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“You’re humming. Why are you humming?” Betsy cut in, interrupting Ororo’s throaty warblings while she updated her article log.

“Meh…just felt like it, I guess. Know how when you can’t get a song out of your head, you just start singing it out of the blue?”

“I know that kind of humming. That’s not what you were doing though, missy. That’s ‘I’ve met a new man’ humming if I ever heard it. Look, there’s the look, don’t try to hide it, you DID!” Betsy smacked her lightly on the arm. “Spill it! I want details.” Ororo tried to stifle a grin with no success, looking like the cat that got the cream.

“He’s sexy. His name’s Logan. He’s a friend of Yukio’s.”

“What does he do?”

“He owns a cute little flower shop.”

“Does he look like someone who should own a cute little flower shop?”

“Nope. If I didn’t see him ring up my order for that bouquet, my first guess would have been that he worked construction or was a lumberjack, flannel and all.”

“Cute?”

“Hot.”

“Nice work. When do we meet him?”

“Betsy! Please! I’ve only been on one date with him so far.”

“Well, hurry up, already! I’m dying to know who made you all giggly and sappy. And ask him if he has a friend!” Betsy stole one of the Reese’s mini peanut butter cups from Ororo’s candy jar. “So do you think you’re ready to throw yourself back out there?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a sigh. “It still feels weird not coming home to Vic, but he drove me nuts. I loved him, and I spent so much time trying to make him happy, Bets.”

“That’s where you went wrong. He said jump, you said ‘How high?’ It was painful to watch.” She peeled off the gold foil and popped the luscious tidbit into her mouth as Ororo scowled.

“Gee, thanks. Sorry my life’s so pathetic.”

“Nonsense. Don’t have a cow. You know what I’m talking about. When you were with Vic, you were with him twenty-four-seven. All you talked about was Vic, all you made time for was Vic, and even when you did things with us, you were on this stupid little curfew. You shopped for him, you kept his appointments, cleaned up after him and practically wiped his bum. You can’t keep doing that; it’s too bloody exhausting.”

“Please! I’m free as a bird! And I’m not really ready for a real relationship right now, anyway. I just want some excitement. I want that butterflies-in-your-stomach feeling of being with someone new. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve just had ‘a date?’ Holding open doors, hand-holding, going to a restaurant that doesn’t involve paper cups, self-serve soda and ‘Do you want fries with that?’”

“That new car smell doesn’t last. What does Mr. Wonderful like to do in his spare time?”

“I’m still figuring that out. We took in a movie.”

“Comedy or action?”

“Action thriller.”

“You never go to see those,” Betsy accused.

“I used to all the time with Vic. When we even went out to the theater,” she added sourly, hitting save on her database changes.

“So why settle for more of the same? What do you like to do?”

“Girly stuff. I haven’t been to a craft fair or a museum in, like, forever. I wanna see that exhibit of the sand paintings at the DeYoung.” She grabbed her purse from the hook on her cubicle wall and keyed in her desktop security password to bring up her screensaver. “I also miss going to the pier.”

“So go. Whether he wants to or not. Do something you like for a change. You’ve got time on your hands.”

“Speaking of which, I need a complete overhaul. Hair, pedicure, facial, the works. I’m tore up from the floor up.”

“Baloney,” Betsy tsked.

“I need some heavy duty pampering. Vic never noticed unless I had a pimple on my forehead.” She still felt indignant thinking about it. Vic could eat what he wanted without gaining a pound, and he looked handsome after getting his thick blond hair cut the same way each time he went to the barber. Life was unfair.

“So then what?”

“I’m going with him to a Giants game.”

“You hate baseball.”

“I like stadium dogs,” Ororo shrugged.

“That’s pitiful. You’ll be bored out of your mind.”

“Cold stadium. Crowded seats. We can practically cuddle. Think I’ll manage.” Ororo’s face was smug. Betsy rolled her eyes as they made their way toward the exit.

“Wouldn’t hurt to be yourself.”

“I’m still trying to figure out who that even is.”

The sound of scurrying feet rushing up behind them and “Ororo, could you hold on a second?” made her stop in her tracks and cringe.

Valerie. Great. “I need you for a minute. Do you have a minute?” Before she could say no, Val was already tugging her by the sleeve toward her desk, as Ororo craned her neck back around to Betsy and mouthed “What the fuck?” Betsy gave her a cavalier wave and made hand motions of “Call me” as she disappeared.

