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"Why? Why can't you just let her go?"

I hear the challenge in Storm's question. I hear what she's really asking.

"Why can't you just love me? Why am I not enough?"

Everything in me wants to give her the answer she's really seeking.

You've got that backwards, darlin'. It's me who's not enough. It's me who will never be good enough for you.

But the words stick in my throat; they won't budge no matter how much I want to tell her. How can I tell her that it's not Jean, it's her, Storm, who fills my dreams and makes me want to be the kind of man only she believes I can be? I can't tell her, not if I intend to fulfill Xavier's wishes.

Before he disappeared right before my eyes in Jean's old house, he asked me to keep them safe, all of them, including Jean. I can still hear the last words he forced into my brain before he let go and let her scatter his cells like so much dandelion fluff.

She can't help herself, Logan. It's up to you now.

Christ, I'd give anything not to feel like I owe him this, but I do. So I have to go. I have to hurt Storm when what I really want to do is hold her and tell her it's OK to mourn the loss of her loved ones, to not be so goddamn stoic all the time.

"Because…" I start, but I can't say I'm on a mission from her beloved mentor to rid the world of the Phoenix, who just happens to be her best friend, a beautiful woman named Jean Grey. So I fumble for an excuse she'll believe so that I can just go and find Jean and get this over with.

As much as I once thought having Jean would be the best thing that ever happened to me, I know the Phoenix is the worst thing that could happen to any of us. The chick is pure Bad News, with a capital 'B'.

Oh, our Jeannie is still in there somewhere and if I sense that there's any hope that bringing her back here will make a difference, then that's what I'll do. I'll bring her home so she can heal and get past whatever the hell she did to Scott and be Dr. Jean Grey again.

But if not, I'm going to kill her.

Not because I want to, but because I know what Xavier meant. I have to find her and do what only I can, one way or the other. There is no middle ground.

And then Storm answers her own question.

"Because you love her."

It's more than a statement; it's an accusation. Her eyes glitter with righteous anger. But I notice her emphasis is on the word 'love', not 'her'. She isn't angry that it's Jean that I love; she expected that. No, she's roaring mad that after acting like the selfish bastard I am for so long, I've chosen now to step up to the emotional plate. Now, when it's life or death, me or Jean—a choice I'm just beginning to understand is too terrible for her to endure.

Well, she's right and yet she's oh, so wrong.

I am a selfish bastard, always have been. Lone wolf. Come and go as I please. The fewer emotional attachments, the better. And commitment is not even in my vocabulary. Thinking back, I see that Jean understood that; it's what made me 'the dangerous guy', only safe to flirt with, not to fall for.

No one knows this, not even 'Ro, but I got over Jean a long time ago, during that first trip after Alkali Lake. I ain't exactly proud of keeping up the broken-hearted act, but it's allowed me two things I can no longer live without. First, and most important, is 'Ro. I know I should just come clean and tell her I don't see her as just Jean's best friend anymore. I see her as the brightest, strongest, most intelligent, most caring soul on this planet. The fact that all that goodness just happens to come wrapped in a body that could tempt a monk to murder really doesn't matter a damn.

Riiiiiiight.

Hell, she's what's kept me in this mansion longer than I ever expected to be here. She's why I'm still an X-man. I can't let her go on missions anymore without me; I worry too much about what could happen if I'm not there to protect her.

Of course, I can't tell her that. She'd flatten me with a thunder clap and deservedly so. She's been in this X-game a lot longer than I have and she's very good at it, even better since I've been leading the self-defense and tactical training classes. Yeah, she's even the reason I put up with these herds of high-powered mutant adolescents and their angst-filled melodramas.

And that's where the second reason for my charade comes in. No one questions my need to leave on a moment's notice. They all assume it's because the memories here are too painful, too close. But in reality, it's the hot and cold running hormones that are too close. Christ, the minute all the girls' menstrual cycles line up, I'm outta here for at least six weeks, until they scatter across the calendar again. I'm still available for missions, but I bunk someplace else. All that estrogen at once gives me the willies.

But in the two years since Alkali Lake, I've changed, little by little, and it's because of Storm. It started as the two of us just needing someone to talk to about the woman we both loved and lost. Scott was a fucking clam, useless when it came to shared grief. In some ways, I think I opened up to Storm just to show him up, sort of like a big 'Nyah-nyah, look what I can do and you can't'. Not my most mature behavior, but he always did bring out the adolescent punk in me.

