Chapter 10
J.T
She thinks I’m sexy.
Jesus Christ.
Any other night I’d puff up about that.
Might even smirk and let her see how much I enjoy hearing it.
But not now.
Right now, I’m done waiting.
I’ve waited years.
I’ve watched her stand beside a man who didn’t deserve her.
I’ve kept my distance from her when it wasn’t my place to interfere.
Not anymore.
My desire for her? The need I feel for Kelly McCrae?
It’s feral.
It claws at my ribs, burns through my bloodstream, settles low and heavy in my gut.
Unmatched.
Unfuckingdeniable.
I cup her cheek, thumb sliding along her jaw, my other hand locked firm on her ass like I’m afraid she might vanish.
“You want me,” I murmur, not asking—confirming.
She nods.
That’s it.
That’s all I need.
I drag her into me and kiss her like I haven’t yet—like I didn’t have the right until this second.
Until she said yes.
Until she admitted she wants me back.
This kiss isn’t polite.
It isn’t careful.
It’s claiming.
My mouth moves over hers with everything I’ve been holding in—years of wanting, weeks of restraint, minutes of white-hot anticipation.
She answers me.
Fuck, how she answers me.
Her fingers curl into my shirt like she’s anchoring herself, and I feel the last shred of control snap.
I take her hand.
“Come here,” I growl, already pulling her toward the stairs.
I’m in a rush. No point pretending otherwise.
She laughs—actually laughs—and it’s the sexiest damn sound I’ve ever heard.
“J.T.—” she starts, breathless.
I spin around and scoop her up before she can finish.
She gasps as her legs instinctively wrap around my waist, her arms locking around my shoulders.
“Oh my God, what are you doing?” she demands, half scandalized, half thrilled.
“I’m getting you exactly where I want you,” I tell her, voice low and rough against her throat.
“But I’m too heavy—ow!”
Her protest turns into a soft yelp when I nip at her earlobe, teeth grazing just enough to make a point.
“Need you to watch your mouth when you talk about my woman like that, Honey,” I murmur. “Now hold on to me.”
Her breath stutters.
Her grip tightens.
And yeah—maybe it’s possessive.
Maybe it’s a little unhinged.
But I am not playing around.
I carry her up those stairs like she weighs nothing, like the only thing in this house that matters is the woman wrapped around me.
I don’t slow down.
I don’t hesitate.
Because she chose me.
And now I’m done pretending I don’t need her just as badly.