Page 50 of Just Home for the Holidays
And the second walnut half was ground into Chloe’s heat. “Good thing,” she managed to reply, then Hunter was tormenting her with pleasure again.
* * *
There wassomething incredibly hot about being called to fulfill Chloe’s fantasy. Hunter really liked that he knew exactly what Chloe wanted, because she’d told him in perfect detail. It was like having a script, but better, because he knew she’d never done this before.
Neither had he, but he’d certainly come back to walnuts again.
She looked amazing on the dark marble counter, her hair loose and her red lips parted. He loved the shoes, glossy lipstick red with high spike heels, but he liked best of all that Chloe was wearing them. He felt like he was seeing a secret side of her, like he had a pass to the hidden part of her character.
He finally let her come and she screamed louder than she had the night before. He had a feeling that she hadn’t been a screamer before, but there was no going back. He’d helped her break free of her inhibitions and she was never going to be the same shy woman again. He loved being part of the transformation—especially when she sat up, hair tumbling loose around her face, and reached for him in silent demand. She locked those legs around his waist and he could feel the heels against his butt as she rode him hard. She came the second time when she was wrapped around him, when he was buried deep inside her and lost in the charm she’d woven. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to wake up again.
They did it again after washing up the butter, slowly and sweetly in the big bed, and she’d fallen asleep against his side. Hunter had laid there for a long time, savoring the sweetness, wanting to stay and knowing it would be a stupid choice.
If they woke up together, she’d have expectations. She’d think they had a thing.
She probably already thought they had a thing.
He got up, tucked her in, and went to sleep on the couch alone. When Chloe left in the morning, they’d be done for good.
It had to be that way.
If nothing else, he knew his own shortcomings. He wasn’t the kind of guy she needed or wanted, and he never would be. He’d give her the victory of breaking his one rule, but wouldn’t encourage her ideas about the future.
He’d take the couch.
Seven
Someone was shaking Hunter. Someone was hugging him. Someone was pulling him out of the darkness and back to the land of the living, someone with long silky hair and a soothing voice.
Chloe.
She was wearing one of his T-shirts and not much else, and he could see intriguing shadows beneath the cloth. Her make-up was gone and her eyes were filled with concern as she softly repeated his name.
“I’m okay,” he said, pulling away from temptation.
“I don’t think so,” she countered and sat back, folding her arms across her chest. “That was some nightmare.”
“Was it? Oh well, shit happens.” He got up, avoiding her gaze, intending to take refuge in the bathroom, but her question stopped him cold.
“Who’s Hollis?”
Hunter glanced toward her, wishing he could have stopped himself.
“You were shouting his name,” she said in her boss lady voice. “Who’s Hollis and what did he do to you?”
She looked as if she was ready to rumble, as if she’d fight someone for him. The idea was laughable, especially as they were talking about Hollis, and yet at the same time, her attitude finished Hunter. How long had it been since anyone had come to his defense? And really, what did she want from him? A secret, a secret he’d been carrying around for years.
Suddenly, Hunter couldn’t stand the silence anymore.
Suddenly, he had to say it out loud.
Chloe was the one who wanted to know, the one who said she wouldn’t tell, the one he wanted to tell.
If nothing else, the truth would convince her to walk away.
“My brother,” he admitted, and once he spoke, the words fell over themselves to be heard. “My twin. He didn’t do anything to me. He died. He died because I killed him.”
Chloe sat beside him on the couch, her eyes wide. “He died at Christmas,” she guessed in a whisper and Hunter nodded.