On the other hand, Storm, or 'Ro as I've come to think of her, makes me feel ten feet tall. When she smiles at me, her light shines into all the dark places in my soul and makes them a little less scary. It's made me wonder lately if having her sleeping beside me might keep the nightmares away, but if I take her to my bed, it ain't gonna be about preventing bad dreams, it's gonna be about making good dreams come true.

I've resisted the urge to kiss her so often it's become second nature, a familiar ache that lives in my heart and my groin pretty much all the time, but until I know I can be what she needs, I won't go there. The funny thing is, I know she'd let me. She's never made any overt gestures; she's too classy for that. Still, I can see a want in her so deep I don't know if even I could ever live long enough to really satisfy it, but when the time is right, I'd gladly die trying.

In the end, Jean was never mine to hold on to, so letting go turned out to not be as hard as I imagined.

But, this, this look I'm getting from Storm, isn't hard; it's unbearable.

I can smell the fear pouring out of her and I want to reassure her that I can handle the Phoenix. But then the tears she can't hide betray her and I can see her whole heart in her eyes. It's not the Phoenix that scares her. She's afraid that she's held back too long and I'm going back to Jean because I still want her.

For an instant I consider letting her keep her misconception. Maybe if she believes I still want Jean, it will be easier for her to let me go and I don't just mean let me go now so I can complete my gruesome errand. No, I mean let me go, as in forget about me, stop hoping that I'll ever be any kind of good for her, because I'm not and I know it.

And then the truth tumbles out of my mouth before I can clamp my lips shut and stop it.

"No, I don't, not anymore."

As though they have minds of their own, my hands find their way to her face and I bring my lips down to meet hers in a kiss that is nothing like what I imagined our first kiss would be. In my dreams, I go to her and she welcomes me and I am gentle and tender in ways I only could be in a dream. But now, here in the harsh afternoon light coming through the window of my room, I am anything but gentle. I press her back against the open door, covering her body with mine as I take possession of her mouth with my own.

Whether it's from surprise or anger or disgust, I don't know, but she resists me at first. She tries to lever me away from her by pushing against my chest, but I'm all in on this one, going for broke. I figure I've got this one shot to make her believe that it's her I want and I'm not gonna leave any doubt. I slow down the tiniest bit, drag my tongue along her lower lip. For this, I know I want permission, an invitation, and she issues it with a shivering sigh of surrender against my lips.

My first taste of her is like drinking from a sacred spring; it heals me in ways my mutation never could, mending the gashes my broken past has left in my soul. I don't need answers as much as I need her.

Her hands slide from my chest to the back of my neck and then into my hair. Her lips reveal in her kiss what she might never have said in words had I let this chance pass me by.

My arms are around her waist now and I hold her to me, her small, delicate frame all but swallowed by my bulk. I can hear her struggling to breathe and I realize I could use a gulp or two of air myself.

We just hold each other silently for a minute or two, her head on my chest and my chin resting on her white hair.

It is the most peaceful moment I have spent in the last fifteen years. All the questions melt away and there is only the answer; the one answer: Ororo, my 'Ro.

But when she looks up at me it's plain that serenity is not what she's feeling. Her eyes are filled with tears and I know they're not happy ones.

"What?" I ask softly.

"Damn you!"

I feel the sting of her hand, hear the sharp *slap*, almost before I see her movement. I'm ready to catch her hand in mid-swing this time, but instead of hitting me again, she turns to go out the door.

I grab her wrist and spin her around, pulling her into the room as I slam the door shut with my other hand.

"Let me go!" she grinds out through gritted teeth.

I have to stifle a laugh. That was supposed to be my line. But the last five minutes have changed everything and now the last thing I want is for either of us to let go.

"Is that what you really want, 'Ro?"

I think it's me calling her by her nickname--something I almost never do out loud-- that makes the anger in her eyes slide away to reveal a jumble of feelings no less volatile – confusion and pain mixed with hope and desire. Something inside her is about to explode and I brace myself for the blast.

I watch, fascinated, as the war between hope and fear rages inside her. It's all there in those deep brown eyes that haunt me everywhere I go.

I reach for her and my hand trembles because I am terrified that any move I make will tip the scales against me, but I can't bear to see her hurting like this and just do nothing.

"I'm sorry if this wasn't what you wanted, but I—"

All at once, she's up on tiptoe arching herself into me, her hard nipples scraping against my chest as she kisses me with blazing fervor. It seems she's made her choice, one I clearly didn't expect, and now I'm holding on for dear life as she deepens the kiss and my desire spirals higher and higher.

