Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters, #2)(86)

He yanked her lower body tighter against his lap, dragging the valley of her sex over the ridge of his erection, rocking her once, twice, making her whimper loudly. “What else were y-you thinking?”

Fox huffed a pained laugh. “Whatever act you’re putting on, please knock it off,” he growled, grinding their foreheads together. “Just be my Hannah.”

The spike in her chest dug deeper. “I’m not your Hannah.”

A possessive light came on in his eyes, though conflicted. As if he knew he’d forfeited the right to call her that but wasn’t ready to relinquish the claim on his novelty just yet. Because that’s what she’d been to him, right? A novelty. A temporary diversion. As badly as she’d wanted to be different, she’d gotten the same outcome as everyone else.

Not special.

“Maybe I planted a seed at least?” she half whispered. “Maybe one day you’ll meet someone and this won’t be as scary.”

His eyes widened as she spoke. “Meet someone? Someone . . . else? Are you serious? You think this could happen twice?”

Hurt struck her. He wasn’t hiding his feelings. He wanted her, needed her, but was still choosing to send her away? Goddamn him. Hannah tried to climb off his lap, but Fox—looking panicked—surged forward and caught her mouth in a kiss. A soul sucker that put every cell in her body on high alert. Warned them they were being invaded. She struggled to keep her thoughts clear, to remember her plan to make him regret sending her away, but there was only the magic of his mouth, his strong, welcoming body, and the hedonistic rock of their hips.

Her own barriers came crashing down, releasing a sob in her throat, her hands coming up to frame his face, holding him, running her fingers through his hair as they kissed desperately, so very aware it was the last time. It soon became obvious they weren’t going to stop at kissing. A significant part of Hannah had known that when she took off the turquoise dress. His middle finger traveled down the crack of her backside to pet her flesh from behind, making sex that much more inevitable, because God, she was so wet. Instantly.

Their mouths moved at a frenzied pace, only breaking apart briefly to whip off Fox’s shirt and then dive back in, her palms climbing over muscle and tangling back into his hair. He added a second finger against her dampening panties, then a third, massaging her from the back, his tongue sinking in and out of her mouth. Oh God, oh God, she wasn’t in control anymore. Her body begged, pleaded for that full sensation, that stretch of him inside her . . . and she was fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans before she’d even made up her mind to do so, ruled simply by need, need, need.

Time stopped when she drew him out through the opening, stroking him up and down in a loving fist. The kiss suspended itself, but their mouths remained right on top of each other, breaths firing in and out.

“Go on, babe, slip it in,” he rasped, his eyes glazed with hunger and something else, something deeper she couldn’t name. “It missed you. I . . . fuck. I missed you. I missed you so much. Hannah, please.”

He’d struck her down, hurt her, made her vulnerable, so she closed her eyes and didn’t respond in kind, though the words ached to escape her throat. I missed you, too. I love you. Instead, she guided his shaft between her thighs, Fox grunting and tugging the G-string to the side, allowing her to position his tip just inside her entrance and slowly, slowly, take him deep, both of them watching it happen, voyeurs of their own lust.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Fox ground out, his head falling back. “No condom. I didn’t put on a condom, Hannah.”

He groped blindly for his wallet, but he gave up quickly, gasping and clutching Hannah’s hips when she bucked involuntarily, moaning on his lap, digging her nails into his shoulders. “I . . . don’t. I can’t.”

A shudder racked him. “You can’t what? Stop?”

Was she nodding or shaking her head? She had no idea. The deep press of his hardness robbed her of rational thought, sensation rushing to her core, quickening those intimate muscles, turning them into throbbing little pulse points.

“Hannah,” Fox said, forcing her to look him in the eye, his breath pelting her lips. “Are you on something?”

“Yes,” she sobbed, the importance of the conversation finally making it through the sex static in her brain. “Yes, I get the shot. I get it.”

She rode him with a circle of her hips, and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Oh. Jesus. That feels so fucking good.” He visibly struggled to remain coherent. “I’m clean. Got checked last time you were here.”

That confession made her quake. “And there’s been no one since, has there.”

It wasn’t a question. She already knew the answer.

Eyes clenching shut, he shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “God no, Freckles. I only want to be touched by you.”

His mouth was back on hers, kissing her into a state of desperation, his hands holding her buttocks tight to rake her up and back in his lap, his thickness entering and leaving her in smooth strokes that rubbed that place, oh Lord, that spot. Right there. It was already swollen from his fingers, and now he exploited it, moving just right. Exactly how she needed, delivering friction that engulfed her entire body in heat. Made her feel sexual and powerful and feminine and uninhibited. So much so that she broke the kiss to lean back, offering her breasts to his mouth with unsteady hands, whining his name when he sucked her nipples eagerly, hungrily, left then right, their flesh now beginning to smack wetly.