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 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.
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. Is 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."