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Ororo rocked back and forth in hard, cool little chair in the emergency department and clenched Logan’s hand, marshaling her strength.

He was so pale, and looked so wan and depleted, so unlike his robust self.

“Don’t leave me,” Ororo crooned softly as she wiped his brow. “I’ll be here when you wake up, Logan, I promise.” The nurse came by, decked out in lime green scrubs and looking too young to even give Logan a Band-Aid, and she offered Ororo a warm blanket. Ororo felt his skin and noted that it was clammy and chilly where the light blue patient gown exposed it.

“Yes; could you please bring him one, when you have a minute,” she agreed hollowly. She was left alone, and she stroked Logan’s hand with her thumb.

“Why the hell did you go out there, baby? Why?” she insisted. “You might as well have killed me when you did that. I wanted to die. I just wanted to die.”

Anguish choked her.

~0~

“This is how I deal with ungrateful, cheating whores, Zoe!”

The stranger was back on his feet, stunning Ororo and making her smother a scream. Logan roared and flanked Ororo, lunging for her and wrapping his body around hers. He knocked them over, rolling her out of the stranger’s path.

He was going to show them not to “

He tripped. His boot snagged on a loose floor board in the porch.

He fell.

The stock of his rifle hit first. His finger jerked where it was looped around the trigger.

Blood filled his vision before everything went black. Pain exploded through his skull as the round burst through his jaw and ricocheted inside before hurling itself out through his scalp, taking half of it with it.

Ororo’s scream burned her throat. She was nearly smothered by the freezing snow as Logan sheltered her back. He’d covered her as the stranger came after them, easily willing to take another shot if it meant protecting her long enough for her to get away. There was no time for recriminations against her or himself for not taking the stalker down. The Beast cursed him for a fool. Weak.

His breathing was labored beneath the sounds of her hysterical whimpers and cries.

“So…much blood. So much blood. H-he has no face, no face,” she babbled when she caught sight of the body lying so limply nearby. The rifle lay near his outstretched hand, still smoking. The already filthy baseball cap was abandoned in a puddle of sticky gore.

“Ororo,” Logan groaned. “S’okay, baby, ‘m here,” he soothed gruffly. “Don’ look at ‘im. Can’t hurt ya now. Lemme…see yer pretty face,” he urged as he gently edged himself off of her. She rolled to her back and leaned up on her elbows to study his face.

Logan. Himself, once more.

She raked her eyes over him with growing horror. He was pale and seemed to be in shock. Blood streaked his face, around his mouth and in random spatters where it sprayed from her attacker’s neck. Blood ran down his arm from the deep wound in his shoulder, and he only wore his boxers and the torn remains of his tank top in the middle of the freezing cold.

Adrenaline still fueled him as he accepted her help into the house, still in a daze. He only wanted to calm her, and to soothe her back from her frantic state. She’d seen too much that night.

Instead she moved like a woman possessed through his cabin, gathering items as quickly as she found them. A clean but threadbare old towel and a thick blanket from the spare room were wrapped around his wound and his body. She had no time to mourn that any of his possessions were being ruined and stained as she worked on him, chanting to him to focus on her.

“Stay with me!” she ordered breathlessly. “Keep listening to me, Logan, d’you hear?”

“Mmmmnnnh,” he agreed. He heard her fine through the dreamy haze and a faint buzzing in his ears. He tried to offer her a smile. She sounded too worried. He hated it when she worried.

“Logan! LOGAN! Wake up, wake up now! Don’t you fall asleep on me!” She bundled him against her, clutching the blanket around his body and cradling his head against her bosom. Pain throbbed and spread through his nerves, but he took his time, grunting and shifting against her and watching her movements.

“Yer okay, ‘Ro. Yer okay, now,” he mused hoarsely. She rubbed his arms; his skin felt like ice.

“I already called the police when you ran outside, sweetie! The paramedics are on their way, too.” It sounded like she was talking to him while he was underwater.

Her face swam over him, and he watched her lips move, wishing they were kissing him. He got his wish as they plied his cheek with small brushes that warmed him. All the while he felt her hand stroking his cheek, his hair as she promised him he’d be all right if he just held on…

Sleep now. Rest. Your work here is finished. In his mind’s eye, Logan watched the Beast lie down and tuck its forepaws beneath its chin, sighing as it closed its eyes.

