“You don’t have to carry me anymore. I can manage.”
“It’d be easy if ya hush yer yap an’ quit wigglin’ around. Relax.”
“Right. Yap. Hushed.” She pantomimed zipping her lips shut and throwing away the key. He cocked an eyebrow at her. She attempted a straight face and failed miserably. He sighed heavily as he maneuvered her around his efforts at fitting the key into the lock. His shoulders bunched into rounded rocks beneath her arms, loosely circling around his neck.
“Flick on the light fer me, will ya, darlin’?” She obliged, blinking at the sudden brightness of the hall fixture. His apartment held the slightly lived-in smell of a man who lived alone and spent his days in the house. His bike hung from pegs on the wall, and the living room was relatively uncluttered.
A small pile of magazines covered the tiny coffee table that was the centerpiece of a cozy living room. A New York Jets throw blanket was flung over the chocolate brown sofa. Logan deposited her on the couch and eased the table closer, resting her foot on it.
“Looks a little swollen, darlin’,” he grumbled.
“It doesn’t feel like I sprained it,” she reasoned. “That feels different than this does.”
“Yeah, but does it feel worse?” he prodded.
“Nope.”
“Good. Sit tight.” He dashed off to the kitchenette, and Ororo heard him yanking open the freezer and flexing an ice tray. Numbly she considered his words.
“I can’t exactly ‘sit loose,’ can I?”
“Dunno. Give it a try, make yerself at home,” he suggested. Ororo kicked herself; she’d muttered her thoughts out loud and wasn’t expecting a reply. He had surprisingly sharp ears. When he came out, he had several ice cubes sealed into a large Ziploc bag and a dishtowel draped over his forearm. “I’m gonna lay this on yer ankle. Tell me if it ain’t comfortable, babe.” He settled the bag over her aching joints, and her toes jerked with the sudden cold.
“Brrr,” she complained before easing back and burrowing further into his jacket.
“Cold?”
“A little. Still shaking off the chill from outside.”
“That dress didn’t come with a matching parka.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s a lost cause.”
“Damn shame,” he murmured, letting his gaze sweep slowly over her lax body, draped in the shimmering satin crepe in forest green. Then he shook it off. “Ya can’t exactly watch CSI reruns with me in that getup, though. And I wanna get a better look at her cuts. Ya rubbed most of the skin off yer knees. Be right back.” She watched his retreating back, broad enough to make the fabric of his dress shirt strain across its breadth. His glutes were toned and rippling, accented by the well-tailored charcoal slacks.
Honey, hush.
She helped herself to a magazine, flipping through the dog-eared pages of an old issue of Newsweek. She heard Logan’s low, rumbling voice in the back, having a one-sided conversation and explaining that no, he wasn’t ready to switch the car for his bike yet, and yes, he’d already filled up the tank. Ororo had stared forlornly out the passenger window of the little Mustang while Logan pumped the prohibitively priced premium fuel. She’d startled when he rapped his knuckles against her window, asking if she needed any Gatorade or munchies. She’d shook her head, but he bought enough for two people to easily share at the little quick stop market as he paid the attendant.
Ororo heard running water in the bathroom down the hall. When Logan came back out, he was in stocking feet and carrying more items, including a small medical kit and a worn NYU sweatshirt. He already had his sleeves rolled up, and the scent of hand soap drifted out to tickle her nose. He sat across from her on the coffee table, fingering the ankle-length, flared hem of her dress. “D’ya mind?”
“Uh-uh. Just don’t use any of that stinging stuff, and we’ll be friends. Play nice,” she warned. He chuckled, bringing out a dimple in his cheek.
“Baby. Besides, I’ve bandaged ya up before. Didn’t hear a peep out of ya.”
“Wasn’t I unconscious?”
“Details, details.” He paused as he noticed that her slender, toned calves were sheathed in nylons. “How are we gonna work this?”
“They're knee-highs. Pull ‘em right off. I’ll still be decent,” she promised. Cool air kissed her knee as he eased the hem up a few inches more, exposing her very shredded knee, the blood smeared and darkening to a rusty red. Bits of debris and threads from her dress clung to the wound. Logan winced.
