Page 45 of Loyalty

A mouth meant to be put to use.

Sucking him.

Kissing him.

Begging him.

Siena’s soft breaths echoed in John’s ear as his lips ghosted over her jawline again. In just a couple of quick minutes, he had her standing in nothing but pink lace. In that same time, his mouth and hands had touched damn near every inch of her.

There was still so much more he wanted to find, too.

Explore …

Taste …

Darkening blue eyes met John’s gaze, and Siena’s bottom lip quivered when he tipped her head up to stare straight down at her. All it took was that one look—a silent, needy stare—that broke the haze for John.

Three years dry didn’t make a difference then.

All he felt was need. A deep thrumming hunger that burned. A want so strong, it made his fucking bones ached.

Just because of the way she looked at him.

“Tell me you know how beautiful you are, Siena.”

She blinked, but her lack of words said what she wouldn’t.

“That’s a shame,” John murmured. “You are by far the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

Another one of her sexy, sly smiles curved her lips. “Smooth talker.”

“I don’t do smooth.”

“No?”

“Was never really my thing,” he admitted. “I don’t ever say things I don’t mean, and sometimes that’s the damn problem with me.”

Siena swallowed hard. “Good to know.”

“You have to tell me what you want next. It’s only you calling the shots, sweetheart.”

“My bedroom is the last door down the hall, John.”

Good enough.

“Is there a condom in there?”

Because fuck him for not having one.

“A brand new box of six,” she said, shrugging her naked shoulders. “Like a just-in-case, except just in case never actually happened.”

He’d make sure the box was empty before morning came. Time to make up for, and all that.

John kissed Siena hard—harder than before, and yanked her to him with crushing force. She only sighed a happy sound, and parted those sweet lips of hers to silently ask for more. He didn’t stop kissing her, or touching her, until they hit the bedroom floor.

Her hands worked far faster than his had to get rid of his clothes. They fell to the floor, forgotten, as her fingertips traced the hard lines of his naked abdominal muscles. With each touch, his nerves reacted. That wild feeling grew—the need he tried to shut off like it was a faucet of running water turned on, and cascading down.

A rush of feeling.