Everything just melted away to a dim, warm buzz.


~0~

Someone was weeping over him.

He felt the light streaming inside the small room. All of the noises around him were drowning him as his senses slowly came back “online.”

He smelled antiseptic. Myriad people had been in and out of the room, bringing various clinical smells with them.

‘Ro. She sounded so sad. He huffed and winced from his own pain and hers.

His eyes were bloodshot but still their customary Coke in a glass color as he opened them. Ororo was a mess, but joy and relief flooded her face as he gave her hand a weak squeeze.

“Nurse,” she cried, “NURSE!”

“Ow,” he winced again, squinting, “not so loud, darlin’!”

“You’re here,” she confirmed, clasping his hand in both of hers, which felt cold. She raised it to her lips used them to trace his work-roughened knuckles. When she raised it to her cheek, he palmed it, stroking it with his thumb.

“Yeah. I am.” He felt a damp tear and tried to flick it away. “Here with ya.”

“It was awful,” she sniffled. “There was so much blood, Logan, I can’t sleep! It’s all I can see when I close my eyes, and-and you wouldn’t wake up!”

“What time is it?” he complained.

“Three PM. You’ve been asleep all day.”

In the back of his mind, it made sense. He craved fresh air during the day, but it took him a lot longer to get his bearings first thing every morning. He went from a man who rose at dawn every day to lounging decadently in bed until almost noon. At night he got his second wind. He’d never been such a night owl before.

He couldn’t explain it. It had something to do with the wolf, ever since that night out in the dark. His scar throbbed and itched with the memory.

“Ya look tired, darlin’.”

“I’m not moving. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Her voice was implacable, but her touch was tender. She focused only on him and stared into his face, scarcely reacting to the barrage of nurses and doctors who gradually came and went. They checked his vitals seemingly every half hour. The noises and scents they brought with them chafed him; he craved the relative quiet of his cabin and the surrounding woods.

Blood. So much blood.

His memories were still rattled and choppy. Flashes of visions came to him during the brief interludes of sleep that he stole while Ororo took time for a shower or stepped out into the hall to check her messages. She was on edge and ready to crack. The Beast within him grew agitated from her state.

They’d dug the slug out of his shoulder and repaired a severed artery before he could get away from them. His nurse remarked that he’d been lucky; they gave him a transfusion as quickly as he’d arrived in the ER.

“I’m AB negative,” he muttered. “Always thought I was a sitting duck if I ever needed blood.”

“Miss Munroe had the same blood type. She was very determined,” the nurse chuckled. The news hit him like a Mack truck.

“She gave me blood,” he echoed incredulously.

“She saved your life,” she corrected him cheerfully, patting his good shoulder. “You’re a lucky man,” she repeated before she left to check on his dinner.

She returned to his room, filling the space with the scent of fresh bread. He picked out her scent as well, savoring her pheromones and shampoo. He smelled the icy air trapped in the folds of her coat as she removed it and laid it over the chair.

“I wouldn’t feed hospital food to a dog,” she remarked as she opened the white bag and extracted a sandwich. “Knock yourself out. Want the Sprite or the Coke?”

“Ya gave me yer blood,” he said quietly. She paused, letting the soda can hover in mid-air after she cracked it open.

“You needed it.”

“Ororo,” he began, but his breath seemed to stop. Cold euphoria washed over him and he licked his lips. She slowly set down the drink on his bedside table and moved to his side.

“Ya saved my life,” he whispered. Ororo’s hand cradled his cheek and stroked back his thick, tangled black waves from his forehead. She made soothing sounds.

“If I had lost you, I would’ve died.” Her blue eyes told him everything.

“Ya can’t risk yerself fer me!” he scolded, but his eyes were glazed with tears.

“I can, and I would again, Logan,” she argued sternly.

The unspoken sentiment lay between them and nagged them all day long. Ororo babied him, unwrapping everything and cleaning up after they were finished.


~0~

Her stalker finally had a name.

