“Oh my God.” Bile rushed up my throat, burning my insides, as I raked my sleepy gaze over Maverick. “What did you do?”

His head turned slowly, and he smirked despite the split in his lip, which was still dripping blood. “You should see the other guy.”

“Maverick,” his name fell from my lips like a curse. He hadn't talked to me since the kiss—the one we’d both pretended never happened. There had been nothing except for the odd heated stare or elusive text message. I thought we were done, yet here he was standing bloody and beaten in the pool house. His eyes darted to the boxes Dad left, and he swallowed hard. “When do you leave?”

I shrugged, unable to tear my eyes from the devastation that literally was his face. “Dad thinks it'll be the end of next week.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked again. 

“You should let me look at that.” I motioned to his face, expecting him to refuse my offer. Instead, Maverick perched on one of the stools and dropped his head in a nod. Maybe he was just too exhausted to argue.

I didn't dwell on it as I hurried to the bathroom and retrieved the small first aid kit I knew was in the cabinet. When I returned, I ground to a halt. Seeing his face, his shredded knuckles, hurt me far more than it should have. But I'd come to accept that where Maverick was concerned, I didn't have a choice.

I never had. 

Not since that very first night. I couldn't just switch off my irrational feelings for him. Something happened that night, something that imprinted him on my soul.

My heart. 

Or maybe I was just a foolish girl that thought—hoped—she could tame the bad boy. After all, wasn't it most young girl’s fantasy to be to the one who could? 

Maverick sensed me watching him and his hooded gaze slid down my body, as I stood there in nothing but Elliot's oversized Oxford University t-shirt, clutching the small bag as if it was a life raft.

And Maverick was the storm threatening to wreck me.

“Got any pain meds in there?”

Nodding, I retrieved some tablets and handed him a glass of water. Our fingers brushed as he took it from me, sparks of electricity dancing across my skin. Maverick's eyes widened with surprise, focused on where our hands joined, then slowly he lifted his face to mine. 

God, I couldn't breathe.

When he looked at me like that I wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor. 

I did melt.

I wanted him to touch me, taste me, anything to make the deep ache between my legs stop. The longing.

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

I blinked and, with a tiny shake of my head, sifted through the kit to find some wipes. “This will probably sting.”

“I've felt worse.”

Rounding the breakfast bar, I placed a hand on his shoulder to steady myself. His face was a patchwork of grazes and cuts, but I started with the worse wounds, the ones trickling blood down his bronzed skin like a stream of fat crimson tears.

“Fuck,” he hissed a breath as the wipe smoothed over his cheekbone. 

“Sorry.” I moved slower, barely touching the angry raised cut. “Why, Maverick? Why do you do this to yourself?” 

“Don't,” he said. There was no warning in his tone. No bitterness. He almost sounded defeated.

Broken.

And it only made my need to fix him—to help him—stronger. 

But then I remembered Caitlin. Her lips on his. Her hands curled around him like she owned him. 

My mouth soured as I croaked, “This one probably needs stitches.” The skin across his left eyebrow was wide open, and I wasn't sure a plaster would do the job. 

“No doctors, I'll live.”

“Maverick...”

His hand smoothed over my hip and curved around my waist, anchoring me to him. Sliding me between his knees. It was too close and yet, not close enough. My eyes fluttered shut, assaulted with memories of that night. His lips on mine, his hands running over my untouched body. 

My hand pressed his shoulder. “Stop.” 

Maverick pulled back slightly forcing me to look at him.

“What are you doing, Maverick?”

His darkened gaze made the butterflies intensify and my head swim with lust. “Don't you ever just want to forget?”

All the time.

But the thing about forgetting was that it was only temporary, and when reality came back, it came back like a bucket of ice cold water. 

“Lo,” my name fell from his lips. That single word touched something deep inside of me, and I knew that every look, every interaction we'd shared since I arrived in Wicked Bay wasn't some figment of my imagination—it was real. Maverick wanted me.

Craved me as much as I craved him.

But up until now, he’d refused to give into his needs. Something held him back. I suspected it was the same thing that drove him to step into that ring and draw blood. After today, meeting his father, part of me wondered if he was the reason. He certainly seemed to trigger Maverick’s temper.

I forced myself to swallow the breath caught in my throat and continued cleaning his imperfectly perfect face. After the last plaster was applied, my fingers lingered over his eyebrow. I went to move away but Maverick captured my wrist. “Look at me, London.” His voice slid over me like melted chocolate.

“I should—” My gaze landed on his and the words died on my tongue. He was looking at me with such intensity.

“You should what?”

“Go, I should go.” Far, far away from here. From you.

I tried to move, to break free from his hold over me—both physical and emotional—but Maverick tugged me closer, opening his legs wider until I was nestled between them.

“Maverick, stop.”

He arched an eyebrow, challenging me—daring me—only I didn't understand why. He was with Caitlin, wasn’t he? He'd made it clear he wouldn't touch me. Yet he leaned in closer, his mouth ghosting over my shoulder. “You're saying one thing, but your body is saying another.” His fingers slid to the hem of my t-shirt and he twisted his hand into the material dragging me closer and I sucked in a sharp breath when his knuckles brushed my thighs. Over the part of myself I never let anyone see. His lips curved against my skin igniting a full body shiver up my spine and my eyes fluttered shut.

“What about Caitlin?” The quiver in my voice showed how weak he made me. And part of me hated it.

Maverick went rigid, the air around us thick with tension. “She's no one to me.”

I hadn’t seen them together, not since that night at the dance. But Caitlin watched him at school, longing in her eyes. She wanted him. Had already laid claim to him. And they had been together once upon a time. 

“And I am?”

There, I'd said it.

“You know you are.” His lips lingered, almost kissing my neck.

“But?”

“But we can't be together.” It was so final. My heart didn't just sink, it withered and died leaving me empty and hollow.

I nodded stiffly and yanked free of his hold, but Maverick was stronger and his arms looped around my waist drawing me back in. And then he was kissing me. Consuming me. 

Breathing life back into me. 

My hands slid around his shoulders and I clung onto him like he was air, letting his tongue explore my mouth. 

Like I could have refused. 

Maverick was a force to be reckoned with. I'd seen it in the hallways at school—the way people gravitated to him at the same time as falling in line. If Maverick said jump, everyone asked how high. Except he didn't have to say anything, he only had to nod his head or send someone a single look. 

He held the power, even if he didn't want it.

“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. 

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.