"Can I ask you something?"

Logan didn't look up from his book. Not many people bothered him when he was in the library, but Marie'd never been timid around him. "Sure," he said. She was probably going to bring up Jubilee's birthday again and pester him about showing up at the bar for beer and poker.

As if he needed to be reminded about anything that involved poker or beer, never mind both at once.

Logan flipped the page, rushing through the paragraph, and she knew him well enough to wait. He hated stopping mid-chapter, but for Marie, he'd suffer the annoyance. When he tucked one finger in the binding, Logan looked up at her, then narrowed his eyes.

He couldn't quite figure it out, but something was different. *She* was different. He studied her for a moment, the drape of her body in the plush armchair, the slight smile tilting the corner of her mouth upwards, the soft gaze fixed steadily on him.

"What?" he asked, sounding a little defensive.

"I want to ask you a question," she said, shifting a little, "but I don't want you to get all weird about it."

"When are you going to stop talking like you're fifteen?" Logan grumbled, rescuing his half-smoked cigar from the ashtray beside him.

Marie's smile widened as she produced a lighter from the pocket of her pants and leaned forward to light his cigar. She tilted her head to check out the book in his hands, then raised her eyebrows at him. "Dickens? My apologies, then, dear sir."

Logan shrugged. "What do you want to ask me?"

One of her long legs shifted, sliding over the other. Logan told himself not to pay attention to her legs and concentrated on his cigar.

"I want you to describe sex to me," Marie announced.

In one of his unmanliest moments, Logan inhaled sharply, flooding his lungs with pungent cigar smoke and sending him into a small coughing fit. "Shit, Marie," he managed after a moment, glancing reflexively at the door. Which was closed. Marie must've closed it on her way in. He hoped she'd locked it, 'cause hell if he wanted Jubilee to wander into the middle of *this* conversation.

To her credit, Marie did her best to stop laughing. "Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

Logan got some air into his lungs and glared at her. "You want me to what?" He dropped the cigar into the ashtray to avoid any other possible mishaps.

She grinned, unrepentant. "Describe sex to me."

Right. Describe sex to her. Sit calmly three feet away from those smoky eyes and those full lips and describe what it feels like to kiss a woman's--

"Sex," Logan repeated, because he must've heard her wrong. Belatedly, he glanced around, but they were alone.

"Yes," Marie said with a nod. "Sex. Screwing. Making love. Sleeping together. Knockin' boots. Making the beast with two--" She frowned. "You know, I think we should skip that euphemism. It makes me think of Hank, and--"

"Yes," Logan agreed. "Let's not use that one. In fact--"

"Oh, come on, Logan," she interrupted. She knew him well enough to recognize his "no way on God's green earth" tone. "It's a simple request."

"Describing sex to a girl who--"

"Woman," Marie said. "I'm twenty-three years old, Logan, and I'm never going to have sex." Her tone was so matter-of-fact, so accepting that it threw him. He opened his mouth to protest, but she kept right on talking. "My memories of sex have faded," she continued with a pointed look, "even *yours.* So the least you could do for me is describe it so that when I'm lying in bed alone every damn night, I can think of something other than badly choreographed movies and poorly written romance novels."

Her words hung in the air for a long moment, because Logan honestly didn't know where to begin. And he was concentrating very hard on not picturing Marie lying in bed in the dark, one hand moving--

"You've never had sex?" he asked, too loudly, because he was trying not to let himself think of her that way. He'd drawn certain lines in the sand, with Marie on one side and his occasional woman on the other. He wasn't one to mix business with pleasure, and while Marie wasn't precisely business, she wasn't in the same category as the women he took home for pleasure. She was... well, hell, she was Marie, and that's all. She wasn't a sexual creature to him.

Except for those disturbing moments when he couldn't help but notice the fluid grace of her body, the lush fullness of her lips. Moments like this one, when those leather-covered fingers tapped gently along her breastbone, drawing his attention to her chest, and then he'd suddenly realize that while he'd been staring at her breasts, she'd ended up on the wrong side of that line. Moments like this wreaked havoc on his carefully categorized world, and it always took him a little while to take this sensuous, sexual Marie and put her back on the right side of the line. As just... regular Marie. Non-threatening Marie.

Logan wasn't a particularly introspective man, so he wasn't quite sure why allowing himself to see Marie as a sexual being would threaten him, but it did. And he tried his best to end these disconcerting moments as quickly as possible.

