Hendrix (Raleigh Raptors 3)

One tattoo doesn’t make you a rebel. The memory crashed over me.

No. Fucking. Way.

“One tattoo doesn’t make you a rebel,” I repeated slowly as my thumb stroked over that little star, sending up a little prayer that it would smudge—that it would be a fake.

“What?” she asked, her voice breathless. Familiar.

My heart slammed wildly, my brain shouting at me to accept what my cock had ignored from the second she’d come up to me on the dance floor. “That’s what I said to you last year when I overheard you telling Teagan about that tat. One tattoo doesn’t make you a rebel.” I jolted upward and lifted her mask to the edge of her blonde wig. “Goddamn it, Savannah!”

She gasped.

I lurched off the bench, stumbling for balance.

Savannah. Fucking. Goodman.

My coach’s gorgeous, brilliant, very off-limits daughter. The woman who’d driven me mad for the last few years with her long legs, thick red hair, and sharp little tongue.

The tongue I’d had in my mouth a few minutes ago.

“Hendrix, wait!” She followed after me, her gorgeous tits bouncing slightly, her nipples still damp from my mouth.

I’d had my hands on Savannah. My mouth. My tongue. How the fuck were heaven and hell wrapped up in one person?

“You knew!” I shouted, raking my hands over my hair, unsure if I was yelling at her or myself for not recognizing her earlier. “You knew who I was, and you still let me…” I shook my head, backing away before my cock overruled my brain.

“I let you because I knew. I know I’m safe with you.” She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth as my back hit the wall, close to the exit but not close enough. “You said it didn’t matter, remember?”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” She’d given me a taste of sheer bliss, only to yank it away. She’d fucked us both because I couldn’t touch her again. Ever. My entire career depended on it. And yet one glance at her breasts and my cock was willing to toss it all out the window—the NFL career, the money, the security of it all, for one more taste of her mouth.

“Kissed you.” Her hands framed my cheeks, and I slammed my eyes shut.

“Your father would kill me—”

She stopped my words with her mouth, sliding her tongue between my teeth and stealing every ounce of my common sense. I’d wanted her for so long, and here she was, kissing me like it wasn’t going to destroy both our lives, kissing me like she wanted me just as much.

Fuck it.

I spun and pinned her to the wall, then took her mouth with deep, punishing strokes of my tongue. Addicted. I was addicted. She was fire in my veins, scorching her way through me, burning away every woman who’d come before her until she was all I tasted, all I knew.

“Hendrix, please. I need you to touch me,” she whispered.

Touch her. Taste her. Fuck her. Lose myself in her incredible body.

Lose my career and the stability it gave me—gave my family.

I ripped my mouth from hers and fumbled for the door handle. As soon as I felt the smooth metal in my hand, I ripped the door open and lunged through it, slamming the solid surface behind me like it could close off the need, the taste of her on my tongue.

“Hendrix, what are you doing?” she shouted through the wood.

“Saving us both!” I held the handle tight, shutting her in the gallery and me in the—Oh shit, this isn’t the hallway. It was pitch black and stuffy. My free hand fumbled at the wall along the door frame and flipped on the light switch when I came across it.

I was in a goddamned broom closet, but hey, she was on the other side of the door, so I’d take it…instead of taking her.

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous? Do you know what your father would do to me? He’s told us every single season that touching you gets us kicked off the team!”

“And who says he’d ever find out?” she challenged.

I blinked. Wrong. So damned wrong, Malone. “I’m not the asshole who lies to my coach, Savannah.”

“I want you!”

“I want you, too!” I let my head drop against the door with a thud.

Silence stretched between us.

“Don’t do this. Don’t deny us what we both want.”

“I don’t have a choice.” My dick throbbed, arguing differently.

“Yes you do, and you’re making the wrong one.”

“I’m…” I sputtered. “You have to be kidding me, right? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve woken up hard, dreaming about you? How many times I’ve had to stop myself from kissing you?” Too many times. I should have known it was her. No one else made my blood hum the way she did simply by walking into a room. “How many times I’ve wanted to punch that dickwad of a boyfriend when you bring him into the training facility?” At least a dozen times, if not more. My blood pressure skyrocketed at the thought of that Abercrombie wannabe putting his hands on her, touching her, sliding inside—