Chapter 41
Kelly
Joining my sexy as fuck husband in the shower might be one of the greatest perks of being married.
Honestly.
The man is devastating. And not just because of his body—which is honestly amazing—but it’s because of his heart.
My breath catches as I open the door and see him there.
J.T. stands under the spray, broad shoulders glistening, water sliding down the hard planes of his chest and over the ridges of muscle across his stomach. His dark hair is damp, curling at the ends, and his green eyes—God, those eyes—lock on me the moment I step through the glass door.
The air shifts.
The whole room feels smaller.
Hotter.
Like something alive is sparking between us.
He looks at me the way he always does—like I’m the only thing in the world worth seeing.
And every single time it steals the breath right out of my lungs.
This man.
This big, rough mountain man who growls more than he talks and looks like he could split logs with his bare hands—he worships me.
Every day.
Even now.
Especially now.
When I tell him we’ve got about thirty minutes before Evan finishes his shower and comes wandering through the house looking for snacks, J.T.’s mouth curls slowly.
Predatory.
Delighted.
“I can work with that.”
The words roll through me like thunder.
Heat blooms low in my belly.
Because when J.T. says something like that, he means it.
He steps toward me and the size of him is overwhelming—broad chest, thick arms, that quiet, dangerous strength that makes people step aside when he walks into a room.
But when he looks at me, all that power softens.
Not weak.
Never that.
Just focused.
Like I’m the center of his gravity. And God, I want that to be true.
His hands slide around my waist and pull me against him. And then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is deep. Possessive. Demanding in that way that always makes my knees weak.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth like he’s claiming territory, and the sound that escapes me is embarrassingly needy.
His hands roam over my curves, my breasts, my hips, my soft belly. But he likes that about me. He likes my body.
And, God, I can hardly believe it, but he says he always has.
For years—decades—I lived in a marriage where desire felt like something I had to apologize for.
Where my body was something barely tolerated. Scorned, really. Taken for granted.
It was never celebrated, and sure as shit, never worshipped.
And then J.T. came crashing into my life like a storm through the mountains.
And suddenly, everything changed.
He touches me like I’m treasure.
Looks at me like I’m fire.
And somewhere along the way I started feeling something I hadn’t felt since I was a girl.
Free.
Alive.
Myself.
“Turn around,” he growls.
My pulse jumps.
“What?”
“Turn,” he repeats, voice darker now.
“Hands on the tile.”
The command sends a shiver racing through me.
There’s something about the certainty in his voice.
The way he assumes I’ll listen.
The way he knows I trust him enough to.
And the truth is, I do.
Completely. I turn slowly, placing my palms against the cool tile wall.
Behind me I hear him shift closer. Feel the heat of his body.
The heavy presence of him right at my back.
Every nerve ending in my body lights up.
J.T. exhales softly behind me. A low sound of approval that makes my stomach flip.
Then, I feel him there. His big hands on my back, pressing down, then moving to my hips where he tilts me where he wants me.
“So damn pretty,” he whispers.
Then I feel it, his broad head against my entrance.
“Always so damn pretty, Honey. And so damn mine, tell me,” he grunts, and my pussy clenches, needing him to push in already.
“Yours, J.T., I am all yours,” I reply with zero hesitation.
My pulse is racing, my heart is pounding, I am so turned on right now.
“Yeah you are,” he grunts, and pushes his hips forward, entering me in one hard press.
Pleasure surges through me, sudden and overwhelming.
My head tips back.
The sound that leaves my throat is raw and helpless.
Behind me J.T. growls again, the sound vibrating through his chest.
Like he enjoys hearing exactly what he does to me.
Steam fills the shower. Water slides over our bodies. And the world outside this room disappears.
There’s just him.
Just us.
Just the overwhelming way he makes me feel.
Wanted.
Powerful.
Safe.
“Fuck, you feel so damn good,” he groans, thrusting in harder, and oh God, my pussy clenches around him.
“That’s it. Suck me in. Keep me inside you always,” he says, and his words are just as hot as his moves.
I’m mumbling nonsense now. Begging him to go faster, deeper. To never stop. Never leave me.
My fingers tighten against the tile.
My breathing turns uneven.
The pressure building inside me is fast and fierce and impossible to stop.
“J.T.,” I whisper.
His name comes out like a prayer.
Or a surrender.
Behind me his voice is rough when he answers.
“I’m never stopping, Honey. I’m never going anywhere without you.”
Those words.
Simple.
But they break something open inside my chest.
Because he always does.
He always has.
Through the fear.
Through the chaos with Mike.
Through the moment my world cracked apart and I thought everything I’d built was gone.
J.T. was there.
Steady.
Unshakable.
Like the mountains outside our home.
And suddenly the realization crashes over me with terrifying clarity.
I’m not just grateful for him.
I’m not just attracted to him.
I’m not just leaning on him because he makes life easier.
I love him.
Deep.
Fierce.
Terrifying in its certainty.
His hand sneaks around my waist, dipping low until he finds it. My clit. Then he presses down. Tap, tap, tap. And all the while he never stops fucking me from behind.
The pleasure crests hard and fast, tearing a gasp from my throat.
And the words burst out of me before I can stop them.
“J.T.! Oh God! J.T., I love you. I love you!”
I cry out, coming harder than ever before.
J.T. thrusts two more times, his climax filling me as his big arms wrap around me, pulling me upright.
Together, we’re breathing rough, heavy, loud.
And my confession hangs in the steam-filled air.
Raw.
Unplanned.
Completely true.
My chest heaves as the realization settles over me.
Because it isn’t the giddy love of a teenage girl.
Not the hopeful kind I once believed in with Mike.
This is different.
Stronger.
Grounded.
This is love built from wreckage.
From second chances. From choosing someone every single day.
And somewhere along the way, without even realizing it—J.T. Lawrence became the center of my world.
I close my eyes, overwhelmed.
Because loving him doesn’t feel like losing myself. It feels like finally becoming the woman I was meant to be. And I know I never want to be anyone else again.
Because accepting his love? Acknowledging it? That’s just the biggest honor of my life.
It’s like finding freedom. Peace.
I might be forty-two, but for the first time in my life I know what unconditional love is.
And it’s fucking amazing.