Of course, asking about her sex life probably wasn't the wisest of strategies, but hell if he could think of anything else to say that wasn't an offer to alter her sexual status immediately.

Marie slumped into her chair, sending an imploring look to the ceiling. "No," she answered curtly. "And if horny twenty-year-old boys are too scared of my skin, it's pretty clear that I never will."

Fucking halfwits. Logan shook his head. "I thought you and Bobby--"

"No," she interrupted again, her eyes clenched tightly closed. "We -- we did other things. But not --" She sighed, disappointment running through the lines of her body. "We never had sex."

"Oh," Logan said stupidly. "And Remy?"

Marie shook her head. "He has -- other skills."

Logan had the sudden, vivid image of Marie splayed nude on a bed while he feasted on her. He blinked, startled, because the feeling that accompanied the image was nothing like displeasure. It was the opposite of displeasure, in fact. What the hell happened to all his neatly drawn lines in the sand?

Marie straightened in her chair. "Yes. And while that was -- great --I'd really like someone to explain what sex feels like."

Can't it be someone else? Logan wondered somewhat desperately. Because he was actually *enjoying* thinking of Marie in the pleasure category at the moment, and that was going to take some serious adjustments in his mental processes. And until he could come up with somewhere else to draw that line of his that said "DO NOT CROSS," he couldn't possibly sit in a room with Marie and talk about sex. Aloud, he said, "You wouldn't rather hear it from Jubilee?"

The look on her face was exasperation mixed with amusement. "Logan, you've had more sex than any ten regular people. Why wouldn't I ask you?"

He blinked. "Regular people?"

"Yes," she answered patiently. "People who prefer relationships to screwing someone up against a wall in an alley don't tend to share the depth and breadth of *your* experience."

Logan had a sudden flash of Marie, flushed and pressed up against a brick wall. He really needed to stop that. Lines. He needed to redraw his lines. Maybe just a big circle around Marie with a label -- fantasize, but don't touch. "I thought you girls wanted romantic shit. You know, rose petals on the bed and all that. Which, by the way, is a bitch to clean up."

Marie stared at him, eyes wide. "You've put rose petals--?"

"Hell, no! Some--" He shifted uncomfortably. "Someone put rose petals in my bed once."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "And instead of thinking it was a sweet gesture, you chose to remember that it was a pain to clean up?"

Pushing himself upright, Logan began to pace, conveniently putting some distance between them. "Do we really need to have this conversation?"

"Yes," she answered promptly.

"Why?"

"Because I need you to do this one favor for me."

"Pretty big favor," he pointed out, avoiding her gaze. He was busy shoring up his mental defenses -- he didn't need the image of her lounging around in that chair asking him about sex.

"Why's that?" she demanded, standing suddenly in his path. She stood with her hands on her hips, emphasizing that curvy little body of hers, making it very hard for Logan to put her back into the Mariecircle he was constructing. Because while he was definitely enjoying looking, he very, very, very much wanted to touch, too.

Logan jerked to a halt not terribly far away from her, torn between reaching for her and running away. "Because sex is -- it's personal," he answered, a hint of desperation in his voice.

She gave him a skeptical look, tipping her head to one side, cocking her hip. "It's so personal that you've had it with countless women all over the continent?"

"Don't exaggerate, Marie," he ordered gruffly. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

"I'm not asking you to," she shot back. "I'm asking you to describe what it feels like. I'm asking you to--" She paused, blinking rapidly. "Tell me what it feels like to touch someone's skin, Logan. I can't remember."

He fought the urge to reach for her, damn the consequences, so she could feel skin on skin. So he could feel her skin. "Why aren't you asking me to have sex with you, then?" Logan asked, startled when he heard his own question. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he stop staring at all that luscious, deadly skin? Where had all his neat, uncomplicated lines gone?

Marie looked less shocked than she probably should. She actually grinned at him. "Because I knew you'd say no."

He stepped closer, going on instinct now that his lines were blurred all to hell. Because she sure wasn't looking at him like a friend would; she was looking at him like -- like -- like *that,* and suddenly he was so far over the line that he couldn't remember the point of it in the first place. He quirked one eyebrow at her. "You so sure about that?" he challenged.

Her breath quickened as she watched him, less certain now. "Logan..."