My arms wrap around her so tight her breasts are smashed almost flat between us. She is so lithe, so petite; my fingers almost reach all the way around her. If I stretch just a bit more, I can brush the curve of her breasts with my fingertips. It makes my hands ache for more.

I slide my hands down her back and then up her ribcage, letting my thumbs dawdle over her taut peaks. She moans and the vibration of that happy sound ripples all the way to my toes before bouncing back up and lodging at the base of my spine. My head spins as I realize how close I came to walking away from this.

But there's no going back now.

I want her so bad it brings tears to my eyes. I'm actually crying from the pain of the fiercest erection I've ever had. In its quest for relief, my body takes over and I grind myself against her. She gasps and I'm about to pull away, thinking I've gone too far too soon. But she returns the gesture, sliding her hot center across my front, igniting a fire that burns away all traces of my loyalty to anything but this raging need to make love to this woman, my woman. Suddenly I don't care about the professor or Jean or even if I live beyond however long it takes for us both to find the release I no longer have the strength or the will to deny either of us, and if the world ends as a result, I just don't fucking give a damn.

I notice the change in her breathing first. I sense that she's gasping for air again, so I loosen my hold and reluctantly lift my head, intending to reclaim her mouth as soon as she's gotten her breath.

But she looks up at me and I see that she's crying again and shaking her head.

"Oh…Logan, I didn't know…I never imagined…" She stops, still breathing so heavily the words won't come. She buries her face in my chest and I hold her while my mind races to finish her sentence for her.

Never imagined what? That I want you to the point of insanity? Or that kissing me is more like a hell you've had to suffer than the heaven you hoped it would be?

My uncertainty is a cold wind blowing across the flames of desire, beating them back enough that my brain once again receives enough oxygen to allow for rational thought.

"'Ro, darlin', look at me, baby," I say as I take her face in my hands, smoothing her tears away with my thumbs.

She looks up at me from under her damp eyelashes. She smiles at me with her lips all plump and red from our kisses and my knees melt into pools of liquid adamantium.

"On second thought, maybe you better not look at me," I say as I direct her head to my shoulder and softly tuck her hair behind her ear. "Just listen, OK?"

I feel her nod and I try to say the words I know she needs to hear, but suddenly my mouth goes completely dry. I swallow hard, hoping to generate enough saliva to pry my tongue off the roof of my mouth, which works but then there's the lump in my throat to deal with, so I swallow again, my Adam's apple bobbing like a cork on the ocean.

She must sense my distress, because she speaks before I can.

"It's OK, Logan. I'll go first," she says as she smooths her hand across my chest. She means it as a comforting gesture, but her touch threatens to recharge my erection, so I catch her hand in mine and lace my fingers with hers.

"If you want to talk, darlin', keep your hands still and get to talking, 'cause being this close to you is making it damn hard to pay attention to anything other than my aching crotch."

For once, she doesn't do as she's told. Instead she snakes her other hand down my back and slides it beneath the waistband of my jeans, massaging the exact spot at the base of my spine that makes me purr like a fucking kitten. I always knew that beneath that solid, dependable exterior beat the heart of a wanton seductress. I just never dreamed she'd pick now to show me.

"That's what I meant, what I said I couldn't imagine. I didn't know that you wanted me like this…not like this." She breathes the words against my throat, all the while still rubbing that spot…

What little control I have left is eaten alive by the beast I've been trying to hold back since she walked into the room. I land my lips on hers in a bruising kiss as I bend down and scoop her feather-light frame into my arms. Two strides later we're on the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and hands and mouths. Shirts and jeans and lingerie are stripped away and with our clothes go the last of my doubts; she is mine and I am hers. Nothing has even been more right.

I stretch out beside her and hold her close. Burying my face between her breasts I take a deep breath, inhaling her scent. She smells so ready, so ripe, and it takes my last shred of common sense to reach into the bedside table drawer and grab a condom.

I try to sit up to deal with the birth control, but she yanks my head back down to her breasts and I am only too happy to oblige. I roll my tongue over one chocolate brown nipple, drawing it up into my mouth and sucking hard. Besides the salty tang of sweat, I can smell and taste hints of vanilla and, I swear to God, brown sugar. It's a familiar, delicious scent, one I always associate with her. Maybe it's a shower gel or perfume. Or maybe her soul is really just that sweet.

She fists her hands in my hair, pulling me to her as she arches up off the bed.

