“I don’t know what to say,” Ororo murmured thoughtfully. Her eyes were miles away, and Charles and Moira didn’t know if she was truly speaking to them anymore.
The sky looked more ominous than before; the clouds meshed together and turned the sky a murky dove gray. The barest slivers of sunlight cut through it, never long enough to let anyone on the ground benefit from its warmth.
Much like Ororo.
“What do you want to know, child? I’ll tell you anything you want to know about what happened…”
“No. I don’t want that. Not yet.” Her gaze pinned him. The serenity in her face was marred by something unfamiliar and unsettling: Frustration. “Why Logan? Why here?”
“He helped me when I needed him. I wanted to offer him an opportunity to work for me in a more beneficial capacity.”
“What, like a favor?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“So make it simple,” she challenged.
“Ororo! Dinna put yuir father on the spot! He’s tryin’ tae explain this to ye, but it’s delicate.”
“So you explain, then.”
“Lassie, I was na’ there that night! All I knew was that ye were gone,” Moira cried, now distraught. “Ye dinna know what it was like…ye were missing, gone without a trace! Five years old. All we found was yuir dollie and tire tracks. No one had seen ye leave. Children came to that bluidy orphanage all the time, so many it was hard tae keep track of where they were from, or how they lost their parents, or what kind of hell they escaped. I didn’t know where ye ended up; all I knew was that my heart…me bluidy heart broke, and bled, aye, and burned, when I found ye gone. Charles was a half a world away, and he heard me. He heard me calling out for ye t’come back t’me.” Some of the starch left Ororo’s spine when she saw Moira’s eyes gleaming and filling. “Ye dinna know the horror of losing a child.”
“I wasn’t your child yet.”
“Dinna fash yuirself for a minute, lass, that it hurt any less.”
“This was the message Moira sent me that night, and how if affected her. Ororo, I know that a full psychic probe is nearly impossible between us, and that I cannot transmit what Moira observed into your mind. All I can do is show you the remnant of what Moira held in hers. This is why Logan and I came after you.” Charles closed his eyes, gently pinching the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb, and Moira suddenly relaxed, as though an enormous burden was lifted from her shoulders. On some level, Ororo knew it had, because it was shared.
The study shifted, seeming to evaporate around them as Charles enveloped them in Moira’s memory. Ororo almost tasted the dust blowing around the arid ground in swirling motes. It was dusk, but the air still felt humid and oppressive, heralding the arrival of mosquitoes.
Ororo heard her name, torn from Moira’s lips. She cried it over and over again until her voice was ragged and cracked. Around and around she turned, her pace going from hesitant searching to a frantic run. This Moira was younger but still had that seasoned, mature look, telling Ororo that she’d suffered much by that point in her life.
She watched the desperation in her movements and face, the haggard worry in her eyes and the anguish twisting her mouth. She felt the hands reaching for Moira, trying to pull her back from running down the road to follow the tire tracks. It wasn’t safe to be out after dark, they said.
Her arms felt empty, and the guilt weighed a ton. How could she have taken her eyes off her! Where on God’s earth could she be? Every moment she was lost was one foot in the grave…or a fate worse than death for a young, innocent child.
Moira was inconsolable, the picture of a broken woman. Her shouts of Ororo’s name gave way to ugly, guttural sobs of mourning as she sank to her knees in the dust.
The landscape faded away, leaving behind only the study and the scent of Charles’ cooling tea. Tears were streaming down Moira’s cheeks, and she was shivering. She stopped when Charles reached for her hand.
“It was horrible,” she whispered. Ororo’s body reflexively leaned forward in her seat; she wanted to go to her, but there was still so much that her father hadn’t told her. So much that she realized he’d held back for a long, long time.
“Mummy…I’m sorry,” Ororo admitted.