“That didn’t tickle,” he sympathized. He grasped the cuff of her stocking and rolled it down, and her relief was palpable. She sighed on a groan at how good it felt to take those damned things off. The faint impressions of the elastic remained on her skin. Logan was tempted to rub them away. Her skin was satiny and soft, gleaming in the lamplight.
He flicked open his medical kit and pulled out a small bottle of antibacterial wash. He sprayed some over the wound, letting the dribbling liquid loosen the dirt clinging to her raw flesh. He felt her flinch slightly as he laid the cool, damp washcloth over it, daubing it to sop out the dirt and clean away the blood. He took out a long swab and uncapped some triple antibiotic ointment, then spread a thin layer of it over the sore, sealing it from infection. His hands were steady, unerringly gentle, and so warm that she quivered beneath his touch.
The quivering graduated to Ororo turning into a puddle of goo when he pursed his lips and blew a puff of soothing, cool air over her flesh to take the hurt away. She cleared her throat, which was difficult after her mouth went completely dry. He peeled the backing from a sterile strip, which to her delight still featured cartoon characters. Bugs Bunny grinned up at her as he smoothed it down over her skin. It felt like a caress. Her stomach did a funny little dip.
He reached for her other stocking, again reaching beneath the bothersome hem and taking care not to jar her sore ankle or knock off the bag. He made more room for himself by tucking her good foot up onto his lap while he administered to her knee. Her buzz from the tequila wore off a while ago, but a fuzzy glow flowed over her as he gave her his full attention.
“Messed it up good, didntcha?”
“I’ve got a knack for that. At least it wasn’t my head this time,” she shrugged. His eyes flicked to her forehead, noticing that the tiny wound was nearly gone, faded to a barely visible scar beneath her makeup.
“Yer gonna knock a few marbles loose if ya keep on doin’ that.”
“There they are, rolling around on the floor.” They shared a smile as he finished up, closing up the kit and folding up the now soiled washcloth.
“All better,” he pronounced.
“Not yet. You didn’t kiss it,” she teased before she could hold back the words. His eyes darkened with something unfathomable. She felt him tenderly stroke the foot that was still laying across his lap, kneading the ball and tracing her slender toes. It wasn’t deliberate; it felt companionable, natural, even instinctive to touch her like this.
A strangled moan escaped her as he bent down and caressed her kneecap with his lips, steaming her skin with his breath. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her breathing became shallow with need. She fought it back down and met his eyes, those beautiful dark eyes full of secrets and questions. Logan cleared his throat.
“Lemme take the jacket and hang it up. Put these on,” he offered, nodding to the sweatshirt, which was folded around a pair of boxers. She shrugged out of it and handed it to him, and their fingers grazed. “Be right back.” He scooped up the medical kit and washcloth and ducked back to his bathroom. Once the kit was put away the cloth stowed in the hamper, he frowned at his reflection in the mirror.
Logan didn’t want to be anyone’s rebound man. It hurt too much. He’d ridden that train before, and it all led back to the same damned stop. He was already tugging off the stifling necktie and undoing his top button as he rejoined Ororo, who’d managed to shuck the dress and leave it folded next to the couch. His shirt was enormous on her, the boxers short and baggy, left every inch of her long legs exposed. She still hugged herself against the chill. Logan frowned and reached behind her, grabbing the blanket and fanning it over her lap, tucking it around her securely. He handed her the remote before striding over to the wall unit and opening the cabinet. To Ororo’s delight, a plasma flatscreen TV was his apartment’s one hidden treasure, complete with surround sound and Dolby speakers. She hit the power button and left it on the channel he’d selected last while Logan rummaged in the kitchen.
He came back with their snacks and a bottle of Gatorade for himself. He’d poured Ororo a glass of something that smelled like 7-Up and wrapped her fingers around it.
“Why were ya cryin’, Ororo?”
“You probably heard me before I ran out.”
“Not all of it.” He tore open the bag of sour cream flavored Ruffles. “Just enough ta know he didn’t appreciate ya ‘mingling’ with me. Tell me something.”
“Whatever you want to know.”
“Was I just a means to an end? Did ya plan t’make him mad by spending time with me?” She paused mid-nibble through a fat chip, eyeing him guiltily.
