_

“… wish you were here. It’s ass-numbingly cold up here this time of year, and it sure would be nice to have you here to keep me hot. Take care of yourself, kid. I’ll be home soon. -L”

I finished reading Logan’s latest letter. He always ended with the same two sentences. I recounted in my head; Logan had been gone for about a year now, but had been assuring me that he would be home soon for several months. I had gotten used to it.

It wasn’t like I was just sitting in my room, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for his return like some sort of whaling widow. There was plenty to do around the mansion. I was in a transitional phase, of sorts: I was done with school, but I hadn’t moved on to become a teacher, yet. I figured I would eventually, but for now I was enjoying my time off. My friends, for the most part, all still lived in the mansion as well, so I had plenty of people to keep me company. However, I had to be honest and admit that it would have been nice to have my favorite friend around.            

Logan had stuck around to see my “graduation” before taking off. I use the word graduation loosely, as we don’t really have an official matriculation ceremony here at the School for Gifted Youngsters. It makes sense, when you think about it. Most of the kids here wouldn’t have anyone to invite to the ceremony since many were disowned by their families a long time ago. And the majority of the kids who do still talk to their parents have kept the school’s true purpose a secret. Mom and Dad just think their kid got into a hot-shot prep school on a killer scholarship. So, a true graduation would only bring about painful or awkward feelings for most of the kids.

Instead, we have an end of the term banquet for the seniors. It’s a nice time with sumptuous food and everyone all dressed up and behaving themselves. There’s also dancing, but I’m not much of a two-stepper, so I sat out most dances at my banquet. At least until he approached me.

Logan’s not exactly the kind of guy who likes to gussy up, but as he stood before me in clean slacks, pressed shirt, and tie, I had to admit, he didn’t look too bad. I think I prefer the lumberjack look, but this wasn’t too bad either…oh, who am I kidding? The man could wear a tutu and still look smokin’. A slow dance had started, and he gruffly asked me to dance, seeming a little embarrassed. I couldn’t blame him; he was clearly out of his element.

            I agreed to the dance, and as we swayed I couldn’t help noticing how warm and strong his embrace felt. Having recently found the off-switch for my toxic skin, I was enjoying having the freedom to wear a strapless dress. We had hugged before, and he had had to carry me out of some dangerous situations, so I was no stranger to his arms, but this was the first time I felt like a woman in them instead of just some kid he was protecting. We danced two more songs together before a set of fast-tempo songs started. We withdrew from each other, knowing that neither one of us enjoyed that sort of thing. He mumbled something about going up north again, and that he would return at some point and that I shouldn’t worry. I nodded my head, which was still swimming from our dance. I couldn’t help feeling a little sad. He had left on these excursions before, it was nothing new, but I really didn’t want him to go this time.

            I looked down, willing myself to improve my sad-puppy countenance and hold back the tears. Tears, I might add, which were a surprise to me. I heard Logan sigh, and felt his fingers gently lift my chin up. He opened his mouth to say something, but apparently decided against it. Instead, he gave me a look I had never seen him give me before and stroked my face. He then turned and left without another word.

            Since he had left that night, he had been dutiful in his correspondence to me. He always was. Whenever he left he would make sure that he wrote every other week or so, letting me know how, or, when he could, where he was. His letters would ask how I was, even though he knew I had no way of responding. When I was younger he would remind me to study hard, and sometimes he would send a small token along with the letter. Being that it was Logan, said tokens were likely to be a beer label he found amusing or an Indian arrowhead.

            Yet, this time the letters really had a hold on my attention. He had sent no trinkets, but his letters had definitely been changing. It had started innocently enough, saying that he had been travelling along the road when he picked up a scent that reminded him of me. That’s nice, I had mused, and hadn’t given it another thought. But, slowly, the messages had become more, dare I say suggestive? Maybe not quite that, but definitely flirty.

“…I was bunking down for the night, and thinking of you, kid…”

“…met this amazing woman at the bar last night, she looked just like you…”

“…in the middle of an incredible dream, and you were in it…”

And then had come the letter in which, out of the blue, he had inquired as to my relationship status:

“…got me wondering if you had shacked up with some guy yet. It’s weird for me to think of you being with a guy, kid, probably because you know I think no man is good enough for you.”

