There were a million goddamn people here, Logan thought, irritated. The grooves beside his mouth deepened as he scanned the hotel lobby. Where the hell was she? He sniffed, turned, surveyed again. Beneath the soft glow of chandeliers he caught a glimmer of snow white hair. He started to lift his hand to get her attention but then the crowd parted.
It was like taking a sledgehammer to the chest, he'd later conclude. A jarring expulsion of breath followed by an adrenaline jump start of his heart, blood, loins. Everything responded. He could feel the thrum of her through his body, so intensely it drowned out the music, the people. Left only her. He focused on her as he trotted down the last remaining steps, as he shuffled past and sometimes through people to get to her.
She wasn't beautiful, not in any classic sense. What she was was something else altogether. Something exotic, yet familiar. What she was, he thought, was spectacular.
Her hair—fallen snow white—was a think drift that spilled over mocha shoulders and down her back. She had high, planed cheeks, tapered chin and a wide, full mouth. Her eyes—the color of bitter chocolate—were long, heavy lidded and faintly upturned at the corners, framed by thick, dark lashes. The elements of her face shouldn't work together, shouldn't work as a whole, but they did. She was striking, and no one ever forgot seeing Ororo Munroe.
She was slender. Almost delicate looking in the black and silver dress she wore. The lean muscle of her arm flexed as she plucked at her dress. He knew the subtle strength of those arms. Knew the hours of training it took her to keep that lithe form.
“I can think of about a dozen better ways to be spendin' New Year's Eve,” he said as he came up beside her. It came out gruff and with an edge, but he couldn't help that. “And not one of 'em include stayin' here with these...people.” A couple included stripping her out of that dress and even more were of bending her over, but he left that unsaid.
“Good evening, Logan,” she replied in an even, cool voice that grated his nerves. She never seemed nearly as affected by him as he was her. She arched a brow at him when she realized he wasn't wearing the tuxedo that had been purchased for him, but instead decided on a simple dark pair of pants and a crisp white shirt.
He waited for her reprimand, but all she said was, “You look handsome.”
“Ain't lookin' too shabby yourself,” he replied, and swept his dark hair back, allowing his eyes to rove over her, lingering in the interesting places. The woman was hell on curves, he thought, appreciatively. “Almost makes being here bearable.”
“Almost?”
“Almost.”
Those full lips curved—a slow, knowing smile that caused a kick low in his gut. He leaned a bit closer, close enough to scent night-blooming jasmine and rain.
She smoothed a hand over her hair and pasted a too-wide smile on her face. “Let's go show these social-elitist that mutants aren't all bad and scary.” Her amused snort drew a look.
“Somethin' funny, darlin'?”
“Aside from the irony that being around you will alleviate social fears regarding mutants...nope.”
He snorted himself, his own mouth curving up at the corner sardonically. “'Ro, you're many things, but you ain't dumb. If you can reign me in long enough to hob-nob and not slit a few throats, then this school must work miracles.”
“Indeed.” Her eyes glittered with repressed laughterand Logan thought he could drown in that gaze. “You're such an inspiration.”
“Shut up, Storm,” he grumbled, his dark eyes narrowed at her in an attempt to intimidate her into silence. “You owe me. I hate these fuckin' things.”
She burst out laughing—a warm, inviting sound—that was completely unsympathetic. “Come on.” She held out her hand. “Let's go mingle.”
He needed another drink and some fuckin' air and to get away from her. He needed space, a distraction. Something to keep his eyes from wandering over the curve of her ass again, dwelling on the soft swell of her breast. If he didn't get away from her, he was going to make an ass of himself. Do something he'd regret—or worse. Wouldn't.
He drank the flute of champagne like a shot and asked the wide eyed server if he had anything harder. The answer, of course, was no. This was a ball, not a bar. Logan swore, shoved past the younger man and headed out onto the balcony.
“I knew you were trouble the minute I laid my eyes on you.”