They didn’t end up back at the cabin after Logan was released from the hospital. The perimeter was roped off with yellow tape, and Ororo was sickened when she went back via escort to retrieve some of his things. The body was gone, but the sight of broken glass and Logan’s blood in the kitchen nauseated her. The spilled orange juice coagulated and darkened on the tile. The blood outside seeped into the ground, flushed away by melting snow, and she was thankful.

She found the details of what the police and coroners found splashed across the morning headline when she collected her paper from the mailbox.

Local Author, Companion Avert Murder at His Home

The words blurred together the more she read, and the reality of it sank like a stone in her gut.

Law enforcement reported to the scene of a murder when they came to follow up on a call about a stalker invading a couple’s home. Acclaimed, local author Ororo N. Munroe made the call after midnight that there was a trespasser on the premises. This incident was the footnote of an investigation that police launched into on a stalker who frequented her property, leaving her disturbing, threatening messages. Ms. Munroe is the author of several bestselling novels.

The stalker has been identified as Ray Darkholme, a local resident with a criminal record.

She read on numbly as the paper detailed his life and difficulties. Evidently she wasn’t the first person he’d followed, and he had a history of schizophrenia and multiple personality disorder.

He worked at a parking garage three blocks away from Ali’s building. Ororo’s head reeled. That meant that he saw her coming and going everyday.

“Jesus,” she whispered. He had a front-stage seat for her life!

On the jump page where the story continued, there was a black and white photo of him, taken from his driver’s license. She stared at the photo and at his gaunt features. She knew him.

He seldom spoke to her on those mornings when she parked her car in the tower. He just smiled every time and said “Working hard, or hardly working, ma’am?” when she came back with her validated parking stub and steered her car out of the gate.

They found his truck parked roughly a mile from Logan’s cabin. There were ropes, a large boning knife, hunting knives, flashlights, jumper cables, and a second gun in the shell. Two copies of her other books were lying in the front seat. Most eerily, the police found a photo of her, taken at a time that she couldn’t remember, but it was clear that she was on her way into Ali’s building, latte in her hand.

“My Zoe” was scrawled over the photo in red Sharpie ink. There was an unopened package of powdered sugar donuts, too. Donuts, the same kind she always bought at the convenience store…

How much did he know about her? How often had be watching her? How did he find out where she lived?

And how had she been so clueless?

The next three days were no better. More headlines, and more information as they found it followed in a series of articles about the “Only Once Stalker.” Except he hadn’t stalked only once. Police searched his apartment. They found private journals stashed by his bed about the things he wanted to do to Zoe, and also to Mick, both of her leads.

One of Ray’s other personalities was a woman, according to the psychologists who reviewed the journals and clinical records from time he spent as a behavioral health inpatient. He was every bit as obsessed with “Mick.” And that personality was jealous of Zoe, which they assumed was the reason for his rage and his threats to Ororo. Her mind spun. The mystery was finally solved, but no way in hell did it make any sense.

Naturally, Ali freaked. Big time.

She and Remy were practically camped out in her living room from the moment she helped Logan in through the door.

“Stop reading that,” Ali snapped as she cradled Giblet in her lap. Ororo sighed and folded the newspaper shut, chucking it into the trash. “It’s just making you upset, which is making me upset.”

“Can I have my life back now?” Ororo quipped miserably. “Is it finally over?”

“It better be. If anything like this happens again, that’s it. They’ll be carting me off to the morgue after I die of a heart attack.”

“Don’t say that,” Ororo hissed. “That’s not even funny, Al!” She hugged herself before Ali rose, gently nudging Giblet off her lap. She enveloped Ororo in a Liz Claiborne-scented embrace and lent her strength.

“I know, sweetie, I know,” she crooned, rocking her. “It’s hard to move on. All of it just reminds you how short life is, and how you have to enjoy it. You don’t know what’s coming around the corner.” She drew back and smoothed Ororo’s hair, which had seen better days. While she was getting situated back at her house, she wasn’t taking as much care with her appearance. Her thick white mane was caught back in a sloppy ponytail that made her look young and wan.

“I’m checking on Logan,” Ororo announced. Ali knew that was her cue to make herself scarce.

