I am the stuff of nightmares. The serpent in the garden. The poison apple.

I see it in the invisible bubble of space around me as I walk the halls. The awkward side-step as the other students and even the staff shy away from me, followed by the apologetic half-smile. Nothing personal, their eyes say, not quite able to meet mine. We don’t hate you. We just fear you.

I can cover my body from head to toe, wear gloves every waking and sleeping moment, wind scarves around my neck -- it doesn’t matter. I am always on the alert, always careful to avoid the accidental brush, the slightest misstep, but no amount of vigilance can set them at ease. They can’t forget, and neither can I. Every moment of every day there is a reminder of what I am. In a school of freaks, I am still a pariah.

One person used to be different. Heedless of my curse, recklessly casual. Without caution or warning, he would pull me into a hug, or settle down comfortably next to me on a saggy couch. Pull me into the strength and warmth of his body as if I were someone else entirely. Someone normal. Someone touchable. But even that is gone now.

I don’t know why or even exactly when it happened. The insidious slide into avoidance. A casual wave instead of the hug to say hello. Sitting in a stiff chair instead of joining me on the couch. And then more and more, the feeling that he had left the room just before I entered. No solid proof, just a suspicion caused by a ring of sweat from a beer bottle on the counter, the slightest smell of woods and cigar in the air, a faint note of surprise in the faces of people in the room at what must have been a hurried exit. Using his heightened senses to be anywhere that I am not.

I decided to test my theory yesterday. I found him sitting on the couch, watching the hockey game. It’s not like the Wolverine to be cornered, but I guess the lure of television violence was enough to bait the trap. Other students were around, but the seat next to him was empty.

I casually sat there, feigning interest in the score, hoping he couldn’t smell the desperation on me, the pathetic need to please him, to find out how to make things right. Within moments, he was up, grumbling something about needing another beer, leaving his almost full bottle on the coffee table in front of him like an accusation.

I bit my tongue until it bled, breathing in through my nose to stop the tears stinging the back of my throat until I thought I could school my face into a reasonably calm expression, enough to walk past the other students and not let them see me break. I realized I was hugging myself tightly and had to force my hands to ease the grip. There wasn’t really a hole in my chest, it just felt that way. He can’t even stand the sight of me.

I am a parasite. A toxic slagheap. I am death.

Marie felt the familiar quickening of her step as she approached the woods. Her heart fluttered with the strangely guilty feeling that always preceded her ritual. Someone watching might think she was sneaking away to meet a lover -- the way she was rushing, the furtive movements.

She felt the sudden coolness as she passed beyond the treeline, and the hot sunlight became a dappled glow. As always, she stopped to take a deep breath of the woods before beginning. She loved it out here, and tried to smother the thought that maybe it was the part of Logan in her that drew her here, and not her own preference.

Then, she started -- pulling the silk scarf around her neck, unwinding it and stowing it in the backpack. Next she pulled the ponytail holder from her hair, shaking it loose. At the school she always kept it tied back, wary of anything affecting her peripheral vision, unwilling to let a wayward lock of hair cause a potential disaster.

Next came the gauzy shirt she wore over her camisole, even that thin layer pressing against her skin in this heat had felt like an intolerable burden. She then unwrapped the skirt, revealing the shorts she wore underneath. Finally, the gloves were peeled off her arms, joining the rest of her clothes in the backpack.

She lay down for a moment on the soft ground, letting the grass tickle the edge of her neck, the sides of her knee, between her shoulder blades, places that were rarely unburdened from the shroud of clothing she had to wear regardless of the weather.

As always, she felt as if a weight had been lifted. She was absolutely alone -- she didn’t have to be careful, she could finally relax her guard. She could walk through the woods and pretend for awhile that she was just a normal person.

Giddy with the sudden freedom, she sprang up and ran a few steps before tumbling into a judo roll, taking the force of the ground along her arm and diagonally across her back before ending up back up on the balls of her feet. Logan had taught her that soon after she graduated, and had made her practice until it was second nature. Not that she was thinking about him.

With that sobering thought, she slung the backpack over one shoulder and headed deeper into the forest. The rough grass and low branches scraped her skin from time to time, but she didn’t mind the occasional scratches to her arms and legs. She liked to feel it all.