As usual, his query went unanswered, but I couldn’t help but wonder what he had meant by it.

            And now this latest letter. “…sure would be nice to have you here to keep me hot.”

An odd choice of words. Why say “hot” instead of just “warm”? “Hot” certainly had a different connotation, surely Logan knew that. “Hot” implied that it would be more than just some innocent body heat keeping him nice and toasty. “Hot” implied some sort of…friction. I posed my quandary to Jubilee at dinner, shoving the newest letter in her face.

She read it over and her eyebrows shot up. “Well, if it was only in this letter that he mentioned something suggestive, then I would write it off as bad word choice or his general horniness coming through.” She continued, putting a finger to her chin as if to stroke an imaginary goatee, “However, we must take into account his previous missives. Seeing as how he has constructed a preset code of flirtation, I would have to conclude that by using this particular word he is, at least subconsciously, telling you he wants to bone ya.”

            “Okay, first of all,” I started, staring at my friend, “you really need to lay off the Law & Order. Second of all, you know how he is. This could just be his way of saying he’s missing me.”

“You must be the only girl in this mansion who is willing to fight the fact that Wolverine, the guy most girls around here consider to be sex on a dish, is after you.”

“I just find it a little hard to believe, seeing as how until recently he’s never shown one iota of interest in me…or at least in that way. I just assumed he thought of me as a little girl,” I said, shrugging.

“Well,” Jubilee said, smiling, “I think he knows you’re a woman now.”

I let my friend’s words swirl around in my head for a couple of weeks. I went about my business as usual, but it was always there on the back burner. Until I got another letter. I ripped open the envelope and read over the trade mark scrawl that was Logan’s handwriting. It sounded routine enough, until I came to the last paragraph:

            “I’ll end with some great news. I’ll be home at the end of the month, darlin’, and I cannot wait to be with you. I’m getting excited just thinking about. So, get ready! Take care of yourself, Marie. I’ll be home soon, I promise this time.”

            My stomach all but dropped out. He was coming home? With this knowledge came a rush of nerves. It had been one thing to sit and read through his little intonations. It would be quite another thing to have to face him, a real, live, possibly hot-for-me Wolverine. I fought the desire to faint and instead ran to Jubilee’s room. I burst through her door. She was painting her toe nails on her carpet. Jubilee looked up at me, then at the piece of paper I clutched in my hand and smirked. I supressed my urge to smack her.

            “So, another letter?” she asked. I nodded and closed the door behind me. “Does it say anything good?”

            “Um, I think so, but I’m not sure. Here, you read,” I said as I gave her the letter. I directed her, “Last paragraph.”

            Her eyes moved back and forth as she read. A Cheshire grin spread across her face. “I think he’s being pretty clear, hon! I mean, ‘be with you’? You don’t say that unless you mean “with” in the sexin’ sense.”

            I breathed out heavily and tried to control my heartbeat. Logan wanted me, “with” him. I must have looked like I’d gone into a space coma, because next thing I knew, Jubilee was up, snapping in my face and asking if I was all right. I could only nod.

            “So, I guess the most important question here is what are you going to?” she said. “Are you gonna go through with this? I mean, you’ve never really said anything about being into him.”

            It was true. I had never given Jubilee (and her big, fat mouth) any hint of how I felt about him. But, to be fair, I had never really given myself time to honestly think through what I had come to call ‘The Logan Issue’ in my head. Whenever my mind went there, to images of him, and maybe me, tangled up in sheets, I had always resolutely shut those thoughts down. We had a great friendship, and I didn’t want to ruin it by cultivating some crush. But, now it looked like I would have to face the problem head on and be truthful with myself. The answer came almost immediately. Of, course I wanted to go through with it. The fact that I was repressing steamy thoughts of the man, well, the fact that there were steamy thoughts to repress was enough evidence that I wanted him.

