Page 7

I smelled dinner before I saw it—the rich, mouthwatering scent of butter, garlic, and something perfectly seasoned floating through the air, wrapping around me like a warm promise when I woke up. The sun was setting, casting a pink and orange hue over Legend’s bedroom.

Yawning, I stretched and then followed my nose. When I stepped into the kitchen, he was already there. Standing at the stove, his muscular back to me, he was barefoot in basketball shorts and a white wife beater. I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.

“You really do cook, huh?”

Legend glanced over his shoulder, smirking as he lifted a glass of something amber to his lips. “I told you.”

I pushed off the doorframe, walking over to the counter. “What’s on the menu?”

“Steak,”

he said smoothly, flipping two perfectly seared ribeyes in the pan, the scent of butter hitting the air immediately. “Lobster tails. Grilled asparagus.”

I raised a brow, leaning against the counter. “Well, damn. Check you out. Mama ain’t raise no fool.”

“Hell nah.”

He set the steak onto a plate, reaching for the lobster tails next, brushing them with melted butter before sliding them into the oven. “Besides, when was the last time you had a nigga cook for you?”

I tilted my head, watching him. “Never. I don’t think Ramen counts.”

We shared a laugh as he shook his head.

“Exactly,”

he countered. “So, enjoy this so I can enjoy you.”

His smirk was lazy, teasing. A slow shiver rippled down my spine, but I forced myself to focus on something else. Like the way his hands moved, precise and controlled, like he knew exactly what he was doing—whether it was in the kitchen, the bedroom, or a damn boardroom.

“Can I help with anything?” I asked.

Legend side-eyed me like I had just suggested something outrageous. “For real?”

“Hey, I know my way around a kitchen.”

Legend leaned against the counter, arms crossed, looking fully amused. “Oh yeah? What’s your specialty?”

I pursed my lips, thinking. “I make a mean avocado toast.”

“Get the fuck outta here,”

Legend laughed. A real, deep, rich sound that sent something warm through my chest. "Sit down, sweetheart. I got it.”

By the time he plated everything and carried it to the dining table, I was damn near starving. The steak was cooked to perfection, the lobster tails drenched in garlic butter, the asparagus slightly charred, still crisp.

My mouth watered just looking at it. “You do this often?”

I asked, picking up my fork as he settled across from me.

Legend poured two glasses of red wine before answering. “What? Cook?”

“Cook for someone,”

I clarified, lifting a brow.

His dark gaze met mine, sharp and unreadable. “Not really.”

I swallowed a bite of steak, holding his gaze. “So, why now?”

He smirked, swirling his wine glass before taking a sip. “Because I wanted to.”

I waited, expecting him to say more, to give me something, but he didn’t. That was Legend in a nutshell. I took a sip of wine, letting the silence stretch. After a moment, he set his glass down, tilting his head slightly. “You always overthink shit?”

I scoffed. “I like to analyze.”

Legend smirked. “That’s a polite way of saying you like to control shit.”

I set my fork down, shifting in my seat. “And what’s wrong with that?”

Legend leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his dark eyes pinning me in place. “Nothing,”

he murmured, his lips curled at the edges but his gaze didn’t waver. “I think you’ve been in survival mode for so long, you don’t know what it feels like to just… be.”

I inhaled sharply, my fingers tightening around the stem of my glass. He was right again. I grew up in survival mode bouncing from different family members' houses because my mom couldn’t keep her shit together. And then, one day, she gave up. Gave me up. I lived with my grandmother and a boatload of my cousins. Fighting for survival. Fighting to just be me. And then, as I got older, that survival mode never switched off.

Until now. Until him. Legend watched my expression shift like he could see every thought running through my head.

Then, casually, he cut into his steak. “You’ll be aight.”

I pressed my lips together, taking another sip of wine, trying to distract myself from the way my stomach was flipping. We ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sounds were the clinking of silverware and the occasional sip of wine.

Then Legend leaned back in his chair, stretching, his voice low, casual, but full of something deeper.

“So, tell me,”

he murmured, watching me. “What’s your real goal?”

I blinked. “For what?”

“For your business,”

he said. “You’re not just doing this to sell skincare. What’s the bigger picture?”

