I sucked in a sharp breath, my thighs sore, my wrists faintly tingling where the silk had held me down hours ago. A slow, throbbing ache pulsed between my legs, reminding me who had put it there. My body flushed with heat as I slowly peeled my eyes open, my vision adjusting to the morning light streaming through the massive windows.

I was still in Legend’s bed—wrapped in soft ass, expensive sheets, my body naked beneath them and my limbs still heavy with exhaustion.

For a split second, panic tried to creep in because I had never done anything like this. Never had someone like Legend. Never let someone completely consume me the way he had. But as I inhaled deeply, feeling the warmth still lingering on my skin, that panic faded. Because I hadn’t just given in; I had wanted it and still did.

The sound of clinking dishes and the faint scent of cinnamon pulled me from my thoughts and I turned my head toward the open bedroom door.

Is this man cooking breakfast?

With a groan, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet around me, even though he’d already seen every damn inch of me. I padded barefoot toward the doorway, my curiosity winning over the ache in my muscles.

The second I stepped into the kitchen, I paused. Legend stood at the stove, shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. The man was a work of art. Thick forearms flexed as he stirred something in a pan, the scent of deliciousness filling the air, mixing with the rich steam of fresh coffee sitting on the counter.

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling too warm, even though the only thing on my body was a stolen bedsheet. Legend must have sensed me watching because he glanced over his shoulder, that lazy, knowing smirk already forming on his lips.

“Morning, baby,” he said, voice still thick with sleep, but smooth, controlled like he hadn’t just spent the night destroying me.

I shifted against the doorway, adjusting the sheet around me. “You cook?”

His smirk deepened. “You sound surprised.”

“I mean… yeah,” I admitted. “You don’t exactly strike me as the domestic type.”

Legend chuckled, turning back to the stove. “Shit, I’m not but I know how to take care of a woman.”

A slow shiver ran down my spine at those last words. I cleared my throat, stepping into the kitchen and taking a seat in one of the stools at the island. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know.” He slid a plate in front of me with cheesy eggs, crispy bacon, cinnamon rolls, and fresh fruit. My stomach growled as he turned to face me fully, his gaze dragging over my body, pausing where the sheet dipped low on my chest. “But after the night I gave you,” he continued, leaning casually against the counter, crossing his arms, “I figured you’d need the fuel.”