            “You know what, Jubes? I think I will. I guess I never really allowed myself to think of him that way, but now that I am…yeah, I want to be “with” him, too,” I confessed.

            Jubilee let out a loud whoop.

            “SHHH! Shush! I don’t want everyone to know. So, shut your mouth about it ok? Promise?” I glared at her.

            “Fine, fine, fine,” she said, rolling her eyes, “But, you are going to be screwing Logan. Wolverine! I bet it’ll be hot. Oh, I’m getting warm just thinking about him,” she began fanning herself. “I bet he’s hung like a…hey, what’s the matter? Don’t go space cadet on me now!”

            The realization of what I had just decided to do had finally hit me. Like a load of bricks. “Omigod, Jubes, what the hell am I supposed to do? I’m going to fuck Logan,” I whispered to her.

            She glanced at the letter again, and then said decidedly, “I think we should do what the man says, and get you ready!”

_

“Christ. Jubilee, what the fuck am I doing in here?” I sighed as I looked around and the bitty swatches of silky and satin fabric in multiple colors. Ever the good friend, Jubilee had decided it was her responsibility to prepare me for Logan’s homecoming, which was about a week away. After dragging my heels in anxiety for a couple of weeks, I had finally given in and allowed her to take over. Today we were at the mall for Day 1 of what Jubes had taken to calling Operation Smexy. More specifically, we were in a lingerie store. Now, I’m not so sheltered, I’ve been in Victoria’s Secret plenty of times, and I do have my fair share of cute, maybe even sexy, panties, but this store took it to a whole new level.

“How about these?” Jubilee came running up to me, brandishing a scrap of black lace. I held the fabric out and examined it. “They’re crotchless,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“What’s the point of them then?” I asked.

            “Easy access of course!,” she explained to me as if I was a slow child.

            “Why wear anything at all then? I’m not spending,” I glanced at the price tag. “Jesus! Forty bucks for vag decoration? I don’t think so.”

            “If you don’t like them, fine, but don’t just stand there and reject everything I hold out to you. Get involved in Operation Smexy! Show some initiative. Sheesh, have you somehow forgotten who this is about?” she lectured.

            I groaned and began to peruse the racks. After an hour and multiple dressing room runs, we found a winner. A green, lacy, demi-cup bra that pushed my breasts up and out, and matching boy short panties. A line of black lace ran down the front of each hip and ended with a little black bow. The same bows were at the ends of both bra straps as well. The set was perfect for me: not slutty, but definitely sexy enough.

            We walked toward the check-out counter and I checked the price tags. My purchase would be almost fifty dollars. I sighed in annoyance.

            “Don’t worry about it, Rogue,” said Jubilee softly. “Remember, if you wear them, he will come.” She giggled.

            After purchasing my first ever set of lingerie, I couldn’t help but wonder if it had been a wise decision. From my, well, technically his memories, I knew that Logan had a habit of, uh, destroying women’s unmentionables. I looked down at the dainty yellow bag that held my new seduction tools. They seemed too nice to be ripped, shredded from my body, although on the other hand that actually might be really hot. I had believed that our shopping was complete, but I was wrong. Jubilee led me into a bookstore, next. At least I felt more at home here. Assuming she needed to pick something up for herself, I wandered away and became immersed in a Vonnegut book before she found me again. She held out a little brown bag and motioned for me to take it.

            “What, is this for me?” I asked. She nodded, smiling at me in an unnerving way. I cocked an eyebrow at her and reached in the bag, fishing out a little book: The Pocket Kama Sutra. You have got to be kidding me.

            “What the hell is this?!” I demanded.

            “What does it look like?”

            I flipped through the pages, most of them containing actual photos of a man and a woman engaged in all manner of sex positions. Some of them looked uncomfortable, if not downright impossible. I held the book open to Jubilee on a page that showed the man doing a bridge back bend with the woman straddling him on top, facing away from him.

