Unwrapped

by Jessica Gadziala

  "It's Christmas," I shot back, standing, and walking toward him.

  His hands pulled from his pockets and folded around my lower back, pulling me against him. "Good morning."

  I smiled up at him, my belly doing a little wobble thing that I was pretending to ignore, liking it a little too much to be in his arms. "Thanks for building up the fire. And laying out my clothes. And," I said, looking over toward the kitchen, "putting the turkey in."

  "I was up," he shrugged.

  And it really was that simple for him. It didn't take any forethought or planning on his part. He was up first so of course he put more logs on the fire and made the coffee and put the food in the oven. I guess that was the perk of a man who lived all by himself in the middle of nowhere, he was used to doing everything himself just like I was used to doing everything myself. So he didn't do those things for gratitude or praise; he did them just because it was normal to.

  Add that to the long list of things I liked about the near-stranger.

  "So how do we do Christmas morning?" I asked.

  "Well first, you give me a good morning kiss and then we can..."

  He lost the rest of that sentence because as soon as he said the word kiss, I was reaching for the back of his head to pull him down as I went up on my tiptoes to claim his lips.

  "And then we can?" I prompted when I went back on my flat feet, just a little breathless, my lips tingling.

  "Make gingerbread houses."

  "What?" I asked, feeling a little fuzzy, most of me sure he was going to suggest have a Christmas Day quickie or something.

  "Gingerbread houses. We never got around to it yesterday," he said with a smirk.

  "Oh, yeah," I said, pressing my lips together to keep from smiling like an idiot. "We kind of got... distracted."

  "Which was why I had to get out of that bed before you got up," he said, hands sliding downward so that his fingertips were touching my ass. "If I didn't and you were laying there all sweet and naked... things were going to escalate."

  "Mmm," I said, wavering toward him. "I would have been okay with that."

  "But then the turkey wouldn't get in the oven and the gingerbread houses wouldn't get built."

  "We have all day," I said with a big smile.

  "Babe, I get my hands on that perfect skin of yours, get a taste of that fucking perfect pussy of yours... we wouldn't get out of the bed until Christmas was over."

  I bit into my lip at the idea, my sex clenching hard in response. "I think I would be okay with that too."

  "Nuh-uh," he said, one of his hands releasing me so his thumb could pull my lower lip out from my teeth. "You came up here for a genuine Christmas retreat. I am damn well going to provide it. Then once we are stuffed with turkey and stuffing and pumpkin pie and cookies, then we can try to burn some of those calories off in bed."

  "Well, if it's in the name of fitness..."

  "Coffee?" he asked, giving me a squeeze before releasing me.

  "Always," I agreed, following behind him to see he had laid out the bowls of candies for the gingerbread houses.

  "Didn't know what the fuck we glue the thing together with," he said as he poured me a cup.

  "Icing," I said with a chuckle. I had never made one and even I knew that.

  "Did you have to buy the goddamn Taj Mahal kits?" he asked, gesturing toward the kits I had, in fact, bought at the craft store because while I wanted to build the houses, the idea of actually having to make the gingerbread myself sounded a bit too much like actual work. They were perhaps a bit crazy size-wise. I had bought one that was supposed to be Santa's workshop and one that was in the shape of a Victorian house, not being able to choose between them. That worked in my favor now that I had someone to build them with.

  "Go big or go home," I said as I took my cup and drank a healthy amount. "Ready?"

  He gave me a wry smile, rolling up his sleeves. "As I'll ever be."

  I didn't understand he meant that.

  Being a big mountain man meant he was good at a lot of things such as moving huge amounts of snow and cutting down trees and picking up women.

  But it also meant he was laughably bad at things that required small, delicate attention to detail. He'd knocked down the walls to Santa's workshop three times before I had to take over to icing-glue it. Then when it came to decorating, well, let's just say his kind of looked like someone with severe hand tremors did the work.

  Mine, however, came out almost annoyingly perfectly. Perfect enough that I stopped to take a picture. I snapped one of his too because, well, it was just that bad.

