Chapter 25
Kelly
I can feel him before I even turn around.
That weight of attention.
The way the air shifts when J.T. Lawrence fixes his gaze on something he wants.
And right now… that something is me.
I’m standing in the middle of his living room with a paintbrush in my hand and army-green streaks across my jeans, but the second I sense him behind me my skin prickles.
I should go take a shower.
Get cleaned up.
God knows he should too, judging from the fact that he’s been hauling furniture and lifting lumber all day.
But the truth?
The sight of him like this is doing things to me.
He’s leaning against the wall like he owns the place—which, technically, he does.
That thin flannel snap shirt he’s wearing is stretched across his chest, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and his jeans look like they’ve been through a war.
Dust on the knees.
Paint and scuff marks on the thighs.
The kind of worn-in denim that hugs a man’s body in a way that makes a woman start thinking very unladylike thoughts.
And the look on his face?
Oh, he’s thinking the same thing I am.
Alone at last.
Heat slides through me, slow and steady, pooling low in my belly.
But I have something I want to ask him.
A little fantasy that’s been rattling around in my head for days.
It’s ridiculous.
And dirty.
Something the old version of me—the woman Mike Stevens married and left—never would have dared say out loud.
But that woman isn’t here anymore.
“C’mere,” J.T. growls from across the room.
My stomach flips.
I bite my bottom lip and walk toward him.
The second I’m close enough, his big hands clamp down on my hips and he drags me into him like gravity itself bends to his will.
His head dips.
And then he kisses me.
God.
J.T.’s kisses are something else entirely.
Not rushed. Not careless.
Intentional.
Like he’s tasting something he plans to savor for a long time.
Like he’s kissing my soul instead of just my mouth.
Every time he does it, my knees go soft.
And every time I think—absurdly—that every woman should experience a kiss like this at least once in her life.
But if another woman tried?
I might actually cut a bitch.
I laugh softly against his mouth and pull back just enough to breathe.
He growls in quiet protest.
“Where you going, Honey?”
His eyes are already dark.
“J.T.?”
“Mm. What is it?” he asks, canting his head to the side and watching me like the predator I know he is.
“I, um, I was wondering if you’d do something for me.”
“Anything,” he says immediately.
He doesn’t even hesitate.
That word settles into my chest in a way that feels dangerous and comforting all at once.
“Anything?” I ask, biting my lip again.
His brows lift, curiosity sharpening his expression.
“You’ve got me curious now, woman,” he says. “What is it? Tell me.”
I hesitate.
“You can tell me anything, you know that,” he cajoles. “Now, what can I do for you, Kelly?”
I glance toward the sliding glass door that leads out to the yard.
“Well, you know how you’ve got that old chopping log set up outside?”
“Yes,” he says slowly.
His tone shifts just enough that I think he might already know where this is going.
“Well,” I say, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous, “I was wondering if maybe you wouldn’t mind going out there… unsnapping that shirt… and, well…” I clear my throat. “Chopping some wood.”
For a split second, he just stares at me.
Then his mouth curls.
“Chop wood?” he says. “Are you serious?”
Embarrassment rushes up my neck and into my cheeks.
I cover my face with both hands.
“Oh my God. This is stupid. I’m sorry—”
His hands catch my wrists before I can retreat.
“Nuh-uh, Honey,” he murmurs. “It’s not stupid. I’m just making sure I heard you right.”
His voice drops lower.
“You want me to put on a little show for you, Kelly? Is that it?”
My pulse jumps.
“Wanna see your man swing that big ol’ axe and take down some wood for you? Would that get you all hot for me, Honey? Would it soak that pretty pink pussy of yours?”
The way he says it—slow and rough and dripping with confidence—makes heat spiral through my body. It sounds dirty. Filthy.
And, yeah, I want that.
I swallow.
Then, I nod.
Slowly.
“Yes, please.”
His eyes darken even more.
“I can do that for you, Honey.”
His thumb brushes my bottom lip.
“But you’re gonna give me a show too.”
That wicked curl of his mouth makes my stomach flip again.
“L-like what?” I ask, my voice suddenly breathless.
He leans down so his mouth is right beside my ear.
“You’re gonna stand right there,” he says, nodding toward the glass door that looks out onto the yard.
“And while I’m out there swinging that axe…”
His hand slides slowly down my hip.
“You’re gonna start taking those clothes off.”
My breath catches.
“Every piece,” he continues, voice thick and possessive. “Nice and slow until every inch of you is revealed.”
The room suddenly feels very warm.
“Then you’re gonna sit that fine ass of yours in that chair by the window,” he murmurs.
His fingers tilt my chin up so I have to look at him.
“Then, you’re gonna spread those thighs and show me your sweet cunt. And you’re gonna touch yourself, Kelly.”
“T-touch myself? Wh-while you watch?”
“That’s right. I’m gonna watch.”
“How do you want me to touch myself?” I whisper, and fuck, my panties are soaked just picturing it.
“You’re gonna finger that hot little pussy, Kelly, and you’re gonna rub that sweet clit. You’re gonna come watching me chop wood for you—and I’m gonna see it all.”
His gaze burns into mine.
“J.T. I don’t think I—”
“That’s right, you’re not gonna think. You’re just gonna do. Because you’re mine, Honey. You’re mine and you’re safe and wanted right here with me.”
The words should scare me.
They should make me hesitate.
But instead, they make my pulse race.
Because for the first time in my life, being looked at like that doesn’t make me feel small.
It makes me feel powerful.
Desired.
Alive.
And then it hits me—I think I might actually be falling in love with this rough, impossible man.