The stool beneath me is well padded, the fabric aged and worn. It should be, I’ve had it for nearly sixteen years. Sixteen years of life that I remember all too well. I’ve been happy, been loved, watched life and death pass me by and yet there’s something most people don’t get.
A flash of gold catches my eye and I watch the sunlight glint off the band on my finger. A slow, steady smile crosses my face as I stare at my wedding ring. Never believed I’d have one of ‘em, never thought I’d have a husband, children, a simple house – but I do.
Downstairs I can hear the sounds of laughter, hear the kids as they deal with their children, hear the newest baby to the family and it warms my heart. I turn slightly and stare at the massive king sized bed I share with my husband.
“I know you aren’t asleep.” I drawl, my words soft, loving.
A low chuckle draws a grin from me as I watch him open his eyes and stare at me. I know the look, part hunger, part rage, part lust, all want. It’s the same look I saw on his face so many years ago when he walked back through the doors of the mansion.
He’d been gone for two years, Jean had been dead…killed by his hand…for nearly three years and I had come to terms with having nothing. I’d broken up with my boyfriend, dated a new guy Remy for about six months before I found him with some new girl in the backseat of MY car.
I can still remember that day. It was like any other day; I had prepared for class, was taking a quick coffee break when I heard the doors open and stepped out into the foyer. The cup in my hand smashed on the hardwood floor as I met a pair of dark, lust-filled hazel eyes.
“Hi. Uh are you…”
“Shut up, Marie.” Low, rough, the growl held primal tones that did things to me that I’d never would have believed. The stare he sent me was too intense and I glanced down at the shattered mess at my feet.
“Damn it,” I swore as I realized I busted my favorite cup. Kneeling I reached for the pieces only to give a startled squeak as I was lifted to my feet, my back slammed into the wall and the entire force of Logan’s animal magnetism pressed against me. “Logan, what are you hmmmph!” Logan’s tongue stroked along mine and I was lost.
I never could tell Storm what happened after that. My entire body was awash in sensations, every nerve ending screaming out the need to touch, need to feel. I sorta remember hearing someone saying something but what it was and who said it I never figured out. Instead I remember the vibrations of Logan’s growl running through my body a mere moment before he’d pushed me into the den and slammed the door after us.
It was nearly midnight before I made it upstairs, wrapped in Logan’s arms, smelling him and me on his skin and listening to his purr of contentment. When I would have gone to my bed, to my room alone he growled a warning and carried me to his bed. I never left it.
“Who said I was sleeping. I’ve been watching you getting ready for Maria’s weddin’.”
“Hon, it’s almost time to go to the ceremony. You need to get up, get dressed.” I admonish gently as I walk over to the bed and squeal as he rolls me under him with a quick, agile flip of his body.
“It’s your fault if we’re late. I’ve been watching you sit on that stool, remembering every single night you’ve sat on it. Remember the way it’s held you, touched you…”
I smile softly and run a hand through his hair. Even now it still amazes me how it happened. How I learned the secret to touch.
Logan had been back for a year when I figured something was wrong. I could smell his need to run again, smell his claustrophobia at the school and I had geared myself to wake to find him gone.
His moods had deteriorated so badly over the weeks that anything was likely to set him off. I don’t remember what I said; never really paid it much attention but I remember Logan’s reaction. He got this scary, rage filled look upon his face and glared at me for a second before stalking over to the door and slamming it shut. His tone was filled with primal rage, with banked blood-lust and I felt a moment of fear as he got into my face.
I remember the feeling of his hand on my throat, each finger, each nail, the rough hair, the heat…and more importantly I remember there was no burning, no flood of him into me. That day we spent locked in our room. There we explored each other, explored the sensations of skin on skin and I cried as he dressed in a soft, grey silk body stocking to make love to me late in the night.
The next morning we left Xavier’s and never looked back. Not once in the years have we thought of abandoning the road, our lives but it doesn’t matter. I know what’s in New York. Touch is. Touch that we both learned we could have.
“Come on slow poke, you keep looking at me like that and we’ll be spending the day making love instead of watching our granddaughter getting married.”
I laugh as Logan heads for the shower, how I love this man. Love what he’s given me. Slowly I trail a hand down my arm, watching my nails leave slight pink score marks and I breathe in the scent of Logan...I'd rather take the touch of a man who loved me enough to dress up, than the cold indifference of a life surrounded by friends who never really understood their own fear.
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