            “Right. You think Logan and I are going to be doing this next week? You are going to be sadly disappointed,” I sassed, but suddenly I thought to myself, what if this sort of thing is what Logan is interested in doing? I know the man is limber…

            “I know that, but it also has stuff for…beginners. I thought maybe it could help you, I don’t know, study up beforehand. So you don’t make a total fool of your self,” she retorted.

I bit my lip and conceded that she did have a point. All I really knew about sex was from love scenes in movies and from what I saw in Logan’s old memories. One of those was completely unhelpful, and the other was only from a dude’s point of view, and a pretty animalistic one at that. In his memories, he never thought, ok, tab A gets inserted into slot B at angle X. He just rams in, and they’re off. Not a lot of help to me. I thanked Jubilee under my breath, and that concluded Day 1 or our operation.

Day four was a whole other beast entirely. If I had been nervous before, in the lingerie store, it was nothing compared to how I felt now. In fact, I would rather try on all sorts of racy undies instead of doing what I was about to do. Jubilee had driven us to a beauty salon, promising me a manicure. All right, I had thought. It’s a little girly, but it might be nice. I knew some of the other women at the mansion went to manicure appointments occasionally, and they’re hands did always come back looking nice, smooth, and polished. It had to be better than when yesterday, when, on Day three, she had gotten me Depo shots.

            However, when we pulled into the parking lot, Jubes had sprung another plan on me.

            “Ok, Rogue, now don’t freak out. I booked you another appointment in addition to your nails.” She looked a little nervous.

            “I like my hair how it is, Jubes. I’m not getting it cut today,” I said.

            “Well, that’s fine, because we’re not going to cut your hair. But…I’m thinking that maybe a different kind of hair removal process may be just the ticket here.”

            “What do you mean, Jubilation Lee?” I narrowed my eyes at her.

            “I-signed-you-up-for-a-bikini-wax-it-might-be-Brazilian,” she muttered quickly, then flashed me what she no doubt considered to be a winning smile.

            “You WHAT? No. NO. NO. I’m drawing the line,” I crossed my arms stubbornly. “It’s one thing to dress me up and give me a book and take me candle shopping. It is quite another thing to make me lay on a table with my see-you-next-Tuesday hanging out and allowing a stranger to rip away at it!”

            “It’s not that bad, I promise,” she whined. “It’ll be over before you know it, and I know for a fact, missy, that you have suffered worse pain than a wax job. Don’t be such a baby.”

            I turned away from her.

            “Logan will think it’s sexyyyyyyy.”

            “No he won’t, not a Brazilian. It’ll make him think that I’m still a child, the thing he’s so used to seeing me as, and that’s the last thing I want,” I argued.

            “Ok, so don’t go for the whole enchilada. But, maybe a racing stripe? A neat little triange? Lightning bolt?” she smiled gently and rubbed my arm encouragingly. I sighed and relented.

“A racing stripe might be feasible.”

            My friend, the silver tongued Jubilee, nodded and smiled as she opened the car doors. As I got up on the waxing table and placed my feet in the little stirrups, I thought to myself that perhaps I should be thankful that I have a friend so willing to help me out. I supposed I should take Jubes out to lunch or something when this was all said and done for being such a good, albeit sneaky, friend. But, all saccharine notions flew out of my head when that first strip was removed.

            “Christ on a cracker!” I gasped. The wax technician and Jubilee tittered. The next ten minutes were hell. I know one should never make light of rape, but seriously, I felt like I was raped down there; the pain, the humiliation, the tiny pricks of blood forming. I tried to remind myself that there would be a HUGE pay off for all of this, and that there was no way Jubilee could get me into anything worse.

            The remaining days before Logan’s arrival alternated between the hours dragging by and the time going all too quickly. I was, understandably, incredibly nervous. Aren’t all girls, when it comes to their first time? And most girls haven’t been in love, at least in some definition of the word, with their first partner for the last few years. Plus, I would be willing to bet that most girls, as much as they might fantasize about it, don’t lose their v-card to a testosterone filled, hairy chested, hotty who could easily have any woman he laid eyes upon.