  "So... presents?"

  Suddenly, I was feeling oddly insecure about mine now that I knew he got me something too. But, then again, he hadn't been able to leave either so it had to have been a DIY kind of thing. So maybe...

  "Absolutely," I smiled, reaching down to take his hand and pull him with me toward the tree, both of us sitting down on the floor.

  "You first," he said, picking up a rectangular box wrapped in my happy red and white paper and handing it to me.

  "You really didn't..."

  "Shut it," he said with a smile. "Less talking. More unwrapping."

  Excitement an electric current inside me, though I felt no small amount of shyness at opening a present to a watching audience, I stuck my finger under the tape and ripped until the box was revealed.

  It wasn't a gift box.

  Well, that wasn't exactly true.

  It was a box.

  But the box was the gift.

  It was eight inches long and five wide, made of a bunch of different woods fused together, giving it a unique, gorgeous finish. I ran my hand over the smooth surface, realizing his big hands might have been clumsy with icing but they did wonders with wood. My fingers caught the engraved letters of my name in an ornate, feminine script.

  "Jack, this is..." I started, my voice with maybe a touch more emotion than was probably appropriate given the circumstances. "This is beautiful."

  "Open it."

  My hands traced the side to find the seam and slipped my finger in to pull it open. Inside were two more wrapped items. I reached for the bigger of the two, pulling it open to find another wooden item. Unlike the first, it was one type of wood in the shape of a triangle with a smaller triangle at the top point, painted white. It was a mountain. There was a small hole in the top and a ribbon through it, tied into a bow at the top. The year was carved into the back.

  It was a Christmas tree ornament.

  "Made from some of the trunk of this tree," he said, pointing to the tree we decorated.

  Of course.

  Of freaking course it was made from our tree.

  Because he had to be perfect like that.

  "One more," Jack reminded me and I realized I had been stroking my hand over the surface of the ornament.

  I shook my head to try to clear it, putting the ornament in the box and reaching for the last, smaller package. When I ripped it open, I found one final wooden item. "Is this... Vermont?" I asked at the strange shape on what was, unmistakably, a keychain.

  "Yeah, doll," he said, reaching out and putting the tip of his finger beside a tiny little black star somewhere toward the Northwest side. "Here we are," he told me and my heart squeezed in my chest. "This goes with something though," he said, reaching into his back pocket and producing a piece of paper he had folded in half.

  I reached for it and unfolded it, finding a picture of what seemed to be a used, but newish, crossover SUV. "I don't..." I started, but he cut me off.

  "Wrecked your car, babe. Insurance won't pay shit for it either."

  "You... you got me a car?" I sputtered, shaking my head. I would happily, gleefully, accept my jewelry box, ornament, and keychain. They were sweet, personal, handmade. But a car? Yeah, there was no way.

  "Don't even think about refusing it," he said, reading my thoughts. "I wrecked your car because I was careless."

  "And made my holiday infinitely better because of it
. Jack, I can't accept a car. That's way too much. I mean... I live in the City. I barely drive at all. Really, the car was due for retirement."

  "Regardless. This is paid for and when the road is safe again, I'm taking you down the hill to register it so you have something safe to drive yourself back in."

  Drive myself back in.

  That squishing thing my heart had been doing stopped and it seemed to take a steep drop down to my stomach instead.

  Dread.

  That was what dread felt like.

  I was dreading going back to my life.

  Which was absurd. I had a decent life. It wasn't grand and crazy and full of exciting moments, but it was okay. It was mine- safe, comfortable, stable.

  "Lyra..."

  I shook my head, exhaling hard, trying to shake the feeling, but it seemed like it was going to hang around for a while. "It's too much," I insisted again.

  "Fucking stubborn," he said with a grin. "Keep bitching and I'll sell that fucker back to him and buy you a brand new one. Something ostentatious."

  It wasn't that I didn't think he had the money. He lived in a house that was likely paid off, running a business that had to bring in decent profits, living well within his means. But it was inappropriate.

  "Jack..."