Logan turned, quirked a brow. Seeing as he was the only one foolish enough to face the biting chill of winter, he knew it was to him that the silhouette spoke.
“What I don't know, is just how much trouble.” Her voice was a sexy purr, and when she stepped forward into the silver light of the moon, Logan was pleasantly surprised to see that she looked like she sounded.
He shot her a smirk. “Plenty,” was his answer.
“Mmm. So I suspect.” She moved toward him in a smooth sashay. Her crystal blue eyes skimmed over him and she made a tsk sound between her teeth. “Definitely not one of the usual crowd.”
He shrugged. “Somethin' tells me you didn't follow me out here to make small talk.”
Her smile was feline and satisfied. “No,” she agreed. “I followed you out here to see if you tasted as good as you looked.”
This time it was his smile that was edged with sex and promise. “Only one way to find out.”
She stepped to him, letting her fox-fur shawl fall away. “My name is Emma,” she told him, her breath grazing his chin.
He trailed a fingertip over her collar bone, down the slope of her mostly revealed breast. “I don't recall askin',” he told her.
With a low laugh she chewed his bottom lip. “Mmm. I like that. A man that takes what he wants. No questions asked.”
That wasn't true, he thought even as he yanked her against him, devouring her mouth. If he was the type of man that took what he wanted it would be Storm in his arms, not some eager social butterfly who was probably used to pampering playboys and bendable men.
“You're good,” she gasped when his hand reached down, cupped her and rubbed her to the edge of release through her dress.
“The best there is,” he huffed against her neck. He moved his fingers past the hem, up along a soft thigh. No underwear. And she was already wet. He heard her low moan, felt the eager press of her hips, so he took what was offered.
Take this here, and maybe—just maybe—he could focus on things beside Ororo. Maybe he would be able to sleep tonight. If nothing else he'd have a few minutes of distraction.
Oh yeah? Then why are you thinking about her now while you're playing digit-dive with Gyration Barbie? Cripes, he could practically smell her, even over the musky scent of arousal and—
Snow whipped him in the face, a biting chill that had his head snapping up. His eyes darted toward the balcony doors, and Ororo. Well, shit.
Slowly, trying to avoid drawing attention to it, Logan slid his hand from beneath a silver skirt and wiped it against his pant leg. The slender blond skirted around him. “That's my exit,” she whispered, moved to dart back inside. He didn't spare her a glance. All of his attention was on the woman glowering in front of him.
The hurt on her face tore through him. She had no right to look so betrayed, he told himself, but he knew it was bullshit. She had every right, and he was a goddamn fool. “'Ro...”
“Wolverine.” A smooth voice, coated in honey and Cajun charm, cut between them like a sharp edge. “Never thought I'd see your face again.”
Jarred by the sound, Logan's eyes flicked to the companion at her side, one that he hadn't bothered to notice before. Motherfucker. His hands tightened at his sides and Logan felt pressure at his knuckles. “The fuck you doin' here, Gumbo?”
Ororo shot both men a look, and Logan could hear the confusion in her voice. “Wait. You two know each other?” The sting of betrayal was rapidly replaced by confusion.
It was Remy that answered her. “No one ever really knows this man, non?”
“I knew this fucker years ago,” came Logan's snarl. His jaw tightened and his teeth cracked. The other man was standing way too close to Ororo for his liking. “Just what the hell are you doin' with him?” he demanded of her.
Ororo flinched a bit at the harshness behind his words and immediately bristled. “I fail to see how that is any of your damn business. I didn't question you about your friend.”
Her bitterness made him wince. The whole damn situation was spiraling and he needed to center himself. He wiped a hand down his face, exhaled. Address one issue at a time. First, get rid of Gambit. He turned to Storm. “Look, this guy ain't nothin' but trouble—”
“Well, if that ain't pot-kettle.” Remy slanted a smoldering glance at Ororo, making Logan want to smash his too-pretty face.“But he's right. I'm trouble.” With that, he leaned down, completely ignored Logan's warning rumble, and breathed something against her ear. When he lifted his head, he winked. “Until we meet again. Happy new year, beautiful.”