Logan reached out with one hand, running his fingers down the white streak of hair framing her face. "Ask me," he ordered, his voice rough.

Marie's eyes narrowed and she studied his face. She shook her head just a little, shying away from his hand. "What are you doing?"

He gripped a strand of her hair lightly, rubbing the silky strands, his bare fingers inches from her jaw. "You don't want to hear me describe sex, Marie," he told her, skimming a fingertip along her skin quickly, smirking when she gasped at the touch.

"I do, too," she insisted, her voice almost steady. Her gloved hand grasped his arm just above the elbow, her grip tight. Her touch was surprisingly gratifying.

"No, you don't," he answered, leaning in, lowering his voice, letting all the lust he was feeling show. "You want to feel what sex is like."

She inhaled sharply and pulled away from him, the strands of her hair sliding from his grasp. "Stop it, Logan." She turned away, taking one step toward the door before his hand landed on her shoulder.

"No," he shot back, spinning her back around to face him.

Her cheeks were flushed, from anger or embarrassment, he wasn't sure. She gave him a murderous look. "Don't do this."

"Do what?"

"This," she shouted, shrugging out of his grasp. "Didn't anyone ever teach you it isn't nice to taunt people with what they can't have?"

"Don't remember," he answered honestly. "But who says you can't have sex?"

She froze, staring at him with anger and regret. "Sex," she repeated quietly, glancing down at the floor for a moment. When she looked back up at him, her expression was inscrutable. "I do. I say I can't." She lifted her chin. "It's exhausting wanting something that you can't have, always hoping that *this* time, *this* man will get it right. *This* man won't flinch away from me when I reach for him." She shook her head, her voice bitter when she continued, "But they always do, and I'm not putting myself through that ever again."

Logan knew he should say something, knew he should comfort her somehow, but he'd never been good at this heart-to-heart stuff. He reached for her instead, but she backed up another step.

"Logan," she warned, one hand held out in front of her, warding him off. "Don't. You don't understand -- You *want* people to fear you." A sardonic smile twisted her lips. "You want men to fear you, anyway, and the women are always too taken by that ass of yours to fear you for long. That's not how it is for me. *Everyone* is scared of me, and with good reason. So just stop it."

"No," he answered, his hand wrapping around her upper arm before she could flee. "I won't stop it." He jerked her closer, getting one arm around her waist and dragging her up against him. "I'm not scared of you, Marie."

And he really wasn't, he was surprised to realize. She'd shifted, somehow. She'd redrawn the lines when he wasn't paying attention, and it turned out all of his vague, unsettling worry had been for nothing. She was still Marie, but she was sexual and beautiful and, if he wasn't mistaken, she was in love with him.

She stared up at him, brown eyes wide and angry. "Let go of me!"

He leaned in, nuzzling through the hair near her ear and she froze. "Do you really want me to?" He exhaled slowly, tilting his head down so his breath danced across her throat. She shuddered and he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. "Or do you want me to touch you?"

She was shaking a little in his arms, and her hands gripped at his waist. "What are you doing, Logan?"

"Well," he said, pulling back just enough to see her face. He gave her an arrogant grin. "I believe this is called foreplay."

Marie let out a shaky breath. "I don't want your pity," she whispered.

It was Logan's turn to freeze. Could she honestly think this was *pity*? Didn't she own a goddamned mirror? Logan ran his hands down her arms, slipped them around her waist and pulled her hips up against him. "Does that feel like pity?" he demanded.

With a burst of anger, she broke free and stood several feet away, breathing hard and glaring at him. "I don't know why you're doing this, Logan, but you need to stop it."

"Why?" he demanded, frustrated. He knew she wanted him; he could smell it on her. But she was resisting, and it was starting to irritate him. "We want the same thing."

Eyes narrowed, she stared at him for a long, silent moment. "You're wrong. Even if you were right, it wouldn't work."

"Why not?"

She stripped off a glove and brandished her bare hand at him, stepping closer and bringing it up near his face. "This is why not."

Logan held her gaze and turned his head, pressing a fleeting kiss to the palm of her hand. He felt the frission of her power starting to lick at him, but pulled away in time. "I'm not scared of you," he repeated.

Her eyes shone brightly, one tear spilling over and tracking down her cheek. Logan groaned when her hand landed on his erection. She squeezed him and lifted her eyebrows at him. "You sure about that?"

