Wicked Beginnings

by L A Cotton

  “I've wanted you since that first day in the kitchen,” his words vibrated against my lips, echoing in my chest.

  “Oh God,” I breathed between kisses as his hand skimmed down to my bare legs and trailed around to the juncture of my thighs, dancing over the thin cotton material.

  Oh. My. God.

  What the hell was I doing? Maverick had been nothing but cold and distant with me. Sure, he gave me rare glimpses of the boy who stole more than just my first kiss that night, but the illusion was always ruined. Usually by something that came out of his mouth.

  “Stop thinking, London.” Greedy lips traced a path to my neck. Biting. Sucking. Teasing. While his thumb rubbed lazy circles over my centre. “One night. Give me one night.”

  There was that old bitch Reality dousing me with her ice-cold water.

  One night.

  This wasn't the beginning of something between us, it was the end.

  It was goodbye.

  Once I moved out of the Stone-Prince house, it was possible I would only see Maverick at school. There would be no passing in the kitchen at night. No late-night visits in the pool house. No more of this.

  My chest constricted, and I clung tighter. Maverick responded to my desperation and in one swift movement, he slid off the stool and picked me up, our bodies flush against one another. Eyes locked on mine, he refused to let me catch my breath as he walked us into the bedroom.

  This was happening.

  And I wasn't going to do a thing to stop it.

  I'd imagined this over and over since laying eyes on him in the kitchen. Was Maverick a bastard? Yes. But it didn't outweigh how he'd brought me to life that night. I was just a shy quiet girl, and he made me soar. I wanted to feel that again.

  I craved it.

  He lowered me to the floor and my legs hit the edge of the bed. I dropped down, staring up at him, following his lead. Maverick peeled the black vest from his body, revealing taut muscles. Even through the bruises and tender spots he was gorgeous. Broad shoulders tapered into a lean defined waist, and although he wasn't big and burly like the football team, he oozed strength and power.

  He fingered the button on his jeans, popping it open. His hooded gaze never leaving mine. “I walked away that night,” he said. “I'm not walking away tonight. Got it?”

  I swallowed.

  “This changes nothing, Lo. But I can't go another second without feeling you. I need to feel you.” His eyes dropped to my legs. He was the predator now, and I was the prey. But there would be no chase, no bloody fight. I was here. And I was in.

  All in.

  Maybe it was a huge mistake. Maybe tomorrow when the sun filtered in through the blinds, shining light on my truths, I'd realise what a stupid, stupid girl I was. But I couldn't find it in myself to care. Since the accident, I'd lived in darkness. Moved with the shadows. I was used to it. And part of me would always feel comfortable there. But at the back of my mind, I knew that unlike alcohol or drugs, Maverick was an addiction I would never fully recover from. The quiet, shy girl I used to be wanted to feel like a woman again, and the reckless, snarky girl I'd become wanted to forget.

  Maverick could help me with both of those things.

  I reached out, gliding my fingers up his smooth stomach, rejoicing when he hissed. My touch affected him. After all this time, I still affected him. But vulnerability wasn't a trait Maverick wore well, and he caught my wrist, shaking his head. “Come here.”

  He tugged me up, running his hands down my t-shirt until he found the hem and yanked it from my body. His hand cupped my breast while his mouth attacked mine, and I moaned. There wasn't another word for the way he devoured me. Hard. Demanding. I melted against him, breathless and unsteady.

  Maverick's jeans pooled to his feet, I felt the denim rub against my legs. “Your dad will be gone all night?”

  “He's never here,” I croaked, overcome by the sensations coursing through me.

  “Good,” he growled, lifting me like I weighed nothing more than a feather, forcing my legs around his waist. Maverick moved us to the bed, lying me down gently. He was such a contradiction. Hot and cold. Hard and soft. Rough and smooth.

  I wanted all of him. Every single damaged piece.

  He covered my body, his weight pressing me into the mattress, stealing the air from my lungs in the best kind of way. “Did you let him touch you?” Dark eyes pinned me to the spot as he ground into me, showing me how much he wanted this.

