John + Siena: The Complete Duet

by Bethany-Kris

  John’s thumb stroked her cheek. “So what did make you come find me, then?”

  “I thought … why not do something different?” Siena asked. “Besides, how many more times do we have to run in to each other before we get a chance to actually finish a conversation? Kind of leaves a person wanting more, doesn’t it?”

  “It can.”

  “Like I said, I’m just doing something different. Giving us another option, if you want to put it that way. If you don’t run off tonight, maybe we’ll actually be able to have one of those conversations, John.”

  He didn’t think she meant just talking. That wasn’t a bad thing. Not at all.

  “Oh?”

  “Mmhmm.” She gave him a look. “You seem unsure, John.”

  “It’s been a long time for me—for something like this, I mean. Maybe I’m a bit rusty.”

  “About three years or so, huh?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Infamous, remember?”

  John nodded, and let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, that.”

  “I don’t do this often, either,” she admitted.

  “No?”

  “Nope.”

  John wet his lips. “I live in Queens.”

  Siena smiled. “I live five blocks away.”

  “Do you feel better with your place?”

  “I would, actually.”

  John’s hand rested just above the curve of Siena’s ass as they began walking back in the direction they had come. He would be needing his Mercedes, now. Siena tucked tightly into his side the whole way.

  “You’re not second-guessing being here, are you?”

  Siena’s soft question drew his attention away from the window overlooking the street below. Her Brooklyn apartment was about as big as he expected it to be, given the area. Clean, though, and meticulous in organization.

  He liked that.

  John found Siena sipping on a glass of water just a few feet away in the space between the open kitchen and living room. She had discarded his jacket, and her lips were back to their unpainted pink.

  Compliments of his kiss.

  She started it.

  He didn’t want to stop.

  Siena’s fingertips edged along the hem of her short dress, and his gaze followed the path. A flash of creamy, shapely thighs, and his heart raced all over again.

  His dick got hard, too.

  Fuck, it had been way too long.

  “Definitely not second-guessing anything,” he told her.

  Siena grinned, and hooked a finger at him. John took her silent gesture for what it seemed like, and came closer until he could take the glass from her hand. He set it aside on a small table beside the couch.

  “I need a little help,” she told him.

  “With what, bella mia?”

  Siena tipped her head to the side. “Getting this off.”

  John laughed a husky sound, and nodded once. He didn’t mind helping her out with that at all.

  It wasn’t just her mouth that tasted like sweetness and sin, he learned. It was her jaw, too. The curve of her shoulder as he dragged her dress down. The spot where her spine met the back of her neck, and the dimples right above the swell of her ass. Skin so fucking soft, he couldn’t stop touching her. Hair like curled silk when he drove his fingers in it.

  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.

  John just tipped his head back, and let her touch. He needed to let her explore. It was only when those teasing hands of hers slipped beneath his boxer-briefs that he look back down at her. Her fingers circled his hard dick—tightening and stroking, soft, yet fast.

  “Christ,” he grunted through clenched teeth.

  “I bet it’ll feel way better when I’m on my back, and you’re inside me,” she whispered.

  Fuck.

  “Yes to all of that.”

  Hell fucking yes.

  Siena let him go just long enough to dig through the nightstand. Soon, she had a foil packet in her grasp, before she was tearing it open. He was the one to shove his boxer-briefs down and step out of them, but she rolled the latex down his cock.

  John pinched her chin between his forefinger and thumb, and tipped her head back. Soft strokes of her hand circled up and down his length as he kissed her one more time, and then pushed her back to the bed. He climbed between her thighs, and hovered over her.

  A kiss to her smirking lips.

  Then her trembling chin.

  Down over her throat.

  Between the valley of her breasts still covered in pink lace.

  The lower he went, the more she shivered. Those little breaths of hers picked up when his tongue struck out just below her navel.

  “What other sounds do you make, donna?” he asked.

  “Guess you’re going to find out, John.”

  He grinned against her skin.

  Yeah, he liked this woman a lot.

  More than he probably should, considering her last name and all.

  John’s teeth nipped into her hip, and then he bit into the waistband of her panties. Siena let out a little squeak when he let the panties snap back against her skin. Just as fast, he bit into them again, and started pulling them down. Once they hit the floor, and all he could see was her bare, pink sex as she widened her legs, any desire he had to wait to prolong this was useless.

