“Fox . . .”
“Uh-huh. Let’s talk this out for a second,” he said thickly against her neck, just grazing her skin with his teeth, his knuckles scrubbing side to side over her belly button. “You left the set like it was on fire to come over here and touch yourself.”
She made an unintelligible noise that might have passed for a yes. Were they really discussing this out loud? Was this actually happening?
“I know it wasn’t the director that made you need this.” Ever so slightly, his fingertips brushed the waistband of her panties, the tip of his middle digit sneaking under, teasing right and left. “Maybe you’ll go to him for stimulating conversation, but I’m where you come for the down and dirty.”
What?
With an effort, Hannah tried to make sense of that. Not just the words coming out of his mouth, but the rebellion they provoked inside her. Think. Not so easy when slowly, so slowly, he crowded her closer to the door, and there . . . his erection met her bottom, his hips rolling as if he was doling out a treat. “Do you want my fingers between your legs?”
Yes.
Honestly, she almost screamed it.
There was something wrong with this picture, though. If her libido would stop wailing like a baby for a second, she’d be able to piece it together. “Fox . . .”
“This is what I do, Hannah. Let me do it.” His tongue journeyed up the side of her neck with such blatant, animal sexuality, her eyes crossed. “It can just be a secret between friends in the dark.”
Friends.
That word got through to her.
And then: This is what I do. A brag . . . but not. Because there was an edge just under the surface of his tone that didn’t belong in a scenario like this. All day long, there had been a nettle under her skin regarding his behavior that morning, and now she understood what was happening. The why was still a mystery, but at least she had a starting point. “Fox, no.”
His hands stilled immediately, lifted, and laid flat on the door. “No?”
It was painfully obvious he’d never heard that word before. Not from a woman. Hannah couldn’t blame a single one of them, either. There was something about the way he spoke so frankly, touched with an aim toward arousing, moved so fluidly, that made inhibitions and insecurities seem irrelevant. They were only two people scratching an itch, and there was nothing wrong with that, right? He was a walking invitation to let loose.
But she wasn’t falling for it.
Hannah didn’t have a game plan. Couldn’t formulate one when her brain and her vagina were at total odds. So she spoke honestly, without second-guessing herself.
“Okay . . .” She licked her lips, whispering into the dark. “Fine. You made me this way. You made me need to . . . do this. Talking about blowing off steam and . . . and the shirtlessness. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes,” he growled beside her ear. “Let me finish you.”
“No.”
His hands curled into fists on the door, a humorless laugh pushing the hair at her temple around. “What are you worried about, Hannah? Making things weird between us? It won’t. You know what is weird? The fact that I haven’t fucked you. It’s as easy as breathing for me.”
“No, it’s not.”
As soon as she said it, the belief turned solid as concrete.
That was the edge she heard in his voice. That was why he’d seemed to almost be performing this morning. Acting. Overcompensating.
A pause ensued. “What?”
“It’s not easy for you. Is it?” She turned between Fox and the door, looking up into his guarded expression, a heavy object tumbling end over end in her stomach. “Sex is what you do? Maybe. But it’s not all you do. Stop trying to push that garbage on me. You did it this morning and you’re doing it now.”
His straight line of white teeth flashed in the darkness as he puffed a laugh. “Jesus, Hannah. Here we go with the psychology bullshit.”
“Call it whatever you want.”
All at once, his demeanor turned casually seductive. He dropped his mouth down, leaving it a millimeter away from hers. “You know,” he rasped, his lips ghosting over hers. “I could talk you into it.”
“You’re welcome to try.”
Okay, she really shouldn’t have said that.
His ensuing smirk spelled disaster.
“Drop the oil, wet girl,” he said. “We both know you don’t need it.”
God, that was such a cocky—and annoyingly true—statement. The line should have irked her. Not pushed her back toward that pinnacle of need, right where she’d been before she’d glimpsed the potential demons inside this man.