Melt by Natalie Anderson Page B

he did that .
    His tongue kept moving, encouraging her with movements not words. Relentless movements that she couldn’t hold out against—and she didn’t want to. She writhed beneath his touches, her mouth spilling the hot secrets he’d wanted to hear.
    What she wanted, how she wanted, when she wanted.
    His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs circling and stroking her nipples as his hot mouth sucked on her sex. She curled her thighs around him, feeling his hot jaw press against her smooth skin. Arching up, she opened completely, throwing herself over the edge, shaking as she tumbled into his embrace.
    When she opened her eyes, he was smiling, unashamedly admiring her curves.
    “What are you waiting for?” Emma teased, breathing out and embracing the bright white night. “I’m ready for more.”
    Hunter jumped to the floor, scooped up a handful of those twenty thousand condoms and climbed back in bed to take her every way they could think of.

CHAPTER SIX

    CHRISTMAS DAY on the base was a holiday for pretty much everyone. Neither Emma nor Hunter had to work. Neither moved from her bunkroom. Not for hours and hours.
    In truth, Hunter never wanted to move again. He’d never felt so at peace, never so relaxed as he was now, lying curved against this strong, petite woman.
    But the second he admitted that to himself, the blade of guilt swept in. There was no future between them, but he didn’t want this to end with her tears. He wanted her to understand why it was he made no promises. He wanted her to know more about him. Hell, he wanted her to like him—to leave here and think of him with a smile.
    Most of all, he didn’t want to hurt her. She’d given him the best Christmas of his life and the least he could do was explain why that was enough.
    “Christmas at our place was always pretty weird,” he murmured hoarsely and then coughed to clear his throat. Hell, did he really want to go into this?
    “Why was that?” she asked, her voice soft in the quiet room.
    It was almost dark and cozily warm the way they had to lie so close in the narrow bunk. She was on her side with her back to him, and it was somehow easier for him to tell her it all without seeing the sympathy he knew would rise in her eyes. He rested his head on her shoulder and tightened his hold around her waist so she couldn’t turn to face him. Her skin was soft and smooth and welcoming. So he whispered old, painful secrets.
    “My parents are both workaholics. They’re photojournalists.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah, they spent their careers going all over the world photographing everything from royal weddings to wars.”
    “Did you go with them?”
    “I was in boarding school.” For his entire childhood. “I used to travel with them during the holidays sometimes. But we never spent Christmas together. One or the other or both were always working. Half the time I celebrated Christmas at school. So when I was twelve, I nagged and nagged and nagged them to have a real Christmas—all of us together. I hadn’t realized that they were living increasingly separate lives, doing assignments in different parts of the world. I hadn’t realized the problems they both had.” The way his father drank, the way both parents sought attention and physical relief from others. “So they finally said yes. I was excited about having them both home. A real family Christmas with neither of them working.”
    He could feel the tension in her body now as she asked, “What happened?”
    “We got through the present opening, but they’d opened the bottles as well. And over the damn bowls of potatoes and peas they had a massive fight. Worse than massive. An hour of screaming and their marriage was over.” All in that one day.
    “Your father left?” Despite his grip, she rolled to face him, her green eyes troubled and sweet.
    Hunter closed his. “My mother threw him out.” He packed a bag and never came back. He drew in a breath. “For once, I thought we were