Rollercoasters are just as terrifying as they look – maybe even more so. Only tackle them if you’re willing to have your other half mimic your face of terror for two hours straight.
If Maverick says a body of water is warm, don’t believe him. I should have learned that lesson my first time at his condo. I did not. A cold pool is one thing. A cold ocean can very well turn your nipples to ice. Bonus: if Maverick’s lips are the ones soothing them back to warmth, it’s not half as bad as having them thaw on their own.
It’s very much possible to fall asleep standing up. Or while eating. Or both.
Malibu has nice houses. Okay beaches. There are a million better places one can choose to call home.
Kids love Maverick. Maverick loves kids. Watching those two things unfold causes wombs to get a very overactive imagination.
Well, if I continue now, I’ll be going on forever. Stop while you’re ahead. Live life when someone offers you the opportunity. That’s the gist of it, really.
Now, with only a night’s rest separating us from real life, I’m still not sure how to wrap my head around everything I’ve experienced. And it’s not just the places, but the man himself who leaves me in awe.
Maverick wasn’t just cruel, he was the cruelest. A broken man, a damaged soul, flaunting the body of a God while being no more or less human than the rest of us.
We’re back in our hotel room now, our suitcases pushed to the side in preparation for tomorrow’s flight. The rest of the room is bare, void of the smattering of our belongings it had held only a few hours prior. The tidiness makes my stomach tighten, knowing that reality is closer than I want it to be. The suitcases seem to be of the same mind. Even they look like they’re dreading their return to reality.
Maverick and I have polished off the pizza he ordered to the room. Pepperoni for me. Hawaiian for him. Even with our plates empty, neither of us have left our spot at the small table in the corner of our hotel room.
I trace a finger over the bottle of wine at the center of the table, pushing the droplets of water down with my thumb. They fall slowly, their journey accented by the glint of moonlight sliding in through the slightly parted curtain. When the last drop of water has pooled onto the table, I glance up at Maverick, to see that he’s looking right at me… staring. Taking me in like I’m the most intriguing painting in a museum.
“Penny for your thoughts,” I say.
He presses his lips together then blows out a breath that causes the lock of hair dangling out of place on his forehead to flutter. “You’re beautiful.” He says it so simply, so easily, that I have no choice but to believe that that’s all there is to that look in his eyes. That he’s been sitting across from me for the past five minutes, just thinking about the way I look. That he’s really and truly is enamored by me. We’ve come a long way from all of our yesterdays. And even though logic says that I should be careful, everything about this moment says it’s okay to let go.
“We’ll be home soon,” I tell him. It’s not attempt to change the subject, but rather me voicing what it is that’s plaguing my own mind.
“You’re like really, really, beautiful.”
The goosebumps on my skin prick harder. My heart flutters. My cheeks deepen their tone of red. I press the wine glass to my lips and take a small sip in an attempt to hide the effect his words have on me. It’s my second sip of the night. I’ve never been one to break the rules when it comes to underage drinking. But Maverick made me a promise that I’d have a glass of wine if he promised to have a real conversation about his mom and his feelings and maybe even consider seeing a therapist. For the time being, we were to drop the matter and just enjoy this time away from reality and all the problems reality houses. And so, here I am, sipping on a glass of wine, watching the man of my nightmares transform more and more into the man of my dreams.
“Maverick,” I whisper.
“Like, really, really, really, beautiful.” He pushes his chair back and with two long strides, joins me at the other side of the table. His hands find my hair and ever so carefully, he pushes the locks over one shoulder. It’s a simple action, except it doesn’t feel quite as simple. It feels like he’s doing so much more than that. Like he’s pushing away any walls that might still be guarding my heart.
Maverick is on his knees now, moving closer to me. So close that I can feel his breath on my neck. So close that his lips tease the spot just under my jaw. And then his lips are traveling lower, trailing kisses up and down my neck. I lean back, my breath unstable in my chest as goosebumps spread all over my body.
We’ve had lost of sex in the past few days. Taken the bed and the shower, the balcony and the elevator by a storm. All of it was great. None of it felt like what’s about to happen now.
“So beautiful,” Maverick whispers. He’s moved a little bit higher now, so that his words are said right against my ear – the very ear that’s now caught between his teeth. Teeth that feel like they’re coated in lava. “You’ve always been beautiful. And happy. I like that about you. It’s the very thing I used to hate so much about you. That deep down, you’re just…happy.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Hating someone for their happiness might just be the saddest thing in the world. Saying it out loud might just be the bravest thing he’s ever done.
Maverick twirls his tongue inside my ear and my thoughts are pulled back from wherever they’d intended on going. I’m in the moment once again. Swallowing hard. Breathing short. Gripping the edge of my seat so hard that I’m about to cut the leather with my nails.
“I’m not gonna fuck you tonight, Beth.”
The lump in my throat grows bigger, clogged up by a hint of disappointment. I want him to fuck me. More than anything, I want to feel him between my thighs, feel him deep inside of me. I want to ride every wave of ecstasy like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.