  He couldn’t do it.

  She flashe
d her pussy at him, all wet and waiting, and he was done for.

  John was back between Siena’s opened thighs before she had blinked. Her hand guided him home, and he took her with one hard thrust. There was no hesitation to the way her pussy took him all the way in.

  A wet, warm heaven.

  Soaking him.

  Hugging him damn tight.

  She became like morphine to him, then. A shot of a drug he was addicted to, and hadn’t gotten a good dose of in far too long. He was the fucking fiend in need of what she was supplying.

  Those little breaths of hers turned in to gasps when he pulled back, and thrust in all over again. Those gasps turned in to the neediest moans when his hand slipped between their bodies to toy with her clit as he fucked her.

  Siena’s head fell back, giving him access to her throat, but it also let him see what he was doing to her. The way pleasure wrote heavily in her eyes, and in the shape of her lips when his name fell from her mouth.

  So beautiful.

  He hadn’t lied.

  She was perfect.

  Her song when she came out high and broken with only his name. “John, John, John.”

  She was like an ocean, he thought.

  Like his mind sometimes was—large, wide, deep, and dangerous. Something he could get lost in, and something amazing to see. Frightening, too, but also too alluring to stay away from.

  She could be the ocean.

  He didn’t mind drowning.

  John listened for any sounds coming from Siena’s bedroom as he dug inside the suit jacket he had discarded the night before. She was sleeping soundly, but he still took great effort not to make much noise while he searched for his pill case.

  Just in case he wasn’t home in the morning, he liked to bring along a smaller case that took care of his morning meds. Lithium, an anticonvulsant, and Zoloft. The final pill he set out on the counter was a mood stabilizer to keep the Zoloft in check with the rest of the pills. Sometimes one pill needed another pill to counteract the emotional or mental side effects it could have by mixing one with another.

  Depending on the state of his current cycle, John’s meds needed to be changed accordingly. He had become accustomed to knowing which meds he needed depending on where he was in his disorder. Any antidepressants during spells of depression meant no mood stabilizers, and no Lithium as they severely worsened and darkened his moods and thoughts to dangerous levels.

  His new mix of meds—compliments of the therapist he had been seeing since his release—however, continued to leave him in a fog that he couldn’t escape from.

  Sometimes, it was a delicate balance. A balance that could easily be upset by things like a change in dose, or a new pill. Other times, it was an emotional upset that just couldn’t be contained for whatever reason. Just like that, his balance would be tipped in a bad direction, and it only went downhill from there.

  John had learned over the years not to fear that downhill slide. He could go months without having any kind of episode, be it manic, depression, or a mix of the two. He’d gone years without experiencing one once, but eventually, it would happen. Another manic cycle would start, and the mania festered until it got worse and worse.

  It could be days.

  It could stretch on for a couple of weeks.

  Months.

  And then the mania broke, and all John was left with was a blinding, crippling depression that coated his mind with blackness and dark thoughts. A depression that took all the euphoria-like feelings from the mania, and exhausted him emotionally and physically.

  Still, he didn’t fear the cycle.

  He couldn’t.

  Not when it was just who he was.

  Those four little pills he set out on Siena’s counter—ones he took every morning—were just one of the many things he did to keep his disorder balanced. Despite his reservations about the new med regime, he opted to give it a fair try like the therapist wanted him to. There was still so much more to managing his disorder, too.

  Medication. Diet. Exercise. Therapy.

  Everyday.

  Over and over.

  Yet, he felt shame.

  People heard bipolar and thought crazy. They thought, highs and lows. No one realized how much bipolar could vary between person to person. Or they looked at him like he was unstable, and might freak out any minute. The stigma around his disorder, and mental health in general, left him feeling very alone.

  No one understood.

  He didn’t know how to explain it.

  He couldn’t be just Johnathan Marcello to somebody once they knew his little secret—he then became Johnathan who was bipolar.

  That was every reason why he made sure to get up when it was still early enough for the sun to be down. Then, he wouldn’t have to explain to a woman he had just spent the night with—but fuck, actually liked, too—why the first thing he had to do was slam back a cocktail of medications.

  He couldn’t be just John to Siena then.

  He would have to be John and his bipolar.

  It was selfish, sure.