Ororo didn’t relinquish her hold on her purse, hoping Val would take the hint that she was on her way to lunch.

No dice. “I just finished that article on Hashimoto’s disease, and I need it set. Cassandra gave it the green light.”

“Hold up. We were saving that one for next month’s issue.”

“Not anymore. She wants this one moved into the queue. I already sent it to layout downstairs.”

“I was the one who was supposed to send it once it was logged,” Ororo reminded her. “We’ve already edited the final draft. I don’t want us repaginating the whole thing at the last minute.” Valerie’s smile didn’t waver.

“I know that you’re discouraged about creating more work, Ororo, but I’m following Cassandra’s wishes, so it would help if you were on board for this and if you could move it onto your plate.” Ororo’s face settled into a calm (albeit stunned) mask as “Psycho” fiddles played in her head. “I also saw the table of contents. I wasn’t listed yet as a contributing columnist?”

“We weren’t expecting your article to go in this issue,” Ororo explained through gritted teeth.

“Maybe just make a note to whoever’s typesetting it,” Valerie suggested, this time smiling more beatifically, now that she was getting her way.

“That would be Piotr.” One more email Ororo would have to send on top of the mountain she already had.

“I really appreciate it, Ororo!” There it was, the perky voice. “Do you think you could add that to the log and do the final edits by two?”

“It’ll be a tight squeeze, I’ll have to rearrange things.”

“You know how it is,” Val cajoled. “Sometimes you have to take one for the team.” She turned back to her computer, effectively dismissing her.

“Sure,” Ororo murmured as she departed. “Just bend over and grab your friggin’ ankles…”

Ororo retraced her steps to her desk, plopped her purse next to her chair and logged back on, fuming.

All she wanted was lunch. Lunch, fer cryin’ out loud.

So down went the screensaver, up went the article file, and her hour out of the office went kaput. Betsy cooed her sympathy into her mobile while Ororo muttered under her breath of the evils of a certain columnist and publisher the world revolved around.

She was changing the cutline just as restlessness began to set in, and then she thought of Logan. A lot. By the time she absently finished half of a panini, limp from its journey in Styrofoam, it was time to go home.

What the heck was she supposed to wear to a Giants game?

She casually ignored the staff memo that personal ‘Net use was going to be rigorously monitored and checked her Web mail. Hunh…one from Yukio. One from Emma. Two joke emails from Betsy.

One from Logan.


October 1

Subject: Hey, darlin’

Had a lot of fun at dinner. I’ve got more questions for you. I’ve got a little surprise, too.

Anyone ever tell you that your hair smells really, really nice?

See you Saturday.

- Logan ;)

Pixie dust. That described the warm, yummy tingles sparkling in her stomach and dancing over her flesh. She shot Betsy a wave over her shoulder on her way to the elevator. She was just hanging up her phone and leaning out from her cubicle as she pushed the button.

“You’re humming again,” she sang.

And she was.


~0~

Ororo’s leg muscles were still smarting from their brisk walk from the street, making her wish after the fact that they’d taken the Baylink Ferry to the stadium. She didn’t question Logan’s choice to skip parking at the stadium, though. It was mobbed.

Their brisk walk had the added advantage of giving her an excuse to hold his hand as they strolled uphill. “Let’s use those long legs of yers, darlin’!” That stilled her grumbling and made her smile. And his hands were nice; big, strong and warm, and he rubbed her chilly ones while they were standing in line with their tickets.

“Cold hands,” he murmured. “Feel like icicles.”

“I’m one of those people who always gets cold.”

“Maybe this wasn’t what we shoulda done today.” He huddled closer to her and tucked her hand, still linked with his, into the deep pocket of his black wool peacoat.

“I just wanted to get out today.” That wasn’t a lie. “This was a nice way to do it.” And it was slowly becoming just that.

Her toes felt like little ice cubes inside her black and white Adidas sneakers, and the frigid wind was teasing her hair out from her ponytail. On her head she wore a Giants baseball cap, one of Logan’s surprises for the day.

AT&T Park was huge and windy, and Ororo couldn’t escape the smells from the vendors making their way up the aisles. Logan bought them two cocoas and two hot dogs that tasted even better than they smelled, and they proceeded to get pummeled by neighboring fans every time there was a double. When the Giants scored a run, Ororo more or less went deaf. But somehow, it managed to be fun. Logan thoughtfully remembered to bring a fuzzy, careworn orange and black Giants blanket with him, both to sit on and to wrap up in, so at least there was something between her buns and the hard bleachers.