            Finally, and I do mean finally, Saturday arrived, the day I knew he would come home. That morning, after showering, I slipped into my new, sexy undies and bra and threw on a pair of jeans and a low cut tank top. I stared at myself in the mirror. Shaking my head, I peeled off the tank top and put on a simple v-neck t-shirt. Logan had decided, for whatever reason, to fall for me. Not some tarted up version of me. I had to remember that. He could smell a phony a mile away, and would definitely arch his eyebrow in bemusement if he saw me prancing around in that tank top, which I only wore underneath sweaters. Smoothing my hair, I tried to calm myself down before I walked downstairs to begin the longest wait of my life.

            After an afternoon and an eternity, I heard it. The tell-tale rumblings of Logan’s chopper. My heart practically lept through my chest. Jubilee, who had been sitting with me to keep me company, smiled excitedly and squeezed my shoulder before leaving me on my own. I watched her leave me alone, attempting to quell my heartbeat.

            The door then flew open, and the man I had waited so long for walked through. He was just wearing his standard leather jacket and singlet on top of well-fitting jeans, but he looked perfect to me. He looked around and dropped his riding gloves and keys on the nearby table. He then turned, saw me standing there, and cracked the biggest grin I’ve ever seen grace his face. I’m sure I mirrored it.

            Finally regaining control of my legs, I ran at him and jumped into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. He hefted me up, laughing and squeezed me tight. True, the physical manner of this embrace was, or at least could be, sexual. I mean, all our parts were in all the right places. However, it wasn’t until he put me down and we looked each other over, my arms around his neck still, and his arms around my waist, that I really felt sparks. I think he did too, because his face changed. He went from looking happy to see me or suddenly serious. Like he had at the dance, he brushed the back of his fingertips over my cheek and put a lock of stray hair back behind my ear. And I almost went jelloid.

            “Marie,” he started softly.

            “Yeah?” I said, staring at those lips. How could I have never noticed how perfect they were before?

            “Marie,” he began again, “I’ve been wanting…”

            “Logan! Hey, you’re back!”

            Memo to me, memo to me: Kill Storm and Hank later for interrupting what could have been the most perfect of perfect moments. What can I say? Sweet combat skills they have got, timing they have not. Before I knew it, all the X-Men were aware of Logan’s return and gathering around to welcome him back.

            Someone mentioned dinner, but to my enormous relief, Logan muttered something about just wanting to grab a beer and relax in front of the hockey game. No one in the house other than myself was a real hockey fan, and so, after a few more ‘Welcome Home’s, they left us alone.  Eager to pick up where we left off, I stepped towards him and looked up expectantly.

            “Maple Leafs are playing the Devils in 15, kid, let’s grab some beers and watch your boys get crushed,” he said, and headed off to the kitchen.

            I stood still. What the fuck was that? Clearly my Devils weren’t the only ones in danger of getting crushed tonight. Hell, I was more than half way there. I followed Logan into the rec room, and took the beer he offered me, unsure what to think. A few minutes ago he looked like he wanted to sweep me up in his arms. He looked like the person who had been writing those letters. Now, he just looked like old Logan again, my friend and beer buddy. Discontented, I plopped down next to him to watch the game.

            The Jersey boys actually wound up beating the Maple Leafs 3-1 that night, but my luck had not improved in the least by the end of the game. Throughout the two hours we sat there, I had tried to cozy up next to him, only to receive a grunt and a “Rogue, stop squirming.”

            My luck did not increase after the game when he stood up and announced, “Shit, I’m beat. I’m gonna go pack it in,” before heading upstairs.

            You could probably hear my chin hitting the ground from down the hall. What happened? Did he really mean nothing in those letters? What about the looks in the hallway? Dammit, I got a bikini wax for this!

            I couldn’t take it anymore. I stomped up the stairs behind and pounded on his already closed door. I heard him tell me to come in, and I did. Forcefully.

            “What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.

            “I could ask you the same thing right now, darlin’. What’s wrong with you? Your team won,” he replied.

            “Fuck the Devils, Logan! I’m not talking about fucking hockey! I’m talking about you and me!”

            His face changed. His jaw became set and eyes expressionless. “What do you mean?”

