Hendrix: A Raleigh Raptor Novel Page 7

  She gripped my hair, her thighs restless, her hips rolling.

  Good. I wanted her as mindless as I was. Wanted her to forget her end goal of sex so she could feel the dizzying lust that would eventually get us there.

  Fuck. I stilled completely, pulling out of the kiss to lean my forehead against hers.

  I was going to do it—take her, fuck her, make love to her, be her first. I could call it whatever I wanted to ease the guilt of breaking the rules as long as I acknowledged what it really was—inevitable. I could fight this need, but I couldn’t fight hers. I was powerless against it.

  “Hendrix?” Her brow furrowed. “Please. I’m on fire.” Her hips squirmed. Thank God the desk kept those sweet hips a few inches beneath my cock, or I would have lost it.

  “We shouldn’t do this here.” No matter how badly I wanted to.

  “Why?” She leaned to the side, glancing toward the door. “Think someone will walk in on us?”

  “That’s not a problem.” My hands gripped her waist, exploring the bare inches of skin she exposed by raising her arms.

  “How can you be so sure?” She looked at my mouth like it was dessert, and I skimmed her lower lip with my tongue—so soft.

  “I know the owner.” I answered with a smirk.

  “Of course you do,” she countered. “Fine, then take me anywhere you want, as long as you take me. Please.” She brushed her lips over my chin, then kissed her way down my throat.

  My grip tightened on her curves, my control slipping. What the hell was wrong with me? Where was my infamous restraint? My impeccable timing? I was two seconds away from pawing at her like a teenager. That’s how desperate I was for her.

  “Please,” she repeated, her plea wore me down like nothing else could.

  I couldn’t do that to her—make her first time some backroom tryst on a damned desk. But I could take her edge off, give her a glimpse of what we’d have together.

  “You want me to touch you, Savannah?” I asked, my hands falling to her thighs, my thumbs grazing the scrap of silk between them.

  “God, yes.” She clutched my shoulders, her breath catching with every pass of my thumb.

  Fuck, she was beautiful, her eyes hazy and her lips swollen from my own. Yeah, I could do this for her. Sure, I might have to sink my dick into a vat of ice water, but if there was plenty of something around here, it was ice. I’d survive.

  Unwilling to let her go for even a second, I shifted my hands and lifted her by the backs of her thighs, then walked around the desk and sat her on the opposite side, giving her every opportunity to change her mind.

  Then I sat her on the surface and tugged her skirt over the curve of her ass.

  She gasped as her bare skin hit the desk.

  I grinned and sank into the office chair before her, my hands on her knees. I held her gaze as I spread her open, then gripped her ass and tugged her to the edge of the desk, delighting in the flare of surprise in her eyes. If I’d been more patient, I would have taken her somewhere private—somewhere I could strip her bare.

  But for now, this would have to do.

  “Tell me to stop, and I will,” I promised, sliding my hands up her thighs.

  “I want this.” Her breaths came faster.

  “You don’t even know what this is yet.” If she felt half of what I did, she’d run.

  “I know it’s with you,” she whispered as my fingers reached the line of her thong.

  “Yeah, it is.” I dipped beneath the fabric and found her wet and slick as I stroked her from entrance to clit. “Fuck, Savannah.”

  “Hendrix,” she moaned, rocking her hips against my hand.

  “You’re so damned wet I could take you right here,” I grazed her clit with my thumb, and my cock throbbed with the beat of my pulse.

  “Kiss me,” she begged, her fingers tunneling through my hair.

  “Good idea,” I muttered, hitting the lever of the chair with my free hand so I fell to eye-level with her pussy. I slid my head between her thighs, pulled the fabric of her thong aside and kissed her.

  She cried out, her grip edging that line between pleasure and pain in my hair.

  Fuck me, she tasted incredible—sweet and bright with a hint of salt. She slid down my throat like warm honey as I licked her in long, slow laps, ending each one with a swirl of my tongue around her swollen clit.