"Logan! Ohhhhhhh, that is soooooo…ohhhhh…"

"Good?" I mumble as I move from the right to the left.

"Yeeeessss!"

She's on her back beneath me, my weight propped on my elbows on either side of her, my hands lifting both her breasts to my mouth. Her breath comes in little gasping bursts as I move languidly from one to the other. I would happily keep this up until the cows come home, but I know she's not had a lover in a very long time and her body is primed and ready to fire. I don't want her to come before I even get below her waist, so I stop, scoop the condom packet off the bed and shove it in my teeth, tearing it open roughly while my other hand trails across her abdomen.

Her eyes fly open and she looks at me almost accusingly.

"Logan, why did you--? Oh. Oh, yes," she says, her relief palpable as she sees what I'm doing. She reaches between us and wraps my cock in her long brown fingers. Her eyes remain locked with mine as she strokes me slowly from the base to the head. As fantastic as that feels, it's not her hand I want, not now.

"Ororo." The seriousness in my tone stays her hand long enough for me to lift it away from my erection and plant a kiss in her palm. I settle her hand on her breast and she wastes no time in rolling the tip between her fingers. Her head falls back onto the pillows and she croons at the self-induced sensation. Watching her pleasure herself nearly sends me over the edge.

"'Ro, you are the sexiest, most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. I want you so much. I need…to be inside you, darlin'. Now."

"Then we better get this on, now, because that's just where I want you to be," she says as she takes the condom from me. I roll onto my back and she sits up and sheaths me quickly. I see her start to throw her leg over my hips, but in an instant, I roll back over, pulling her under me as I settle myself into the cradle of her hips.

The Wolverine is in control now and I kiss her feverishly. My tongue stabs into her mouth, searching for hers. She responds just as passionately and I am awed that this gentle, graceful woman accepts my feral nature so readily.

"I want you to take me, Logan," she whispers breathlessly against my ear. "Take me as only the Wolverine can."

My ego has never been so thoroughly stroked and incredibly my cock swells in response even as it presses against her moist heat. She bends her knees, wrapping her tawny legs around my thighs and arches up as I glide into her silken folds. The pleasure is indescribable as I feel her inner muscles welcoming me, pulling me deeper until I am buried in her all the way to the hilt.

I start to pull back out, to begin the ancient dance, but she clamps her hands across my ass and holds me to her. She arches her back like a gymnast as she hitches her legs up to my waist. Her hips undulate beneath me and I realize that she is rubbing her clit against the hard muscles of my abdomen, seeking her own release.

It's OK. For this woman, the Wolverine will wait his turn.

"That's it, baby, ride me, use me to make yourself come." I move with her, pressing my hips down enough to maintain the essential contact with her engorged nubbin, but not enough to inhibit her movements. She knows her own body better than I do—for now—so I give her free reign to do what she needs to do.

I feel her pussy clench around me and her fingernails dig into my ass cheeks. One last grind of her hips and her orgasm hits with all the force of a tidal wave. Her head thrashes up and down and because its broad daylight and the mansion is not empty, she tries to hold back the scream, but it roars from her throat, echoing around my room and presumably out into the halls.

Let them hear. She is mine and I am proud.

"Logaaaaan!"

As she reaches her crescendo, I pull her hands away from my backside and start pumping into her, hard and fast. It's either that or risk my cock being literally wrung out by her inner walls as they flex and contract in seemingly endless rhythm. My balls tighten to the point of pain and I see stars as I come harder than ever before, my seed spurting against the condom as I count the waves of ecstasy sluicing through me. One…two...three…four…five…(my previous personal best)…six…and with a final thrust…seven!

Somewhere in the dim reaches of my mind I hear a howling, like a high wind through a canyon, and then I realize the sound is coming from me.

As if 'Ro wishes to not be outdone in this, I hear thunder in the distance and then a lightning bolt crashes just outside my window.

The sun is shining. There is not a cloud in the sky.

"Show off," I say when speech is possible once more.

Her laughter trickles across my skin. If my bones weren't already turned to jelly, that sound would have done the job. I lift my head expecting to see her beautiful smile. But she's more than smiling, she's glowing with deep satisfaction, which in turn puts a rather smug grin on my face. Hey, I bet I'm the first guy to get his own lightning bolt.

"Well, you do bring out the best in me," she says, only half-teasing.

"You've got that backwards, darlin'," I mean every word, but the thought rings familiar and I realize I've come full circle back to the thought that got all this started.