Logan saw red. The second Gambit's mouth covered Ororo's all Logan saw was red. He reacted without thought, hauling the Cajun off and throwing him through the balcony doors. He thought he might have sworn, but all he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears.
Glass shards tinkled to the ground and Logan growled while Remy laughed like a loon. People crowded the doorway and somewhere a woman screamed.
“Get up,” Logan snared. “So I can knock your ass back down again.”
Casually, even amidst broken glass and frantic socialites, Remy wiped his lip with the back of his hand. “You get one, homme. And I deserved it, but that be it.” He placed an elbow n his bent knee and his devil red eyes flicked to the balcony. “Now, I can get up and we can go a few rounds,” he lifted a glowing card, smiled an easy, arrogant smile. “Or, we can see who finds the girl first.”
Logan whirled, finally noticing the empty balcony behind him, “Fuck.” He shot Remy a warning look. “You stay the hell away from her.”
“She looks like a fun one, and Gambit is always in the mood for fun.”
Logan crouched, snarled, “Stay away.”
“That's gon' be up to her,” the other man replied with a wink, unafraid. “Now isn't it?”
“What's going on here?” Three security guards rushed through the crowd. The pulled up short when they spotted feral teeth and glowing red eyes. The two smaller men nudged the larger forward. He cleared his throat, waved his hotel badge in front of them. “You...uh...you gentlemen need to clear the area.”
Logan stood, cricked his neck. “Movin' out, Barney Fife.” He shot Remy a warning growl before shoving his way through the throng of people gathered for the spectacle. He ignored several comments and questions directed at him, as well as several female hands. He had to get to 'Ro.
Her door was unlocked. The room was dark, draped only in silver shadows.
This made him tense. Maybe she'd already left. Her scent was strong, but that could easily be explained by the fact that she had recently been in the room. But then she moved.
He shifted, eyes drawn to her. She sat at a small vanity, wiping make-up from her face and muttering under her breath. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling bereft and at a loss.
He'd ruined her night, he knew. Ended the year with a bang, he thought with rueful twist of lips. He wasn't exactly sure how he should address the issue, so instead, he crossed his arms, waited for her to realize she wasn't alone. Let her start, he thought, satisfied with that approach.
“Whoopie,” she grumped as she rose, tossed the Kleenex into the small trash and turned toward her bed. A breathy little sound of alarm cleared her throat before she composed herself. She pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders defensively. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Maybe not the best idea to let her start, he considered..“Lookin' for you.”
“Well, you found me. I'm in my hotel room, exactly where I should be. Wow. However did you manage to piece it together?”
Her biting wit was normally one of the things he liked most about her, but right now it made him feel berated and foolish all at once, and that he didn't like. He didn't like a lot of things at the moment, he admitted.
Since she didn't seem inclined to offer up anything more, he asked, “Why'd ya leave?”
She angled her head at him. “You mean as opposed to being kicked out?”
“No.” He stepped closer, searched her face. “I mean, why'd you leave me?”
Her gaze was unusually evasive. “You left me first.”
He exhaled, slow, uneven. “Look, about that...”
“About what?”
He could almost see the wall she threw between them. “You owe me no explanations. If you wanna diddle some socialite for kicks, that's your right. I have no say in it.”
“You could, y'know.” Now where the hell did that come from?
“Could what?”
“Have a say.” Ok, idiot, just keep digging.
She turned away, from him, her reflection a ghost in the window glass. “We tried that once, remember?” It was soft spoken reprimand. “It didn't work.”
“I wasn't ready.” He closed the gap. Inches from the vulnerable nape of her neck, the stubborn stiffness of her spine.
“You're still not,” she stepped away.
“It ain't me that won't commit,” he reminded her with an angry growl. It wasn't just his fault, the way things were, and he was sick of shouldering the weight of it.
