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.”