I roll onto my side, bringing her with me, my arms sliding around her waist as she snuggles against me.

"'Ro, it's important that you know I've been over Jean for a long time now," I confess as I drop tiny kisses onto her eyes, her chin, the pulsing jugular vein in her neck. "You were never a substitute for her, not before and especially not now, not here."

"I know that. I know losing her two years ago was what got us talking, but I always knew who you came back here for. I knew who were making love to, Logan, every minute."

We just lay there for a while, breathing as one. Again I feel that peaceful warmth and I know it is so much more than just the afterglow of world-class sex. This time, the words practically fall out of my mouth all by themselves.

"I love you, 'Ro."

"I love you, too, Logan."

And just like that I realize that commitment isn't the four-letter word—spelled T-R-A-P—that I used to think it was. I am nothing if not committed to this woman, to her every need and desire, to her safety and protection, and in willingly binding myself to her I have never felt so free.

She lifts a hand to stroke my cheek, kisses me softly. I start to tighten our embrace and deepen the kiss, but she pulls back and lays a finger to my lips.

"I'm sorry it has to be you who has to do this," she says sincerely, reminding me why we cannot indulge in another erotic entanglement right now.

I resent the hell out of the reality that intrudes on my dream come true, but that won't make it go away. My body yearns for more of her, but the sooner I go, the sooner I can return to this room, to this bed that I will never again sleep in alone.

By tacit agreement, we get out of bed and begin gathering our clothes and putting them on. Once we're dressed, I pull her into my arms and hold her. In the silence, I've been trying to figure out what to say when I leave.

"I promise I'll do everything in my power to bring her home, 'Ro, but—"

"No, don't promise me that. Promise me that you'll do everything in your power to come back to me. If that means you have to kill her, then do it. We both know what she is now; she's a threat to all of us. Don't let what you feel for her—"

I stop her with a kiss and she clings to me like it's our last time together instead of our first.

"Whatever I felt for her is not only over, it was never this," I say, hoping to reassure her. "It was never anything even remotely close to what I feel for you."

"Thank you for telling me that. Still, promise me you won't bring her back here for my sake."

"I promise I won't let my guard down or take any unnecessary chances. I have too much to come back to, as long as I have you."

"Oh, yes, my love, you have me. Always."

"So, then, you'll be here when I get back?" I ask, one eyebrow hitching up.

"Of course."

The eyebrow climbs higher and my eyes drift to the bed and then back to her lovely face.

"Oh. You mean right here, as in...in the bed."

"Mmm-hmmm."

"After today, Logan, it'll be a lot harder to get me out of your bed than into it," she whispers seductively as she sucks my lower lip between her teeth, nipping playfully at it.

Her teasing manner is a sweet diversion from the task before me, but only for a moment. The deadly nature of my chore comes into sharp, sudden focus and I am desperate to ensure that 'Ro never doubts how much I love her, not now, not ever.

I sink my hands in her hair and pull her mouth up to mine, kissing her thoroughly before releasing her lips and trailing my teeth lightly down her neck, a low growl rumbling in my chest. She tilts her head back, allowing me access, unafraid as she grants me permission to follow my feral instincts and mark her as mine. I scrape my canines over her skin, raising twin welts that glisten as I soothe the small wounds with my tongue.

"You belong to me now, Ororo."

"And you to me, Logan," she replies as she gives both my ass cheeks a possessive squeeze.

"Do that again and the Brotherhood just might end up ruling the world."

I see the mischievous gleam skitter across her eyes as she considers all the ramifications of repeating her action, but then she drops her hands to her sides and steps back. For a moment, the few inches between our bodies feels like a thousand miles. I miss her already.

But then she looks into my eyes as she touches the marks on her neck, smiling that million-watt smile, and I know that no amount of distance can ever really separate us again.

She kisses me softly and then walks to the door and opens it. I pick up the backpack I was filling when she first came in.

"I don't want to go," I say, just in case she still had any doubt.

"I bet that feels odd, doesn't it?" she replies.

"Yeah, but in a good way."

"Be careful, OK?"

"I'll be back, 'Ro." It's a vow. The first of many I intend to keep.

"I know. If I had any doubt, I'd have squeezed your ass again," she returns with a wink as we leave my room together.

I shoulder the backpack, lock the door and hand her my key. She smiles at me and I have every confidence that she will be right where she said she'd be when I return.

Solid, dependable, wanton sex goddess. That's my 'Ro.

THE END




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