  Part of his therapy was being honest, and open about his disorder. Especially when it came to people he got involved with on an emotional level. Explaining his disorder and opening up to them was supposed to be healthy, and erase the stigma.

  He often felt like it did the complete opposite.

  Grabbing a glass out of the open shelf above the sink, John half-filled it with water. He scooped the pills up all at once, and tossed them back. A mouthful of water, and the pills were down. Some of them left a bitter taste behind if he let them linger too long on his tongue, so he just downed the bastards as fast as he could.

  Breakfast, he told himself, looking around.

  Food was also needed for some of the meds. They didn’t mess with his stomach as much when he chased the pills with a meal, or even toast.

  John didn’t think Siena would mind waking up to breakfast, considering she had asked him to stay. Breakfast was one of the only damn things he could cook particularly well, too. It was a win-win all the way around the board.

  He was still searching through the cupboards to find the things he needed to make pancakes when his cell phone rang.

  Shit.

  John damn near leaped over the table to grab his cell phone, and answer the call. It was still too early to be waking somebody else up because of his nonsense.

  He put the phone to his ear with a, “Yeah, John here.”

  “Son, where are you?”

  John stiffened at his father’s voice, and the question. “What do you need?”

  “Nice deflection, but I didn’t miss it.”

  “I’m out.”

  “It’s five in the damn morning.”

  John tried to keep his tone low and calm while he spoke. “I’m aware of what time it is, Dad. What do you need?”

  “Somebody went over to your place this morning to grab you, but you weren’t there. I need you to come to Amityville now.”

  “To your place, or the boss’s?”

  “Dante’s.”

  Something was wrong. Nobody got called to the boss’s home at this early in the morning unless something had happened.

  “Dad—”

  “I’ll explain it when you get here,” Lucian said. “I think it would be better to do face to face, all things considered.”

  Hesitation and concern slipped down John’s ramrod-straight spine. He didn’t like what he was hearing, or how defensive it made him feel. Like he couldn’t be trusted or something with whatever his father had to say.

  It wouldn’t be the first time Lucian withheld things from John simply because he thought it was the better option. Sometimes, he understood why his father did it. Either way, every time it left him feeling the same thing.

  Like his father didn’t believe in him.

  As though Lucian thought John was too unstable.

  Again, John … who was bipolar.

  That fucking circle was vicious.

  �
�Just tell me what’s going on,” John said. “I’m kind of in the middle of something …” To say the least. “And I don’t want to skip out unless it’s important.

  “You know that if one of us calls you and says something, it is important, Johnathan.”

  In the background, John heard his uncle, and boss, say, “Lucian, you need to trust your son. Explain to him what’s going on because he asked.”

  Silently, John thanked Dante for stepping in like that. His boss didn’t need to do that, but sometimes little things went a long fucking way.

  “Lucia is gone,” Lucian murmured.

  John turned into a statue on the spot.

  Cold.

  Hard.

  Unmoving.

  “What?” he hissed.

  “She took off last night—I thought maybe me and a few men could go out after them and bring her back before morning, but I misjudged how capable that young man is.”

  “Renzo,” John said.

  Just to be sure …

  “Yes,” Lucian replied. “So, I need you to come here so we can—”

  “I’m not going there at all.”

  In an instant, John’s mind was made up, and his choices were done. He had gotten the chance to warn Renzo not to mess with his little sister, but the young man had just smirked at John, and walked away.

  The Lucia and Renzo mess had been on-going for a good month now. His sister knew her parents didn’t approve of the young man, but she didn’t seem to want to back off. After John had privately approached Renzo, his sister practically cut off all contact with him, too.

  She was supposed to be starting college in California for the second semester soon. She was smart girl—the good girl.

  What in the hell was going on?

  Fury slipped through John’s veins.

  “She’s eighteen, though,” Lucian put in, “and that makes things difficult.”

  “Not for me,” John said. “I’ll find her, and she’ll be returned home.”

  And him.

  John would find Renzo, and fix that issue, too.

  Lucia was twelve years younger than John, but she was still the only sibling he had that actually gave a shit about him. His other two sisters barely spoke to him, let alone looked at him when they had to share a space.

  Years of his disorder manifesting into outbursts, vicious words, broken walls, and spewed hate had ruined those relationships. He didn’t blame Cella or Liliana a bit for how they felt regarding him.