  Wanted me.

  I mashed my lips together and shook my head.

  “I will ruin you for any other guy, you know that, right? I'm a selfish bastard, London. I can't keep you for myself, but I don't want anyone else to have you either.”

  Oh, God.

  I should have stopped him then, pushed him away, and told him to leave but I didn't. My body arched into him, desperate for relief. Maverick eased off me, slipping a hand down to my cotton pants, and dipped inside. A moan fell from my lips. One finger curled into me then another until my moans became needy whimpers.

  “I want you, London. I want to bury myself in you.” Maverick's warm breath licked the shell of my ear as he leaned back over me, and a shiver worked its way up my spine.

  It was too much. His touch. His words. The unspoken promise of things to come.

  “Oh my God,” my voice quivered with desire as ripples of pleasure rushed through me forcing my eyes shut.

  As I floated down from the clouds, Maverick rocked back on his knees and inched my pants down and off and then stood shucking out of his boxer briefs.

  And then we were skin on skin. Scars on scars. Lust on lust.

  Although we hadn't seen each other for over a year, that day, when he walked into the kitchen, it was as if everything had built up to this.

  Us.

  No snide comments or battle of the wills. Just a damaged boy, and a broken girl. We didn't need words or heartfelt declarations.

  This was enough.

  For tonight, this was everything.

  Maverick tore open the foil wrapper and rolled it over himself, nestling back in between my legs, teasing me slowly.

  “Maverick, please,” I whimpered and a wicked grin cracked his usually serious face. He ground into me again but pulled back at the last second.

  “I want to savor this,” he rasped, his control slipping. “But I’m not sure I can.” He leaned down, capturing my lips as he finally pushed inside, groaning into my mouth with every inch.

  We both stilled, our eyes locked on one another. And then the walls came down. Maverick wasn't gentle or loving or tender, he was rough and hard and relentless. Just how I imagined how he was in the ring. He dominated me, hooking a hand under my thigh, dragging my body closer as he thrust into me over and over.

  And I loved every second.

  I didn't want to be treated like glass, like a girl walking a fine line between coping and falling apart. I wanted to feel, to live.

  To remember that I survived.

  “Fuck, Lo, you feel so good.” He rasped and through the lust haze surrounding us, I smiled. Because I made him feel that way. For this moment in time, I made him forget whatever demons haunted him.

  He didn't want to beat the shit out of something or get his pretty face bust wide open, he wanted this.

  He wanted me.

  As he pushed us higher and higher, and a slow tingle built in my stomach, I began to freefall. I knew then, I’d made a terrible mistake because there would be no coming back from this.

  From him.

  All I could do now, was hope I survived the landing.

  “We should sleep.” Maverick nudged my shoulder, tracing a path from my neck to the shell of my ear with his tongue. I shuddered, a soft moan slipping from my mouth.

  “If you keep that up, I think we both know sleep isn’t going to happen.”

  “You're right.” He pulled me closer, his body curved around mine, spooning me from behind. “Tell me about him.”

  I tensed, caught off
guard by his question. “Who?”

  “Your brother.”

  “I—” The room spun and suddenly I felt like I couldn't breathe. But he was there, anchoring me, refusing to let me fall.

  “It's just you and me, London,” he murmured against my skin. “No one else. You think I didn’t see what happened that night at the fight? You saw Lyndon and looked like you'd seen a ghost.”

  “For a split second, I thought it was Elliot. I panicked.” My voice quivered with the memory.

  “You ran.”

  “It's still raw, Maverick.”

  He hugged me closer, tucking his chin into the crook of my neck, his warm breath dancing over my skin like a soothing balm to my grief. “Gentry said he was an artist. Did he design your tattoo?” His fingers traced the intricate vine curling around my arm.

  “It was a present. He painted this exact design on a canvas for my sixteenth birthday. I've always loved roses. When he di...” The words lodged in my throat and I blinked back the tears forming. “After the accident, I was in a bad place. My ex was a tattoo artist. He kept bugging me to let him ink me, and I had this ugly scar, he said he could cover it up. It seemed fitting, you know. Now I carry a piece of Elliot with me, always.”

