Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters #2)

And he chuckled knowingly.

The sound cut off quickly when she slipped her fingers down the front of her panties, slowly parting her wet folds with her middle finger. Fox’s innate sexuality allowed Hannah to keep eye contact while doing something so intimate. Something so out of character. Touching herself in front of a man, being the star of the show. She was stepping way outside her comfort zone to try to let him in.

The pad of her finger rode over her clit, nearly buckling her knees.

She made a sound, half moan, half stuttered breath.

“Hannah,” he hissed between gritted teeth, those hands planted high above her head on the door, flexing thick laborer’s muscles. Oh Lord. Having this man standing so close, exuding bucketloads of masculinity, smelling of sweat and massage oil, was going to end this pretty fast. “Let me take over.”

All she could do was shake her head, a tightening sensation already beginning to occur deep in her core, some unreached place that she must only be tapping now. She would have remembered feeling this way before. This out of control and focused at the same time. Stroking herself to climax in front of this man was the ultimate rush, and yet, there was so much more happening. Communication passing between them that was way more important than physical relief.

Fox, obviously not giving up on throwing her off course, ran his nose up the slope of her neck, humming in her ear. “I was trying to keep this innocent, but maybe you’re holding out for a better offer from me?” His breath filled her ear. “You want me to spread you out on the bed and use my tongue on that pussy, Hannah? Say the word and I’ll do the rest. All you have to do is slide your fingers into my hair and hold on.”

With that, Hannah lost the ability to breathe, her fingers moving faster on the sensitive pearl of flesh. It swelled along with the pressure inside her, and Fox’s body heat, his scent, the way he watched her with salacious intention, his own breath turning shallow, made every inch of her more sensitive. Her hair follicles seemed to reach out to him, receiving an electrical charge in response, and she trembled, thighs squeezing tight around her hand. “You’re enough when you’re not touching me,” she whispered, not even sure she said it out loud until Fox’s expression went from lusting to dumbstruck, his chest starting to heave. “You’re enough on your own.”

She watched his face, watched the confusion give way to hunger and swing back again. “Hannah,” he said raggedly, dropping his hands to rake them up and down her hips, twisting his fingers in the sides of her panties. “All right, I give in.” The growl he let loose into her neck shook Hannah down to her toes. “You want to fuck, babe? Hop up here and let’s get it done.”

It was like he couldn’t fathom a woman wanting nothing but his presence.

As if her turning him down only meant she wanted a different act.

A different favor from him.

Hannah didn’t think there was a single thing under the sun that could turn her from hot to cold in that moment, but that glimpse past his exterior did it. The vulnerability shining through despite Fox’s best efforts was like a desk fan blowing across her sweaty skin, turning it clammy. Something akin to indignation scaled the walls of her chest. Something was wrong here. Something was inside of Fox that shouldn’t be, and she wanted to put a name to it.

Attempting to slow her breathing, Hannah removed her fingers from her underwear, letting them fall to her side. “Fox . . .”

He stepped back like he’d been shocked, nostrils flaring.

Opened his mouth to say something and snapped it shut again.

They stared at each other for long seconds. And then he reached for the doorknob, moving her gently but firmly out of the way so he could stride out, not stopping until he’d left the apartment.

Hannah stared at nothing, the opening riff of “Dazed and Confused” by Zeppelin playing in her head. What the heck just happened?

It wasn’t totally clear, but suddenly she didn’t feel so good about calling him Peacock—and in that moment, Hannah vowed she never would again.





Chapter Eleven



Fox would just pretend like it never happened.

That’s all there was to it.

What had actually happened, anyway? Nothing.

Apart from seeing Hannah in a bra and panties, which was an image that would be burned into his brain for all eternity, he’d put his mouth on her neck, run his hands over her smooth skin. Dirty talked her a little bit. So what? Even though he’d almost slipped, no boundaries had been crossed.

There was nothing to be tense about.

No reason for this fissure in his gut.

Fox scrubbed a hand up and down the back of his neck forcefully, trying to rid himself of the tightness. He stood in the kitchen surrounded by ingredients for potato leek soup, vegetables finely chopped on the counter with no cutting board. He’d made a mess, and he could barely remember doing it. Or walking to the store to buy everything he needed. All he knew was that Hannah would be back from set any minute now, and he felt like he owed her an apology. She’d needed something from him, and he’d failed to give it.

He’d turned her off.

Not on. Off.

Hannah must like the director more than he thought. Otherwise she would have let Fox blow her mind, right? That had to be the reason she’d stopped before it was over. Couldn’t be anything else. Couldn’t be that Fox had exposed himself by accident, and she didn’t like what she’d seen.

Could it?

He stirred a dash of thyme into the soup, watching cream swallow the green flecks, very aware of the pulse beating thickly in his throat. It wasn’t as though rejection was a totally foreign concept to him. But after college, he’d kept himself out of situations where being denied was a possibility. He did his job well, went home. When he hooked up, the terms were already outlined with the woman ahead of time, no gray areas. No confusion about anyone’s intentions. No chances were taken. No new horizons were embarked upon.

This thing with Hannah was nothing if not a new horizon.

It was friendship . . . and maybe that was another reason why he’d fucking pushed it earlier today. Because he didn’t know how to be a friend. The possibility of failing at it, disappointing her, was daunting. Now, distracting her with sex? That was so much easier.

The sound of a key turning in the lock made Fox’s insides seize up, but he stirred the soup casually, looking up with a quick smile when Hannah walked in. “Hey, Freckles. Hope you’re hungry.”

She visibly took his measure, hesitating before turning to close the door—and Fox couldn’t help but take advantage of those few seconds she wasn’t looking at him, absorbing as much as he could. The messy bun at the nape of her neck, strands of sandy-blond hair poking out on all sides. Classic Hannah. Her profile, especially her stubborn nose. The practical way she moved, pressing the door shut and locking it, her shoulder blades shifting beneath her T-shirt.

Jesus, she’d looked so hot in her underwear.

In street clothes, she was someone’s little sister. The girl next door.

In a black bra-and-panties set, holding massage oil, eyes laden with lust, she was a certified sex kitten.

And she might have purred for him temporarily, but she wanted to get her claws into someone else. He needed to get on board with that. For real this time. Deep down, he’d believed that if he just put in a little effort, of a physical nature, she would fall at his feet and forget all about the director. Hadn’t he? Well, he’d been mistaken. Hannah wasn’t the type to genuinely like one man while hooking up with another, and it had been wrong, sickeningly wrong, to put her in that position.