Hendrix: A Raleigh Raptor Novel

by Whiskey, Samantha

  * * *

  I peeled my eyelids back, the early light of dawn creeping through the blinds from the window across my bedroom. I’d slept through the entire night, a sleep so heavy and deep and relaxing that I felt refreshed and clear and thankfully revitalized. I hadn’t tossed or turned throughout the night like I normally did. And I knew the reason…

  I hate that part of me had assumed Hendrix would've bailed the second I passed out, calling an Uber back to his car, but there he was next to me, eyes closed and looking so much younger and playful in sleep.

  Sleeping being right next to me.

  In my bed.

  We had slept together.

  Not had sex. But slept together. My heart always soared at the sight of him first thing in the morning…but this? This was different. This was...more.

  He must have felt me shift or felt my breath catch because he slowly opened his eyes and stretched his massive biceps over his head, the move enough to drop the sheet covering him. At some point during the night, he’d removed his shirt and pants. Leaving him in nothing but his boxer briefs and ohmigod.

  That fast, I wanted him.

  And not in the normal, carnal way I craved him like an addiction, but in a new way. In a new and terrifying and exhilarating scary-as-hell way.

  Because he'd stayed with me when he didn't have to.

  "Morning, Butterfly," he said in a half-whisper. "How are you feeling?" He reached over and tucked me closer to his chest as he rubbed his hand up and down my spine.

  The motion and touch was so familiar and so comfortable and so natural that my heart filled my entire throat until I couldn't breathe. Somehow, I managed to speak around it. "Great,” I said honestly.

  "Why does it sound like there's a but hanging off of that great?" he asked playfully.

  I nestled my head against his hard chest, unable to meet his eyes as I admitted, "I like waking up to you in the morning," I said.

  And perhaps it was because it was morning and I was still sleepy and slightly drunk off of the depth with which I’d slept that I admitted such a truth. I swear Hendrix stopped breathing for a few seconds, his hard chest beneath me solid as a rock until I looked up at him.

  But that smile he donned was wild but timid with a little less mischievous than normal as he looked down at me.

  "Me too,” he said, and I didn't know if he meant me too like of course, it’s great waking up next to Hendrix fucking Malone or me too like I like waking up next to you as well.

  Before I could analyze it, ruin it, make some sort of verbal confession that would surely ruin us both, I did the only logical thing I could do.

  I dragged my fingers down his beautiful chest and lower, over the ridges of his abdomen until I found those soft cotton black boxer briefs containing one of my absolute favorite things about this cocky insufferable delightful, delicious man.

  He hissed as I grabbed the hard length of him.

  "I mean, if this is what I get in the morning,” I teased, "why haven't we been doing sleepovers every single night of our month?"

  Hendrix half-laughed half-growled as I continued to stroke and tease him, going as far to hook my leg over his hip and slide on top of him. Positioning myself over the hard length of him.

  He hissed, the heat from me not at all hidden by my thin pajama bottoms. I rocked atop him, grazing my fingertips over the smooth skin of his biceps, his chest. He arched up, and I gasped, warm shivers dancing along my skin.

  "If that's what you want, Savannah," he said, his voice gravelly as he reached up and tunneled his fingers in my hair. "Then I'll give it to you."

  His words were a declaration so solid and so tangible it plucked those strings of fear and doubt and terror at what my heart screamed for this man.

  I rocked harder against him, needed more contact, more proof that this was nothing more than beautiful, physical bliss. Because the alternative? That warm, aching sensation in my chest? It was so beyond complicated it threatened to steal every piece of perfection beneath me.

  I folded myself over him, bringing my lips to his with teasing light strokes until he broke and crushed his lips to mine.

  I kissed him, over and over again, drinking him in and giving him exactly what he took and gave back. My heart raced as my mind spun, and I continued to touch and kiss and tease him until we were both so worked up that I trembled above him. We locked gazes, a solid moment of electricity sizzling along our skin as we froze in the delicious torture pulsing between us.