“Japheth said ye left wi’ him,” she whimpered, “and-and it was awful, lass. The other workers at the orphanage just said what a pity it was that he was lost, but they were relieved! He was always so sickly, and they were worried they didn’t have the bluidy resources tae feed the poor lad. But he was with you. That was the only consolation I took, lass. Ye were na’ alone out there, but I lost both my babies!”
“Logan was special,” Charles continued thoughtfully while Moira consoled herself, hiccupping and gasping into her hand. “He’s a hard, brittle man who’s difficult to figure out. But I sensed a genuineness of character in him. He was scarred and wary, but not corrupt.”
“What happened when you met?”
“He nearly killed me,” Charles said cavalierly. “I took it as a sign that he liked me when he didn’t, despite himself.” That made Ororo crack a smile. Moira’s chuckle was shaky at best.
“So I guess that’s as good as it gets. That’s why you let a contracted killer under our roof, Dad,” Ororo summed up blithely. She got up and rubbed her legs briskly to restore the circulation. “That’s all I wanted to know. Works for me. I’m going riding.” Moira made a shocked sound. Charles looked baffled and gave a ragged sigh.
“Ororo, don’t just walk away.”
“I need some air. However I can get it, Dad.”
“Let her go, me luv,” Moira advised. “Aye, I think our wee colleen’s heard enough for now.” Moira stood and approached her, beseeching her. Don’t condemn your father, her eyes seemed to ask. She enveloped Ororo in a fierce hug that was nearly painful. Ororo’s arms twined around her and clung almost as tightly, which surprised her. She should be…distraught? Confused? Resentful?
She was holding her mother through a difficult time. Everything else fell away with Moira’s pliant, fragile body bundled into her embrace.
“Ye dinna ken how much we love ye, colleen.”
“I don’t know how I know,” she agreed, kissing her damp cheek, “but I do.” She released her and strode out.
“What the bluidy hell are we going ta do with that lass, Charley?” He was strangely quiet behind her. “Charley?” She spun and saw him bent slightly forward in his chair, the proud posture gone. His shoulders were shaking, and Charles supported himself, leaning his forehead into his open palm.
Moira did something she hadn’t in years.
Her hands were gently as she unlocked the foot rests of his wheelchair to allow his feet to touch the floor, allowing her more room to stand between them. She turned and sat on his lap, letting him feel the contact of her whole body against him to absorb her warmth and presence while she opened her thoughts.
“Tis all right, Charley. I’m here. I’m here. She’ll be all right.” His choked sobs were garbled in the folds of the lightweight sweater she wore. A few tears wouldn’t hurt it, she decided. She crooned soothing sounds against his temple and caressed him, only feeling as though she made a complete connection when his arms coiled around her, nearly crushing her with his need.
“We can’t lose her,” he whispered.
“Nay. We won’t.”
There was still so much left unsaid.
~0~
An hour later:
Jean’s stomach was full of butterflies and her breath was short and harsh. She fumbled with her mascara in the vanity mirror and checked the clock.
Dinner. They were supposed to meet for dinner. Damn, she felt giddy.
She stood back and checked her reflection. Her dress was simple, a short black A-line with long sleeves and a wrap waist and deep V-neck that still left something to the imagination. She left her hair down and bumped it with her curling iron. Jean didn’t share Ororo’s fondness for ponytails unless she was in dance class with Stevie.
“This is it, Jean,” she muttered to her reflection. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, but at least she didn’t have any stress breakouts or a shiny nose. It was as good as it was gonna get.
“Here I come, Scott.” She grabbed her purse and swept out of the room. The jitters in her stomach were soon accompanied by goosebumps.
She no sooner felt her feet touch the floor of the foyer than she felt the mad urge to run back upstairs and change, suddenly feeling too fat, too ungroomed and badly dressed, until she heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Jean? Wow.” She whipped around, making her hair fan out and strands of it cling to her freshly applied pink lipstick. Scott was wearing a crisp white dress shirt that he tucked into charcoal gray slacks. His shoes shone with fresh polish, and his hair was still slightly damp, the shorter locks curling slightly and looking inviting enough to touch. His expression was one of awe and admiration.