Maverick is breathing against me the way that he is and it’s stirring everything inside of me. I’m dripping with arousal now, my desire for him burning in my chest and my center…in every single part of me. So strong. So intense. I’m not even standing up and I can already feel the weakness in my knees. My heart rattles against my ribcage.
“Tonight,” Maverick whispers. His hand is on my back now and he’s spinning me around so that I’m facing him. “Tonight, I’m going to make love to you.”
With those words, he completely disarms me. The rattle in my heart turns into something so much stronger. My eyes meet his, so open and honest that he could see right through to my soul if he wanted to.
In no time, I’m in his arms, being lifted onto the massive king-sized bed, feeling smaller and larger than life all at the same time.
Maverick settles himself at the bottom of the bed, reaching his hands up to slip my black, lace panties past my thighs, knees and over my ankles. Instead of tossing them off the bed, he pulls them to his face and presses the material to his nose, breathing it in…deeply, like he’s trying to imprint my scent in his nostrils. A small smile passes his lips, solemn in the way it slowly stretches to crease his cheeks. When he opens his eyes once again, I see fire – the fire of passion, the fire of need, the fire of us.
Instead of tossing my underwear to the side, Maverick bunches it together and sticks it into the pocket of his jeans. “I think I’ll hold onto this.”
I don’t ask him what he intends on doing with my underwear.
I don’t care.
In fact, I care about very little right now.
My eyes are on him the entire time, watching as he pushes closer, as he lowers himself so that he’s face to face with my center. With rough hands, but smooth motions, he guides my legs up and away, lowering himself even more with each movement. Lowering himself until his lips are against my sex. Long strokes guide over my center, again and again, causing me to clench hard, to grip the sheets, to suffocate the moans that so desperately want to rip me to threads.
Maverick works me like that for a while before closing his
lips over my clit and sucking gently, rhythmically. The build-up is strong, unsettling, unstabling. I hold onto him. First his shoulders and then his hair, my fingers trying and failing to find a grip.
Soon enough, I’m no longer capable of holding back my moans. I also don’t want to. I want Maverick to hear just what he does to me. I want him to know just how he affects me.
“Maverick,” I cry out, and he sucks harder. Just one more time, just one last time, before pulling back and using his tongue to flick me into the most sensational orgasm. I climb high, cradled in the arms of something great, something beautiful, something that is really and truly, only ours.
Without giving me time to find my way down from bliss, Maverick climbs onto the bed and proceeds to strip my dress from my body until I’m completely and vulnerably naked before and beneath him. He doesn’t take the time to undress himself and when I reach a hand out to offer assistance, he grips my wrists and throws them above my head before hovering over me like a fox ready for the prowl. Our lips touch, our tongues tangle. The need to breathe feels like less of a necessity than my need for him and so I don’t. I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I just give him everything.
There’s something about him being fully clothed while he kisses me that goes worlds beyond erotic. The feel of his pants, belt, shirt contrast the softness of his tongue as he slides past my lips and into my mouth. This kiss is soft, desperate, defenseless, but not short in the way that it completely disarms me. We’re like that for a while, tasting each other, speaking without words. There’s nothing erotic and everything erotic about what’s happening now.
“I want you,” I whisper into his mouth. He pulls back briefly, then thinks better of it and kisses me even harder.
“I’m terrified of how much I want you,” he says. The fear in his voice says that I should believe him. Logic, however, dictates that there’s nothing for him to fear. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Never wanted anyone before. Never even wanted Maverick, if I’m to be perfectly honest about it. But now that I have him, I can’t ever imagine what it would be like to lose him. Him, on the other hand. He knows what it’s like to be with someone else, to want someone else, possibly to love someone else.
“I’m the one who should be terrified.” He doesn’t dispute that with words. And if anything, the speed with which he strips his own clothes from his body and the delicacy with which he parts my folds, is every confirmation I need that I am right.
Maverick knows my body like he’s been studying it for decades; knows it in a way that he shouldn’t. In a way that not even I know myself. It’s as though I come natural to him.
He eases inside of me, his cock slick with my juices as he pushes until there’s nowhere left to push. The world falls to the side as he takes from me all the things I’m willing to give and all the things I’m not, slowly bringing me higher and higher.
This time, when we come, we do so in unison. Perfect together. If I’m to forget the fact that perfect doesn’t exist. But right now, as I’m drifting off into the darkness behind my eyes, I’m not so sure anymore because this feels pretty damn perfect.
Maverick pulls me closer to him so that my back is flush against his chest. There’s nothing to be heard, save for the lightness of his breathing and the steadiness of his heartbeats. Sleep drifts closer and closer until I’m nestled in the arms of it, wrapping myself in the beginnings of a dream.
“I’m terrified that I might have fallen in love with you.” I’m more than halfway between sleep and wake, but even then, I know the voice is Maverick’s. But it’s softer, richer, riper, bare. I know what I heard, but I wouldn’t swear it with my neck on the block because as real as all of this feels, love makes it feel so much realer.
43
I’ve come to realize that once Beth gets an idea stuck in her head, she’s relentless in her annoyance and it’s not a battle I can actually win. The last few days have made this abundantly clear. When I make a promise to her, she expects me to keep it. So here I am, keeping it. And I promised her that once we got back home, I’d deal with my demons.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.” She beams up at her parents who are both seated across from us in my living room.