  Maverick was quiet, but I felt the tension in his body. I wanted to ask what was going on in that head of his. But I wasn't sure I was ready to hear the answer, so I kept silent.

  “Gentry said you almost didn't make it.” There was something in his voice, something unexpected, but I didn’t allow myself to think about what it could mean. Because tonight was just that... tonight.

  One night.

  I had to remember that. Forgetting would be dangerous. Not only to my head, but my heart. Maverick had made me no promises after tonight, and I'd gone along willingly.

  “I didn't. I was in intensive care for four weeks and then it was a long road to recovery.”

  “The scars?” His fingers swept lower down my waist and to the tops of my thighs.

  I nodded, unable to hold back the silent tears rolling down my face.

  “You're different from the girl I met on the beach last summer.” Maverick pressed a kiss to my shoulder.

  “You’re different too,” I replied, unable to hide the sadness in my voice.

  We lay there in silence. The events of the night—of the last fifteen months—weighing heavily on us both. I had my demons, Maverick had his. But lost in one another, everything had been forgotten. Pushed aside. Now, in the quiet of the dark, it was all back.

  More real than ever.

  Maverick's breathing evened out, and I knew he'd fallen asleep so I closed my eyes and let sleep take me.

  ~

  When I woke up, Maverick was gone. If it wasn't for the ruffled bed sheets and the delicious ache in my body, I would have questioned if it was all a dream.

  But it wasn't.

  Maverick had been here. In the pool house. In my bed.

  We hadn't said goodbye with words, and that was okay. He'd worshipped my body, telling me everything he felt, and weirdly an odd sense of peace settled over me.

  When we'd met that night, all those months ago, I'd known we were different. I was the reserved British girl out of her league at a wild beach party with her free-spirited cousin. I’d slipped away along the Bay and stumbled across a boy leaning against a wooden railing. Hair as dark as the night tumbled over his eyes a little, as he hunched over, clutching a bottle of beer like it was his oxygen. I saw his sore bruised knuckles, the shadow around his eye. Felt his torment as I drew nearer. It rolled off him like the waves lapping at the shore. He was angry. Volatile. I should have turned and walked away but his pain called to me and before I could stop myself, I leaned against the railing beside him.

  “It's beautiful out here,” I said, my voice small.

  He grunted, barely acknowledging my presence, so we stood in silence. Minutes ticked by before he spoke. His voice was ragged—raw—and I wondered if he'd been crying. But he didn’t seem like the kind of boy to shed tears, he seemed like the kind of boy who would tear a room to shreds in a fit of blind rage rather than dealing with his true feelings.

  “Why aren't you at the party?” he ground out, and I shrugged, aware that he had been staring at me.

  “I wanted to catch my breath,” I said, tipping my chin in defiance. I knew what he saw. First appearances spoke volumes, and I screamed goody-two-shoes in my modest knee-length sundress and sensible kitten heeled sandals. But when his eyes slid over me, I shivered. There was something else there, in the dark pools staring at me. Something I wasn’t familiar with.

  “You’re not from around here?”

  “Just visiting.” My eyes flickered away from his but he noticed.

  “Are you scared?” He teased, and I met his gaze again, his eyebrows quirking up and the faintest of smirks tipping the corner of his mouth.

  “Should I be?” I gulped, confused about what was happening. Why my mouth was dry and my skin tingled with nerves. Why part of me wanted to stare at his face all night but the other part wanted to never look at him again because she knew she could lose herself forever in his roguish good looks.

  “Maybe,” he answered, the single word punctuating the air. Silence settled over us and we watched the tide roll in side by side. “Do you ever want to escape?” he asked me a few minutes later.

  It seemed like an odd question to ask a stranger, but I went along with it. “Escape?” I said. “From what?”

  “Life. School…” he paused, drawing in a long breath as if the next word was almost too painful to say. “Family.”