“I’m running some errands. Let me know if you need me to bring dinner.”

“Al, you’ve already stocked my fridge,” Ororo reminded her fondly. “There’s enough food in there to feed Brooklyn!” She remembered the night before, watching Ali rearrange the lower shelf while she grumbled under her breath.

It won’t all fit!

Then we’ll make it fit.

It was Ali’s mantra. Her refrigerator was groaning over the excess of things packed in its shelves and drawers, but they wouldn’t starve.

On her way out, Ali noticed that a familiar gray car blocked her way out of Ororo’s driveway. “Pietro, what are you doing here?” she called out. He was impeccable even in his casual clothes, this time wearing all black, except for his ice blue ski jacket that brought out his eyes. His cheeks looked rosy and slightly chapped from the cold. Ali was surprised that he’d risk his car’s sleek finish coming out in the wind, salt and surf.

“I saw the news,” he explained breathlessly as he ascended the front walk, looking like a man with a mission. He ignored the awkward look both women were giving him as he leaned in the front door and kissed Ororo’s cheek before she could protest.

“Everyone’s seen it,” Ororo said bitterly. “It’s been in the paper all week. I’m sick of it.”

“You look like you need a break,” he offered. “Would you like to go out to lunch?”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Pietro…”

“We wouldn’t have to go anywhere if you didn’t want to. You’re probably still shook up,” he amended, smiling charmingly. He didn’t notice how stiffly she held herself when he reached out to caress her arm through the sleeve of her plush sweater.

Understatement of the frickin’ year…

“Hey, ‘Tro, could you go ahead and move your car? I’m blocked in, and I’m late meeting Remy,” Alison broke in. She flicked Ororo an odd look over Pietro’s shoulder, as if to say I didn’t tell him to come over… Ororo smothered a sigh.

“Sure, sure,” he replied, looking sheepish. He galloped back to his Benz and gunned the ignition.

Back in his car, he watched the pair thoughtfully, watching the puffs of air fly from their mouths in the cold dampness. Ali wasn’t her usual effervescent self. That alone struck him as off.

And Ororo…she wasn’t looking anywhere near as polished. The twinkle of keen intelligence and humor was missing from her eyes, and she just looked worn and fretful. He wanted to remedy that.

Lorna hadn’t called him, thank God. She didn’t dare. As a kindness, he bundled her meager things from his apartment into a box and had it shipped back to her apartment. The necklace was still hanging from the mirror on his vanity; for some reason, the sight of it made him smirk.

That ship had sailed. Lorna served her purpose, once. He’d found her refreshing and exciting when they’d first met, and she was everything he usually looked for in a girlfriend: Feminine, attentive, socially adept, and willing to let him take the lead.

He was already growing bored of her before Ali even mentioned her acquaintance with Ororo and suggested fixing them up, so it was perfect timing. Pietro wasn’t a man who gave up much of himself when people pried. They didn’t need to know what he didn’t want them to know. So far as Ali knew, he was single and looking. She hadn’t met Lorna, and now, she never would. Period.

He slammed his car door and used his key chain to lock it with a resounding squawk of the alarm.

He gave Ali another winning smile as she climbed into her own Volvo. He hadn’t made much of an effort with Alison Blaire as a potential conquest. She ran in the correct social circles, she had her own money “ lots of it “ and she was certainly attractive, but she was simply too outspoken. She just wasn’t malleable enough…

Ororo, on the other hand, made him take a second look. She was famous. She was beautiful. She was bright. Therefore, most men considered her untouchable and out of their league. Pietro wasn’t most men, and he meant to make sure she knew that. He refused to be intimidated.

He wondered how well she fucked.

Despite her lack of makeup and lackluster hair, she certainly looked fuckable. She gave him a polite smile and eased back from him, letting his hand drop. She cleared her throat.

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Guess I don’t rate as high on Ali, huh?”

“No one rates as high as Ali. No offense,” she chuckled.

“How are you holding up, Ororo?”

“I’m managing.” She was on a short tether. Pietro heard a low meow, and saw Ororo’s spoiled cat trot into the kitchen. She gave him an evil, yellow-eyed stare and flicked her tail back and forth.