  Hendrix flipped me over in one smooth, gentle motion, and he just as slowly removed my pajama bottoms, and shed himself of his briefs. Rid me of my shirt until nothing separated us.

  He grabbed a foil packet, ripping it open and sliding on a condom in a blink.

  And he hesitated, not out of any game that we always loved to play, but to get another look at me. His eyes trailed the curves of my face as he pushed my hair aside so he could get a better look.

  I swallowed hard, my heart pounding heavily against my chest as he rested between my thighs, at my entrance that ached for him.

  And just when I didn't think I could hold his gaze any longer, just when I thought he could see through me—all the doubts and fears and needs that had nothing to do with his body—he plunged in.

  And in.

  And I arched off the bed, my eyes closing as I sighed in satisfaction at that sweet sensation of him filling every single inch of me.

  I moved on him. Wrapped my legs around him and held him close, arching and rocking off the bed. Met him motion for motion as if we'd always been made to do this. We were electric together. Perfect together. And damn me if I didn't want to do this for the rest of forever.

  That thought brought me up short, unlocking the door I’d locked all my terror inside.

  “Harder,” I demanded, needing more of him. Needing the delicious bite of pain right along the pleasure. Needing Hendrix to stop my heart from tumbling down that dangerous path.

  “Goddamn, Savannah,” Hendrix growled, his hand on my knee, pushing it higher, wider, so he could claim me at a deeper angle.

  I clawed at his back as he met my challenge and pushed me over that sweet, sweet edge again and again and again.

  “God, yes,” I practically cried as he slammed to the hilt over and over again. As his heat filled me, shook me, wrecked me.

  Until Hendrix Malone had yanked so much pleasure from me that I could do nothing but collapse on the bed, completely sated and yet not, but definitely enough to have every thought eddied from my head.

  And maybe he knew I’d needed that.

  Maybe he'd known, on some level, that I was thinking too much, and he'd obliged in my need to be oblivious.

  Because we had been dancing for a month near the edge of danger, but now it felt like we were treacherously close to slipping over. To falling. To grabbing hold of each other and plunging headfirst together.

  Even though there was no way in hell either of us would survive it.

  13

  Hendrix

  July fifteenth. I’d felt it coming like the slow ticking of a time bomb. I may as well have had the day penciled in red on the calendar. And it was here.

  And we were stuck at the first informal get-together for the Raptors.

  Of course, everyone had wanted to come to Tricks, so here I was, leaned against the balcony railing of the VIP section, watching Savannah dance with London on the dance floor below.

  She'd chosen a tight, fitted dress that showed off every curve she had, and forsaken her usual boots for pair of sky-high fuck-me-now heels that were responsible for the current situation behind my zipper.

  My grip tightened on my glass as I watched her move to the beat. She shifted, locking eyes with me across the floor. She lifted the weight of her hair off her neck, and my tongue swept over my bottom lip, imagining the taste of the salt on her skin.

  Being this close to her, knowing that I couldn't touch her, couldn't even claim her as mine was slowly driving me insane. I
s this what it would be like tomorrow? When our one-month extension expired?

  She flashed me a smile, and my chest tightened.

  "What are you drinking tonight?" Coach Goodman asked, leaning against the railing beside me.

  "Water," I answered, then took a sip to wash the taste of guilt from my mouth. This man had molded me, treated me like one of his own, and I was sleeping with his daughter.

  "Taking this year a little more seriously?" he teased. "You don't usually give up the alcohol until training camp, and that doesn't start until next week."

  "Something like that." I managed a small smile and focused on my glass to keep my eyes off Savannah. If tonight was my final night with her, I sure as hell wasn't going to be drunk, not that I could exactly say that to him.

  "Look at her go," he sighed, his expression softening.

  I made the mistake tracking his line of sight straight to Savannah, who had her head thrown back, laughing at something London had said.