"Yes," he answered roughly, panting a little as she worked him through his jeans. "I can think of a half-dozen ways around your mutation, Marie, and that's without putting much effort into it."

Her hand left him, and he felt oddly bereft, growling a little. She tilted her head. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Oh, really," he ground out, trying very hard not to get angry. Because he'd just figured out that he wanted this, and he'd be damned if he'd let her dismiss it out of fear. "And why's that?"

"We're friends," she answered immediately. "And it took me a long time to get over my fascination with you the first time."

Logan considered her point for a moment, then shrugged. "What makes you think you'll have to get over me?"

At that, Marie burst out laughing, her anger and disappointment replaced, for the moment, with mirth. "Oh, come on, Logan," she managed. "It took you three years to start calling this place home, and you *still* leave every couple of months."

He crossed his arms and frowned at her. "I always come back."

She snorted derisively. "Jean's here. Of course you do."

She was serious. She really thought he came back here to lust after Jean from afar. That really pissed him off. "Jean," he answered sharply, "is happily married and has two children."

Marie shrugged, her amusement fading. "So? She was engaged when you met her. That didn't seem to matter to you."

Logan shifted uncomfortably. He hated having to explain himself, having to put complicated things into words. He almost wished she'd just touch him and feel it for herself. "She's a beautiful woman, Marie."

"Nice, Logan." She rolled her eyes. "Talking about how beautiful another woman is generally isn't the best way to score points with the woman you're trying to fuck."

Logan flinched. "Don't say that."

"What?"

"I'm not just trying to fuck you, Marie."

"Then what are you trying to do?" She looked so bewildered that Logan had to resist the temptation to break something. Frustration and lust were not a good combination, and he wasn't a particularly communicative man in the calmest of situations. But still -- could she really not get it?

Logan flung his arms out, indicating the mansion. "Why the hell do you think I always come back, Marie? For the food?"

He knew the moment his meaning registered, because she started to shake her head slowly and back away from him. "I don't know what--"

"Yes," he interrupted fiercely. "You do."

"No," she said, but she sounded uncertain. Wide eyes studied him carefully, staring at him like she wished she could crack him open and look inside.

He nodded slowly, reaching for her gloved hand. "Yes."

She held his gaze, and he could see the indecision in her expression. She seemed to want to believe him, but he knew he'd never given her any indication before tonight that he wanted her. He'd never let *himself* understand that he wanted her before tonight.

He really could be an idiot sometimes.

After a moment, she started to grin. "Really?" she said, and the whisper of hope in her voice nearly broke him.

His pretend indifference must have been pretty convincing. He let an answering smile steal across his face, trying to let his defenses down enough for her to see what he felt, to see *him.* "Really," he answered.

She shook her head, still smiling, then she planted both hands in the middle of his chest and shoved him as hard as she could. "You moron!"

Logan tripped over a stool and landed awkwardly on the couch. "Hey," he protested. Before he could recover, though, Marie was climbing into his lap, one knee on either side of his hips, and his desire to get up disappeared. His hands went instinctively to her waist, and she gripped his chin with gloved fingers. "Why tonight?" she demanded.

He smirked up at her. "Well, since you brought it up," he shrugged, "seemed appropriate."

Marie rolled her eyes, but she couldn't seem to stop smiling. "Jackass," she answered.

"Whatever," he answered, impatient to get to the good stuff now that she'd agreed. "Please tell me you're not terribly attached to that scarf."

Instinctively, Marie's hands went to her throat, fingering the silky material. A slow, knowing grin slid across her face. "Not in the slightest," she answered, tugging the simple knot free.

"Thank God," he muttered, reached up to slide the material from her neck. He glanced up and was momentarily mesmerized by the desire in her eyes, the impatience in her expression. She'd always been open, easy to read, but tonight -- the passion in her gaze was disarming.

Then Marie's fingers tangled with his, pulling the scarf from him. "Would you kiss me, already?" she demanded.

He grabbed the scarf back from her, cupping her jaw so the material lay slack across her mouth. "With pleasure," he muttered, pulling her down, meeting her halfway. Their lips collided, the silk shifting between them as he eased away and kissed her again, opening her mouth with his tongue.

It was an incredibly odd sensation, kissing through the scarf. He could taste silk and the slight tang of her sweat, and then her, just... her. And he couldn't concentrate on the scarf anymore, not when she was kissing him with such eagerness, her hands curling into his shirt.