“Ya warm enough?”

“I can’t feel my nose,” she admitted. His response was to reach out and tweak the reddened tip. Her sense of smell wasn’t impaired, at any rate, since she caught his pleasant, masculine scent again on his clothes. Her own clothes were giving her second thoughts. She was casual again, this time in a long thermal shirt in white waffle knit and some acid-washed, boot-cut jeans, topped with her Levi’s denim jacket. Two new dresses whispered to her from her closet that morning, but she rummaged through her drawers instead.

There was just as much of a snag in the corridor as they left that there was when they came. The sun was just beginning to set over the cove, and Ororo felt her stomach growl.

“Somebody’s starvin’,” Logan commented, once again taking her hand.

“Somebody else better get me somewhere that I can eat whatever’s not nailed down!”

“North Beach?”

“North Beach.” He’d definitely gotten that right. Ororo loved the pier.

They continued their game of twenty questions over a luscious pizza heaped with pepperoni and mushrooms. Logan ate the crusts; Ororo hated them, thankfully passing them across the table.

“What do you when you’re not working?”

“This, when I’ve got anything extra after payin’ rent,” he shrugged. “Gym. Rent a DVD every now an’ again. Just bought Die Hard, finally, after I saw the last one in the theater.” He reached for the shaker of red pepper and liberally sprinkled his third slice. “You?”

“Me? Oh. Hmmmm. I read. Scratch that. I read a lot. I’m on a first-name basis with the folks at Borders. You’d think I’d get sick of looking at print all night after reading it all day. I like music.”

“What kind? Besides Clapton.”

“A little of everything.” To Ororo, “everything” included house, R&B, world music, or anything that she could dance to until she dropped. “And once in a while, I like to head to the clubs.” His eyes glazed over.

“I can’t stand the club scene,” he admitted. “Too much of a meat market. And I don’t dance.”

“Why not?” she chided playfully. “There’s something about it that just gets me. Lights. Music. Getting dolled up. Having a buzz.”

“How much of a buzz?”

“Enough not to be thirsty, but not enough for numb teeth and a hangover.” He grinned; she knew she gave him the correct answer.

“Anything else ya usually get dolled up for?”

“Different things. Stuff for work. And a party every now and again. Community club dinners.”

“So ya get ta play as hard as ya work.”

“I don’t do anything as hard as I work,” she offered. Her fingers plucked the slices of pepperoni from her slice, leaving behind craters in the cooling cheese. His eyes challenged her from across the table. They settled the bill and headed out into the sunset, perusing shop windows and watching the sea lions in the bay, wrinkling their noses at the smell.

Old Stevie Ray Vaughn tunes filled Logan’s tiny Civic on their way up the hill. “Are ya tired?”

“That dinner almost made me want a nap, but I’m good.”

“Feel like a movie?”

“Not much of anything I want to see at the theater.”

“I’ve got some discs at home, if ya wanna check ‘em out and take yer pick?”

“That might be more my speed. Lead on, MacDuff.” She watched his hands as he steered them down a street she wasn’t familiar with.

He lived on a busy neighborhood dotted with older, two-story houses. They managed to parallel-park outside a smaller home with brown siding and white trim, closely sandwiched between its neighbors with a tiny strip of front yard. She was fumbling again with the sticky seat belt when he got out of the car and circled it, opening her door before she could even touch the handle.

“Here,” he said, stilling her hands and once again reaching over her to undo the buckle. There was that wonderful little Logan smell again, and his hair held a hint of sea breeze and sunshine in it. She itched to run her hands through it, and the edge of his coat tickled her. All she would have to do was lean forward a bit to feather his cheek with her lips and taste him. He had that effect on her, and she felt her body warm up at the prospect of touching him, if the opportunity presented itself.

They climbed the concrete steps to his front door. Ororo peered inside the beveled glass window in his front door as he dug the key out of his pocket, catching a glimpse of an empty foyer.

She caught the scents of male occupancy when they strode into his living room. “Not bad,” she mused aloud, taking in the hard wood floors and sparely furnished living room.