Pietro despised cats.

“Say hello, Giblet,” Ororo nudged, bending down to scratch her behind her ears. Giblet responded by promptly laying them back. Her back arched and she gave a brief hiss. That slender tail continued to wave like a flag.

“GIBLET! Bad kitty, that’s not how we behave,” Ororo tsked, shocked at her pet’s behavior. “I’m sorry, ‘Tro,” Ororo apologized. “I think she’s just reacting from what happened, and she knows I’ve been through a lot that has me on edge. Plus she’s had Ali treating her like her baby for over a week. I think she wants to replace me,” she finished. Ororo collected her cat, who was struggling against her shoulder, and moved down the hall. Pietro watched the graceful line of her back as she retreated.

She was dressed in simple, faded jeans that hugged her long legs and ripe, curvy rump. Her periwinkle blue sweater was made from velvety chenille and looked touchable. She looked touchable.

~0~

“Now stay here, you,” Ororo ordered, laying the cat on the foot of the bed. Giblet gave a brief, huffy meow that almost sounded like a bark to Ororo’s ears. She padded lightly across Logan’s sleeping form and headed straight for the other side of his pillow. She lightly sniffed his hair, tickling him with her whiskers.

“Nnnnghhh,” he grumbled sleepily. He’d been sleeping during the day for almost the entire time that he stayed with her. Ororo had taken to keeping a warm plate before she retired for bed at night, and she’d begun staying up later, too, to keep him company.

She didn’t know how often he sat up at night, watching her sleep.

“Don’t disturb him, kitty,” Ororo warned in a near whisper.

“She ain’t,” Logan muttered around a yawn. Giblet yawned, because it was contagious and because she was ready to settle in for a long nap. He peered up at her sleepily, and her heart filled at the look of contentment in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. I was out front. Ali just left.”

“Someone’s still here,” he pointed out. His brow furrowed. “Did ya order pizza?”

“Yes. And no.”

“Who is he?” This time she frowned.

“A friend of Ali’s. He just stopped by to…Logan, you don’t have to get up.”

Yes. You do. Go. Now. Logan stood and stretched, letting all his joints pop. She drank in the sight of his broad, solid muscles rippling with the motion and felt a frisson of excitement in her belly. Ororo licked her lips, then felt disappointed when he donned a gray Dartmouth tee shirt, covering his appetizing body.

“I was gettin’ up anyway, darlin’,” he rumbled. He rounded the bed and looped his arm around her waist.

“No you werrrrmmph!” He cut off her reply with a hard, thorough kiss. It was heady. It was possessive.

It was over too soon.

“You comin’?” he asked as he strode out of the bedroom while she looked dreamy and dazed.

“Uh-huh.”

This time, the Beast hadn’t failed him. He’d come out of the bedroom just in time.

“Hello,” replied the slick-looking fucker in blue who looked like he stepped out of a cologne ad. “And you are…?”

“Logan.” He didn’t extend his hand, nor did he sit. Logan’s gaze didn’t waver, his brown eyes stared Pietro down, pinning him.

Ororo read the question marks for what they were as Pietro stared back, then shot her a smile as she stepped forward.

She put those questions to rest when she gently tucked her hand into Logan’s.

“Logan’s recuperating from the attack.” Pietro looked confused. “He was hit by one of his bullets.”

“Wow.”

“Didn’t tickle,” Logan huffed, narrowing his eyes.

“Thank God you’re all right, Ororo!”

“Logan took a bullet for me,” Ororo added, stroking Logan’s hand with her thumb and squeezing his fingers. He squeezed back before prying his hand free. Before he moved away, she felt his tension. He was practically thrumming with it.

This didn’t bode well.

“I’d do it again,” he shrugged as he approached the refrigerator.

“Ali left lunch in there, sweetie,” Ororo called over her shoulder. Logan grunted in response. Great. Grunting, she mused. Sheesh…

“Maybe you’ll be up and around to have Ororo here show you how to tango,” Pietro remarked. His voice was chipper. “She can really shake a tail feather. She agreed to go with me to the publisher’s Christmas ball. Looking beautiful in red, I might add.”

“Quit it, ‘Tro,” she protested. Her smile was still present, but weak.