She whirled on him, a crack in her veneer. “I said I needed time to think about it, Logan! I didn't say no! And what do you do? You walk out, leave and go fuck the first redhead you can find.”
He had done that because he had known it would hurt her. As much as her rejection had hurt him. He'd asked her—on one knee even—and she'd had to think about it. For him, it was the same as a no. “How many fuckin' times do I gotta say I'm sorry for that?”
Her voice dripped venom and ice.“Until you mean it.”
The muscles in his jaw tightened, ticked. “I did mean it. I'm sorry I hurt you.”
“Yeah, you looked real sorry with your hand up—” she stopped, closed her eyes and pointed to the door.“Go. I don't want you here.”
“God damn it, 'Ro!” He shoveled his hands through his hair, bared his teeth in frustration. His eyes narrowed onto her face. She was lying. She had to be. “Bullshit.”
Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Excuse me?”
“I said bullshit. You want me here.”
“No. I don't.”
“Yeah? Then why the fuck am I here and not McCoy? This shit is right up his alley, but it ain't him with you, it's me because you fuckin' want me here.” He came toward her in long angry strides. “So stop being a fuckin' coward and admit it!”
Her eyes whipped to his—dark and fierce and sheened with damp. “I'm getting real sick of your assumptions,” she breathed.
“And I'm getting sick and damn tired of tryin' to ease the ache you left me with.” It hurt to admit it. Like a wound re-opening.
“Is that what you call it?” Her laugh was short and bitter and stung like a lash, but not nearly so harsh as her next words. “Maybe I should give it a try. Your Remy friend seemed willing to help ease my ache.”
Dangerous didn't begin to describe the emotions surging through him. Before he could fathom his own intentions he had her pinned against the wall, panting in her ear. “I'll kill him,” he swore. And he would. “I'll kill him if you do.”
She tried to turn, but his heavier frame kept her pressed tight against the white paint. “Let go,” she hissed between clenched teeth.
His lips skirted the swirls of her ear. “Tried. Can't.” He had tried to let her go. Tried to fall back into friends. Failed. Miserably. He wanted her. All of her.
“You have about half a second before I jolt the shit out of—” The rest was lost on a huff of air as he flipped her over his shoulder, turned and flung her onto the bed.
Her eyes sparked behind her hair. She shoved it out of her face. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”
He yanked off a shoe, tossed it aside. This is what they needed, he thought. Something fast and unexpected. Something to shock her. She was too used to being in control. If he was ever going to stand a chance he had to shake that from her. “I'd think that was fairly obvious.”
Her mouth worked, spluttered. “You think I'm gonna...that we're gonna... No.”
“Oh, yes.”He pulled of his other shoe, then his shirt. Buttons skittered along the carpet. “We're gonna.”
She scrambled back against the headboard, pointed one finger at him. “Stay away from me.”
He stalked toward her. Not a chance in hell, darlin.
“Logan, I mean it.”
So did he.
He tilted his head, appraised her. He would push, but he wouldn't force. He waited a beat, inhaled again, but scented no ozone. “Sure ya do, darlin'.” His tone was mocking. She hated being mocked.
He watched with satisfaction as her eyes narrowed and full lips thinned to a compressed line. He knew that look, so he was prepared when she lunged at him, even took the punch with barely a blink. Then he caught her wrist, jerked her against his chest and crushed her mouth with his.
The kiss was hot, hungry, demanding. He swore out loud when she bit him, licked the blood away. Hellion.
She sat back on her haunches, out of breath and her eyes flashing in defiance. With a feral snarl he pushed her back, crowded her into the mattress. He used his superior strength to clamp her hands on either side of her head when she clawed his face.
“I hate you,” she snarled, pinned.
His heart stopped, threatened to crumble. He refused to let it. “Hate me then,” he told her, “but admit you want me.”
“Go to hell.”