  "You're taking the car. Let it go. Can I open mine now?" he asked, reaching for the large rectangle and putting it on his lap.

  I wasn't going to let it go. But it was Christmas morning. The last thing I wanted to do was spend it arguing. "Yeah," I said, feeling my belly do a weird little somersault, nervous that it wasn't as good as I had thought it was about an hour before.

  But it was too late for that because he was ripping the paper off the medium-sized canvas then freezing as he took it in.

  I had worked on two sketches before I started on the canvas, wanting to make sure I got it perfect.

  "Babe..." he said, looking up at me, shaking his head.

  "I'm, ah, a bit out of practice but it was kind of short notice and..."

  "Shut it," he cut me off, smiling a little. "Had no fucking idea you were an artist."

  "I'm not. I mean... I dabble. I used to take classes and such when I was younger and had time."

  "Babe, you paint like this, you're an artist."

  I felt pride well up strong and didn't fight the smile when it pulled at my lips.

  I had painted his house, trying with every bit of skill I had to capture the magic of it, the wonder I felt at seeing it the first time.

  "I wish I could have gotten a frame for it but..."

  "Why didn't you sign it?"

  "Sorry?"

  "I got an original Lyra Matthews. I want a signature."

  "Jack, it's just a gift," I said, feeling my cheeks start to heat.

  "Damn fucking right it's a gift. Shame you're not using it too."

  "That's not what I..."

  "I know what you meant, babe. But believe me, the last thing you should be doing when you have this in you, is fucking dabbling. Put some work into this."

  "There's really not much of a market for art these days, Jack."

  "Who the fuck cares? Your heart is in this. I bet this house that when you're working on this kind of thing, it's the best part of your day." He wasn't wrong. "Do what you love, babe. Fuck the money."

  "I live in a very expensive city. I can't say fuck the money. Money matters."

  "So you work. But in the free time, this is what you do."

  Somehow, when he said it, it made it seem almost imperative that I do just that.

  "That was kind of the point," I said with a small smile. "I bought myself all these new supplies for myself for Christmas. I wanted to get back into it."

  "Don't pile it up in your apartment. Got a big world now, babe. You can sell online, get it out there."

  "Maybe," I agreed with a smile, "if I think any of it is good enough."

  "If any of it looks half as good as this, it's good enough. Now go grab a pen out of the kitchen and get your pretty ass back over here to sign it."

  When he put it like that, there was really no arguing.

  I jumped up, grabbed a pen out of the junk drawer in the kitchen, and made my way back to him. At the last second, he moved the canvas to the side, grabbed me, and pulled me down onto his lap, then moved the canvas onto mine.

  "Not that low," he said when I put the pen to the canvas. "Want to see it when I get a frame for it."

  "You don't have to hang..."

  "I'm hanging it," he cut me off. "Don't be ridiculous." He watched over my shoulder as I scrawled my name, doing it slowly, feeling like it was a really important moment- the moment my signature was no longer a signature but an autograph. "Perfect," he told me, pressing a kiss into my cheek, the arm around my belly squeezing tight.

  It was a heavy moment.

  Again, I got the feeling that it meant too much.

  He moved the canvas to the side. "Got two hours until the sides need to start getting made," he told me, fingers slipping under the hem of my shirt.

  "Mmm. Can do a lot with two hours," I agreed, leaning back into him as his hand slid up my belly and closed over my bare breast.

  "I can think of a few things," he agreed, rolling my nipple.

  "What kind of things?" I asked, sighing out my breath as his other hand moved up my chest to work my other nipple at the same time.

  "Oh, I have a few ideas," he said, voice full of promise as he scooted out from behind me, pulling me up onto my knees and reaching for the hem of my shirt and ripping it off me. "Hands and knees, doll," he said, voice even deeper than usual.

  "What?" I asked, giving him a small smile.

  "On your hands and knees, doll," he repeated, twisting his finger in the air to tell me to turn.

  Hands and knees beside the Christmas tree looking out at some fresh snow on Christmas morning with a hot mountain man? I could think of worse positions to be in.