“Wow,” she repeated, tongue-tied. “You look…”
“Amazing,” he completed for her. Her eyes ate him up.
“You’re so handsome,” she breathed. Wow, she repeated again in her mind.
“It doesn’t matter. No one’ll be looking at me,” he promised, closing the gap between them and taking her hand. He reached up with the other and gently stroked the strands of hair free from her plump lips. She tingled when he breathed over them and kissed the corner of her mouth so as not to ruin her makeup.
They shared the space in Jean’s tiny compact car with jokes and open thoughts all the way downtown. Jean was thrilled. The satin she wore beneath the dress felt slick against her skin, giving her the confidence she hoped it would in the first place.
~0~
Damn, that felt good.
Logan hung his helmet back up on its peg in the garage and dragged the tarp over LuLu before he left the garage, feeling pleasantly sore. The bike rode like a dream. He was still surprised that Charles even owned one, but Logan wasn’t complaining. Give him a Harley over a Daimler any day.
His skin still stung from the wind whipping against him, and his clothes were slightly damp. It had rained, an unseasonal cold shower that drenched the gravel road, turning it into slurry and making it more of a challenge to get home. There was a taste of danger in the air that was heady and that called his name, stimulating him. He wasn’t ready to go inside and take shelter from it yet.
He trekked out to the lake roughly a half a mile from the house, taking the shortcut through the trees. He walked past the stables and Amelia nickered at him and swished her tail. He felt her unease keenly and decided to stop for a visit.
“Easy, girl. S’okay. Just had a little rain. Ain’t a storm yet.” He reached out and stroked her muzzle when she nosed him and snuffled at his palm. “Ain’t got anything for ya today. Write up an IOU, sweetheart.” She whinnied and snorted her disapproval but didn’t complain any further when he reached for the brush hanging from a rack and began to curry her coat. She leaned into the rough strokes of the brush, her flesh shuddering against him in pleasure. She was the second female to succumb to his particular brand of grooming that evening. At least Amelia didn’t leave him without shit for a clue. He basked in her peaceful mood, as always in easy company among animals and enjoying an emotional rapport that he could never explain in words. They just understood each other.
He blew in her nostrils by way of a goodnight kiss and ambled off, wiping his hands on his faded jeans. The lake still sounded good to him. The water was probably gonna be cold, but he needed to clear his head.
It was just past dusk; the sky was indigo fading into black, with the first stars shimmering into view and winking back at him. He reached the clearing; the brush snapped and rustled beneath his boots as he approached the shore. The banks were loamy and overgrown with moss and thick lichen, and the air smelled like damp earth. He heard crickets and the prolific swarms of tree frogs as he sat on a dead log and removed his boots. His feet cried relief at the sensation of being bare and him planting them in the damp, ticklish grass.
A rush of bubbles and spattering drops nearly made him fall backward off his perch. Ororo erupted through the surface of the water, taking a greedy breath of the cool air. Her hair was smooth and slick as a seal’s, gleaming a deeper silver in the moonlight and plastered against her bare back.
Now she knew why she didn’t bother with underwear; it was just one more thing she’d have to remove when she went for her swim. She was just skimming the droplets from her face with her palms and making sounds of contentment when his chest finally unseized.
Oh, yeah. She was trying to kill him.
“Damn,” he marveled, taking in the sight of her body, and all that hair trailing down her back. She finally noticed him and dropped her hands.
“Well,” she announced. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
“Thought I had the lake all to myself.”
“Ya thought wrong,” he informed her. They held a staring contest. She stood slightly more than waist-deep in the dark water, which was still rippling from her return to the surface. It lapped at the undersides of her bare breasts. She didn’t shiver from the cool air bathing her damp flesh, and she didn’t shrink from his gaze.
“I had first dibs.”
