Chapter 15
Kelly
.Holy. Shit. Fuck.
I can’t think clearly enough to form a proper string of curse words.
Can’t even think in full sentences.
And it’s all because J.T. Lawrence is kissing the ever-living fuck out of me.
He tastes good.
Like espresso and chocolate and something darker underneath. Something that’s just him—warm and commanding and a little bit dangerous.
His mouth moves over my cheek, down my neck, slow and deliberate, and when he finds my breast, I arch without thinking.
Not because I’m performing.
Because I need more.
More of his attention. More of his kisses. More of whatever magic he’s doing to make me feel this way.
I swear I feel him smile against my skin.
Then he opens his mouth, and he sucks my breast inside.
The sensation of his lips, his tongue, his teeth—hot, intent, reverent and greedy all at once—sends a shock straight through me.
Heat blooms low in my belly, spreading outward until my fingertips tingle.
I know this isn’t new territory.
This is light even for foreplay.
I’m aware of that.
I mean, I’ve been married.
I’ve shared a bed with a man for over twenty years.
But this? This feels new.
This feels like discovery.
Like I’m being uncovered for the first time instead of tolerated.
Like he finds me just as irresistible as I find him.
“So fucking pretty,” he growls against my skin.
Then he murmurs something else, but I can’t make it out. Something rough and approving and so damn hot it makes moisture flood between my legs.
The sound vibrates through me like a live wire, and I swear I feel it everywhere—anticipation.
He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t treat me like an obligation or a task to complete.
He acts like he’s savoring me.
Like I’m something rare and delicious.
“J.T.,” I breathe, my fingers sliding into his thick salt-and-pepper hair.
It’s softer than I expect. Strong and solid beneath my touch, like the rest of him.
He shifts lower, kisses tracing a path that makes my entire body come alive.
Every place he touches feels newly claimed—not owned, but awakened.
And something inside me unravels.
For years, I lived in a body that felt scrutinized.
Measured.
Found lacking.
Too soft. Too much. Not exciting enough. Not skilled enough. Not desirable enough.
Those words used to echo.
But right now?
They don’t exist.
Because J.T. isn’t treating me like I need improvement.
He’s treating me like I’m the only thing that matters.
Like he’s been starving and I’m the feast.
My insecurities dissolve under his hands.
The voice that used to whisper you’re not enough goes quiet.
In its place is something bold and terrifying and intoxicating.
I feel wanted.
Not politely.
Not conveniently.
But fiercely.
And when he lifts his head and meets my eyes—green dark with hunger and something softer underneath—I realize I don’t feel self-conscious.
I feel powerful.
Desired.
New.
Like this isn’t the continuation of an old life.
It’s the beginning of a completely different one.
And when I pull him back down to me, it isn’t because I’m unsure.
It’s because I want him exactly where he is.
“Spread your legs. Make room for me,” he instructs.
And I do.
Not because I’m being commanded.
Because I want him there.
Because I want to see what he sees.
He settles between my thighs, big and solid and entirely sure of himself, and the sight of him there—this powerful, imposing man kneeling for me—makes something inside me flip.
His gaze drops.
Slow.
Intent.
My breath catches.
I feel exposed.
Raw.
Vulnerable.
And sexy.
Unbelievably, undeniably sexy.
There is no hesitation in his eyes.
No judgment.
No impatience.
Just hunger.
“You’ve been hiding this perfect pussy from me, haven’t you, Honey?” he murmurs, voice thick with something that sounds dangerously close to reverence.
My stomach clenches.
I gasp.
Oral wasn’t something Mike enjoyed.
It was rushed. Half-hearted. Rare.
I learned early that my pleasure was secondary.
Optional.
Something to apologize for instead of expect.
The memories flicker in the back of my mind, and instinctively, I start to draw my legs inward.
J.T. doesn’t force me.
He doesn’t scold.
He simply steadies me.
His hands are warm and firm against my thighs when he squeezes them.
Then, his eyes lift to mine.
“Trust me,” he says.
Two words.
Not an order.
A promise.
And God help me, I want to.
I want to believe him.
I want to step into this without flinching.
So I let my legs fall open again.
Not in surrender.
In choice.
His chest rumbles low in approval, and the sound shoots straight through me.
I don’t know what I did to garner his attention. I only know this man sees me.
He wants me exactly as I am. Exactly like this.
And that already makes him different, special.
There’s no embarrassment in the way he looks at me.
No tolerance.
Only appreciation.
Desire.
Focus.
For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like something that needs improvement.
I feel like something worth savoring.
And as he lowers his head again, taking his time, moving with patience instead of obligation, something shifts inside me.
The shame I didn’t even realize I was carrying loosens its grip.
The voice that used to whisper you’re not enough fades into the background.
In its place is heat.
Confidence.
Power.
Because this isn’t about performance, it’s about being wanted.
And the way J.T. touches me—like I am the only thing in the world that matters—makes me forget every cruel word I ever absorbed.
In this moment, I’m not self-conscious.
I’m not comparing.
I’m not bracing for criticism.
I’m present.
Open.
Alive.
“Christ, Kelly, you even taste like honey,” he whispers and moans as he eats my pussy.
I whimper and arch against his mouth, searching for something I don’t even know what.
I feel his fingers pressing into me, and I moan at his wanted invasion.
The added pressure?
The sting of him stretching me?
It’s doing impossible things to me—he’s doing impossible things.
“It’s so good, J.T.,” I praise him because I need him to know.
His echoing groan goes right through me.
And the soft, wet licks he’s been dragging across my lips get harder, longer.
Then he sucks my clit inside his mouth—and I see stars.
Pleasure finally surges through me, unexpected and overwhelming and mine—and I’m not apologizing for it.
I’m taking it. All of it.
Every last drop.