  “Oh. My. God.” She fell back slightly on her palms, opening even wider, moaning with each swipe and stroke of my tongue, her hips rolling, chasing that friction I knew she needed.

  “I could stay here all night. Damn, Savannah. You’re exquisite.”

  She whimpered in reply.

  I flicked my tongue over her clit, and that whimper became my name. I had her in my mouth, and yet it wasn’t enough. I needed more. Needed everything—at least what I was willing to take tonight.

  I licked into her, then strummed her clit with my thumb as I stabbed deeper. She was so fucking tight that I felt her walls close around my tongue.

  “Hendrix!”

  That was exactly how I wanted her to say my name for the rest of my life. That pitch. That cry. That need. I fucked her with my tongue as her thighs tightened, her muscles locked. She was close, and I was in heaven. Everything about her turned me on, got me harder, sent my pulse skyrocketing.

  “Let go, baby.” I moved back to her clit and sucked it between my teeth, lashing it with my tongue.

  She came with another scream, muffling it slightly as I worked her through it and into a second orgasm a few moments later. It wasn’t that I was being generous—I was fucking addicted to her taste, her scent, the sound of her cries. She shuddered, and her muscles went limp.

  I kissed the little tattoo on her inner thigh, then let her thong fall back into place as I rose from the chair and took her face in my hands.

  “That mouth,” she whispered, her heavy-lidded gaze falling to my lips.

  I ran my tongue over my bottom lip and groaned at the taste of her, fighting back the very real urge to say fuck it and take her right there on the desk. But even if I was that much of an asshole—which I wasn’t, it would end there. I wanted all night.

  She reached for my fly, and I caught her wrist, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin when she protested. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

  “Not tonight.” I barely recognized my own voice. “When we do this, Savannah, I want you all to myself. Just once.” That’s all I could allow myself. Once.

  “Are you saying…” Her eyes flared.

  “Yes. God help us both.” I slid my thumbs over her cheeks. She was so damned beautiful.

  “Okay, then I’ll—”

  I kissed her quiet. “My terms,” I said against her mouth.

  “When?”

  “When I say. Trust me, you’ll enjoy yourself way more if you stop trying to control everything.” My lips rose in a smirk. “As I just proved.”

  Her cheeks flushed a brighter shade of pink.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I slid it free, glancing at the message that flashed on my home screen.

  Roman: Where did you go?

  “I have to get back before Roman comes searching,” I said, tucking my phone away and taking one last, lingering kiss before I pulled away.

  “When?” she asked as I reached the door of the office.

  I almost laughed. Stubborn, gorgeous, addictive woman.

  “When I say,” I said again over my shoulder as I walked out. One more second in that office, and I would have said right then.

  I was going to hell, but damn, I was going to enjoy getting there.

  8

  Savannah

  "It’s really ridiculous, right?" I asked while pacing the length of my bedroom.

  London was perched atop my bed, watching my every movement with amused eyes.

  "Oh, it absolutely is," she said in solidarity, resting her chin on her delicate hands.

  "I mean, it's been six days," I whined. "Six days since he…"

>   Hendrix expertly spreading my thighs.

  Tugging me to the edge of the desk.

  His lips and tongue throwing me right over that edge as he made me shatter again and again—

  That quickly, heat flooded beneath my skin. It had been that way every day for six days now. Any time I thought about him sinking lower in that chair before the desk…

  A warm shiver trembled my body. I’d already shared most of the delicious deets with London, but I didn't want to rehash it here. I stopped pacing and rolled my eyes.

  "Tell me why am I the only woman in the entirety of South Carolina that Hendrix Malone didn't jump immediately?" I threw my hands in the air, my blood pulsing hard with each new wave of anxiousness that hit me. Hendrix had given me a proper taste of what it could be like with him, and then he. Hadn’t. Called.

  What the hell was up with that?

  And why did it bother and delight me so damn much?