“Finders, keepers,” he shrugged. He never took his eyes from her as he stood slowly and unbuttoned his shirt. His mind screamed that if he was smart, he’d just grab his boots, nod a quick goodbye and leave. How hard would that be?
Impossible. Friggin’ impossible.
His hands betrayed him, flinging his shirt aside into the grass, heedless of grass stains.
“Sure. Why not? Just barge on in anywhere you please,” she chided him. She busied herself with scooping up her hair and bunching it up, wringing out crystal rivulets of water from it. The locks sprung back into shining curls as she flicked them back over her shoulder.
“It’s a free country, last I checked. Ya don’t own the lake.” He tugged his undershirt off in one stroke, revealing a body that made her words die on her lips.
Say what you wanted about Logan at first glance. The loner’s scowl, the mulish, flat line of his mouth, or the way he wore his hat so that his eyes peered out from shadow, chilling anyone who dared to search them.
Her face held something akin to silent awe.
He was so beautiful.
Logan’s body wasn’t built on the tall, lanky lines of Scott’s, Doug’s or Japheth’s, or even the “happy medium” frame of Jamie’s. He was broad through his shoulders and chest, oh, so broad. He was the ideal “V” shape bodybuilders strove for with a firm, tapered waist, but this wasn’t a man who tanned, oiled and preened. His skin was ruddy with good health and slightly tanned from time working in the sun with Mr. Ramsey in the greenhouse and on the grounds. He wore jeans like a glove; they molded to his supple, hard glutes and muscular legs and cupped his crotch, begging any woman walking to risk a downward glance, just for a moment…
Fine dark hair covered his chest, neatly following the tapering shape of his torso and taut belly “ a perfect six-pack, no less; curse him, Ororo thought “ and leading below the waistband of his jeans. His navel was an inny. Ororo wondered if he was ticklish. More of that hair graced his forearms and faded to a sprinkle over the backs of his hands.
Shallow veins ran along his forearms, which bulged. She mentally counted his muscle groups with her eyes. Deltoids. Hamstrings. Triceps. Quads. Biceps. Trapezius. Scapula…ohh. He had a beautiful back. That was his only concession to breaking their stare when he turned to toss a silver chain holding his dog tags onto the log. He faced her again, eyes blazing in the dark. Shadows picked out the slopes and hollows of his proud cheekbones and heavy, arched brows. He had a wide mouth that was capable of a warm, easy smile when he felt like it, but that was an elusive, rare gift he seldom offered anyone. The notch in his upper lip was deep and sharp, begging to be tasted. A wicked cleft in his chin was equally tempting and yet another detail the casual viewer would miss if Logan scared them off. That thick, unruly hair waved back from a broad forehead; he had a stubborn widow’s peak that added to his rakish looks. He didn’t have a pretty boy’s nose; it was long and aquiline and thoroughly belonged on a rugged face like his.
The harsh rip of his zipper separating tore her from her trance. The heavy denim dropped to the grass with a plop. Ororo felt warmth flood her center and tingle over her skin. Her nipples had already stiffened into wicked little knots with the rush of cool water, but now they ached, screaming for his touch.
He took reckless pleasure in baring himself to the night air and her hungry gaze, a liberty he had no time for in the confines of her room. More of that crisp, dark hair covered his legs, picking out the bulge of springy muscles that marked him as someone who ran and climbed, or as he had today, rode motorcycles with abandon. He was stripped down to his boxers, but the flimsy cotton still felt too stifling around his member that was calling the shots the longer he watched her. Down, boy. His erection wasn’t listening to him, and Common Sense ducked out of the party as soon as she took that first deep breath.
She fought to shake off that thrall that held her motionless, swaying slightly as the water lapped at her, seeming to push her toward the shore. His eyes pulled at her, but she just licked her lips and silently challenged him.
“You’re a pain in the butt, did anyone ever tell you that?”
“Not in those words,” he huffed, giving her a shrug with one brawny shoulder.