  "She looks so much like her mother," he said. "Her smarts, her laugh — those come from her mother, too. Her stubbornness, now that's something she gets from me."

  "I'd call it tenacity,” I responded.

  "Whatever it is, she has it in spades," he joked. "I think she's still miffed about the job." He tilted his head thoughtfully and tracked Savannah's movements toward the bar. "She thinks she got it because of nepotism."

  "Weston isn't like that." I kept my eyes on the dance floor, on the DJ, on the seating areas that lined the rooftop–anywhere but on Savannah, afraid that he'd see right through me. "I think she just wants to prove herself. You show her she can do that with the Raptors, and she'll be okay."

  He looked at me quizzically for a moment, then shook his head slightly. "I almost forget that you two have practically grown up next to each other for the last five years."

  "True," I admitted, then chugged the rest of my water, wishing it were something a hell of a lot stronger.

  "Thanks for always watching out for her," he said, clapping my back.

  Before I could give into the nausea churning in my stomach and admit just how bad of a job I was doing in that department, someone behind us called his name, and he excused himself, leaving me at the railing.

  Savannah had returned to the dance floor, and I stood there, watching her dance, holding my empty glass. If that wasn't a metaphor for what my life had become, then I wasn't sure what was.

  Somewhere in the last six weeks, I'd developed feelings for Savannah. I craved her presence, her laugh, her opinion, just as fiercely as her body.

  What the hell was I going to do about it?

  I watched her blow off the advances of three separate guys, my temper ticking higher with each one, until I put my glass on the table behind me for fear of shattering it. What the hell kind of right did any of those assholes have to hit on my woman?

  She's not your woman. Not really.

  My blood ran hot, and suddenly I felt like the Neanderthal she accused me of being weeks ago. I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and carry her out. I wanted every man in this place to know she was mine. Hell, I wanted every woman I had studiously ignored since I got here to know I belonged to Savannah.

  As if one of them had read my mind, a blonde appeared on my left with an open invitation in her eyes and a bold reach for my hand.

  "Hey, Hendrix," she whispered in that sex kitten purr that would have gotten me this time last year.

  "Not tonight," I said in blatant dismissal. Not ever, was more like it, but I was already halfway down the stairs before I thought to correct my statement.

  I cut through the crowd, ignoring the reach of strange hands and even the sound of my name being called a time or two.

  When I found Savannah, a frat-looking asshole was doing his best to snake his arm around her waist.

  She shook her head as I reached her side.

  "Fuck off,” I told the guy over the beat, looking him square in the eye so he knew I was serious.

  His eyes widened, and he turned his attention to London. Class act.

  "Hendrix?” Savannah asked, raising her eyebrows. I was in clear violation of our ignore each other in public policy, but I didn't give a damn.

  I leaned close and put my lips to her ear. "I'm going home. It's killing me to keep my hands off you."

  "I know," she replied, lightly gripping my wrist. "Give me fifteen minutes so it doesn't look like we left together."

  "I'm already hard for you," I admitted, my voice dropping low.

  "Make that ten minutes."

  I nodded once, then walked out of the club before I did something stupid like take her with me.

  My mind raced as I drove home, spinning through every possibility, every way I could keep her in my life. If I came clean to her dad, would he understand? Would he realize my heart was involved in this relationship and not just my dick?

  I didn't have any answers by the time I parked in my garage, but I knew I couldn't let her go—not unless she wanted out.

  If that was the case, I'd take it on the chin. But if she felt even half of what I did for her, we had to find a way.

  I paced a line between my living room and my front door until I saw headlights in the driveway. Then I opened the front door and stood back, my heart rate rising with each step I heard her take on the sidewalk.

  She strode through the opening, dropping her keys on the entry table and slamming the front door in one smooth motion.

  Then she was in my arms. Her kiss devastated me and gave me life all in the same breath. Her tongue was a lick of fire against mine, her hands hungrily tearing at my fly.