            “I mean,” I began. Oh, crud, how am I supposed to explain this to him? I thought. Then I had a stinging notion. What if he really hadn’t meant anything in those letters? Maybe I had inferred it all. Well, screw it, I thought. I’d come this far. I started again, “When you were away, you sent me letters.”

            “Yeah, sure, kid, I always do,” he said, “You know I’m always thinking of you.”

            “Right. But, Logan, your letters, they sounded…the way they were worded… ‘I can’t wait to be with you?’ ‘I want you here to keep me hot?’ What was I supposed to think?”

            He was looking at his feet.

            I kept on going, “And then, when we were in the foyer. Your face. I can just tell, Logan. You don’t know someone for as long as we’ve known each other and not be able to read them like a book.” Or at least I hoped not.

            Logan sighed. I decided it was his turn to talk, so I didn’t continue. “Marie,” he began, “When I was writing you, I was far away. And for some reason, you were always the only person I could think about. Usually when I leave, I think of you occasionally, but you really got into my head, kid. Even when I met other women, I found myself comparing them to you.”

            The idea of Logan and other women made me visibly cringe. He shook his head at me and continued, “You beat em out by a landslide, darling. Every single time. I couldn’t wait til I got home, I thought. That night at the dance, holding you in my arms, I never realized before how much I liked having you there. I wanted to hold you again, you saw that when I actually did get home.”

            “Then why,” I interrupted, “have you been acting like a dick?” I couldn’t help myself.

            The corners of his mouth turned up for a split second before he frowned. “Because I realized that you and I…the thing is, I’m crazy about you, kid. You know that now, surely. But, when I saw you, here, I started thinking about…well, what if something went wrong, Marie? What if…what if I did go after you, and only found out that you had written me off as an old man with a bad habit of runnin’. What if you didn’t want me?” He looked upset. Worried.

            But, I could only laugh. Logan, the Wolverine, afraid of female rejection? I never would have guessed He looked up at me, confused. “You absolute ass,” I giggled, “of course I want you. Jesus, I have been waiting for you to get home to me, just so I could see and touch you and make sure you were still tangible. Enough of this horse shit, kiss me!”

            And he obeyed me. With some fervor. I had thought that I would be nervous in the extreme whenever we first kissed, but I think it was the knowledge that he was obviously just as nervous about this as I was that kept me from fainting from anxiety.

            The kiss was amazing. I could list any set of clichés here, and all would probably be accurate. His lips were firm, and his mouth took control from the beginning. His tongue probed along my lips, and I gladly welcomed him into the recesses of my mouth. He tasted like beer, what else, and I loved it. I’m just that kind of girl.

            He began trailing kisses down my neck, tickling me with his whiskers. In return, I kissed my way up his jaw line, ending at his ear. I lightly traced the curves of his ear with my tongue, pausing to dip into his canal before nipping at his lobe. I learned then and there that the best sound in the world is the sound of Logan moaning in ecstasy at my touch.

            His hands were already exploring my breasts, and the sensations felt amazing. I whimpered when he paused, but kept my mouth shut when I realized it was only so that he could rip my shirt off. And he did just that: literally. His claws tore through the thin fabric and I half gasped and half giggled. My giggle died, however, before it even left my mouth. It was replaced by a moan as I felt his hands on my stomach. They ran downwards and stopped at the waistband of my jeans. With a ‘SNIKT’ they were gone, too, leaving me in my brand new lingerie. I felt a flash of self consciousness. It was erased when I looked at Logan, and saw awe in his eyes. And pure lust on his face.

            He stood back, and actually growled, “Christ, baby, you’re beautiful. I should have done this years ago.” He attacked my body with kisses and assaulted my flesh with his fingertips.

            “Yes, Logan,” I breathed, “but, I would have been, like 15, then. And we couldn’t be together like this if you were in jail.”

