Chapter 17
Kelly
Waking up with a big, warm man wrapped around my body is a new sensation.
One I think I could get used to.
Especially when said warm body grumbles in his sleep and stretches, flexing something long and hard against my backside.
Oh my God. Is that his cock?
I push back.
I can’t help it.
He flexes again, and holy shit, it is his cock.
He’s hard. For me.
Heat fills me, and moisture floods my pussy.
I swear I haven’t reacted like that to a man in well—okay, let’s face it, ever.
It’s like my body has a mind of its own around J.T. Like he’s awakened a part of me that’s been dormant for years.
A side that doesn’t overthink.
A side that just wants.
A side of me that is curious and needy and wants more of this—of hot, wet, desperate, steamy sexy times with him—and it’s liberating.
My heart starts racing, though—and not just from the way he feels pressed against me.
The implications hit. And they hit hard.
Is he done with me now that he’s had me?
Did he mean what he said about marriage?
Was that heat-of-the-moment talk?
Just a powerful man getting carried away?
Will this be some kind of arrangement where I get protection and he gets access—and that’s it?
Oh my God.
Do I actually like him?
Like… really like him?
Is that why I’m spiraling before the sun’s even up?
Because this feels too good.
Too solid.
Too much like something I could actually lose.
“Your thoughts are loud, Honey. Go back to sleep,” he murmurs against the back of my neck.
His voice is rough with sleep, thick and warm and unfairly sexy for this early in the morning.
“J.T.?”
“Hmm?”
Christ, does he have to sound like that before coffee?
I hesitate, suddenly hyperaware of everything.
The way my hair must look—wild and tangled.
The fact that I definitely didn’t wash my face last night.
My mascara is probably smeared halfway down my cheeks.
I squirm a little.
He tightens his arm around me.
“What’s that for?” he asks lazily.
“I probably look terrible.”
A low chuckle rumbles through his chest and into my back.
“Honey,” he says, brushing his nose along my shoulder, “you look gorgeous.”
“Be serious.”
“I am serious as a heart attack.” He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he can see my face.
His eyes are still heavy with sleep but locked on me like I’m something precious.
“Having you in my bed, flushed and pink from sleep and good sex, not to mention gloriously naked, is one of my favorite fantasies. And now here you are.”
My stomach flips.
“You say the craziest things,” I whisper, closing my eyes because a part of me doesn’t know how to absorb words like that.
A part of me still waits for the punchline.
His fingers brush my cheek, gentle.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he replies.
I open my eyes and find him still there.
He’s still J.T. quietly destroying all my doubts simply by being himself.
He’s not teasing.
He’s not smirking.
He’s just… looking at me.
Like I’m some miracle he happened upon by accident.
He pulls me closer, tucking my head under his chin, and I breathe him in.
Remnants of last night’s cologne still clinging to his warm skin.
It’s something woodsy and expensive. Something male and entirely him.
I want to let it drop.
I want to curl into him and pretend I’m not afraid.
But the fear won’t quite loosen its grip.
“What’s the matter, Honey? Talk to me.”
I swallow. This is the part where I either protect my pride—or risk it.
“I—I was just wondering…” I start, my voice softer now. “Last night was great—”
He snorts quietly. “Great.”
“Okay, incredible,” I amend, heat creeping up my neck.
“That’s better.”
I press my lips together, trying not to smile.
“But,” I continue, forcing myself to say the hard part, “sometimes things are incredible in the moment and then… reality shows up.”
His arm tightens again.
“Reality’s still here,” he says evenly. “You’re still here and so am I, Honey.”
“I know.” I swallow. “I just don’t want to wake up tomorrow and find out I misunderstood you. Or that you got swept up in the heat of it and now you’re reconsidering.”
He goes very still at that.
“Reconsidering,” he repeats slowly.
“Men do that,” I say with a shrug that feels braver than I am. “They chase. They win. Then they get bored. They just—they usually don’t want something after they get it,” I mumble with a shrug, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I sound.
I’m over forty.
I run part of a sawmill.
I’ve survived divorce, public humiliation, financial betrayal.
And yet here I am, insecure as a teenager.
But what do you want from me?
I married the only other man I ever slept with. He cheated. He left. He dismantled our life like it was a bad business deal.
How the hell am I supposed to know what men actually want?
J.T. shifts, rolling me gently onto my back. He hovers over me, broad shoulders blocking out the morning light.
His jaw is tight, eyes sharp.
“First of all,” he growls, “I’m not other men. And I sure as shit am not Mike.”
Something in my chest unclenches.
“I-I know you’re not Mike, and I don’t mean to make you pay for his sins,” I whisper.