“What? You were stunning! She put supermodels to shame everywhere in this long, romantic-looking red gown,” Pietro admired.

“She’s too modest ta admit it. Gotta love that ‘bout ‘Ro. Made a man under the collar in that dress, even if she looked like she was freezin’ in it.”

“Excuse me?”

“The red gown. Kinda fond of that one. Wore that out with me one night. Wasn’t expectin’ it when she suggested we head out fer a snack.” Pietro’s smug look slowly disappeared, making way for Logan’s.

What was this, Ororo thought, a pissing contest? She wasn’t headed back to her room for a measuring tape any time soon if they were gonna keep this nonsense up…

“You look pretty healthy for a guy who just got shot.” Pietro changed the subject.

“Eh. Feel pretty good. Got ‘Ro ta thank fer that.” Logan was still sleep-tousled as he sipped the beer that he uncapped, and he gave him a “just got laid” smirk.

Right, Ororo decided. Better wrap this up before one of them asks me for the tape.

“Tro, it was really nice of you to stop by. Logan hasn’t eaten yet, and I already have plenty of food here. I don’t want to keep you.” She didn’t tack any tactful words onto the last sentence to take the edge off.

Logan, one; Pietro, zip.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he lied goodnaturedly. There were other rooms in her house where he wanted to intrude and enjoy the hospitality, but the watchdog was still baring his teeth, beer in hand.

“Let me see you out,” she hedged, leading the way. Pietro felt Logan’s eyes boring into his back. He still felt a heady sense of satisfaction over baiting him, despite the fact that he appeared to be more than a houseguest.

Ororo preceded him to the door and held it open for him. “It was nice of you to visit, Pietro. Take care,” she said dismissively.

He didn’t try to resist the urge to touch her. Pietro ran the backs of his knuckles down her satiny cheek, and her brows drew together slightly in confusion. He didn’t interpret it as annoyance.

“You’ve been through a lot, Ororo. You’re a strong woman.” Before she could blink, Pietro swooped in and kissed her by the corner of her mouth.

She never even heard Logan approach behind her, but suddenly, there he was, growling by her elbow.

That burly arm looped around her waist again, this time much, much more possessively.

“We ain’t gonna keep ya, bub.” His eyes said “Scram!”

“Goodbye, Pietro,” Ororo declared. Pietro nodded thoughtfully and left. Logan watched silently, arm still wrapped tightly around her and his body heating her back in the breezy doorway.

“What the fuck was he doin’ here?” Logan growled without looking at her.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

“Sure ya do.”

“Logan…I went out with him. Very, very briefly.”

“Since ya’ve been with me?”

“No.” Not unless you counted their first impromptu “date” on the same night of the ball, which she didn’t.

His nose didn’t know whether to believe her or not. Her scent changed and her pulse jumped. “Yer sure?”

“Logan…no. Yes.” She turned into his heat and wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed the mulish corners of his mouth as she spoke. “Ali introduced him right around the time you and I started talking. I was interested in you, Logan. Pietro is nice, but he wasn’t my type.”

“He’s under the impression that ya are.” He wasn’t about to argue how “nice” Pietro was.

Something about him just rubbed him the wrong way. The Beast growled warnings in his ears as soon as they met eyes. He was a rival. A predator.

“Probably not so much anymore,” she reminded him. He was still jealous, but some of his irritation slipped away as she leaned into him, nuzzling her way down the crest of his cheek to his jaw. “When a man comes out of my bedroom looking like sex walking, it’s pretty clear what’s going on, don’tcha think?”

“Mmmmm…” he considered. Her fingers sifted through his hair, and lust shot through him as she sucked his earlobe into her hot, slick mouth. She lapped at it hungrily, moaning how good he tasted. “Quit tryin’ ta butter me up…” he rasped, but he was already cupping her rump, encouraging her to grind against his hardness. “Yer not off the hook, ‘Ro.”

“Even if I promise to be good?” she pouted, darting her tongue into his ear to caress the whorls. His knees almost buckled.