In an hour’s time she had reached the small clearing. She pulled the blanket from the backpack, and spread it out. She had brought a book, but in a few moments it was resting beside her as she stretched out on the ground. She closed her eyes and let the sunlight wash over her skin.

Again her thoughts were drawn to Logan, and this time she didn’t even try to tell herself that it was useless to think of him again. She had worried over every aspect of his behavior, picking it apart, trying to figure out what she had done. In her heart, though, she knew it was nothing she had done. It was what she was that repelled people, and Logan had just taken longer to realize it than everybody else.

He was tied to the school by the increasingly tenuous thread of a promise he had made to her years ago, when she was just a girl. He had promised to take care of her, and he had. But now she was grown up, graduated and starting to teach classes of her own. It was a matter of time until his wanderlust and growing distaste for her overwhelmed whatever obligation he felt he had, and this time when he rode out he would not be coming back.

That image set a tendril of fear and despair unfurling in her stomach, and she tried to wrench her thoughts onto other subjects. She could leave also, if she wanted. She wasn’t tied to this school any more than Logan was. Her friends had mostly graduated and moved on.

Only Bobby and Kitty came back on weekends, to flaunt their perfect relationship in her face. No, that was just being bitter. She was happy for them, really she was. Bobby had never been much more to her than another attempt to try to pretend that she was a normal girl who could have normal things like a boyfriend. She had dated the first guy to show any interest in her, and if Pyro’s desk was any closer to hers it probably would have been him instead. They should have called it quits long before they did, and Bobby and Kitty were a good couple. She just wished she didn’t have to see all the kissing, and cuddling, and hugging. They were always touching.

So, anyway, back to travel, she thought, again trying to force her mind down a different path. She could go south this time, but the thought of even more heat and humidity, and all her clothes...no, it would have to be north.

And unbidden, the memory came to her, her younger self tracing a route on the map before she sucked most of the life out of David. And later that night her father, shoving clothes into her duffel bag and money into her hand. Telling her he’d take her as far as the bus station, and her mother hanging back, crying but not saying a word to stop him.

“Don’t tell anyone your real name,” he had said. “I don’t care what kind of trouble you get into, don’t think that you’ll get out of it by calling here. We won’t claim you.”

That was the moment when Rogue was born. And the trip that had seemed so exciting when it was a route traced on her wall was nothing like she had imagined. It was cold and hunger and grimy rides with grimier men who licked their lips when they saw her and lashed out when they found that they could not touch her.

It would be different this time, she tried to tell herself. She was not that starving, incompetent child anymore. She would have money, and skills. But traveling really only counts if you have a home to go back to. Otherwise it’s just wandering, and as much as she had never really felt at home at the school, she was afraid of what she would become without it.

She sighed, and picked up the book again. In a few pages, though, she realized she had not been paying attention to a word, and put it back down again.

She closed her eyes again, and tried to center herself as Xavier had taught her, with a little echo of Logan’s tai chi chiming in. Breathe in, breathe out. Empty your mind, find your center.

She focused on the feel of the sun on her skin, and the warm breeze ruffling her hair. If she concentrated, she could almost imagine that it was a gentle hand, brushing against her temple.

She remembered the time that Logan had traced the line of her white streak, the warmth of his hand just a hair’s breadth from her skin. The sun was warm on her face, and she imagined that hand brushing down her cheek, spreading out to cradle her neck.

She tilted her head back, and imagined the hand traveling further down, brushing along her body. Logan had big hands, he could probably encircle most of her waist with them, before letting them slide up under her shirt... Marie let her own hand slide under her camisole, resting on the skin of her stomach before drawing it up to cover her breast, feeling her nipple tighten against her palm.

A warm puff of breeze on her neck, feeling like a breath. She imagined the rumbly voice in her ear, the brush of stubble against her neck as he kissed her there. She shifted against the ground, her thighs rubbing together, the skin of them hypersensitive. “Touch me,” she let herself breathe. “Touch me, Logan.”

SNICKT

Her eyes flew open, the breath stopping in her throat. It can’t be...she must have imagined it...but it was followed immediately by a muffled, “Fuck,” and that was not her imagination.

She leapt to her feet, half-formed thoughts scrabbling through her brain.

Ohmygodhecan’thaveseen...hecan’thaveheard...pleaseno..., but when her voice rang out it was firm. Even in her panic she knew she didn’t have to yell for him to hear her.

