Slowly, Hannah moved more thoroughly into the shadow of the building, turning and leaning back against the wall, reversing their positions in a deliberate dance, taking her time tracing the planes of his face. Wrecking him with her simple, perfect touch. The way she curled her fingertips into the collar of his shirt and drew him down, down, so they could exhale roughly against each other’s mouths.
“Kiss me and find out.”
He made a halting sound and moved, unable to stop himself now that he’d been given permission, catching her hips in his hands and gradually pinning her to the brick barrier, molding their lower bodies together until she whimpered.
“You’re sure.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Jesus.”
Where the hell to start? If he kissed her mouth first, he swore he might eat her whole, so he zeroed in on her neck, fisting her ponytail and tugging left, giving himself a clear path up to her ear and breathing a trail up that incredible softness, finishing his exhale just beneath her lobe. He savored her cry greedily, rejoicing in the way she went limp between him and the brick wall, her fingers twisting in the front of his shirt for purchase.
Still—still—worried he might implode if he actually allowed himself the singular flavor of Hannah’s mouth, he nonetheless attacked those parted, waiting lips, groaning brokenly as her taste sank into his bones, made him light-headed.
God. Oh God.
He wrapped his tongue around hers and pulled hard, once, twice. He sensed her awareness, her anticipation, her hips squirming where he kept them stationary on the wall. Her movements rubbed against his erection, working him the hell up. So intensely worked up, so eager to fuck, he recognized immediately that he’d never, not once, wanted anyone like this.
Hannah was good. Hannah was right.
Being inside her would be a celebration, not merely part of a routine.
There was nothing typical about this. Or practiced. It was a spontaneous combustion of the urges he’d been suppressing where Hannah was concerned, both physical and emotional, and that implosion bred an urgency in him.
Now. He needed her now.
Fox dropped his hips down and lifted her slightly, creating friction against her sex, and her eyes rolled back, hands pulling him closer. Their mouths moved in a frantic rhythm, tongues meeting in long strokes, his hands traveling down her hips and up the valley of her sides, sensitizing the smooth skin beneath her shirt. Making her wet and pliant. He knew that truth like he knew the sea.
“You a virgin, Hannah?” Fox rasped, lightly scraping his teeth up her throat.
“No,” she whispered, eyes dazed.
“Thank God,” he growled, growing impossibly harder. Hungrier. “Once I’m good and deep, I don’t think I’ll be able to slow down.”
He surged up with his hips again, watching her face closely, memorizing her tiny gasps of air, relishing the way her tits dragged up and down on his chest, nipples erect. God, this sweet, horny girl. He couldn’t wait to get her out of that bra and panties. Get her splayed out, nothing in the way of his tongue, his fingers, his cock. She’d be screaming down the motherfucking building tonight—
A shrill sound splintered his thoughts apart.
A phone ringing.
No. No, phones had no place here. Phones didn’t matter.
They were part of reality, and this . . . this was way better than any reality he’d ever known. One where he didn’t feel like an actor phoning in his part. But the sound kept up, over and over, vibrating where their hips met until, finally, they broke apart, foreheads pressing together as they looked down at the source of the noise. “M-my phone,” Hannah stuttered, breathing hard.
“No.”
“Fox . . .”
“No. God, I love your fucking mouth.”
Their lips clashed again, battling to get the best taste, before she pulled her mouth away, neck losing power, eyes glazed over. “We can’t just . . . here. We c-can’t.” She visibly struggled to form coherent thoughts, and Christ, could he relate. His head was overflowing, taking every particle of common sense with it. “Your mother is inside and there are things, like talking things, we have to do. I think?”
“Talking things,” he exhaled gruffly, holding her chin steady, tipping it up so he could look at her beautiful face. “I talk to you more than I’ve ever talked to anyone, Hannah.”
She blinked. Softened. “I want you to. I love that you do.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. But . . .”
Her phone rang again, and he gritted his teeth, needing to hear what was going on in her head. Maybe it would help him figure out what was happening in his own. Because as far as he could tell, he was getting really damn close to either ruining his friendship with Hannah or being turned down again.