Right now, I’m done waiting.
I’ve waited years.
I’ve watched her stand beside a man who didn’t deserve her.
I’ve kept my distance from her when it wasn’t my place to interfere.
Not anymore.
My desire for her?The need I feel for Kelly McCrae?
It’s feral.
It claws at my ribs, burns through my bloodstream, settles low and heavy in my gut.
Unmatched.
Unfuckingdeniable.
I cup her cheek, thumb sliding along her jaw, my other hand locked firm on her ass like I’m afraid she might vanish.
“You want me,” I murmur, not asking—confirming.
She nods.
That’s it.
That’s all I need.
I drag her into me and kiss her like I haven’t yet—like I didn’t have the right until this second.
Until she said yes.
Until she admitted she wants me back.
This kiss isn’t polite.
It isn’t careful.
It’s claiming.
My mouth moves over hers with everything I’ve been holding in—years of wanting, weeks of restraint, minutes of white-hot anticipation.
She answers me.
Fuck, how she answers me.
Her fingers curl into my shirt like she’s anchoring herself, and I feel the last shred of control snap.
I take her hand.
“Come here,” I growl, already pulling her toward the stairs.
I’m in a rush.No point pretending otherwise.
She laughs—actually laughs—and it’s the sexiest damn sound I’ve ever heard.
“J.T.—” she starts, breathless.