“I'm sure I will.” He angled his head, brushed his open mouth over hers. “Tell me that you don't want me,” he shared his breath with her, feathered his lips back and forth. “Don't want this. Say it, and mean it, and I'm gone. I'll go.” He raised his head only far enough to meet her eyes. “Tell me and I'm gone.” Don't say it.
“I...”
He waited. Hot and hard and pressed so close.
“I can't.” It was a broken confession, and it broke him.
Undone, his mouth was soft on hers. Until she tore her lips away. “No,” she rasped, angry. “Take me. Fast and rough.” It was another defense, he knew. A way to keep the emotion separate from the pleasure, and he'd let her. For now.
She used her teeth on his shoulder. “Touch me.”
God yes. His hand shot down to part her robe, found her blessedly, thankfully naked beneath. So soft, he thought as his rough hand slid over a quivering abdomen. So soft, yet strong.
He released her wrists, jerked his pants down, but not off. He needed to be inside of her. He was swollen and turgid and so hard.
Fingers tightened in his hair, pain mixing with pleasure. “Now,” she commanded.
Fuck, yes. He slicked his fingers down, over her damp folds, pressed, slicked, then removed his hand and replaced the subtle pressure with his more substantial cock. She was so hot and wet. Ready.
She cried out when he thrust forward. Again when he drove deeper. And again when he pressed harder.
Her nails raked down his back, dug into his ass cheeks. “More!” she lifted her hips, demanding, seeking. “Harder, Logan! I want it harder!” Her voice was savage, her movements frantic.
She was so beautiful.
With a snarl, he shoved her knees back and hammered himself inside. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and the lines on his back burned, but he couldn't stop. Couldn't get enough. He was drenched in sweat and slick heat, but he pumped on. If he stopped it was done, over and he couldn't let go.
His balls tightened ans a low tingle began deep in his gut. Not yet. Not yet...
His name was a broken chant that kept time with the groans of the bedsprings. She was so tight. So wet. Her moans were loud, drawing him closer and closer to the edge.
Slick skin slapped slick skin.
Teeth bit.
Fingers clawed.
His eyes, dark and glassy, locked on hers. I love you. He didn't know if he said it out loud, but he felt it. Right to his core.
Her eyes changed then. Went from chocolate to frost, swirled and glowed and she shuddered, gasped and closed like a fist around him. Half mad, they came together, shuddering and convulsing.
His hips bucked, neck tightened and every muscle felt corded to snapping. He was helpless and powerful all at once. He jerked with each spill of his seed, garbled out a weak groan.
Empty, he collapsed against her, and half-flaccid, slipped from her.
Breathing was staggered, labored and harsh in the silence of the room.
He didn't want to move. Afraid to break the moment, but when she shifted beneath him, he knew it was already broken.
He lifted his head from the sweat damp crook of her neck, smoothed soaked strands of white hair from her face. Somewhere bells chimed out the hour. “Whatchya thinkin'?” he asked in a voice that sounded far too fragile to be his.
She stared up at the ceiling over his shoulder. “It's a new year.”
“Time for new beginnings,” he told her.
Her chin wobbled, but she managed to reign it in. Points to her. “Or a final farewell.”She met his eyes and in them he saw goodbye. No. No!
Shaken, he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I'm sorry I hurt you.”
Her smile was fleeting. “I believe you.”
“But it doesn't change anything,” he added, dejected.
“No,” she agreed softly. “It changes nothing. I still love you. I always will.”
His eyes widened. Heart hoped.
“Wait,” she was already shaking her head. “No, I didn't mean—”
“The hell you didn't.” His mouth was insistent upon hers. “It's a new year.” Another kiss. “New beginnings.”
“I can't just—”
“Shut up.” Another. “Just shut up.” He rolled, pulled her over himself. “Say it.”
“You just told me to shut up,” she pointed out.
Damn her. “'Ro.”
She inclined her head, regarded him through sleepy eyes. “New beginnings.”
It was fragile, it held no promises, but it was a start.
[Reviews - 10]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story |
Has been viewed 1642 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story | - Text Size +
You must login () to review.