“Logan, come out. I know you’re there.”

Nothing but the natural movement of the woods for a long moment, and she had almost convinced herself that she had imagined it, when there he was, stepping out from behind a tree a bare few yards away, and ohmygodhe’ssoclose, hashebeensoclosethewholetime, hesaweverything...

He took one step out of the shadows and then another, and a ray of sunlight illuminated his shadowed eyes, allowing her to see the strange expression -- pity? -- in them.

She was running before she knew it, wheeling around and crashing through the thick underbrush, the only thought in her head now was getaway, getaway, getaway.

She could feel more than hear him in pursuit, and her panic only grew. The bitter taste of humiliation combined with the ancient fear of the hunted, and she knew she was on the edge of hysteria but could not stop her frantic flight.

She skidded down a small slope, landing hard on her hands and knees, feeling the cut of a rock against her shin and numbness in her scraped hands that would soon turn to burning, but she scrabbled up and kept running, knowing in some corner of her brain (the corner in which Logan lived?) that the scent of blood would only help him track her.

All she could hear was the pounding of her heart and her own desperate thrashing progress, and so he seemed to appear out of nowhere, grabbing her from behind, wrapping her in the blanket that the son of a bitch had apparently had the presence of mind to grab off the ground before giving chase.

It was futile to try to escape from the iron band of his arms around her waist but she still tried, her feet skidding under her, bucking a small step forward, kicking against his shins and causing them both to stumble heavily to their knees.

“Just try to touch me,” she gasped, still thrashing. “I’ll suck the life out of you and spit out the husk, I’ll do it, I don’t care...”

“Marie,” he said, still struggling to restrain her. And then a more irritated, “Marie, just stop it.”

Finally he managed to flip her over, effectively pinning her by straddling her hips, holding her hands tight to the ground above her head. She realized he was even wearing gloves. Fucking Boy Scout, how did he have gloves? The bastard was not even breathing very heavily, while she was gasping and shuddering trying to catch her breath.

Suddenly all the fight went out of her. She let herself sink against the ground, wishing she could disappear into it like Kitty, shield herself in metal like Piotr, set the very ground ablaze like Pyro. Instead all she could do was close her eyes and hope the world ended in the next few moments so she wouldn’t have to face him.

A long moment passed, and still he said nothing. She kept her eyes tightly closed and her head turned aside, but she still felt his eyes on her, and struggled to get a grip on herself. She could still play this off somehow. A snide comment, a joke, maybe she could pretend like it never happened. God knows Logan was always more than willing to avoid an uncomfortable conversation. She opened her mouth to say something flip and casual, and yet what came out was a borderline hysterical shrillness.

“I have nothing!”

She hadn’t known she was going to say it, and her eyes flew open in surprise, meeting his shocked gaze. She saw his expression soften.

“Marie,” he said, “It’s okay...Bobby...”

“You think this is about Bobby,” she practically spat at him. “Bobby!? Fuck you. I don’t give a shit about Bobby.”

Logan leaned back a little, loosening his grip on her wrists but still holding her firmly, his eyes assessing.

“What, then?”

The question struck her as a bit funny, and she realized the hysteria was still underneath, trying to bubble up. She couldn’t stop the rush of words if she wanted to.

“Bobby...just add him to the long list of things I’ll never have. A boyfriend. A kiss. A fuck,” she said, bucking her hips up against him in mocking emphasis of the word, forcing a grunt from him. Her anger faded a little, and she hated the quavering despair that crept into her voice. “A husband. A child...”

She closed her eyes again, trying to keep the tears that were thickening her voice from leaking out. “So, tell me what I have Logan. I have nothing. I used to have a friend, but now you can’t even stand to be near me. All I had now was these woods, and the ability to come out here and play out my sad little fantasy of being normal. And now you’ve taken that from me, I don’t even have my pathetic little illusion. I’ll never be comfortable here again, never be sure that I am truly alone. So tell me, what do I have?”

Instead of answering her question, he asked his own.

“Why did you say my name?,” he rasped.

She cringed at the question, shaking her head in useless denial. She tried to gather up the shreds of her anger at this unnecessary cruelty. Did he have to wring the last ounce of humiliation from her situation? Well, fuck him. Nothing would make him more uncomfortable than the truth.