“Bet you didn’t listen then.”
“Didn’t hear ya, darlin’, ya wanna speak up?”
“Fine. Go.” She tried to make her voice stony. She almost succeeded.
“Not til I’ve had my swim.”
“Take a shower instead.”
“Ain’t in the mood fer a shower.”
“You are now.” With that pronouncement, her eyes swirled an arctic blue before clouding over a blinding white. The wind picked up again, and Logan realized the origin of that “dangerous” feeling in that air stood dripping before him, sexy as hell.
She made it rain. Cold, pelting drops that missed their purpose to drive him off. It felt exhilarating against his hot, bare skin, and his eyes closing in rapture betrayed that fact.
Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He just looked hotter when he made that face.
“I needed that,” he rumbled over the sound of the raindrops hitting the banks and crashing into the lake, destroying its placid surface, “but I need that swim more, and I ain’t in the mood ta wait. Come on out if ya want, darlin’. I ain’t stoppin’ ya, but I’m comin’ in.”
Excitement clenched in her gut. There came those goosebumps again, and the strange feeling that she was standing on the edge and about to tumble into the abyss. But Ororo was a woman who could soar.
She wasn’t afraid of the look in his eyes as his foot broke the glossy wavelets and as he waded through the muddy bottom. The wind rustled through his hair and tore at the cotton shorts he wore, sharply outlining his stiffness. She didn’t flinch back from the determination in his gait or the smooth strokes of his hands cleaving through the water as he wandered in deeper…deeper…
She didn’t recognize her own voice when she spoke.
“You only get needy with me,” she pointed out wryly. “You need a swim. You need to talk. You need to hold me. You need to fix my hair. Need, need, need,” she sighed. Her toes curled at the memory of that night in her loft. “You’re a demanding man.”
No one’s held you. No one’s comforted you, darlin’. Not like ya need ta be, because ya’ve convinced everyone ya don’t need it.
“Long as I’ve been alive, darlin’, no one’s ever handed anything over ta me. I need something, I might ask ya real nice before I just take it, anyway.” He didn’t sound sorry.
“I don’t hear you asking me.”
“Haven’t decided what I want from ya yet.”
“You don’t need to hold me?” Amusement curled her lips. They were invitingly full and red from her immersion in the water.
His hands shot out and clamped themselves around her upper arms, jerking her flush against his body. Her mouth was already partially open in surprise before he claimed it savagely, plundering it with his kiss. She moaned beneath the assault, once again driving him past his limits. Her hot cheeks were framed by his hands as he slanted her face to better taste her, sampling the textures and flavors she had to offer. Ororo felt her hands wander over that superb body, exploring its solid contours and feathering over that wiry hair.
All Logan felt was her body’s welcome and sensations that threatened to overwhelm him and sweep him away. There was no fear in her response to him, only yearning and need that he found ironic. Who was the needy one, after all? Her fingers combed through and clutched his hair, tugging on it to tip his mouth up to better meet his kisses, undoing the disparity in their heights.
He roamed her body, kneading it and molding it to him greedily. She was made to be touched and savored. Her skin was satiny smooth beneath his hands. Her nipples grazed his chest, thrust forward by the water that made her breasts bob slightly against him. His mouth blazed a hot trail down her chin, nibbling it before descending the column of her throat. He tasted her pulse and made her cry out before giving into the temptation that would surely ruin him. He cupped the firm, sculpted globe of her breast, lovingly teasing the nipple with his thumb before he engulfed it in the fiery heat of his mouth.
Ororo gave a strangled cry and arched against him as his tongue flattened and swirled around the morsel. He suckled hard, making hoarse sounds of ecstasy at her taste and the feel of her in his mouth. He pulled sensations through her body, centering on her nipples but that made heat and tingling electricity flow every erogenous zone in her body.
His palms gripped and coveted her ass, savoring it, too as she ground against him, wanting so much more.
