Hendrix (Raleigh Raptors 3) - Page 27

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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.

Because he could.

Because he truly did have the power.

Because, as he said, I needed him. I had a use for him. And when his eyes finally met back to mine?

I couldn't breathe from wanting this man.

From wanting to devour him.

And for him to devour me.

And as he stood there, strong and wild in his ability to stretch out the tension filled moment, electricity crackling between us like a time bomb ticking down until I'd explode…. I thought back to what London had asked me before I’d left.

And I wondered, if I really had any fucking clue what I was doing.



“Admit it, Savannah. You need me,” I said low and slow after my eyes had traced a path from the delicate line of her neck and exposed shoulder and over the curves no sweatshirt could ever hide, then back up. She’d dressed specifically to torture me, and her aim had been true.

Sure, I liked a woman dressed to kill, but this was a whole new level of sexy. She looked touchable, fuckable, and with my name stitched onto her back she looked like mine.

“I do not.” Her eyes flared with apprehension as if she’d finally discovered that she was the lamb in the lion’s den, not the other way around. “I can choose whomever—”

“But you won’t, or you already would have.” I stalked forward like the predator I was, scenting exactly where she was vulnerable. “Because you don’t want anyone else, do you?”

“I—” She blinked as she retreated, her cheeks flushing when her back met the wall.

“Who are you running from?” I asked, arching a brow as I consumed her space.

“I’m not running,” she lied, her breath catching on that last word as she brought her palms to my chest. She didn’t push. She wasn’t going to.

“The only person you have to fear is yourself, Savannah.” I braced my palms on each side of her head and leaned closer. “You’re the one who came to me, remember?”

Tags: Samantha Whiskey Raleigh Raptors Romance
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