“I said your name because I was thinking of you, Logan,” she said bitterly. “It’s always you I think of. It always has been. Happy now?”

She felt his weight shift, and then slowly he sat back, freeing her. She got to her feet, looking at the ground, the trees, anywhere but at him. A small sharp rock was on the ground in front of her, and she scooped it up as she rose, squeezing it hard in her palm and welcoming the feel of the sharp edge cutting into the skin there.

She hadn’t noticed before now, but he had even brought her backpack, it was on the ground at their feet, apparently abandoned in the struggle. She pulled out her water bottle and splashed water over the scrapes on her knees and hands. She took a long drink, and sighed. She just felt empty now, all the humiliation, rage, and sadness burned from her. She could still feel him there, watching her. What was he waiting for?

“You can leave any time, Logan,” she said, her back to him. “Leave here, leave the mansion. I know you think you are bound by some ridiculous obligation, but that’s not true anymore. The helpless girl you made that promise to is gone. I can feel you trying to break free, distancing yourself more every day. I know I just embarrass you, disgust you now. I understand. Just stop pretending, it’s only hurting us both. I’m not Marie anymore, and I don’t need your protection.” She could hear the flatness and emptiness in her voice as she finished her thought. “I’m Rogue, and I don’t need anyone.”

Again she pressed the sharp stone into her palm, and focused on the pain. I am stone, she thought. Nothing can hurt me, I am stone.

I am the stuff of nightmares. The shadow that lurks in the darkness. The beast that snarls at your door.

I see it in the eyes of the students, and even the staff at that damned mansion. The automatic lowering of their glance in reflexive submission to the predator inside me. The extra berth they give me as they pass me in the halls. The faint scent of their fear, the quickening of their pulse, the shortness of their breath. They are so accustomed to it that they don’t even realize it’s happening any more, but I do. Every damn time.

A wolf among sheep. It’s our tacit agreement that I try to hide it. Pretend that the animal has been tamed, that the man is in control. I keep the claws hidden, and pretend I can’t smell the pain and the fear and the lies. I smile every now and then, and if at times someone catches a glimpse of what lies underneath, they tell themselves that they’re mistaken -- that I’m just a grumpy old man in a young body, gruff Professor Logan. I save the bloodshed and mayhem for missions, the only time I let the leash slip on the Wolverine. That’s when the truth is revealed -- my claws deep in the warm body of my victim, seeing the recognition in their eyes of what I am, just before the life drains out of them.

I don’t belong here, I never really have. I stay for her. The only person I’ve ever really cared about, in the meager two decades that I can remember. Something in her, from the moment we met, that called to something in me. Wide innocent eyes, seeing things in me that I’m still not sure are even there. That sassy mouth, covering up her starvation and despair with pure backbone. Earning that ridiculous name she had given herself, Rogue, and then sharing with me -- and only me -- the real girl underneath. Marie.

She is the only one who never feared me. Absurd, reckless, oblivious -- I still can’t explain it. She first laid eyes on me when I was beating the crap out of someone in the cage, and then a few hours later saw me nearly skewer the asshole, and for some reason, that didn’t deter her at all. She wanted to be with me, right from the beginning. Against all reason, she chose me. Even once she had me in her head, once she knew beyond a doubt what I was, she never changed her mind about me. She craved my presence like it was sunshine. Like I craved hers.

I don’t know why or even exactly when it happened. When I started to notice that she was less of a girl, and more of a woman. When the animal inside me started scenting his mate. Her soft breasts, pressed against me when she hugged me hello. The long lean line of her thigh as she settled in next to me on a saggy couch. The enticing scent of her as she pressed into the warmth of my body. She can’t have known what was scrabbling beneath the surface. The desire to possess her, to own her, even knowing that doing so would corrupt and destroy her.

That reckless innocence and courage I saw in the girl is still there, but surrounded in the woman by a strength of heart and wisdom more in keeping with the eleven decades of experience in her head than the two decades of experience in her body. She knows something is wrong, she has to see the distance I keep between us now. I felt the tension in her body as she sat next to me yesterday, while I watched the hockey game. The hitch in her breath, the furtive glances towards me. I had to run, before the animal made the choice for me. Soon I’ll have to run for good, to keep her safe. I swore to protect her, and I will. Even from me. Most of all from me.