It was cluttered. Not dirty, but definitely cluttered. A thickly stuffed mail holder hung by the back door. A side table next to the couch was piled with sports magazines and an unfolded copy of the Chronicle. A large toolbox on the floor next to his dinette set. The small round table was big enough for two and dressed with faded denim placemats. An Ansel Adams black-and-white print hung in the living room, elegantly framed. His couches were upholstered in dark tweed, a nondescript brown that could pass for coffee. Like any good bachelor, the TV was the focal point of the room, flanked on either side by a tall, potted ficus and a short bookcase.

She perused the offerings as he hung his coat over the back of one of the dinette chairs. She thumbed through his books and tugged a glossy book of Calvin and Hobbes comics loose, chuckling at the cover.

“Love that one,” he informed her. His voice rumbled from just over her shoulder. She felt a light pull at her sleeve. “Lemme take yer coat so ya don’t roast.” He’d turned on the thermostat already, and she felt the chill slowly leave her skin. She plunked the book atop the case and eased out of her jacket. His eyes seemed to drink her in; she felt suddenly awkward beneath his appraisal. She was in his home, his personal space, and she couldn’t think of anything socially correct to say. He laid her coat over the arm of the couch and nodded for her to sit.

“Where are those movies you promised me?” She sank more deeply into the cushions than she expected, a low “oomph!” escaping her lips.

“Take yer pick.” He popped open the TV cabinet below the set and tapped each case as he rattled them off. Batman Begins. Fast and the Furious. Meet the Parents…”

“That one,” she piped up.

“That one it is,” he murmured. He fiddled with the player while her eyes continued to roam around the room. Eventually they settled back on Logan.

There was just something about him. Comfortable and easy in his skin. Low-maintenance and earthy. She knew he was tactile and enjoyed his sense of humor. She had the feeling he was affectionate, despite Yukio’s warning that he kept to himself. Burning curiosity welled in her gut. There were no pictures of anything resembling an ex-girlfriend hanging on his walls, just one cute photo of him and a man who bore a strong resemblance, with the 49’ers stadium in the background.

“What was your last girlfriend like?” She saw his body jerk and still as he shut the movie case.

“Damn. Hm. Dunno. Nice enough. Fun. Quiet. Mariko didn’t feel like stayin’ in the states after we went our separate ways. I didn’t try ta stop her.”

“Where did she go?”

“Tokyo. Back ta her family. Yukio keeps in touch with her. She’s got her own family now. Said she had a son.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never been to Tokyo. It’s on my list.” He warmed to the subject.

“Any others?”

“Italy. Spain, to see the Alhambra. Germany. And a few places that aren’t so far away, like Alaska and Mazatlan.”

“Ya’d like Mazatlan.”

“Lucky! I haven’t been there yet. I’m too busy.”

“It ain’t cheap. Be ready ta spend a lot of money on the fun restaurants and shopping. And pack a swimsuit. Ya can’t beat those beaches.”

“Yup, I’m definitely jealous now. I’m not much of a swimmer, but I love the beach.” He seated himself on the couch, also sinking into the yawning canyon of cushions. The momentum pulled her closer to him, making her lean against his solid body so their legs touched at the side seams of their jeans. She shivered; this time, she wasn’t cold. “Did she always want a family?” she inquired, revisiting the other half of her question. What she meant was Do you want a family? Then she silently kicked herself.

“Eventually. It came up before she gave me back my key.”

“Was that what ended it?”

“Uh-uh.” The television threw dim light over their faces, illuminating his rugged profile. “It was just one more thing ta throw on top of the pile.” He didn’t bother to fast forward through the previews. “Kids weren’t outta the question. They’re just at the bottom of the list. So there ya go, I’ve gotta list, too.” Her laughter was quiet but shook her chest.

“What else is on the list, Logan?”

“Hangin’ out with someone who’s smart, funny, good company. The usual stuff. Doesn’t hurt if she looks cute in a baseball cap, either,” he amended.

“Doesn’t hurt, huh?” No blushing or giggling, just a knowing, crooked smile.

“Nope. Not at all.” They reached her favorite scene in the beginning of the movie, when Ben Stiller’s character, Greg Focker, signaled to the kids in the classroom to hold up the letters spelling out his proposal. Just like she always did, she winced with reluctant laughter, pitying him. “Poor bastard,” Logan muttered, agreeing with her thoughts.

“It’d be hard enough asking someone if you wanted to marry them.”

“I’ve never gotten that far.”

“Ever been in love?”

“Yep.”

“Ever regret it?”

“Nope.”

“Think you’ll ever repeat it?”