  “Not really, no. I like my life,” I replied. “Where would you go?”

  “Huh?” He turned to me and I smiled meekly. He was so handsome, but there was an intensity about him that made me feel out of my depth. Nothing at all like Elliot’s friends back home who always made me welcome, treating me like their annoying younger sister as much as my brother did.

  “You said you wanted to escape, where would you go?”

  He shrugged, taking a long pull on his beer. “I don’t know. Anywhere but here. The city, maybe.”

  We stood there for what felt like all night. My body started to feel the effects of the cool sea breeze dancing around us. “I should go,” I said.

  “Wait.” He placed down his bottle and stepped away from the railing. We stood, eyes locked on the other. My heart beat furiously against my chest. “Why did you come over here?”

  “You looked like you could use a friend.” My gaze slid to his knuckles. If he was embarrassed, he didn’t show it as he flexed his fingers out and curled them back into a fist. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not as much as it should. What’s your name?”

  “Does it matter?” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  He shrugged, but I caught a hint of surprise in his eyes. Then he reached for me, brushing my hair off my shoulder, curling his hand around my neck and holding me in place staring right into my eyes. Something passed between us. Something no words could describe.

  “Do you feel it?” he asked and I nodded without hesitation, my head swimming with new and exciting sensations. A boy like him was looking at a girl like me in that way I’d only dreamed of. Elliot warned me about boys all the time. ‘Wait until you’re older’, he’d say. ‘There’s plenty of time to give your heart away’. But Elliot wasn’t here, and I was in another country. Didn’t that mean taking risks and throwing caution to the wind? Letting all my inhibitions go out of the window?

  My eyes fluttered shut as I leaned into him, waiting. The boy I’d known for less than an hour brushed his lips over mine, so gentle and uncertain. It was nothing like I expected from him, but it left an impression, nonetheless.

  My first real kiss.

  He smiled against my mouth, letting out a smooth chuckle as he tucked me into his side and guided me to a rock where we spent the next hour talking, and kissing some more. He didn’t ask my name, and I wasn’t brave
enough to ask his, unwilling to break the spell we were under.

  A knock at the pool house door yanked me back to reality, and I shoved off the cover and pulled on some clothes. “Coming,” I shouted.

  Kyle stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowed with suspicion as they swept over me. “Are you sick?”

  “Hmm, no, why?” I tried to tame my hair, aware that I probably looked a mess.

  “You’re late. We needed to leave ten minutes ago.”

  “Late for…”

  “For school. It’s Tuesday. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

  Fine. Except your stepbrother kept me up most of the night and I can’t think straight. “School, right. I’ll brush my teeth and grab my bag.”

  His eyes grew even narrower as he studied me. “I’ll be in the Jeep. Hurry your ass, I don’t need Coach on my back for tardiness.”

  “Ten minutes,” I called, already jogging toward the bedroom.

  Crap. I’d overslept and in my moment of Maverick weakness, completely failed to realise it was a school night.

  Double crap.

  I dashed into the bathroom, peeled out of my clothes and hopped into the cubicle. It was the quickest shower in history, and ten minutes later, I was climbing into Kyle’s Jeep with towel-dried hair.

  “New look?” He arched his eyebrows and Summer stifled a giggle.

  “Piss off,” I mumbled, sinking into the leather avoiding eye contact. He was sneaky. I didn’t put it past him to suspect something. Or know something. I got the impression where Maverick and I were concerned, he was already starting to connect the dots.

  “Late night?”

  “Just drive.”

  As soon as Kyle pulled into the parking lot and found a spot, I muttered goodbye, slipped out of the Jeep, and disappeared into the stream of kids heading into the building. Still reeling from the previous night’s events, I was oblivious to the person coming toward me and smacked straight into a solid chest.

  “Hey, steady there,” a deep voice rumbled as I rubbed my nose.

  “JB, always a pleasure.” I dodged left to go around him but he pre-empted my escape plan, blocking my path.

  “The pleasure is mine. Eager to get your hands on me, I see.” He brushed his jersey off and I rolled my eyes.