Chapter 27
Kelly
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
J.T. is swinging that axe down on the chopping block and I swear to God the man could be crowned the god of lumber, and I’d happily spend the rest of my life worshipping at his altar.
The sound of steel biting into wood echoes through the mountain air, sharp and satisfying. Each swing pulls the muscles across his back tight beneath his open shirt, his arms flexing with the kind of strength that makes my pulse thrum low in my belly.
Good Lord.
Now, I’m aware the lumber industry rarely uses the term lumberjack anymore. Arthur already lectured me about that once at the mill.
But whatever the proper title is for a man splitting wood like that?
J.T. Lawrence is the living, breathing embodiment of it right now.
And he is performing every dirty little fantasy my social media feed ever teased me with—fantasies I didn’t even realize had taken root in my head until this very moment.
The evening light hits the yard just right, gold spilling across the grass and catching on the sweat along his chest.
Every swing of the axe is deliberate, powerful, confident.
And every time he brings it down, he looks at me.
Through the glass.
Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
My mouth goes dry.
I lick my lips and suddenly remember my hands are frozen right where they are—hooked in the waistband of my panties.
For a second I just stand there.
Heart racing.
Body humming.
Because this is new for me.
New and bold and a little terrifying.
Mike used to make me feel like wanting things—sexual things—was embarrassing. Excessive. Like I should be grateful for whatever scraps of attention he tossed my way.
But J.T.?
J.T. looks at me like desire is something to celebrate.
Outside, the axe stops midair.
I frown slightly when he pauses, watching me.
Then he tilts his head.
Slowly.
And gives a pointed nod toward my hands.
Oh.
Right.
My part.
Heat floods my face.
I forgot.
I’m supposed to be giving him a show too.
I swallow and glance down at my fingers still hooked in the fabric of my underwear.
God, this feels outrageous.
A little reckless.
And yet, the way he’s watching me makes something deep inside my chest unfold.
Because he isn’t mocking.
He isn’t impatient.
He’s waiting.
Like he wants me exactly the way I am—nervous, curious, discovering this part of myself one inch at a time.
My heart pounds harder.
I slide the fabric down slowly over my hips.
The cool air of the room brushes my skin as I step free of them, my pulse racing at the realization that I’m standing here in front of that big window, completely exposed to the man outside.
For half a second, I hesitate.
Then I glance up.
J.T. hasn’t moved.
The axe is still hanging midair, a couple of feet over the chopping block.
He’s just standing there.
Watching me like I’m the most captivating thing he’s ever seen.
And suddenly the nervousness doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming.
It feels thrilling.
Empowering.
Because for the first time in a long time, I’m not undressing out of obligation.
I’m doing it because I want to.
Because he wants me to.
And because the way that man is looking at me right now makes me feel like the most beautiful, desired woman on this entire mountain.
He resumes chopping, and I lower myself onto the chair.
He grabs another piece of wood.
I run my fingers down my body, stopping at my breasts. J.T.’s eyes narrow as I pluck and twist my nipples.
He licks his lips and mine part.
He takes off his shirt and belt, unbuttons his jeans, and reaches inside, giving his cock a squeeze.
God, he’s so sexy.
I lean back and open my legs, draping them over the sides so he can see—well, everything.
I pause with one hand on my belly, the other inching up my thigh, and I nod.
He blinks, then grabs the axe and another piece of wood.
He swings.
My fingers glide across my sex.
Sensations rush through my veins like wildfire. God, I feel so full of lust. Needy. Aching. Desperate for him.
J.T. drops another log onto the block and sets it steady with one boot.
Then he lifts the axe again.
The movement is slow and powerful, deliberate in a way that makes my breath catch. The muscles across his chest and stomach tighten and shift beneath his open shirt, every line of him carved by years of hard work.
His arms flex as he raises the handle high above his head, the tendons in his forearms standing out as he grips the wood.
The axe comes down with a sharp crack.
The log splits clean in two.
My gaze drags helplessly over him. Sweat beads along his brow and slides down the side of his face, catching in the silver at his temples. His skin is tanned and warm from the sun, now glistening with exertion as the evening light washes over him.
He looks wild out there.
Strong.
Primal.
Like some ancient mountain god who stepped out of the forest just to torment me.
He grabs more wood.
I push one finger inside my sex.
Another chop.
My other hand finds my clit.
Swing.
Push.
More wood.
Withdraw.
The axe lifts,
I push back in.
He chops.
I rub faster.
I’m panting now, circling my clit with one set of fingers while the others work in and out of my pussy.
And when his eyes lift to the glass and lock on mine again—dark, knowing, wicked with satisfaction—the rush that floods through me steals the air from my lungs.
My whole body tightens with sensation, heat spiraling through me so suddenly and intensely that I gasp, gripping the arm of the chair as pleasure washes over me in a wave I never saw coming.
Outside, J.T. freezes mid-motion.
Then a slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face.
Because he knows exactly what he just did to me.
Next, J.T. drops the axe and stalks up the steps to the sliding door. I swear, for a minute I think he might go right through it.
But he doesn’t.
He just grips the handle and pulls it open.
Next thing I know, he is right there. He drops to his knees and falls face first into my trembling sex.
I might have gotten myself off, but it was nothing compared to this.
“So fucking hot and wet,” he growls into my pussy as he eats me.
“J.T. please,” I beg, pulling on his hair.
“What’s the matter, Honey? Need me to fill this pussy? Need to come on my cock?”
I nod because yes. I need that.
I need him. So damn badly.
“I got what you need,” he growls and leans back to undo his jeans.
“Hurry,” I moan, panting with need and this feeling of urgency.
“Hold on, Honey.”
Next, he grabs my hips and pulls me down, impaling me on his rock hard cock—and I scream at his desperate, rough invasion.
It feels like I’m coming apart at the seams.
But J.T. won’t let that happen. He puts all my pieces back together with ever buck and thrust of his powerful body.
One hand reaches for me, cupping the back of my neck. J.T. growls and presses my mouth to his, sealing us together.
I feel so alive with him moving inside of me. Our bodies are so close. It’s like nothing I have ever felt.
I wiggle against him, doing my best to keep up with him, but the man is just so—so J.T. And I am so here for it.
His heartbeat is thundering against mine, our breaths are rough and ragged.
J.T. pushes the chair back with one hand and lays me down. Then he’s over me, pressing his cock in deeper—so fucking deep.
“Goddamn, Honey, feel that? Feel your body sucking me inside. Like it knows it belongs to me.”
He looks wild, sexy, so fucking hot as he whispers impossibly dirty things to me.
“Your pussy is squeezing my cock, Baby. So fucking good. That’s it. Christ, I need to come. But I need you there. Come for me, Kelly. Now,” he commands.
And it’s like he flipped a switch because my body obeys.
“J.T.!” I scream his name as I shatter beneath him.
For one incredible moment I get to watch as this big, beautiful man falls apart on top of me.
And it is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Hell, it’s everything.