Logan and I spend the next 3 days avoiding each other, 3 days which Bobby spends chasing me down the hallways, trying to convince me that nothing ever happened between him and Slut Girl, but my mind is elsewhere. And to be completely honest, I stopped caring about the crap he pulls a long time ago.
It doesn’t matter anyway. Even if he’d never so much as looked at her, he’s not occupying my thoughts anymore. No, my thoughts are with Logan, back in his classroom, with the heat he ignited in me, and how he shoved me out into the cold.
I still don’t know what happened, or why. One minute he was about ready to jump me and fuck me into next week, and before I know what’s happening, he’s all business and basically throws me out on my ass.
And the worst thing – every night since then, the feeling of Logan’s hands on me, every blow, has been haunting my dreams, making me jerk awake in the middle of the night, his name on my lips and my panties drenched with my juices. And each time I wake up, I’m certain I can hear footsteps out in the hall.
On the fourth day after out little encounter, I wait for him outside his classroom. I’m sick of this, whatever it is, and I want some answers.
Logan hesitates for half a second as he comes down the hallway and sees me, his hesitation only visible to a select few who know how to read him. He glances at me briefly before entering the room, and I close the door behind me, locking it. That earns me another brief glance plus The Eyebrow.
“Somethin’ you wanted, kid?”
I try to ignore how badly the old nickname stings as I stand there, leaning against the door. He does his best to look busy, fumbling with the papers on his desk, but it’s obvious how tense he is, how much he wants to be somewhere else. “We need to talk.”
He doesn’t even look up, tries just a little too hard not to pay attention. “’bout what?”
“I know it’s you, outside my room.”
Now he leans back in his chair, giving me a long look. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
I sigh deeply, rubbing my forehead. “Look, if, if I did something wrong, just tell me, okay? But I deserve some answers.” He doesn’t react, and I walk over to him, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Logan, look at me. Please.”
He looks up, obviously reluctant, and I turn my back on him, pulling up my skirt to reveal my naked butt to him. He draws in a sharp breath at the sight, and I know exactly why. I’m still covered in bruises, my white skin adorned with green and blue.
His cover breaks then. “God, Marie.” It’s barely above a whisper, but it’s enough.
I turn around, catching his eye, and his conflicting emotions are clearly visible on his face. I take his hand in mine, softly letting my fingers play over his knuckles. “Why did you send me away?”
He tenses even more, looks away. “It was wrong to even think about it.”
“What makes you think it’s wrong?”
He meets my eye, and his voice trembles ever so slightly. “You’re a kid, Marie...”
I groan and step away from him, from the desk. “For God’s sake, Logan! Who are you trying to fool? Do you really think it’ll come true if you just keep telling yourself that I’m too young? I’m almost 22, Logan. Legally allowed to drink and have kinky sex if I want to.” I look at him again, and he looks completely lost, and it hits me. “What, you think you’re not good enough for me?”
He half-turns away, looks ready to bolt. “I’m not.”
The seriousness behind those two simple words, his tone, hits me square in the gut, and I rush around the desk, taking him into my arms and burying my face in his shirt. “Logan, don’t. Don’t think that, please. We’re both no angels, so please stop putting me on that pedestal.”
He touches my chin then (and where do the gloves come from all of a sudden?), makes me look at him. “Marie, what happened... it’s only a taste of what... of what I am.” He chuckles grimly. “Scooter’d say I’m a dirty old man.”
I slide my fingers through his mutton-chops, over his ears and through his hair, and I’d swear he actually purrs at that. I smile a little. “Well, maybe I like dirty old men.” He laughs at that, and I slide my hand down his neck, over his chest. “What you said... that there’s more...” I’m blushing, but hell. “That a promise?”
He growls deeply, and before I can blink he has turned me around and bends me over the desk, pushing against me and making my butt hurt in all the right places. “Darlin’, you have no idea what you’re gettin’ yourself into.”
My voice is breathy, trembles. “No, I guess I don’t. But it doesn’t matter. Just make me come like that again, Logan. Please.”
Dear Lord.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Things come to a head.