“Needy,” he rasped, breathing over her nipple, nibbling a lazy circle around it before sucking it back inside. “Ya didn’t lie, darlin’.” Rhythmically he began to work her against himself, groping her so that her curls abraded him underwater, friction growing between them despite his boxer shorts. “I need ta hold ya. All night long. I need ta taste ya. I need ta hear ya makin’ those sexy sounds that ya are right now. I’m all about need right now.” His mouth drifted from one breast to the other; he was no less ardent, partaking of the nourishment she offered long and slow. She clung to him, and all around them nature responded to their passion.
Birds took wing from the pending storm. Logan dimly heard the thunder over the frantic beat of Ororo’s heart.
Her mouth chanted short prayers and moved over his face and hair. She ducked her head to nip at his ear, sucking it between her lips. That was a hot spot that made him work himself against her more urgently. He was nearly riding him. The cotton of his boxers provided no barrier between her throbbing, tight little pearl and his shaft. Legs lean and taut from riding horses for most of her life wrapped themselves smoothly around his waist, making him groan.
There was no turning back. He was wrapped in her embrace, nothing between them except lust and bare skin, and he couldn’t wait. Couldn’t rationalize. Couldn’t think. All he could do was feel.
The rain never stopped. It assailed his senses and heightened the scent of her skin and the surrounding woods. It seasoned her skin as he lapped at her neck where it joined her shoulder while he pulled them through the water, letting it sheet off their bodies as they reached the shore. She was no longer weightless once they were aground, but he still carried her like she weighed nothing, giving her a sense of feminine satisfaction to be held so possessively.
They sank to the grass; his knees simply buckled, and her legs still straddled him, wrapping around him as they sat erect and pressed together, locked in a kiss that wouldn’t end. She gradually began to rock against him, creating a rhythm that found her heat milking him, rubbing seductively over his hardness and claiming it for her own. Her flesh was swollen with need. She moved against him because she couldn’t stop, he just felt too good.
Damn it! She just had to make this hard! Lust roared through his veins as she dominated the kiss. He bucked and strained beneath her, driven by his cock’s needs and the struggle to breach her, to bury himself in her depths. Her rhythm was broken by his hands working her back for just an agonizing moment, freeing himself from his shorts. He gave in and let her rock him back into the grass, hovering over him as she whisked his shorts off and flung them away. Her face was insistent, and her eyes still held that brilliant white light, blazing hot stars glowing out from her face. Burning him.
“Finally,” she muttered as she covered him. Her body rippled over him at first contact, and he groaned again at the luxury of her skin against his and the sweet press of her clit rubbing his shaft, which was so engorged that he ached. She drank raindrops from his fevered face and then from his mouth. Her hair was hopelessly tangled now but still felt satisfying to wrap his hands in. His palms skimmed over every muscle and slope of her back and her ripe ass. She was undoing him that easily. He was fast losing control.
He couldn’t lose control.
She was already lapping a path down his chest, delicately teasing one of his flat nipples until it strained toward her lips before he stopped her. She looked up into his face, confused.
“Lie down,” he ordered sternly. “We’re gonna do this right. I need this.”
Need. She nodded and complied, welcoming him into her arms as she rolled to her back. He craved her touch, and that mouth on him, but he needed their coupling more than anything else now. Once he was sated, they could revisit the use of those lips…
His fingers traced the valley between her breasts as he kissed her, teasing the tender dip of her navel and feathering over her smooth belly before he probed her flesh. She arched and bucked against his hand. His name was abbreviated and hissed out through her teeth as he thrust his fingers inside.
She felt like hot silk, pulsing and squeezing around him and promising greater delight.
“Need you,” he grunted as he kissed the pulse in her neck, sucking out another bruise but unable to help it when she tasted to damned good. His mouth fell slack when she reached down to grip him in her hand, curling her fingers around his cock in a snug fist.
Holy…!
