Rock With Me(15)

“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 f*cking 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.

“Fucking A, Samantha,” He pulls me to my feet and into his arms, stomping out of the kitchen.

“Where are we going?” I ask with a chuckle as I wrap my arms around his neck and nuzzle his neck.

“Bedroom. I’m going to have to stock every room of your apartment with condoms,” he mutters and sets me down on the bed, pulls a foil packet out of the drawer and makes quick work of suiting up as he crawls onto the bed beside me.