  "Well, like I said before," London said. "It could be the fact that your father is his boss, and he's threatened all of those NFL players with death or trade or extinction if they go after you." She shrugged again. “Just a thought."

  I sank on the bed next to her, nodding as guilt slid through my blood like gritty tar. "You're right," I said a little bit begrudgingly. "I get that. I really do. But it's going to be a one-time deal. And nobody is going to find out about it—besides you. And then I won’t have to worry about this anymore. I won’t have to worry that the next guy I date is only going to be dating me to steal my virtue or because I'm Coach Goodman's daughter. I'll be my own professional by then, and whoever I decide to be with isn't going to have to worry about…"

  "About being your first?" London asked, eyebrows raised.

  "Exactly. It takes the pressure off."

  "Oh yeah," London mocked. "Because following up Hendrix Malone will be a piece of cake."

  I didn't argue with her, because I couldn't. Because just from what I'd already experienced? There would be no following him up. But either way, I would have this one solid memory of when I burned brighter than the star I always wanted to be. Because I knew that was exactly how Hendrix would light me up. I just needed him to do it. Once.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I fished it out. My eyes flew wide as I turned the screen toward London. "Speak of the silver-tongued devil," I said with a shaky breath.

  "OMG, is that his address? Gate code?" London asked, her lips parting as she gazed up at me shockingly.

  I flipped the phone back toward me, rereading his text to make sure I hadn’t fallen into one of my nightly fantasies.

  Hendrix: Meet me here at eight. We're discussing rules only, so wear your sweats.

  I actually snort-laughed at his demand I wear sweats. I shook my head at the text, internally chiding him for his incredible cockiness.

  "Fine," I said out loud and typed out a fast text back to him. I pushed off my bed and hurried over to my dresser. "If the boy wants sweats, then I’m going to wear sweats."

  I fished out a couple articles of clothing and stepped into my bathroom.

  I hurried into the clothes, then swung open the door, giving London a dramatic catwalk show.

  She eyed my incredibly short cotton pajama bottoms and the off-the-shoulder sweater that revealed my red lace bra strap beneath. "You're going with the Raptors sweater?" she asked.

  I gave her a firm nod, flipping my long red hair over my head and shaking it up a bit before righting myself.

  "The one with Hendrix’s number on it?" London asked, her eyebrows arching higher the longer she studied my outfit.

  I spun to face my full-length mirror, admiring my long legs that were now toned and sculpted from my multiple Krav Maga classes every week.

  "What?" I asked, situating my hair to just the right amount of tousled. "He said wear my sweats. And I know that tonight is not going to be the night. I know he just wants to lay down ground rules. But it won't hurt him to be just a little bit tortured, right?"

  London parted her lips and closed them a few times before she shook her head with a sweet smile that was her signature look. "Do you know what you're doing, Savannah?" she asked in her most innocent voice. The voice of a concerned best friend who was worried I might be getting in over my head.

  And maybe I didn't know exactly what I was doing, but that's kind of how I lived my life. I liked testing boundaries and walking along the edge of danger. And if that wasn't Hendrix Malone, I didn’t know what was. All could probably be traced back to the fact that my father had been one of the most overprotective fathers in the history of the planet, but he was still a good dad.

  "Sure I do," I said with a shrug I didn't exactly feel. "I'm going to have a business meeting with Mr. Malone," I said as if I were saying, Mr. Grey. "We're going to negotiate the terms of the execution of my virginity."

  London burst out laughing, and I couldn't help but join in. I mean good God, it sounded like I'd fallen into an erotica novel, minus all the hot sex that would have happened by now if I'd been in one.

  But hopefully, since Hendrix reached out, maybe we were one step closer to getting to those steamy pages from the novels I delighted reading when I wasn’t limp from schoolwork.

  "Okay," I said, facing London as we reeled in our laughter. "How do I look?"

  London's eyes looked me up and down, and she shook her head. "Dessert," she said. "You look exactly like dessert."

