“I know.”

I hug them both and head out to my car and feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.

My heart rate picks up at the sight of a text from Leo and I have to remind myself that I don’t get to keep him.

He’s not mine.

I climb in my car, start the ignition and buckle my belt before I check the text, just to prove to myself that I’m not dying to see him again.

Because I am.

Where are you, sunshine?

God, I love it when he calls me sunshine.

I’m out.

Maybe, if I’m less than warm and friendly, he’ll go away.

Can I see you tonight?

Or not.

I do not want to be mean to him, but I can’t see him again. The longer I let a physical relationship progress, the harder it will be to stop seeing him later.

I don’t know how long I’ll be out. I may not come home tonight. You know how it is.

I take a deep breath and shift the car into drive and head toward home. Did I seriously just insinuate that I was with another man while I can still feel the after-effects of having him inside me every time I move?

When I can still practically smell him?

I am not that girl.

My phone chirps with another text and I raise the phone in my shaking hand.

I’ll wait.

He’ll wait?

Okay, if he wants a fight, I’ll give him a fight. Who the hell does he think he is, anyway?

I feel better with my anger simmering to the surface and make the drive home in record time. I park under the building in my spot and take the elevator up to my floor and find Leo leaning against the wall next to my door, his legs crossed at the ankles, reading something on his phone.

He has a plastic bag full of take-out.

“How long have you been here?” I ask as I move past him and unlock my door.

“Not long,” he answers, his voice calm. I refuse to look him in the face.

“Why are you here?” I hate how cold my voice sounds.

“I thought I’d bring you dinner.” He follows me inside my apartment and closes the door behind him, sets the bag of food on the coffee table and turns to me, shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

“You should have called earlier. I already had a dinner date.” I swallow and look everywhere but at him, my stomach rolling.

“Look at me.”

“Leo…”

“Look at me, damn it.” My eyes find his and my knees almost buckle at the pain in his stormy gray gaze.

Fuck.

“What do you want from me?” I ask and plant my hands on my hips. “I don’t recall making any promises last night.”

“What’s up with the ice queen act?” His voice is stone hard now. Anger is good. I can work with anger.

“This is just who I am, Leo.” I smirk and turn away and he stomps after me.

Just leave!

“Bullshit.” He grabs my arm and spins me around to face him. “Talk to me.”

“What is there to say?” I pull my arm out of his grip and back away from him. The more distance the better. “Last night was a one time deal, Leo.”

“What?” He frowns at me, not believing what I’m telling him.

“Did you think we were starting a relationship?” I smirk at him. “You don’t do relationships, remember?”

“You’re pissing me off, Samantha.” His hands ball into fists at his sides and his eyes are shooting daggers at me and I have to mentally square my shoulders to keep from sinking to the floor.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” I wave him off like he doesn’t matter. “You knew the score. It was just sex. Really good sex,” I concede, “But just sex. I finally fucked a rock star. Thanks.”

I wink at him and quickly turn away so he can’t see how badly it hurts to talk to him like this, to put that hurt his is amazing gray eyes. I pull a bottle of wine out of the fridge and pop off the stopper in the neck, but am suddenly spun around to face him. His eyes are feral, his breath coming in harsh pants, and his hands are gripping my shoulders hard.

“You wanna fuck a rock star, sugar?” Before I can react, he plunges his fingers in my hair and pulls me to him. He kisses me hard, demanding me to open my lips and accept his tongue. He licks and sucks my mouth, bites my lips, and takes some more, and I push on his chest, trying to shove him away, but he holds firm. His hands slide down to cup my face and he pins me with my back against the fridge.

“I didn’t fuck you last night,” he growls. “But I’ll sure as hell fuck you now.”

He attacks my mouth with more violence than before, yanks my button down shirt apart, scattering the buttons around the room, and pulls it down my arms and tosses it onto the floor. He unfastens my jeans and peels them down to my knees, spins me around the kitchen until I’m bent over the island and gasps when he sees my underwear.

I’m wearing black lace underwear with ruffles on the ass, and he deftly rips them into two pieces and tosses them aside.

“What the fuck? Those were brand new!”

“I don’t give a shit. They were in my way.”

“You’d better have a condom on you; I don’t know where your dick has been,” I bite out, deliberately trying to hurt him, and I know I hit the target square on when he sucks in a breath through his teeth.

I hear him rip open a foil packet, and the next thing I know, he grips my hair hard in one fist and pushes my face down to the counter top, spanks my right cheek, hard, and plunges inside me, all the way.

He spanks me again and then grips my hip, bruising me, and does exactly what he promised. He fucks me.

Hard.

Angry.

Hurt.

And I hate myself for loving the way he feels inside me. For being so damn wet and ready for him that had I not already been sore from him earlier, it wouldn’t have hurt me.

But, oh God, it does hurt.

He releases my hair to grip my other hip and pumps himself into me, growling, as he comes, shuddering behind me.

He pulls out, yanks off the condom and tosses it into the trash, zips up and stands behind me, panting.

I can’t look at him. I’m so ashamed, and I just want him to go.

“Now you’ve fucked a rock star. How do you feel?”

“Like everyone else you fuck. Used and ready for you to leave,” I respond without looking at him.

“Jesus,” he whispers, and I hear him scrub his hands over his face. “Stand up.”

“Go away, Leo.”

“Sam…”

“Go away,” I whisper and lean my forehead on the countertop. I will not look at him. I will not talk to him.