I tilted my head, surprised by the question. Most people only asked about profits, scalability, and expansion. But Legend? He wanted to know why I started this in the first place. I swallowed, setting my glass down. “I want to build something that lasts. Something for us.”

Legend lifted a brow.

I exhaled, clarifying. “For Black women. For women who look like me—who have to waste money on thousands of products just to find the right one, who have been ignored by the big brands for years. I wanna change that.”

Legend was quiet for a moment, watching me. Then, finally, he nodded. “I love your passion.”

I swallowed, suddenly feeling too exposed, too seen. Legend smirked again, not letting me look away. “Finish your wine, baby,”

he murmured, standing up and taking our plates.

A slow shiver racked through me because I knew what was coming next. Tonight, it was really going down. I sat back in my chair, sipping the last of my wine, my body warm from the alcohol and the lingering heat of Legend’s words.

“What kind of music do you like?”

he asked casually.

I blinked, caught off guard by the normalcy of the question. “What?”

“Music,”

he repeated, tilting his head slightly. “What do you listen to?”

I shrugged, swirling the wine in my glass. “Still stuck in the 90s, honestly.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Yeah?”

I nodded, smirking. “That’s when R&B was at its peak.”

Legend hummed, thoughtful. “So you’re one of those ‘music isn’t the same anymore’ types?”

I scoffed. “Because it’s not. Name one song in the last five years that makes you feel the way 90s R&B does.”

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a small smirk, then stood, walking over to the built-in sound system by the bar. A second later, soft melodic keys filled the air, the intro so smooth and familiar it made my chest tighten with nostalgia. Usher and Monica's Slow Jam.

My lips parted slightly as I turned to face him. “You’re kidding.”

Legend’s smirk deepened. “You said 90s R&B. That’s what you’re getting.”

I shook my head, laughing softly, letting the music wash over me. It had been so long since I just… felt. Since I let myself get lost in a song, in a moment. Legend must have noticed, because before I could say anything else, he extended his hand.

“Dance with me.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I let out a short, breathy laugh, eyeing him like he had just suggested something ridiculous. “You don’t dance.”

Legend lifted a brow. “Who told you that?”

I huffed. “You just don’t seem like the type.”

“And what type is that?”

I shrugged. “Too controlled. Too damn serious.”

Legend chuckled, stepping closer, his hand still outstretched, waiting. “A nigga can be both.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, my stomach flipping violently because he wasn’t joking. He was dead serious. Slowly, hesitantly, I reached for his hand, placing mine in his palm. The second our fingers touched, something flickered between us, something I wasn’t ready to name.

Legend’s grip was warm, firm, and effortless, and he pulled me toward him, leading us into the living room where the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the dark, endless ocean. The music wrapped around us, the smooth beat and the soft harmonies. Legend’s hands slid to my waist, pulling me flush against him, his grip possessive but slow, guiding me in a rhythm I didn’t realize I was already falling into.

I placed my hands on his broad shoulders, my breath caught in my throat because this wasn’t just dancing. This shit was something else. Legend’s grip tightened, his fingers brushing just beneath the hem of my shirt, skimming my skin, sending a slow, sizzling shiver up my spine.

“You know the words?”

he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.

I swallowed, my voice barely above a whisper. “Of course.”

Legend smirked, his thumb brushing the small of my back, his hips moving lazily with mine, effortless, smooth. “Sing for me."

I exhaled a soft laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, okay.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t sing for...”

The second I started to pull away, Legend tightened his grip, spinning me slowly, effortlessly, then pulling me back against him, my chest flush against his. My breath stalled, my hands flat against his chest now, my body buzzing with something dangerous and deep. He smirked, watching my reaction, knowing exactly what he was doing. Then he dipped his head, his lips brushing my ear, his voice low and deep.

"Sing for me, Honey.”

My heart slammed because hearing my name like that, in that voice, in that moment did something to me. Something I couldn’t control. I sang, soft and quiet, my voice barely carrying over the music, but enough for him to hear. Enough for him to feel it. Legend’s grip tightened, his hands sliding lower, pressing firmly against my hips, making my stomach clench. The song bled through the room, the lyrics slipping between us like a loaded secret.