  "I need you," I growled against her mouth, filling my hands with her ass.

  "Then take me," she replied, undoing the button of my shorts and working my zipper down.

  "I'm not sure I can be gentle," I warned her, sliding a hand into her hair.

  "Then don't be," she challenged as she reached into my boxer briefs and wrapped her fingers around my cock.

  I groaned, swelling even harder in her palm. She swept her thumb over my tip, and I nearly saw stars.

  "Fuck," I hissed, gripping her slender wrist and prying her fingers loose. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to watch you tonight and not kiss you?" I backed her against the wall.

  "Yes.” Her gaze dropped to my mouth.

  I kissed her long and hard, my tongue claiming every inch of her mouth the way I'd wanted to at the club. When she reached for me again, I pinned her wrists above her head and ground myself against her.

  She moaned.

  "I wanted to slide my hands up your dress and see if you were wet for me." I gathered both her wrists in one hand and sent the other up her thigh.

  "I was. I am." Her breath hitched, and her hips rolled against mine.

  I slipped my fingers under her thong and groaned. “You are.” She was hot and slick. My fingers dipped inside her just enough to make her gasp. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

  She whimpered in reply, rocking her hips to ride my hand. She was so fucking sexy, so responsive, so uninhibited. She was my match in every way, and I needed her. Now.

  “I need to grab a con—”

  “I’m on birth control. I’m okay without it if you are.” We locked eyes.

  “Okay.” I’d never been bare with anyone, but if I had one first to give, Savannah could have it. I freed her wrists and yanked her dress to her waist, then tore the thin strings of her thong one at a time, leaving her bare.

  “Please. Hendrix, please.” She wound her arms around my neck, her fingernails digging into my skin with the perfect bite of pain.

  “I’m coming, baby.” I dropped my shorts and underwear just enough to free my cock, then gripped the backs of her thighs and lifted her against the wall, driving into her with one hard thrust.

  “Hendrix!” she screamed, throwing her head back even as she swiveled her hips over mine.

  “Fuck, yes. You feel like heaven. I’m goin
g to live here, Savannah. Right here.” I gave her another hard thrust, letting the pleasure consume me without pulling me over. Not yet.

  “Fuck me,” she ordered, locking her ankles around my waist. Her heels dug into my ass, but I didn’t care. I’d wear whatever scars she wanted to give me.

  I took her mouth at the same pace I took her pussy, with deep, punishing strokes, driving the breath from her lungs. A picture frame fell. Shattered. Then another.

  My hips drove into hers relentlessly, pushing us both toward that peak, losing myself in her body, in the act of pleasuring her, taking exactly what I needed and making sure I gave back even more.

  “God, Hendrix.” She ripped her mouth from my kiss, gasping for breath as I pounded into her. “Yes!”

  Her thighs tightened around my waist, and I adjusted my angle so I hit her clit with every thrust, screwing into her over and over.

  She came, filling the entry hall with a throaty cry, bucking against me as I fucked her through it, propelling her into a second orgasm before I gave into mine.

  I came so hard my knees nearly gave out, the pleasure almost violent in its urgency, its complete takeover of my body. I’d promised her once that I would ruin her for every man that came after, but I was starting to realize that she’d already ruined me.

  I couldn’t imagine ever wanting any other woman this desperately. It didn’t matter how many times I’d taken her, I always needed more. Hell, even holding her while we slept was better than sex with anyone else.

  Once our breathing steadied, I led her to the bathtub, and once the water was deep enough, I stripped her naked and carried her in, settling behind her.

  “You’re still tense,” she said, leaning back against my chest.

  “I don’t know how to let you go.”

  She turned in my arms and stared up at me. “I don’t either.”

  “So, what do we do, Savannah?” I cradled her face, stroking my thumbs over her cheeks. “Keep adding on time so we can reach this point over and over?” My chest tightened at the thought.