Page 73 of John + Siena: The Complete Duet

John turned to the pantry, and pulled the honey in question from the shelf. Still unopened, the jar was filled to the rim with golden sweetness. He strolled over, and set it beside the bowl where Siena was already starting to fill it with dry ingredients.

She peeked over at him. “Do you want to help?”

“I think I like watching you more.”

Her smile teased him. “That so?”

“Yeah, love.”

“La dolce vita,” she said, grinning.

“The sweet life.”

Siena nodded. “Every man likes to feel like a king in his home, doesn’t he?”

John laughed a husky tune. “Some men certainly do.”

“Are you one of those men?”

“I am right now.”

Siena’s floury hand patted his cheek, and left powder behind. “You’re lucky I like you, Johnathan Marcello. I don’t particularly care for spoiled men most of the time.”

“Maybe you’ve been around the wrong kind of men, then.”

Her blue eyes traveled over him once, and then twice.

“Most definitely.”

John wasn’t sure what did it for him—the way she was looking at him with those clear, honest eyes of hers, or the way her tone echoed with sin when it reached his ears. It could have been the way she looked in his shirt, too.

Whatever it was, it made the need for food come second to the need he felt for her.

John reached for Siena, and had her backside up on the counter before she even blinked. His mouth was on hers as his hands skimmed under the hem of the dress shirt covering her body. Soft, smooth skin met his warm palms while her tongue danced with his.

Something fell off the counter—the smaller bowl she had found, maybe. He didn’t even care.

Her flour dusted hands left marks down his chest while her fingernails raked over the same spots. She widened her thighs as his hands slipped higher under the shirt, and found her pert tits. Hard nipples rolled under his thumbs, and then her teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

She promised.

She teased.

She gave.

She took.

Siena didn’t have to say a thing, either. It was all in the way she touched him, how she kissed him, when she looked at him, and the way he felt from it all. The sensations clashed together like a wrecking ball coming through to tear down what little walls he had left for control, and there he was, pieces of a mess on the ground.

Her mess.

John yanked open the dress shirt to expose more of her body to him, and likely ruined three buttons in the process. Her skin heated and pebbled under his touch. She tipped her head back, and let him ghost kisses over her throat while his exploration went lower. The taste of her skin on his tongue was unlike anything else. He found one taste was not enough.

It never was.

Silky smooth, wet flesh met his fingertips between her thighs. Her little gasp when he stroked her sex with the pad of his thumb made him grin.

“So fucking responsive,” he murmured against her throat.