There is no signage, and it’s non-descript.

“Nope, it’s a recording studio. It’s owned by a famous female duo from Seattle. They’ve owned it since the early eighties.” Excited, I lean forward and cup my coffee in my hands. “Sam, Johnny Cash recorded there. Nirvana, Sound Garden, Pearl Jam. God, too many to count.” I look at the building again, an idea forming in my head.

“Have you recorded there?” she asks, staring at the building.

“No,” I shake my head. “I have been inside, though. When I first moved to Seattle, I won a radio contest and got to go to a private Pearl Jam concert there. There were only twelve of us in the audience, all sitting in a semi-circle. It was the coolest thing I’d ever been to.”

“Wow, that’s awesome. You guys should do that.”

I nod, the idea taking more shape. “I wonder if we could record the next album there,” I murmur and Sam’s eyes widen.

“Really?” she asks.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. I don’t know how far they’re booked out for studio time, but that way I wouldn’t have to go back to L.A. to record. Most of us live up here anyway.”

I grin at her, excited to start making calls and she grins back.

“Could I come listen?” she asks.

“Of course. Anytime.” The thought of having Sam in the studio with us as we lay tracks makes my stomach clench.

The thought of fucking her in the studio is even better. I’ve never done that before because work and personal shit have always been separate for me, but damn, I’ve already blurred all my lines for her, why not this one too?

“How many songs do you have written?” she asks and licks her fork.

“I’ve written three by myself and two with Meg. Some of the other guys have written a few. I’m working on one more now. We have a list of songs that the studio wants us to consider. I figure we’ll start pulling it together in a few weeks.” Her big eyes are on me, listening intently. It makes me proud that she’s so interested, and she asks intelligent questions, not the typical fan questions.

She’s definitely a fan of the band, and that’s just one more thing that draws me to her.

Of course, I’d be drawn to her if she hated the band too, but nothing long-term could come of it. My band is my family.

“You have frosting on your lip,” I murmur.

She licks the wrong side and smiles knowingly. “Did I get it?”

“Nope, other side.”

She licks again, her pink tongue running along her lips and my cock instantly comes awake. She missed.

“Now?”

I reach out and brush the frosting with my finger, but before I can pull it away, she grips my wrist in her hand and pulls the finger in her mouth, sucking the frosting off and nibbling lightly on my skin.

Fuck.

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” I growl. I hear the need in my voice, and her eyes dilate with lust.

“I’m not done with my tea,” she mutters and her eyes fall to my piercing.

“Yeah, you are. Let’s go.”

Chapter Eight

~Samantha~

Well, I guess I’ll work that cupcake off this morning after all.

Leo pulls me into the elevator of my building, after practically dragging me the two blocks home, and jabs the button for my floor.

As soon as the doors close, he’s on me. He lifts me against the wall, holding me in place with his pelvis pressed to mine, my legs wrapped around his lean waist, and he’s kissing me like crazy.

I yank the beanie off his head and dig my fingers into his hair, holding on, as he plunders my mouth, biting and sucking and then plundering some more.

God, he can kiss.

The bell dings, signaling that we’ve arrived at my floor, and he’s suddenly pulling me along behind him.

My fingers are fumbling with the keys as he folds himself around me from behind, kissing my neck, his thumbs tweaking my puckered nipples.

“I can’t open the door,” I mutter and gasp as he sucks on the soft skin beneath my ear.

“Give me your keys, baby.”

He makes quick work of the door, guides me inside, shuts and locks it and begins to lead me toward the bedroom.

“The couch is right here,” I remind him, and he stills, turns to me, his gray eyes on fire and breath coming fast. He steps to me and cups my face in his hands, holding my eyes with his own.

“I haven’t been inside you in days.”

“Satur…”

“Saturday was nothing more than us hurting each other. It doesn’t count. I haven’t been with you, been inside you, for days. I’m not fucking you on your couch. I want to spread you out on your bed and drive us both crazy. I want you trembling and wet.”

Holy shit.

“Can’t argue with that.” I grin at him and suddenly I’m caught up in his arms again. I unzip his hoodie and pull it down his arms, and pull his shirt over his head. We quickly undress each other, leaving a trail of clothing through the living room, down the hallway and to my bedroom.

When we’re standing by the bed, him completely nude, and delicious, he steps back and sweeps his eyes up and down my body, over my pink lacy bra and matching boy-short panties.

“Jesus, do you always wear underwear like that?”

I smile smugly. “I like pretty underwear.”

“You wear underwear like that every day and old concert t-shirts to bed?”

“Don’t knock my shirts. I love them.”