“I was already angry with him before we even left the house. He cheated on me.” The words hung heavily in the air between them, and Logan settled himself next to her, close enough that their shoulders touched. He was relieved that she knew, but hated himself for not giving her any clue before today, of all days, what he had witnessed at Harry’s. There was no way to let her know, but he carried the burden of the knowledge nevertheless. It nagged at him. “I guess I already knew, but I had my head buried in the sand. Late nights. Missed dinners. He hated me calling him at work or showing up there, even to just bring him his lunch if he forgot it. Business travel, more often than the rest of the brokers in his office. The signs were there.”
“Ya love him, though.”
“More fool me. He walked out on me once. I was stupid enough to take him back.” She dug into the bag of chips, hungrier than she thought after the laughably unsatisfying dinner. “We won’t talk about this. No more drama. You’ve got a bumping flatscreen, snacks, a comfy couch and we finally got to get out of those damned monkey suits. Bring on the brain candy.”
“I never miss an episode. I Tivo it when I work nights.”
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Sorry if it seemed like I used you.”
“I don’t wanna step in the middle of whatever’s goin on between you two.” That wasn’t exactly true. Logan wanted more than anything to kick Pietro’s pasty ass.
“I’d like to tell you that you won’t.” Ororo was already cringing at the thought of seeing Pietro again when they inevitably went back to her house.
“I won’t,” he insisted, gulping his Gatorade with vicious thirst.
“I’ll have to go home eventually. He’ll need a chance to pack.”
“Not planning a boyfriend bonfire on the front lawn? Haul everything out in a red wagon and light up a cigarette using the flames?”
“Waste of good lighter fluid.” She still felt raw, shaken. “He’s actually got some pretty nice stuff. I gave him a lot of that stuff.”
“Keep it.”
“It’ll remind me of him. That’ll just taint it.”
“Ain’t no makin’ ya happy, is there?”
“I guess not,” she grumped ruefully as she swirled the last of her 7-Up in the bottom of her glass, listening to it fizz.
They watched the show companionably, and Ororo gradually shifted to spread out part of the blanket over Logan’s lap. He turned to ask her if she needed a refill on her soda, and was surprised to hear her slumbering breathing so close to his ear. Her body sagged against his, exhausted and limp. He’d been so busy enjoying her company that he never noticed that she’d plastered herself over him. Her hair tickled his lips again, lightly fragrant and soft. She’d taken it down, leaving the tiny heap of bobby pins on the coffee table, and it tumbled free, tousled and cascading past her full breasts as they rose and fell.
Logan couldn’t resist touching her anymore. He freed the remote from her limp fingers and turned down the volume. She mumbled in protest at his movement, leaning into him until she found the perfect nest in the crook of his arm. She sighed; the sound resonated through him, humbling him that she trusted him.
Then again, did she?
His voice of reason bellowed “Rebound, dumb ass! Don’t walk that road!” His fingers drifted up of their own accord to run the tips over the curling fringe of lashes fanning out from those incredible eyes. Logan hated to move her. He eventually gave in to the drowsy stupor drugging his limbs, and fell asleep with Ororo wrapped in his embrace.
Three hours later:
Ororo woke with a start when the arm supporting her convulsed in an effort to restore blood flow. A deep, gusting snore stirred the hair at her temple. She squinted at the glare of the lamp as she acclimated herself to her surroundings. Somehow she’d ended up horizontal, and she was currently using Logan as her mattress. Some foolish stroke of ego flickered through her mind that he might not have a problem with that; his face was peaceful and languid. The TV droned on in the background, marring the dreamy lull. She lifted Logan’s hand, still clamped around the remote, and aimed it at the set, turning it off.
That motion woke him, and he stared up at her, eyes half-lidded and thoughtful.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“What’d I miss?”
“You tell me.” He yawned, leonine and rumbly. She attempted to sit up, but his hands stilled her efforts.
“Not so fast,” he whispered. He reached out and swept aside the tangle of hair obscuring her face, tenderly stroking her cheek. She turned her lips into his palm, barely lipping the thick pad. She became aware of the sculpted muscles of his chest, abdomen and sturdy thighs as she stretched her full length against him and lowered her lips to meet his. From Logan’s vantage point, her hair tented their faces, shutting out the stark light. There was nothing in that moment, in that room but Ororo.
She brushed her lips over his, tasting the salty-sweet residue of chips and Gatorade, underscored by something rugged and delicious. He slid his hands into her thick hair, letting his fingers knead and explore her jaw line and neck, massaging the stress of the day from behind her ears. Their limbs tangled together as they mutually, silently determined the sleeping arrangements for the rest of the night.
