybe a little boring.”

  He gets the back of my hand on that one and immediately rubs at his shoulder as though me hitting him didn’t hurt me more than it did him.

  “I am not boring. Responsible, yes. Boring, absolutely not.”

  “You’re a wife.”

  “Being your wife might just be the most non-boring job in the world.”

  “Only a boring person would say that,” he shoots back. I raise my hand to smack him again. I’m smiling now. Because damn it, he’s infuriating. And apparently really frickin good at brushing problems under the rug.

  “So…here’s the thing…we’ve never been on a date.”

  I bop my head from side to side. He does have a point.

  “I guess we really have been going at this entire thing in reverse, huh?” I blush and he kisses my forehead before sitting up.

  “So…let me take you on a date,” he beams, illuminated by inspiration. He’s off the bed now, looking every bit as erotic as no man has ever looked. His boxers hang just below his hips and I can see the remnants of morning wood lifting the material out of place. He has a hand on his hip, waiting for me to prop myself up and slide off the bed just as enthusiastically as he did.

  Something stops me.

  It’s not a lack of confidence, but rather, realization. Maverick and I are two pieces of a puzzle that seem to fit seamlessly behind closed doors. Out in the open, however, we don’t fit quite as seamlessly.

  “Or we could just stay in? You could grab groceries, I could cook, we could watch a movie?”

  His eyes widen and now he’s looking at me as though I’ve grown a second head.

  “That’s not...well...why?”

  I blush and stare down at my hands.

  “We’re not telling people about this… and… us being seen together doesn’t make much sense without an explanation, so...” my voice trails off into the pit of uncertainty.

  “I don’t need to explain myself to anybody, Beth. Neither do you.”

  I laugh at the luxury of simplicity he flaunts around. “You may not have to answer to anybody. Nobody will say anything to you directly. They’re all afraid of you, Maverick. But no one’s afraid of me. I’ve got enough enemies in our school. I’m not really keen on racking up even more.”

  “Aren’t you being a bit dramatic?”

  “No. No I’m not. To them, you’re like the second coming of Jesus Christ. If Jesus Christ had all of that going on,” I say, gesturing to his toned chest and impeccable abs. “Seriously, it’s like they think you walk on water or something.” I roll my eyes and he burst out laughing.

  “It’s obvious that you don’t.”

  “Oh honey...until last night my only thoughts about you including water was more around the fantasy of maybe drowning you in the Pacific Ocean.” I smile sweetly.

  He grins a
nd I can see the mischief stirring in his eyes. “Okay. Fine. We won’t go out in New York then.”

  “Settled,” I say, though the word sounds more like a question. As soon as he strikes back, I know exactly why my uncertainty was warranted.

  “I’m assuming you have a passport?”

  “I don’t need a passport to go to the grocery store.”

  “But you’ll need one to get to California. Though, I guess your driver’s license would work just as well.” He says all of this matter-of-factly before walking out of the room, leaving me reeling at the idea of simply getting on a plane for no other reason than the fact that he wants me to.

  I almost trip on the sheets clamoring to get out of bed. With my sheet dress wrapped around me, I plod into the living room after him.

  “Wait, what do you mean we’re going to California for the rest of the weekend?” I gawk at him and he looks up from his iPad with a confused expression etched into his brow.

  “There’s no hidden meaning. It means exactly what it sounds like.”

  “We can’t do that?”

  “And why not?” He lays the iPad down and turns to look at the bewildered expression on my face with unveiled amusement.

  “Because I’m running away from my problems, Beth. Because I had a bad night and I need to fucking erase it. Because you won’t let me to take you out in public here, so I’ll just have to take you out in public somewhere else.”

  He rests himself against the sofa and drapes his arm over the back. The casualness, the look in his eyes, the way the sun hits his face, it’s completely derailing my train of thought.

  “Why do we need to go all the way to California?”

  “We’re trying not to run into pesky school mates, remember?” He smirks, watching me bite my lips as my eyes roam his body. He raises a leg up to the seats, leaving one on the floor and I know he’s teasing me, so I draw the sheet tighter around myself, refusing to be disarmed by his good looks.

  “Yes but-”

  “You had better not be trying to send me grocery shopping again. It’s not going to happen.”