“I’m tryna find someone who I can give my good loving to…”

I felt every word and so did Legend. His fingers skated beneath my shirt, his touch light, teasing like he was testing my limits all over again. I exhaled shakily, my eyes flickering up to his. Then, without warning or hesitation, Legend reached up, brushing his thumb along my bottom lip. And then, before I could say a damn thing, he kissed me. Deep. Slow.

My fingers fisted his wife beater as my body melted into him. Legend kissed like he did everything else—with control, patience, and skill. His tongue slid against mine, slow and thorough, his grip tightening as his hands curled around my ass, pulling me against the hard press of his body.

I moaned into his mouth, helpless, completely undone, because this wasn’t just a kiss. This was me drowning in him. When he finally pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his eyes locked onto mine like he was debating whether or not to devour me right then and there.

The music kept playing, but neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke. One minute, I was still catching my breath with my body hot with anticipation. The next, I was in his arms, his grip strong and effortless, scooping me up again like my one hundred and seventy-five pounds was nothing to him at all.

I gasped, my arms looping around his neck, my body already reacting to his touch as he carried me through the house, kissing me the entire way. His lips were hungry, slow but insistent, his mouth claiming mine, swallowing every soft moan, every sharp inhale.

By the time we reached the bedroom, Legend kicked the door shut behind him, then lowered me onto the bed. I was breathless and desperate and he fucking knew it. He leaned over me, bracing himself on his forearms, his lips hovering just above mine.

“No silk ties tonight,”

he murmured, his voice a smooth, dangerous promise.

A slow shiver rolled through me at the way he said it—like he was about to put me through it in other ways I hadn’t even considered yet. I exhaled, my fingers curling against his shoulders. “Then what do you want?”

I whispered.

Legend chuckled, the sound low and knowing, before pulling back just enough to sit on the edge of the bed, watching me. “Take it off,”

he murmured.

I swallowed hard. “What?”

He smirked. “Pajamas. Off. Slowly.”

My pussy throbbed. He wasn’t asking. His ass was commanding and I always said, Sir, yes, sir. My fingers shook slightly as I reached for the thin strap of the tank top, lifting it inch by inch, revealing the smooth curve of my stomach, and the soft weight of my breasts.

Legend’s jaw ticked, his eyes lowering, and his fingers flexing where they rested on his thighs. Just watching. I slid the tank top over my head, letting it fall to the side, bare from the waist up, my nipples already tight and aching. He let out a slow, controlled breath, his gaze devouring me. “Keep going,”

he ordered.

I swallowed, heat licking at my skin, and reached for my shorts, lifting my hips as I dragged the silky material down my thighs, slow, deliberate, never breaking eye contact. By the time they hit the floor, I was naked. Legend ran his tongue over his bottom lip, his gaze dragging over me slow and possessive. “Fuck,”

he muttered under his breath. “You’re beautiful.”

I felt the heat spread from my chest to my stomach to between my thighs. “You like what you see?”

I teased, but my voice came out soft, shaky, and breathless.

Legend smirked, then stood, towering over me, peeling his wife beater off with one fluid motion. “Nah, I don’t like it,”

he murmured, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his basketball shorts.

I frowned slightly, heart pounding. “You don’t?”

His smirk deepened. “I fucking love it.”

And then, he dropped his shorts.

I swear to God, my brain short-circuited. My eyes widened, my breath hitched, and my entire body froze in place. His dick was huge. Thick, long, perfectly sculpted, with a slight curve to the left that already had me questioning my life choices. My thighs pressed together involuntarily because there was no way in hell I was coming out of this the same.

Legend saw my reaction, and the cocky bastard had the nerve to chuckle, stroking himself slowly, teasing. “You look nervous, baby.”

I swallowed, my throat dry as hell. “I just…”

He lifted a brow, smirking. “You just what?”

I exhaled, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just know you’re about to put me through this fucking mattress.”

Legend let out a low laugh, shaking his head as he climbed onto the bed, hovering over me, his thick arms caging me in. “That,”

he groaned, brushing his lips against my jaw, my throat and my collarbone, “is a fucking guarantee.”