The Christmas Giftby Janet Eaves
Christina bit her bottom lip, wondering if she should wake him to get him to join her for dinner. He'd been napping since chopping wood for an hour following lunch. She knew he was still weak, but he was gaining strength daily, and hadn't touched his cane since two days before. She'd already started the meal on the stove, and only had a second before she needed to return to the kitchen, but she was starting to worry about him. If he didn't stop taking those pills, she was afraid he might become dependent on them.
She approached him slowly, trying to ignore the bare, heavily muscled chest and arms, the rippling stomach, and the thin stream of black hairs that ran from his navel down a long line to his low riding boxer shorts. At the hip, there was the beginning of a tattoo, but she would have to lower his underwear to get a look at it. That, of course, was out of the question.
Johnny hadn't had any tattoos. At least not the last time she'd seen him disrobed. But that was a long time ago, and she was beginning to believe she may have been wrong about so much.
Clearing her throat loudly, she waited a beat, then cleared it again.
Nothing. The man was like the living dead. "Jack?"
Still nothing. "Jack?"
Frowning, she approached the open couch and tapped his shoulder with her index finger.
Nothing.
She tapped harder. "Jack!" she said, louder.
Blowing an exasperated breath which sent her bangs flying upward, Christina placed her hand smack-dab in the middle of that hard chest and shook. Before she knew what happened she felt a tug on her arm then she was flying over him, only to find herself under him, looking up into his face. Jack blinked slowly several times, clearly befuddled and trying to wake up. "What? What happened?"
Christina couldn’t find her voice. Not only had his quick reaction stunned her, the hard erection poking her mound completely stole her tongue. Or so she thought. Until his was capturing it, taking it hostage, as he ground the evidence of his aroused sex against her.
There was no logical way she could explain what was happening to her as she kissed him back, even if her brain would start functioning again. He tasted so good. Being touched, touching, letting it all happen instead of analyzing why it was wrong to be doing what she was doing didn't come into play. Primal urges, needs, desires that had never been a part of her before, surfaced to take over the woman she faced each morning in the mirror.
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