“That’s on the list, too. But not necessarily on the top. ‘Ro?”

“Hmmm?”

“Ya know…damn it. I had fun today. And the other night. I enjoyed the hell outta bein’ with ya and spending time together. So don’t take this the wrong way…”

“Don’t finish that sentence. People always take it the wrong way. And I won’t. Not ready for a relationship. It’s not me, it’s you. I get it, Logan!” She took the edge off it by laughing and squeezing his hand. “I took back my key. I didn’t roll up the welcome mat, though. I like you. And I like this. Just like this.” His face relaxed, and he took a minute to stare at her face, studying her features. He nodded to her cap.

“Mind if I take that off?” He plucked it off by the bill and tossed it onto the table before she could reply. She groaned to herself, knowing she had hat hair. Her forehead cool as he exposed it to the air, freeing it from the hat’s sweaty binding. “There.”

“Thanks.”

“Ya look nice without it, too.” He hadn’t let go of her hand during her speech; if anything, his fingers laced through hers, squeezing them more tightly and sending little thrills up her arms.

“Thanks. For the hat. For the game. Everything. This was a good day.”

“It’s still early, ‘Ro. It ain’t quite over yet.”

“It’s not?” Her voice lost its confident edge, but it lowered itself, becoming husky. “What else did you have in mind, Logan?” He gently disengaged her hand by way of reply, and he gently pulled her into the crook of his arm. She felt comfortable and safe, instantly cuddling into his side.

“Have ya seen this a few times already?”

“Yup.” His flannel shirt felt soft beneath her cheek. His chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, but his heartbeat picked up. Her face was already tilting up toward his deep rasp and sensual mouth. Her hand drifted up to trace the notch in his upper lip.

“Do ya wanna watch the rest of it?”

“I don’t have to.” She reached over him for the remote and aimed it, hitting stop. The sound cut off just as he bowed his head, and her eyes drifted shut before their lips met. His palm molded itself to the crown of her head, and his fingers clutched sheaves of her wavy, thick hair.

The kiss was perfect. Moist enough, dry enough, soft enough, firm enough, and delicious. A teasing caress of his lips excited her, making her crave more. He heard her small sigh of contentment and brought her closer, pulling her into his lap. She allowed him entry, and his tongue probed her mouth, slowly exploring it and spiraling around hers. He didn’t rush; he savored her, drinking in her tastes and textures. His stubble rasped against her palm, and she enjoyed the feel of his crisp curls sliding between her fingers when they plowed through his hair. It felt as good as she thought. His body was solid and firm, sculpted generously with muscle. He stroked her, his hands skimming over her curves and kneading the long, lean line of her back, tangling his hands in that glorious hair.

She couldn’t get enough of him, her kisses growing more frantic. More. Please, more. More. More. She gasped as he tugged her hair until her throat was exposed, and he nibbled a hot trail over the tip of her chin to her pulse. “Oh, God, Logan! That feels so good!” He didn’t speak, but she could tell she affected him. His groan vibrated through her flesh, fingers drifting up beneath the hem of her shirt to discover the silky skin that jumped at his touch. She was responsive and addictive.

His hot breath fanned out over her cheeks as he kissed her again, and again, and again. He mapped out the contours of her face tenderly, even while his hand gripped her hips firmly, encouraging her to grind against the hard bulge in his jeans. She was on fire. She needed him. All she could think of was need, and getting them both out of their clothes.

She felt another rush of cool air on her fevered skin as her shirt was whisked over her head and chucked onto the floor.

“Look at ya, darlin’,” he whispered hoarsely. “Yer so damned beautiful.” His fingertip traced her bra strap, tickling her until it skimmed over the satin cup and drew lazy circles over the burgeoning peak. His leisurely fondling was almost maddening, even though she didn’t want him to stop. He didn’t disappoint her. The cups of her bra were peeled away, the straps dangling uselessly down her upper arms as he kneaded her breast. It was full, perfectly rounded and supple. His thumb flicked over her nipple, hardening it into a tight, succulent little bud. She moaned for him to continue. His eyes were soft and reverent as he stared at her, seated astride him, looking tousled and wanton. He silenced her with a hard kiss, then made her cry out even louder as he sucked her into his hot mouth. Arousal spiraled in her stomach at the low sounds that escaped him and the pull of his lips. Her hips bucked with each lap of his tongue as she rode his hardness. His shirt parted as she almost tore the buttons from their holes. Her hands slicked and smoothed over his chest, clawing at his cotton undershirt.

