Leo Nash, rocker superstar, is in my kitchen cooking.

Half naked.

He pulled jeans on -where did he get those?- but they’re loose as though he didn’t button them, and he’s clearly not wearing his underwear. He has the most amazing dimples above his ass.

His shoulders are wide, but lean, like the rest of him. He’s muscular, although not like the Montgomerys. He has a runner’s body.

His hair is a mess from my fingers, and I want to bury them back in there and hold on to him.

He glances back at me with a half-smile and my stomach clenches.

Shit, I’m in so much trouble.

“Hey, sleepy-head.”

“Hey.” I walk to him, wrap my arms around his waist and kiss his back, between his shoulder blades. He’s so tall next to me. Or I’m short. “You cook too?”

“A bit. You had breakfast stuff, so I dug in. I hope that’s okay.”

“Mmm, I’m starving.”

Don’t get used to this, Sam.

“Meow.”

“Hey, little one,” I grin and scoop my fluffy white cat into my arms, nuzzling his face.

“You have a cat.” He glances at me, one eyebrow raised, as he scrambles the eggs.

“I do. Leo, meet Levine.”

“Hello there.” He pauses and smirks. “Levine as in Avril or Adam?”

“He’s a boy, Leo.”

“How did you come up with that name?” He asks with a laugh, scooping the eggs onto our plates.

“I guess I just have a thing for tattooed rock stars.” I grin and shrug.

“What was wrong with Nash?” He asks with a mock scowl.

“Oh, nothing. They’re okay, I guess.”

“I will hurt you later,” he laughs and then shakes his head.

“What?” I ask and set the cat on his feet.

“Never pegged you for a cat owner.”

“It’s one cat. I’m not the crazy cat lady or anything.” I hop up onto the counter next to the stove and watch his tattooed hands as he deftly makes our meal and the cat threads his way through Leo’s legs, purring.

“Well, the jury’s still out about the crazy part,” he winks at me and I slap his arm.

“Don’t be a douche bag. I was thinking about having sex with you again.”

Leo laughs and plates our food, handing me mine. “Wanna sit at the table?” I ask.

“I’m fine.” He leans against the island opposite me, crosses his jean-clad legs and digs into his food. He’s watching me as I eat, but we don’t say anything; just watch the other with a smug smile on our lips.

“What are you thinking?” he finally asks.

“How’d you get that scar?” I ask and point to his abdomen with my fork. He has stars tattooed on his hips, right over those incredibly sexy V lines, and he has a surgical scar just above the one on the right.

“Appendectomy,” he shrugs. “Not a very exciting story.”

“I bet it hurt.”

“It almost killed me.”

“What?” My eyes find his and I stop eating. “What do you mean?”

“I was a teenager, in a foster home. I told the lady I lived with my stomach hurt, but she told me to just go lie down.” He shrugs again and takes a big bite of bacon. “When I started throwing up and ran a temp of about one-oh-four, she took me to the ER. I had to have emergency surgery.”

He’s concentrating on his plate, not looking me in the eye, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal, but I can see that it is a big deal.

Of course it is.

I set my mostly-consumed plate into the sink and hop off the counter top, take his plate from him and set it on the island behind him and wrap my arms around his middle, rest my cheek on his chest, and hold him.

Aside from Olivia, I’ve never felt the need to cuddle anyone in my life.

He wraps his arms around my shoulders and hugs me close, plants his lips on the top of my head, and takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper and kiss his chest. I lean back just a bit so I can see his tats up close while I’m not in the throws of passion.

Who has time to examine tats when he’s inside me?

Not I.

There’s script that says Never Kill What Burns Inside over a heart held in two hands with flames. It’s totally rockstar, but I have a feeling it means more than that. Maybe I’ll ask him about it later.

My eyes travel down his torso, over his sculpted washboard abs, to his stars, and damn, I just want to lick them.

I look up into his face to find him patiently watching me with those stormy gray eyes. His teeth are clenched, a muscle twitches in his jaw, but otherwise his body is completely calm and quiet, watching me explore him. In this moment, I forget about Leo Nash the rock god, and he’s just a man, standing in my kitchen with me.

I pull my hands around his waist, brushing along the top of his jeans, and follow the outline of the stars with my thumbs.

He sucks a breath in through his teeth and his stomach seizes, and I grin to myself and sink down to my knees, so his hips, and the erection straining against the zipper of these sexy, ripped jeans, are eye level with me.

“Sam,” he begins but the words catch in his throat when I lean in and lick the star on the right side, following the path my thumbs took moments ago, and then lave the scar from his surgery. “Sonofabitch,” he whispers.

I plant tiny kisses over the blue and red ink, over the white scar of the incision, like I’m kissing it better.  I kiss my way along his lower belly, over his pubis, and switch sides, paying equal attention to the other star, enjoying the muscular line of his hip.

Any woman who says that V in a man’s hips isn’t sexy is a fucking liar.

Leo gently tucks my hair behind my ears as I run my hands up the outside of his thighs and to the zipper of his jeans and lower it slowly, allowing the denim to fall off his hips to his ankles and his impressive cock to spring free.

He pushes my robe apart and I let it fall off my shoulders and to the floor.

I grip his cock in my fist and pump up and down loving how it continues to harden in my hand, and lean in to lick a drop of dew off the end.

“Samantha,” he whispers and buries his hands in my hair, gripping the strands in his strong hands as though he needs an anchor. I look up as I sink down over him, pushing him all the way to the back of my throat and then I grip him tightly with my lips and pull all the way up.

His eyes are on fire, watching me intently, panting as if we’d just run three miles. I smile up at him and repeat the motion, up and down on him, teasing him with my tongue and the tips of my teeth, and then sucking vigorously.