The bulge in his slacks stiffened and grew with every sinuous arch of her back. She nestled him against her core, which grew slick and damp, scorching him through the thin cotton of his boxers. Their mouths slid and molded together, the kisses dizzying and thrilling.
“Bed,” Logan gasped. He was getting a crick in his neck, rivaled only by an erection he could hang his hat on. Reluctantly he let her up, and she squealed in surprise at the cold, slithering blob that nudged her foot. Her ice bag hat melted and plopped onto the floor. Logan grinned and deposited it in the kitchen sink and retrieved Ororo, carrying her piggyback to the bedroom. He felt her nipples graze his back and he shuddered. He backed up against the foot of the bed, thinking to let her sit, but she remained standing long enough to embrace him from behind. She moaned into the side of his throat and nipped his earlobe between his teeth.
“God! Darlin’, ya don’t know what ya do to me,” he rasped. Her fingers searched for the buttons on his shirt, and she tugged the tails from his waistband as she devoured his neck. She drew it over his head and let it drop, running her palms over his bare back. Her arms wrapped around his waist again as she fiddled with his belt.
His hand stilled hers. “Let me,” he murmured, his voice full of dark promise. He turned to face her, drinking her in before he enveloped her. His lips were wild, roving everywhere, painting her flesh with his desire and heat. Ororo heard his belt buckle unhook and rattle before his slacks slid down in a heap. Pleasure curled through her stomach as he grasped and raised the hem of his sweatshirt up, exposing her flesh to his hungry gaze, breaking their kiss only when he tugged it over her head, letting her hair spill down. He unhooked her bra, allowing her breasts to tumble out and fill his hands.
“Logan?”
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Please…take your time with me.”
“Gonna be hard. I want ya real bad.” Kisses traced the contour of her cheek. “I know I ain’t gonna get enough of ya the first time around. But I’ve gotta have you. Now.” She nodded, giving herself up to his lips. Briefs and boxers hit the floor and the only sounds that could be heard were lips meeting and Ororo’s cries as he treasured, discovered and lavished every inch of her, only claiming her when she begged him.
Above her head, Ororo’s fingers were laced between Logan’s as he thrust himself into her velvety depths. They fit together like puzzle pieces, moving in unison and with such passion that it left her reeling. Logan felt her contract around him, her face almost strained.
“Ororo?” he whispered, nuzzling her ear. “Look at me, darlin’.”
“I’m sorry,” she grated out, opening watery eyes and wrapping her legs more tightly around his waist. “Need you…too much. You don’t have to wait.” His emotions rippled over his face as it dawned on him what she meant. He surprised her with a feather-light kiss on the tip of her nose.
“Yer comin’ with me,” he informed her, rocking to a halt. He knelt back and unwrapped her legs from his waist. She stared up at him with fleeting confusion. He lifted her foot and propped it against the plane of his chest in the dark. Logan engulfed her toes in the exquisite heat of his mouth. His name barely escaped her throat, and the sheets beneath her twisted in her hands. Sensations tugged at her womb with each lap of his tongue. He nipped the ball of each foot, making her squirm and writhe, and she was just teetering on the edge of her control as he stroked her pearl. Her flower wept sweet tears, echoed by the moisture leaking from her eyes.
“Not without you, darlin’, he reminded her, propping her ankles over his shoulders and entering her again, his thrusts long and deliberate while he plucked at her.
“Oh, God!” Her hands scrambled for purchase on his body, clinging to him as she rode it out, finally succumbing to the tremors of an orgasm that wrung both of them dry. His body convulsed as he rocked himself into her, crying out raggedly and repeating her name like a mantra. His breathing was harsh and hot, gusting in her ear as he collapsed, letting her legs slide bonelessly from their perch. Slender arms twined around him and pulled the covers around them both. She contented herself with offering him touch instead of words, curling her fingers in his hair and plying his hairline and the bridge of his nose with tiny kisses. A large, sleepy hand caressed her in return, wiping away the dampness cooling on her cheeks. His hands only stilled their soothing strokes when she dozed off. They coaxed her awake again at dawn as he took her again, lingering over their union with sweet intensity.
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