I am a slavering beast. A predator, my body torn down and rebuilt for the sole purpose of mindless killing. I am death, and I will not allow that to touch her. I will not allow myself to touch her.

“You can leave any time, Logan,” she said, her back to him. “Leave here, leave the mansion. I know you think you are bound by some ridiculous obligation, but that’s not true anymore. The helpless girl you made that promise to is gone. I can feel you trying to break free, distancing yourself more every day. I know I just embarrass you, disgust you now. I understand. Just stop pretending, it’s only hurting us both. I’m not Marie anymore, and I don’t need your protection.” She could hear the flatness and emptiness in her voice as she finished her thought. “I’m Rogue, and I don’t need anyone.”

She pressed the sharp stone into her palm, and focused on the pain. I am stone, she thought. Nothing can hurt me, I am stone.

Again, he moved so silently, she had no idea he was right behind her until he spoke, his growly voice so close that she jumped.

“You’re wrong.”

She turned to face him, and her breath caught in her throat. She had seen him angry before, had thought she had seen every mood that he had. She had never seen him like this, however. Something in his eyes, a dark intent. Part anger, but more than that.

She had never been afraid of Logan, but something on the edge between fear and excitement unfurled in her belly under that dark gaze. She was pinned by it, hadn’t even realized she was backing away or he was stalking towards her until she felt the rough trunk of the tree against her back.

She couldn’t break free of that intent stare, the brawny arms that came up on either side of her, hemming her in against the trunk, were superfluous. She couldn’t even think of escape, didn’t even want to go anymore. She leaned her head back against the trunk, focused entirely on him as he came closer and closer.

“About what?” she managed.

At first she thought he wasn’t going to answer. He leaned in even further, his body so close the fabric of their clothes was brushing. His head dipped down, and a shudder ran through her as she felt the barest scrape of his stubbly cheek against her neck, the rush of air as he inhaled her scent.

She pressed the palms of her hands back against the tree, dropping the rock, feeling the texture of the bark and trying to keep her legs from wobbling. His head tipped up a bit -- was that his lips just skimming her neck? -- before he rumbled in her ear. "Wrong about everything.”

“You think I’m avoiding you because I’m embarrassed by you? Because I’m disgusted by you? What the hell are you thinking, Marie? I’ve been avoiding you because I know that if I don’t I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”

He seemed to inhale her gasp of surprise, his lips brushing up to her temple now, the barest contact. His hand came up to cup her cheek, tipping her head up to meet his eyes again as his golden hazel gaze scalded her.

“I know it’s wrong. Hell, you were practically my ward. But I can’t be near you without wanting you. I can’t smell you without wanting to be inside you. And god help me if I touch you, I am never going to let go of you.”

His voice was harsh and guttural, almost angry, but his words and closeness were spreading a delicious warmth inside her body.

“You’re right about one thing,” he muttered, his breath rough against her skin. “I’ve tried to leave the mansion. I’ve even gotten a few hours away before I’ve turned around to come back here to you, because I can’t stay the hell away from you. That’s why I’ve been stalking you through these damn woods. That’s why I watch you day and night, and try to never let you see me. Because I know I’m no good for you, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to fucking have you. And now that I know it’s what you want too, I don’t care anymore whether it’s right or not. So here’s what you’re wrong about -- pretty damn much everything. Especially when you say you don’t need anyone. You need me, and I’m going to show you how much.”

Before she could react, before her brain even kicked into gear, he dipped down and his mouth claimed hers, a quick deep kiss that he broke off the second she felt the pull, leaving her with just the ghost of his emotions and a stinging in her lips.

She brought her fingers up to touch her mouth, knowing her eyes must be wide as saucers above them. She felt as if the whole world had tilted and realigned itself in just a few moments, and the only constant in this new dizzying universe was the rough tree at her back and the rough man now pressing closer to her front.

His gloved hand came up to move her fingers aside and brush a thumb against her lips. She saw tenderness soften the intent look in his eyes, and something between a sob and a moan escaped her. She shifted her head to capture the thumb between her teeth, gently biting down through the leather until his gaze darkened with lust again.

“You’re mine, Marie,” he said, and she felt the truth of his words down to the very marrow of her bones. “You’ve been mine since the day we met. And now I’m claiming you.”