  I fashioned a smile that was much more confident than I felt and nodded. Dessert was exactly what I was going for, despite the nerves threatening to make my knees shake.

  At exactly seven-fifty-nine, I walked up Hendrix’s long gravel path to his front door. I totally ignored the trembling in my fingers and channeled every ounce of confidence my Krav Maga trainer had drilled into me.

  Not that I had one thing to fear from Hendrix Malone—he would go to blows for me—he would never hurt me. But the classes weren’t all about self-defense—they were also about self-reflection and self-worth. And I made sure to focus on those aspects as my inner self-doubt reared its ugly head. Shouting things at me like, inexperienced, not good enough, untouchable, not worth the hassle.

  I swallowed the knot in my throat, lifting my chin just a bit as I smoothed my fingers over my chosen armor for tonight—the pajama shorts and off-the-shoulder sweater I’d chosen and displayed for London earlier. This would be a business transaction, and it was with someone I trusted. That's all that mattered. And once it was done, that self-doubt would have no more fuel for its ugly words.

  Hendrix opened the door after one timid knock, his blue eyes going from calm and subdued to wide and fiery in the span of a blink. His gaze was slow, shocked, and this side of hungry as he looked his fill from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. I simply arched an eyebrow at him, and he shook his head.

  "What the fuck are you wearing?" There was a deep growl in his voice that did things to my body. And when he stepped out of the doorway to silently invite me in? I may have put a little bit more swing in my hips as I slid past him.

  He groaned as my backside came into his line of sight, not entirely because of my ass, I believed, but the fact that I had his name and number scrawled across my shoulder blades.

  "What?" I asked innocently. "You said to wear my sweats." I raised my hands out horizontally, spinning to face him as I stopped in what was his main living room just off the entryway door.

  Sleek, lush furniture scattered about in a cozy kind of way, the far wall made up of shelves that reached the ceiling, half stacked with books and others stacked with trophies or pictures.

  "If those are sweats," Hendrix said, taking up a lean against the couch across from me. "Then where the hell is the rest of them?"

  I flashed him my most confident smirk even though my heart was racing. "You don't like what you see?"

  He gave me a chiding look that screamed I knew better, and a warm shiver danced along my spine.

  "So?" I asked when the silence became so wound tight
I thought I might break. I glanced at the coffee table that rested before the couch. "Is this where you give me a contract? List all the do's and do not’s? All the hard limits, Mr. Grey?" I teased. "I know I'm not the most experienced, but you'd be surprised what my little mind has conjured up in the last few weeks. I've always been a risk-taker, and never say no to a challenge."

  Hendrix arched a brow at me, pushing off the couch until he stood an arm’s length away. I was tall, I always had been, but I still had to crane my neck up to meet his gaze. And it was burning.

  Burning straight through me like a line of liquid heat to my core. My breath caught in my lungs, and I did my best to keep my features smooth and calm. Giving nothing away at the effect he had on me from merely standing there. The last thing I needed was him catching a whiff of my nervousness about the whole situation and backing out of the deal. I wanted this, more than anything—I just couldn’t stop the doubt from filling my. Doubt screaming I wouldn’t be enough for him, wouldn’t be entertaining enough, engaging enough to hold a candle to all the other women he’d been—

  "This isn't a book or movie," Hendrix said, thankfully cutting off my spiraling. He waved his finger between us. "And you are not the one in control here."

  I pursed my lips, tilting my head. "Being in control is why I'm here. I'm making a choice. Taking this into my own hands."

  "If you could take it into your own hands, butterfly, you wouldn't have a use for me now, would you?" His voice had dipped down an octave, sending chills dancing across my exposed skin.

  His eyes were a crushing blue and flickered with an intensity of heat just beyond the surface that made every inch of my body liquid. The line of his jaw was taut as his eyes took their fill, skimming along the edge of my neck, my bare shoulder, and down lower. And I swear I could feel the edges of those flames on my skin everywhere he looked.

  And he took his time too.