Page 36 of Hooked on a Feeling

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“You always this independent?” John asked Starr after she returned to sit beside him on the bench and worked on finishing her salad. She had barely taken a ten-minute break and was insisting that she needed to get back to painting.

“Says you. But yeah, I am.”

The air was thick with humidity. “I hope you’ve been drinking a lot of water out here.” He liked when she blushed—it happened every time he mentioned he was worried about her. It was cute.

“I have been. Thanks for the food.” She turned to run off, and John was just about to remind her of the after-food kiss she’d promised when she flew into his arms.

Her arms went around his shoulders, and she pressed one palm against the back of his head, lowering his mouth to hers. The kiss was long and warm. Slow. His dick was growing with every stroke of her tongue across his. She let out a breathy moan and bit his bottom lip before she pushed him away. “You busy tonight? You want to come over when the sun goes down?”

“Forget the sun going down. Let’s fucking go now.” He followed her back around the building to where she’d left off painting. She was already grabbing her brush.

“Can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” He gripped her hips and pulled her against his body. His cock fit nicely between the swells of her butt cheeks.

“Won’t. But also can’t.”

He moved his arms around her tummy and dipped his face to her ear. “You better not be too tired tonight because I’m going to give you a workout.”

He felt something cold and wet on his skin and pulled back. A perfect line of blue paint marked the top of his hand. Brush strokes made clear what she’d done. He met Starr’s gaze—her sassy and proud gaze. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“You left me no choice. A woman’s gotta work.”

“This means war.” John acted fast, moving to her painting supplies, where he grabbed another paintbrush. He barely had a chance to coat the brush with fresh paint before he felt a wet path on the back of his arm.

When he turned, Starr was standing there wide-eyed, holding her paintbrush in front of her like it was a brick wall. “Stay away.”

He lunged at her, his brush connecting with her bare shoulder and leaving a mark that trailed down to her elbow. She let out a squeal and tried to move away, but he managed to grip her wrist. She turned on him, and her brush landed on his jawline. He yanked his head to the left and pulled her against him. “You’re going down, princess.”

“No! John! No!”

She yanked her wrist free and stepped around the ladder, but he brushed paint over the top of her hand. He moved again, getting her bare leg. The ladder tilted, and paint oozed down his head in stringy rivulets from the can balanced on the ladder. The ladder tipped, and the can landed with a thud at his feet.

“Oh my. I’m so sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

He reached for her, catching her off guard. He pushed her down onto her tarp. The paint from his head was already dripping onto Starr’s clothes, and because he was such a nice guy, he warned her. “You better close your eyes.”

She started squealing and tossing and turning beneath him even though he was straddling her and had her wrists pinned. He started shaking his head like a dog, spewing droplets of paint all over her. She closed her mouth but continued to struggle. He pressed his head into her tits, coating as much paint onto her clothes and chest as he could.

Her chest heaved against his, and he met her gaze. She stopped squirming, and the world stopped moving. A few birds chirped in the silence, but all John could hear was the blood pounding in his ears. Specks of paint covered Starr’s face, but fuck it to hell if he’d ever seen anything more beautiful. Her lips were rosy red.

He shifted and pressed his thickness between her legs. Her mouth opened into a breathy little sigh, and John’s mouth covered hers. He was lost in all things Starr Young. Even with the smell of paint lingering in his nose and the fact that their clothes were ruined, there was no place else he would rather be.

“You have any electronics on you?” he asked. “That hose still work? Let’s rinse off and jump in the water.”

“You’re serious?” Her eyes were sparkling with lust and desire—no doubt mirroring what was in his.

“Come on.” He pulled her up, adjusting his dick in his shorts as he went. “Probably not a good idea to stay covered in paint, inhaling it.”

“Oh, it’s eco-friendly. It has low levels of VOC, so we should be good.”

John stopped at the hose and turned it on. The water came out warm. “You’re painting The Beach House with eco-friendly paint. What did that set you back? Can’t be cheap.”

“It wasn’t. But it’s good for the environment. That was the only way to go.”

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