Again he kissed her, a deep warmth of tongue and a sharp nip of tooth that sent shivers down her spine, pulling away just in time, and moving to her neck, pressing a sucking bite there. She let her head fall back against the tree and allowed herself to just feel him, reveling in the contact, in the knowledge.

Logan, kissing her. Logan’s warm gloved hand, smoothing up her side, curling around to her lower back to press her fully against his body. Logan’s growl in her ear, as she pushed her hips against him, bringing her arms up to circle his waist as she had always imagined doing. Logan’s expert senses, knowing just how long he could linger without being hurt, the only person who would ever be fearless enough to even think of pressing his lips against her bare skin.

With seemingly effortless strength, he hiked her farther up the tree, one gloved hand brushing down her thigh to wrap her long bare leg around his waist. He tilted into her, the pressure of his jeans against the juncture of her legs unbearably sweet, the rasp of his stubbled cheek against her skin almost painfully sensual.

She had been deprived of touch for so long, she felt like she was going to burst from this sudden flood of sensation, but still she wanted more. His mouth claimed her breast, pushing aside the cup of her bra underneath to lick and then suck through the thin silk of her camisole, a burst of pleasure running through her with every rasp of his tongue. She felt his body and mouth begin a rhythm, grinding against her in a pattern that echoed deep into her bones.

“Marie,” he rumbled into her ear. “Let me show you...”

“Yes, Logan,” was all she could manage to say. And then, “Please.”

She heard the slide of metal against bone as he snicked out the claws, and then her shorts fell away. She felt his hair rough against her belly where his hand had rucked up her camisole, and then lower, as his mouth pushed against her panties, licking and sucking as she braced her hands first on his shoulders and then around the tree behind her as she tried not to collapse from the sensation.

He pulled one leg over his shoulder now, and she felt the solid flannel under her knee as he increased the pressure, his stubbled cheek rasping against her inner thigh as he increased the pace, until she was making helpless little sounds, breathless gasps and entreaties.

“That’s it, baby,” he mumbled against her. “Come for me. Show me that you’re mine.”

His words were the trigger, and she felt the rush overtake her, the delicious painful edge of sensation drawing on seemingly endlessly as he gently worked against her, making it last, putting his mark on her until she slid bonelessly onto his knees where he kneeled before her.

He gathered her up and carried her to where the blanket lay, easily supporting her weight with one arm while he stretched it out with another and laid her down.

She was still in a daze as he lay down next to her, pulling her into the warmth and strength of his body, her head naturally finding the crook of his shoulder and her arm the curve of his waist. She slowly emerged into rational thought, first taking in the warmth of his body against hers, and then the careful deep breaths he was taking and the tension in his rugged frame. She suddenly realized, and brought his hand up to press it to her lips.

“My gloves...” she said, “I want to touch you.” He kissed the top of her head, and then her lips again.

“This was for you, Marie,” he said. “I don’t want to rush you. We have time.”

She almost laughed out loud, and could feel the smile spreading across her face.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to touch you, Logan? To see you? If this is about me, then this is what I want. Right now.”

His smile answered hers and she reached out, brushing her fingertips over his stubbled cheek too lightly to really touch the skin and start the pull, realizing how long it had been since she had seen him looking happy. She sat up and spotted her backpack just a few feet away, quickly retrieving it and finding her gloves by feel.

Logan’s gaze sharpened on the bag as well. “If I remember correctly...” he rumbled, and unerringly pulled her gauzy long-sleeved shirt from the pile.

She was confused for just a moment, and then understood and held her hands, still holding the gloves, over her head while he drew the camisole off her body. Even in gloves his hands were remarkably deft, unclasping her bra and peeling it away so that she knelt before him in just her panties.

The look in his eye took her breath away, she could only stare at him as he drank in the sight of her, running his gloved hands over her bare breasts. His gaze was both reverent and avaricious, and once again she shivered just to see it. He allowed himself a few quick moments to suck her nipples back to hardness before he drew the translucent shirt over her, his eyes admiring the shadow and texture of the dusky skin through the fabric.

He pulled off the gloves and let the backs of his hands carelessly brush up against her as he fastened the buttons down to the very bottom of the shirt, smiling at the intake of her breath and the brightness in her eyes that he was causing.