“I want to apologize for how our first meeting went,” her mom offers, and I smile over at her.
“Please, there’s no need...I deserved that.”
There’s an awkward silence and I realize that, despite her bugging me to do this, Beth is pretty nervous, which makes me uneasy.
“Bethany said you’d be able to help me fill in a few gaps that I might have regarding my mom?”
Her dad nods before handing me an old photo album. He’s pulled out a few more items from his backpack and placed them on the table before us, which makes me know that he came into this meeting prepared. I’m not sure if I should be happy or unsettled by the fact. I’m about to dive into a part of my life that I’ve always wanted to remember. It has the potential to be healing, yes. But it also has the potential to wreck me just the same.
I pull the photo album from his hands and suck in a deep breath before flipping to the first page. I can feel all the eyes in the room on me, which makes me nervous beyond words.
The first photo is of my mother in front of a packed auditorium, pride and determination in her smile as she looks out at the crowd of youngsters ahead of her. She’s got a microphone close to her lips and I can almost hear her voice, soft, gentle, sweet. The second photos has Beth in it. She’s possibly no more than 4 years old with her violin under her neck and my mom standing over her, teaching her the correct posture from the look of it.
The third and fourth photographs display my mother’s smile in full effect. She’s not focused on the camera, not putting on a face. She’s just in her element, happy. I wonder if she was this happy when she was back in the UK…when she was with me.
The rest of the photographs take me on a journey back in time. I find myself smiling. I find myself wondering. I find my heart breaking and coming back together all at the same time.
“She was beautiful,” Beth’s dad speaks up, “And kind. With a very gentle heart. She never cared to stay at a fancy hotel whenever she came here. She would always stay with us for the full trip and you would send her the sweetest letters.” Beth’s mom smiles at us and I can see a twinkle in her eye.
“She talked about you non-stop. Her little man with a heart of gold.” She hands us a Christmas card that was signed by Eloise and Mavvy...nobody has called me Mavvy in a very long time.
My fingers trace the loops of her cursive handwriting, trying to reconnect with even the slightest part of her.
“What happened to her, what happened to you, it broke our hearts. We’re so sorry you had to lose her like that,” her dad offers and, I accept his belated condolences with a respectful nod.
“You knew?” Beth stares up at her father in shock and he looks truly repentant. I guess this isn’t the conversation Beth thought we would be having. Me either, if I’m being honest. Beth said they’d help me to fill in some gaps, but never mentioned they knew anything about the accident.
My skin feels cold, like I’ve stepped right into the Arctic without a single layer of clothes on. My mouth’s been frozen shut too, so I don’t get to tell him that this is where I’d prefer the conversation to end. That I don’t need them detailing to Beth and myself how I killed my mother.
“We couldn’t tell you, sweetie. You were already so heartbroken that she hadn’t come back that we couldn’t bear burdening you with the truth. A colleague from her music academy called us to tell us what had happened, it was just…” Her mom’s voice cracks as tears starts trickling down her face.
“I’m sorry.” I can see the agony in their faces and the guilt returns to me tenfold.
“Maverick.” Beth’s voice is a whisper. She’s squeezing my hand in hers, but it doesn’t bring the comfort she intends it to. “You have nothing to be sorry for, remember?”
He
r kindness is more than I deserve but it’s all that keeps me going through this confusing self-discovery that she says I need.
“I confess, for years I couldn’t forgive your father for what he had done, but I hope he’s made peace with himself and asked his maker for forgiveness.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, confused by his implication. Nobody had mentioned my father playing a role in the accident. Ever. Certainly not him.
“Your father-” he starts to say, but then pauses, unsure of whether or not to tread lightly. My respect for my father is buried somewhere deep in the backwater pits in Wales, somewhere beside him and his new family. The one he shipped me off to USA and ultimately abandoned me for.
“My father, what?” I ask.
“You really don’t know what happened the day of the accident?”
I shake my head. I have an idea…I think I know… But I have a feeling that his recollection and mine differ gravely.
“Your father had been unfaithful to your mother…” he starts.
My back stiffens almost instantly at his words and I can feel Beth’s hand rubbing gently against my side. Something tells me I’m not fully prepared to hear this news. I want to ask him to stop, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
“If it’s too much for you, we don’t have to do this,” Beth whispers, correctly reading the terror on my face. I love that about her. It makes it a heck of a lot easier for me to find my voice again.
“Can I just have a moment?” I ask and they all nod.
I stand and, raking my fingers through my hair, walk toward the patio.
The pool ripples in the night breeze and I can feel something dark trying to suck me under. The walls around my heart have slowly become sheets of paper ever since Beth agreed to go on this crazy journey with me. She’s been incredible and so determined to help me put the piece of my life together. Still, I can feel that whatever her parents are about to tell me will pour warm water over what’s left of the walls around my heart and I’ll be completely exposed. I have never allowed myself to be vulnerable and now doesn’t seem like the perfect time to start, but if there was ever a safe group of people to fall apart around, I’m sure this family, would be my best bet.
Vile Intentions: A Dark Sports Bully Romance Page 22