            “Marie,” he paused in his actions to inform me, “no bars, nothing, could keep me away from you.” And with that, he scooped me, and I wrapped myself around him, mimicking our tableau from earlier that day, and allowed him to carry me to his bed. Standing before me, he pulled off his tank top, revealing those amazingly sculpted abs. I had seen them so many times before, but now they were mine to touch. I leaned up and grazed my hands over them, lightly digging in with my fingernails. He hissed in pleasure and guided my hands to the bulge in his jeans. I pressed my hand over it, and was stunned to feel the hardness underneath. Eager to see for myself, I unbuttoned his jeans and ripped them down. He wasn’t wearing underwear. Fucking knew it.

            He was standing erect in front of me. I took in his length and girth with admiration. I reached out and took it in my hands, starting to stroke it up and down, enjoying hearing him groan. Wetting my lips, I leaned further towards him and looked up. I was a little unsure; this was foreign to me.

            He nodded down encouragingly at me, and I opened as wide as I could, taking him into my mouth. If this was erotic fiction, I would claim that I took him completely in my mouth and down my throat. But, instead I got about 2/3 of the way down before I hit my gag reflex.

            “It’s ok, relax, darlin’,” he said, stroking my hair. I tried again, and didn’t attempt to force him the whole way down. It was a lot easier that way. I sucked and licked for a little while, enjoying the taste of him. Before long, though, he pulled away from me.

            “What?” I asked.

            “I just don’t want this show to end too soon, baby,” he said and he crawled on top of me. I realized what he meant and smiled. I had brought that out from him.

            He was admiring my clothing, or lack thereof, again. “This looks so sexy on you, but I think it’ll have to go,” he growled, and before I could stop him, he had sliced everything off, leaving me naked as the day I was born.

            “Hey,” I said, teasingly, “I liked those!”

            He was already kissing and licking a trail down my stomach. “Mmm, I’ll buy you some more,” he mumbled, before he located and flicked his tongue over my clit, causing me gasp. He continued to lick, and began to swipe with his fingers as well. It was almost too much. And then he entered me with his middle finger, and it was too much. All of a sudden I felt like I was shooting to the moon. “Jesus, Logan!” I screamed.

            “Heh, that’s my girl,” he smirked. He was positioning himself over me. I took a deep breath. I had wondered about this moment for a long time. Doesn’t every girl? Or at least wondered who it would be with. Never in my wild dreams did I think it would be with Logan. But, now that it was, I couldn’t think of anyone I would rather be doing this with.

            “Marie, I ain’t gonna lie to you, this usually hurts. So, I’m gonna go slowly, ok? You just let me know if I gotta stop,” he said softly, looking down at me.

            I took another deep breath and nodded. I then began to feel him start to enter me. I felt a new kind of pressure, and winced as I felt him stop somewhere within me.

            “Are you all the way in?” I gasped. It was already hurting a little.

            “No, not yet, I’m still not completely through…baby, you have to relax.”

            I tried to do just that, and he moved again, swifter this time, and that’s when I felt a much sharper pain than before. I gasped inwards and bit my lips. I felt him kissing away the tears that I had somehow allowed to escape my eyes. I heard him whispering, “It’s all right, it’s ok, Marie,” over and over.

            After a minute or so, though, I became used to having him inside of me, and signaled to him by thrusting lightly beneath him that I was ready to go on. He took my cue and moved within me, pulling out and pushing in again. He began gently, then build up speed. With every thrust I could feel him shifting within and I loved the feeling.

            I looked up at him, he was breathing hard. I could see beads of sweat forming across his forehead. I craned my neck and kissed his lips.

            “I’m very close, baby, I’m gonna come real, real soon,” he groaned.

            “Then come for me, come, baby,” I beckoned him.

            He thrust again, deeper than he had before, and his eyes squinted shut. His mouth went wide and I could feel him spilling inside of me. The satisfaction was impossible to put into words.

            A few seconds later, he opened his eyes and looked down at me. He sighed. “Did you…did you come?” he asked weakly.

            “Uh, no, honey, not just then,” I answered, and hated seeing the flash of hurt in his downcast eyes. “But, babe,” I whispered, pausing to lick some sweat off his cheek—that made him look up again, “We have all night. I think you can make it up to me.”