Suddenly she couldn’t get her gloves on quickly enough. “My turn,” she said, pushing him back and straddling his hips, enjoying the rasp of his jeans between her thighs and the low growl he made as he pushed up into her.

She began unbuttoning his shirt before growing impatient, pulling him to lean forward so she could yank it over his head, laughing when it tangled in his long arms and gasping when he took the opportunity of her precarious position to once again press his mouth against her breasts, laving and suckling her nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt.

Then her hands were drawing his undershirt off him, and a sudden stillness came over her as she finally had him laid out before her, full access to all his beautiful skin.

“You know, the first time I ever saw you your shirt was off, sugar,” she said in an exaggerated drawl, drawing another smile from him. “It’s taken a damn long time to get back to this point.”

She ran her thinly-gloved hands over his broad shoulders, down his arms, across his chest. Everywhere she had ever wanted to touch. She leaned down and let her breasts, thinly veiled by the fabric of her shirt, brush against his body, breathing in the scent at the base of his neck as he had done to her, smiling at the shuddering reaction that brought.

“Marie,” he rasped, hands firm on her hips over the fabric of her shirt, pushing up against her and closing his eyes.

She ran the heel of her hand firmly down the hard ridge pressing against the front of his jeans, and he groaned, bucking his hips up into her hand. She drew the zipper down and released him into her hand, caressing him with the silken gloves, smiling at the rapid indrawn breath, the increasingly urgent movements of his body as he pushed up against her.

“Do you...” she started, but he was already drawing the wallet from his pocket, tossing it to her. “And to think earlier I was cursing you for always being prepared,” she said, and he raised an eyebrow in inquiry briefly before her hand smoothed the latex over him, making his eyes close with pleasure and drawing another rumble from his chest.

She could tell his self-control was straining, but still he let her untutored hands explore, testing the texture and feel of him, gauging his strength and reactions. She lowered her head and experimented with the feel of him against her lips, and in her mouth.

“Christ, Marie,” he ground out, as she licked up his length, and then sucked him fully into her mouth. “Marie...”

She relented, lifting her head to answer the question in his eyes. “You were right,” she said. “From the day we met, I was yours.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “And it’s you that I need.”

A possessive growl this time, as he flipped them over, settling solidly between her thighs. She saw him searching her eyes and knew he saw nothing but conviction there before they fluttered closed as he cut the panties from her body and arched closer to her. Her gloved hand pressed against his cheek, and he mirrored her previous actions as he gently bit her thumb, her eyes drawn open by his gentle nip to look into his and then widening at the intent predatory gleam she saw there.

“Look at me,” he said. “Look at me while I take you.” She nodded, arousal flushing her skin a delicate pink at his words, and he drank in the sight and scent as he pressed slowly into her.

Every reason against this was forgotten, this was so very undeniably right, as she felt her body briefly resist and then welcome him. She could feel him ruthlessly controlling his urges in order to allow her time to adjust, caressing her through the shirt on her sides, belly, breasts, until she began to push up against his body, seeking more.

Then he began a gentle rhythm, and she felt warmth rush over her as a new kind of pleasure began to grow inside her. Her thighs came up to cradle his hips even closer, the denim of his jeans rasping her as she found new leverage to match the movement of her body to his, heightening every sensation.

He moved against her more urgently, driving her relentlessly towards her pleasure and his, pressing against her as if he could take her inside his own body, mark her, claim her.

He threw his head back and she ran a silk-covered hand down his corded throat, as everything inside her seemed to draw into a single point where they were joined, and then explode outward in spreading waves.

She pressed the heel of her gloved hand against her mouth to suppress her scream, and Logan growled in triumph as he buried his head in her shoulder and shuddered against her as his own ecstasy overtook him.

He rolled them over, settling her boneless weight in a soft heap on top of his chest, her hair a silken veil between her cheek and the skin of his chest while he curled his arms protectively over her. The breeze cooled the sweat from their bodies, and the warmth of the sun washed over them, as Logan lazily traced circles on Marie’s back with his fingertips.

“I warned you,” he said in time. “You let me touch you, and now I’m never letting go.” He was trying to keep his voice light, but she heard the underlying emotion and possessiveness in his words, as his hands clenched reflexively against her.

She smiled against his chest, and nuzzled her head into his body briefly before lifting it to gaze seriously into his eyes. “Sugar,” she said. “It’s a deal.”