“Darlin’…quit it. I’m still not finished tellin’ ya what ya did wrong. Ya don’t just run around…geez…” She pressed her body against him until he bumped back into the wall, and he groaned in surrender as she devoured his neck. Wasn’t he supposed to be the aggressor, here?

“I’m sorry he came here. I know it was wrong that I never mentioned him before, but I didn’t plan to keep seeing him,” she murmured into his flesh. “Please don’t be hurt, Logan. I don’t want him. I want you.”

“Ya want me,” he breathed hoarsely. Her hands were frantically working their way under the hem of his shirt, caressing his taut, warm flesh. Her fingertip grazed his flat nipple, making it stiffen. It was so strange, and overwhelming, fighting for control and dominance of their passion, even as she made him want more than anything to submit.

She laved his vulnerable neck, and he leaned back to give her better access. Her low hum of contentment almost sounded like a growl…

“Want you,” she whispered, kissing a path back along his jaw, enjoying the faint rasp of his stubble. When she reached his mouth, he ceased his struggle to hold back and gave her full rein. “Just you. I need you, Logan.”

“Damn it,” he hissed as she ground herself against his pelvis, prompting him to spread his legs apart, making room for herself. She slid down, roughly nipping his pecs and his abdomen; his muscles jumped every time her lips or teeth made contact, and he was hard as a rock. All rational thought went out the window, and his attention was concentrated solely on the sensations rushing through him and the commotion she stirred up between his legs.

Air kissed his bared thighs, and the wall felt cool against his butt as she hooked her fingers into his waistband and jerked his sweats down around his knees.

“Shit!”

“Mmmmmmm…” Slender fingers curled gently into the coarse, dark nest of hair, and her thumb feathered lightly over the shaft of his cock as she breathed over the plump tip. She gave him one last glance, peering up into the face she dreamt about every night, before she drew him into her mouth.

She was about to give him heart failure. And a concussion, considering how hard the back of his head thumped against the wall at the first luscious pull of her lips.

“All right,” he agreed, feeling his hips jerk forward with every dip of her head, “ya want me! I get it!”

“Mmm-hmm,” she moaned in satisfaction. Her palms explored the contours of muscle in his thighs and caressed his balls, feeling how tightly drawn they were. She cupped his shaft in both hands and made love to the silky head, swirling her tongue around it. She savored his faintly salty taste, and his flesh still smelled like sleep.

“Ya don’t…eeergh…wanna take this…aw, SHIT!...ta bed?” he implored.

“Mm-nnhh,” she protested.

“Whatever ya want,” he decided. “Aw, man…!” His voice was shaking, and he closed his eyes at how right she felt.

He craved her too much. He needed to be inside, and she took him way too close to the brink.

“Up!” he barked, circling his fingers around her upper arm and jerking her to her feet. She was plastered to him again, and he ground against her the entire time that he stripped off her clothes. He undid her jeans with a loud zip and stepped into them, dragging them off with his foot.

“Oh!” she cried as he ravished her. Their lips met again and again as he probed her damp center, slipping his fingers beneath the edge of her bikini briefs. She was so ready for him, yearning for it. “Oh, God, Logan, please!”

Her world spun around when he turned her toward the wall, yanked down the delicate satin panties and began to rub the head of his cock teasingly between her lips. Damn, she was wet! She cried out and wailed at how much he aroused her, shivering with each caress. He gripped her hips and thrust hard and true, filling her. She felt the tight, stretchy cramp and squeezed him, welcoming him home.

“Feels.Too.Good.” He slammed into her, and his hand crept up under her shirt to toy with her breasts. She arched into his touch. She gave up on speech.

He pistoned and rode her to completion, and his shout filled the tiny entryway as he climaxed, jerking and spasming as he filled her.

“Holy…!” She felt him pulsing inside her, and she squeezed him, milking him for as long as it lasted. He rubbed her clit, already moistened with her own juices, and she followed him to fulfillment.

They staggered to bed and buried themselves under the covers.

“Don’t let that fucker kiss ya like that again. Don’t even let him touch ya,” he murmured as he began to doze once again, this time from being sated.

“Loud and clear,” she agreed. He greedily stroked her bare skin and combed his fingers through her soft fall of hair, and all thoughts of Pietro left her head.





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