That was it. Logan was done. His hand slipped free and he wrested hers from him, making her stare up at him with a bereft expression on her face until he nudged himself between her legs. He scissored those long, graceful limbs around his waist and thrust inside her before she could even cry out.
He filled her, stretching her with a sweet ache that made her gasp and clench herself around him. His hips pumped themselves into her without any further thought or direction from him. His body belonged to her softness, and his needs wouldn’t be denied.
“God, ‘Ro! Oh, God!” His voice was broken and desperate, staring into her face as his hips pumped and pistoned, driving him deeper inside. She was snug, hot and lush. Her arms twined around him and her hips arched, urging him to continue harder, faster.
Ororo had no use for words. He felt solid and hot and hard, and he was driving everything from her brain except him, and perhaps her own name, since he was chanting it like that.
Oh, he felt incredible. Around them the trees tossed in the wind again, drowning out the hollow slap of flesh against flesh.
He’d taken women.
He’d never experienced one before that made him lose himself. He was helpless against her passion and her desire for him and the way she surrendered herself to him so fully. Her lips mapped out his neck and bit him back, only because she couldn’t stand it, he felt too good, too right…too…oh.
Oh.
Friction, pulsing hot and fast. So much anticipation and the thrill of building pressure, and pleasure. White-hot. Faster. Bigger. Harder. More. The dampness of the ground at her back was the only thing that buffered her from impending grass burn as Ororo rocked beneath him, adopting his rhythm. His shoulders throbbed from the sweet ache and exhaustion, both from his ride earlier and this one now. Every vein and muscle in him strained and worked as he led them to the crescendo. His climax loomed nearer, earth-shaking and promising to rob him of breath. He felt Ororo convulse and contract around him, skipping a beat only to tighten even more…
He released. Fulfillment gripped him and he exploded long and hard, bucking and jerking inside of her. His face was a mask of shock as he stared into her eyes, disbelieving that she did that to him. She rode it out with him, those final pumps of his hips pushing her over the edge.
Spasms welled up and made her arch up against him, gasping as her orgasm waxed and rose over her threshold. She was dying. Dying. Nothing in this life felt the way she did right now, sheltering this man inside her body. His arms gave out; she caught him and clung to him, not wanting to let him go. Her own legs felt limp as noodles. They fell away from his waist and she let them tangle with his in the wet grass as they listened to the thundering rain hitting the ground.
Gradually the downpour dwindled to a gentle sprinkle, then condensed to a fine mist. They basked in each other’s labored breathing and gentle touches that seemed to cherish as well as caress. He leaned up from her just enough to search her face, flicking away a speck of grit from her cheek. Her fingertips stroked the stubble over his jaw, then his lips. Her eyes were blue again, the color of morning glories.
“What’ve we done?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, but she drew him down for a kiss that betrayed that she didn’t care.
~0~
Jean barely tasted dinner. They only made it through three songs before she felt the evidence of Scott’s anticipation and their shared impatience on the dance floor. He felt stiff and smooth through his clothes and the satin warmed by her skin.
Need. Plain and simple. He dashed through the crowd for their coats, leaving her craving him and staring at his retreating back like a motherless child. Don’t go! But hurry! His lips twisted in a grin as he caught that random thought from her.
They made it upstairs, both of them glad they’d chosen a hotel that had a three-star restaurant and four-star rooms.
Once inside, lips and hands overruled reason as they stumbled together against the locked door. She smothered his exclamation of amusement as she kicked off her pumps and began wrangling him out of his shirt, hopelessly wrinkling it.
His fingers painted her with his desire, scorching her as he dragged the zipper down, opening her dress to her waist. The air of the hotel suite felt cool at her back through the satin. He peeled the sleeves away and stepped back, sucking in a breath.
Green satin against peaches and cream skin. Black lace trimming the low neckline of the gown, framing perfect breasts. He stroked it, answering the fine fabric’s siren call, scorching wherever he touched.