“Want you. C’mon, baby, let’s go. Need you.” She was so reluctant to abandon her perch, but her legs screamed in relief at being bent for so long to straddle him, and she imagined his own lap was growing numb. He hooked her legs around his waist as they rose and carried her down the short hallway.

His room. Understated and cluttered, just like the front of the house. He nearly tripped over a spare pair of ragged cross-trainers, but he kept his balance and kicked the door shut behind him. The moment her back touched the sheets of his queen-sized bed, he was on her. He divested her of the rest of her clothing, caressing and teasing every inch that he revealed. He touched her everywhere, first with his hands, then with his lips. She didn’t try to speak. Her eyes were liquid, blue as tourmalines and yearning for him as he closed in on her, delightfully bare. The first contact of his body against hers was nearly her undoing. His chest was broad, pecs rippling sinuously as his body moved over hers, stroking her to a frenzy. She grew acquainted with the planes and contours of his shoulders, back, neck, glutes. There was no spare fat on him. Her feet tangled themselves between his legs and slid along his calves, just as well proportioned as the rest of him.

“Need you, Logan,” she cried raggedly. “Please. Oh, please.”

“Okay, darlin’.” The press of his erection made all rational thought leave her brain, the head plump and engorged as he raised and lowered his hips. With each pass it plowed through her curls and dipped into the moisture growing beneath her clitoral hood. He continued to tease her like that, tearing garbled profanities from her lips. “Damn it. Too much. Too damn much. Yer too fuckin’ sexy, darlin’!”

“Let me have it! Get in me,” she moaned. Her legs were hooked around his waist as he reared up on the heels of his hands and sank inside her in one hard thrust. “Ohhhhhhhh!” Her breath shuddered out of her as he filled her. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he rode her, burrowing more deeply into her snug warmth.

He moved, responding to her unspoken needs, whispering to her that she was sexy, and hot, and felt so damned good. Sensation rocked her womb as the friction between them built. The tips of her breasts tingled with the impact. He slammed into her harder, faster, his balls slapping her ass. He moved within her, following the dictates of that pulsating, wet heat as she squeezed him, milking him dry.

Their breathing grew heavy and charged with need. Sweat glistened on their bodies and dripped from his brow as he loved her. Her cries increased in volume and pitch; coherent speech was impossible.

She still tried. “S’good,” she moaned. “So good!” She opened her eyes and stared him in the face, moved by how focused he was on her, on her pleasure and response. The sight of him was erotic; the movement of his body, the flex and smooth contractions of his muscles and the hungry look blazing in his eyes. His skin was flush with color. I did that. Me. It was all she could think before she decided to stop. Pleasure bloomed in her belly, and she felt ripples in her womb signaling that she was close, oh, so close to falling over the edge. She wanted him to go with her. It excited her when she felt that faint cramp inside her as he stiffened, his erection more swollen, more rigid. His eyes squeezed shut as he slammed himself faster, harder until she wrenched a long, loud cry from him. His body spasmed and bucked, those final shocks giving her what she needed and bringing her to sweet, exhausted completion. Euphoria washed over her. Her skin sang, every nerve ending replete.

He felt her lips moving over his hair, her caress soothing as she ran her fingers through it. “Mmmmmmmmm.” His voice was a rumbling purr, throaty and seeming to vibrate through her.

“Thank you,” she murmured as he stretched himself and settled between her legs, letting them tangle with his. She cradled him and let him listen to her breathing. His fingers stroked the sensitive flesh of her upper arm and drew lazy circles over the crown of her shoulder.

“Yer welcome. And thank you, too, darlin’.”

“I can’t move.”

“Me, either.”

“Okay. Good.” He raised himself up and studied her.

“And I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait. I know that was kinda fast.”

“Kinda,” she agreed. “But I didn’t stop you.”

“Wanna stay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ve gotta be out early ta open the shop.”

“I can manage that.” She could become a morning person, she decided. She’d just increase the dosage of her caffeine fix, and it was all good.

“Good.” He captured her hand as she lifted it to stroke his cheek and drew her finger into his mouth. He suckled it gently, running the tip of his tongue nimbly down its length. She shivered. His eyes were full of devilment. Each of her fingers received this treatment, and he moved exquisitely slow.

Then came the nibbling. All over. And Ororo was lost.





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