“I’m a man of my word,” he continues, voice steady now but no less intense.
“But what if you change your mind?” I whisper.
He exhales sharply, not angry—just intent.
“Kelly, listen to me. When I say I want you, I mean it. When I say marry me, I mean it.”
He tilts my face up to his with two fingers on my chin. So sure. So confident. So strong.
I want to stay right there safe inside the shadow of his strength.
“Do you really think I’ve waited years,” he says quietly, “for a chance to have you, just to lose interest after one night?”
Years.
The word lands deep.
“You really…?” I trail off.
“Yeah,” he says simply. “I really.”
There’s no bravado in it. No swagger.
Just certainty.
“And for the record,” he adds, brushing his thumb along my jaw, “I didn’t ‘win’ anything last night. I didn’t find you by accident. I chose you. And you chose me, too. That’s different.”
My throat tightens.
“That’s kind of sweet,” I murmur.
“I can be sweet,” he says dryly. “Don’t spread it around, though. I’ve got a reputation.”
I laugh softly, tension easing just a little.
“Kelly,” he continues, voice turning warm again, indulgent, and honest, “I don’t get swept up. I don’t make proposals I don’t mean. And I sure as hell don’t invite a woman into my bed and my life unless I’m prepared to keep her there.”
My heart stutters.
“You’re very intense,” I whisper.
“Only about things that matter.”
“Are you saying I matter?”
He doesn’t hesitate.
“You matter.”
The simplicity of it almost undoes me.
I study his face, searching for cracks.
There aren’t any.
“Okay,” I breathe.
“Okay?” he echoes.
“I’m still scared,” I admit. “But… okay.”
His mouth curves, not cocky—just pleased.
My eyes sting a little, and I hate that he can see it.
“Now,” he says, brushing his thumb along my jaw, “I’ve got two questions for you.”
I nod, heart thudding.
“Do you need to get Evan this morning?”
I shake my head. “Not until Sunday.”
“Okay.”
His gaze darkens.
“Second question. Do you want coffee before or after?”
“Before or after what?” I ask, brows furrowed.
His mouth curves slowly.
“Before or after I fuck you again.”
Heat floods my body, but this time it isn’t insecurity.
It’s certainty.
Because the way he’s looking at me?
That’s not a man who’s done.
That’s a man who’s just getting started.
“Um, after is fine,” I whisper, and he’s already moving over me.
I feel him there. His cock is hot, hard, and heavy against my slit.
I moan and flex my hips, but he doesn’t take the hint.
“So greedy,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips against mine. “Don’t worry, Honey, I got what you need. And I’m not done with you. Not even close.”
This time, when he lowers his head to claim my lips, I kiss him back with everything I have.
J.T. groans against my lips and pushes down, filling me in one hard thrust.
God, he’s so big. So thick. And it feels so damn good.
I cling to his shoulders as he flexes, pushing his cock deeper.
My legs bend at the knees as I try to make room for him. But he’s just so big—he’s everywhere.
And I love it.
J.T. growls—intense, animalistic, and he pounds into me now.
This isn’t sweet. Not soft.
It’s something else.
Fierce. Rough. Raw.
And it’s everything I didn’t know I needed.
His noises undo me. J.T. isn’t silent about how I affect him.
He groans and growls and grunts.
He praises me—my body. Tells me how much he wants it. How much he likes it.
And it’s like the sweetest aphrodisiac.
“So fucking sexy. Goddamn, Kelly, the things I want to do to you,” he says, and it’s like a vow.
“Yes, yes,” I cry out, arching against him.
He flips us over and now I’m riding him.
My hands press against his rock hard abs, and I moan at how deep he is.
“That’s it. Bounce up and down on my dick, Honey. Get yourself off. Let me see it,” he commands, and I swear his voice has some kind of magical line right to my clit.
I’m no exhibitionist. But with J.T.? I just can’t help myself.
I lift up and drop down. Faster. Harder. I grind my pussy against his shaft. And yes, I find that spot—the perfect spot and I start to come.
“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous when you come for me,” he grunts, sitting up and taking over.
J.T. proves his strength once more by grabbing my waist and lifting me up and down, fucking me on his body until he freezes and roars out loud.
Then, I feel it—hot, sticky cum spilling inside my pussy.
It’s a lot. Too much.
It dribbles down my thighs, onto his lap, but neither of us moves. J.T. wraps me in his arms and rocks us both—milking every single drop of pleasure that he can until I’m trembling with it.
When the pleasure turns almost unbearable—when it feels like there’s nowhere higher to climb—only then does he ease back.
And I melt against him, completely undone, deliciously exhausted and deeply sated.