Out of nowhere she wanted to see his eyes. Her voice was muffled slightly in his neck as he snaked his arm around her waist. She peeled the undershirt from his hot skin, running her hands over him, unable to get enough. His kisses were needy and came at her in a sweet rush, stealing her breath.
“Scott!” she cried.
“Jean! Damn it, Jean, just look at you!” He moaned in pleasure at the taste of her, the sight of color blooming in her cheeks and the way her eyes seemed to glow in the darkened suite. For him.
“I wish…I wish…”
“What? Tell me.”
Your face. Your eyes, Scott. I want to see your eyes. He stopped. She clung to him, but he stopped, and his face was suddenly grave.
“You know why you can’t. Why I can’t show you,” he said aloud.
Scott…please. Her expression was wounded and plaintive. He shook his head, hating himself for denying her.
“I can’t.”
You can. Please.
“I’ll hurt you! Jean…I’d never hurt you. Never you. Don’t you understand? I won’t risk you, even…” He faltered.
Even if you want to show yourself to me, too?
I don’t want to hide any part of me from you, Jean. But I can’t do anything about this. I’m so sorry.
Scott…feel me.
What?
Feel me. Concentrate on how you feel with me, right now. He felt her caress him, but not with her fingers, or her lips.
Slowly her telekinesis stroked him, feathering over every molecule in his body, bathing every cell in warmth and her desire. He went stiff and then shuddered out a hungry breath.
He swallowed harshly and reached for her, cupping her face and combing through her rich coppery hair.
I have you. I won’t let go.
Jean…
Please, Scott. Please.
You don’t know how you affect me.
I think I do. I want you. I need you, Scott. But I need to see you.
“All right,” he whispered, and he didn’t draw back when she lifted his glasses from his face.
Coffee brown eyes drifted over her features reverently as he continued touch her lightly and with great care. “Jean,” he confirmed. She nodded, kissing his fingertip as he stroked the curve of her lip.
“You have beautiful eyes, Scott Summers.”
“Only when I’m with you. All I can see is you.”
I love you, Jean.
“Oh, Scott!” she whimpered into his mouth. They sank onto the mattress as he roved over her body, taking his time with the satin scrap of a nightgown. Its green sheen gave way to bare skin and it soon lay in a shining puddle in the corner of the room…where Jean fantasized about seeing it before when they went into the store in the first place.
Oh, Scott…
He saw her, all of her various colors without the oppressive ruby quartz lenses tainting them. The luscious tourmaline pink of her lips, and the darker rose of her nipples. Soft titian curls between his legs when he reached down to pluck her. The flush of her pale skin as he kissed every inch of her. The pearly white teeth that nipped at the edge of his thumb as he parted her lips.
When she engulfed him, descending over him and bathing him in her heat, he simply closed his eyes and let her sweep him away. She made love to him leisurely, appreciating him and holding nothing back. Her thoughts, emotions and body belonged to Scott.
She was about to be proven wrong…
He climaxed. She followed soon after, cleaving to him and moaning his name into his neck as she went limp. She exercised control, never releasing her telekinetic grip over his optic blasts. He stared up at her in mute wonder, simply caressing her face and hair in shameless worship.
In his dark realm, Farouk laughed, an ugly, guttural sound.
Jean reached for his glasses and handed them to him, gifting him with one last peck before she tottered off to the bathroom. He watched her in hazy bliss as he donned the spectacles, then stared up at the ceiling, spent.
He wasn’t expecting the invasive, tingling pain that surged through his body, or the way the room around him seemed to shift and warp, as though someone turned him upside down. He heard the running water in the bathroom but didn’t manage to cry out before his consciousness was ripped, torn and bleeding, and shoved away beneath lock and key. His body jerked. In the cold darkness Scott screamed.
In the warm tangle of sheets, Farouk smiled and pulled them back to allow Jean to snuggle into his side. When she fell asleep, his body lay curled around her, and the useless glasses winked up from the small waste bin beside the bed.
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