  I turned, bending forward, and planting my palms on the cool floor. I could feel him shuffle around behind me and felt my belly flutter in anticipation before I felt his hands land on my hips, the tips of his fingers slipping under the waistband of my jeans and yanking them down over my butt and down to mid-thigh. Without undoing the button or zip. So when it closed around my thighs, it was tight to the point of almost cutting off circulation. But I couldn't worry about that because I felt his cock press against me, sliding against my slit and pressing into my clit. His hand slid up my spine and settled between my shoulder blades, pressing until I lowered down, forearms to the floor, ass up in the air. Then his hands went to my hips, his cock slid back, and he thrust inside me- hard, deep.

  There was nothing slow or sweet or loving about what followed.

  It was fast, rough, delicious.

  His hand slid around me and pressed between my thighs, stroking my clit as I got closer.

  My orgasm slammed through me- hard and frantic.

  And Jack followed behind me just seconds later.

  He slid out of me when his breathing evened out and he yanked my pants back into place. After which, I slid forward and down onto my belly, a strange fit of giggles overtaking me as I rolled onto my back, watching Jack walk toward the kitchen to toss the condom before he walked back to me, confused smile on his face. "What's so funny?" he asked, going down on his knees beside me, his hand resting on my thigh.

  "I don't know," I admitted, shaking my head. "This is just... it's too perfect, y'know?"

  "I do know," he agreed, his smile warm. "Best fucking Christmas I've ever had."

  "It might be the only one I've had, but it's the best one too," I smiled up at him.

  And it was exactly then that the strangest thing happened.

  The doorbell rang.

  Ten

  Jack

  I actually forgot I had a doorbell. That was how long it had been since I heard the damn thing go off. It sounded like it forgot it existed too, sounding low and whining instead of the chipper ding it used to have.<
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  Lyra bolted up, eyes huge, frantically covering her breasts though no one could see inside. I reached for her shirt and gave it to her and she shrugged into it. "Who could that be in this weather?"

  "Not a fucking idea," I said honestly, getting to my feet as the bell rang again. "Keep your panties on," I called, reaching for the door and pulling it open.

  And there was fucking Felix Smith with the worst damn timing in the world.

  Felix was about what you would expect a novelist to look like. He was tall and thin with green eyes framed with black rectangular glasses and messy brown hair that he perpetually forgot to get cut. His clothes, while always clean, were generally wrinkled and oversized and sometimes threadbare even though he sold millions of books and could afford ten closet-fulls of new clothes.

  "The fuck you doing here, Felix?" I asked, low on hospitality since he was going to be cramping my style. I had planned on keeping Lyra naked for as much of the day as possible. Hell, she could sit down and eat Christmas fucking dinner bare ass naked and I'd be a happy camper.

  "Nice to see you too, Jack," he said, smirking, not offended. We had known each other too long to not know each other's eccentricities. "I just walked eight miles in the... oh, hey," he said, smiling, his gaze going behind me. "And who do we have here?"

  "Hey, I'm Lyra," she said, moving in the doorway with me, which put her half in front of me.

  "Lyra, this is Felix Smith."

  You'd have thought I had planned it as some extra Christmas present the way her face lit up.

  "No way!" she yelped. "Oh my God. I love your books. Don't be mad at him, but Jack just lent me your newest one and I devoured it in like one afternoon. It was amazing!"

  "Are you actually fangirling over a writer?" I asked, shaking my head at her.

  "I'm not mad. I'm glad you enjoyed. I will be pretty mad if Jack doesn't get out of my way and let me come in and warm up," he said, reaching for something propped up against the house which turned out to be a giant rolling suitcase.

  "You moving in?" I asked, shaking my head at him.

  "Temporarily," he surprised me by saying. Never, not once in all the years I had known him did he stay in my place. "The roads are God-awful. Even with four-wheel drive, I was white-knuckling it. But then there was a tree down across the road. No getting up to Coral Cabins. Good news, though, when I called the township about it, they said this road is on the plow list for tomorrow. So you guys won't be trapped here too much longer."