When the urge to explore her body became too much, he turned, laying her down along the length of the couch, swallowing her amused noise because he couldn't possibly tear his mouth from hers. Her fingers slid down his chest, followed his ribs around to his back, trailed down to his waist, and then he could feel her leather gloves on his skin.

Logan dropped the edges of the scarf, shifting himself up so his weight rested on one elbow and his free hand had access to that luscious body of hers.

"Mmmmmm," she moaned, arching into his touch as his bare fingers traced her collarbone through her shirt. "Logan."

He managed to pull himself away from her, tugging the scarf from her face with every intention of slowing things down. This was her first time, and he wanted to make sure it was romantic and special and all that crap.

Then her lust-filled eyes opened and he utterly lost his train of thought. One leather-covered hand snuck down the back of his jeans to cup his ass and yank him against her.

Logan groaned. "Wait. Marie, we--"

"No," she interrupted firmly, licking her lips. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for this?"

He was pretty sure he had a logical argument to make, but she arched her back, pressing those amazing breasts of hers into his chest, and for the life of him he couldn't remember what he was supposed to say. "Slower," he suggested a little breathlessly.

"Not even a little bit," she shot back, grinning up at him, her hair spilling over the edge of the couch. Looking down at her, Logan knew he'd never be able to sit in the library again without seeing this image.

The library. Shit. They were in the goddamned--

Marie's hands fumbled at his belt buckle, and Logan tried to remember what he'd been worried about. "Marie," he said, putting one hand over hers.

She gave him an annoyed look. "What?"

"Did you lock the door?"

It took her a moment to understand what he was asking, then she glanced reflexively towards the entrance to the library, a small frown in place. "I think so."

Logan groaned. "You *think*?" He really didn't want to do this with an audience.

Marie gave an unconcerned shrug. "Do you really care right now?"

Torn, Logan looked from the door to the woman lying beneath him. Did he really want to get up and walk away from this, even for a minute? "No," he decided.

She grinned up at him. "But some telekinesis would be great right about now."

Logan decided that she was entirely too composed, and he half sat up and tugged at the hemline of her shirt. "Off," he commanded.

Laughing, Marie obediently lifted her arms, and Logan tossed the shirt somewhere away from him. Dark green satin and creamy white skin. Deadly skin, he reminded himself, no matter how delectable it looked. And what the hell had he been thinking not wearing gloves to sit in the library to read? He wanted his hands on her skin.

"God," he breathed, leaning down to lick her nipple through her bra, savoring her gasp. "You're gorgeous, Marie."

She shivered beneath him as he applied himself to his task, one small hand moving to grip the top of the couch to help her hold still. "You're not so bad yourself," she managed, but her voice was unusually high and breathy, and Logan smiled against her breast. That was more like it.

He skimmed his tongue along the edge of her bra, wet heat on her bare skin, and then concentrated his considerable talents on her nipple until she was clutching helplessly at his back.

Settling the scarf over her abdomen, he slid down her body, kissing and licking the skin through a fine layer of silk. Marie trembled beneath his ministrations, her hands landing on his shoulders. He ran his hands down those legs of hers, squeezing and rubbing through her jeans.

Sitting up between her legs, Logan reached for the button of her jeans and arched an eyebrow at her. "Fast enough for you?" he asked.

Marie met his gaze with a saucy little grin. "Not quite," she said, her voice shaking as she lifted her hips for him to tug her jeans off. "I want you inside of me."

At her words, Logan's fingers convulsed around fistfuls of denim, and he was painfully, uncomfortably hard inside his own jeans. He tugged and then her long, bare legs were splayed before him, and he was very, very close to reaching for her, deadly skin be damned.

He met her gaze and was momentarily floored by her trust. Her nightmare was hurting someone with her skin and having to deal with more chaos in her head. Yet there she was, trusting him enough to lie almost naked before him. He let his gaze rake down her body, taking in the quick rise and fall of her chest, the impatient shift of her hips, the--

Logan watched, wide-eyed, as one gloved hand trailed lazily up the inside of her pale thigh, touching her the way he couldn't without gloves.

"Lose your shirt, Logan," Marie ordered.

He blinked, trying to remember English. Shirt. Off. Right. He shrugged out of his flannel, pulled his t-shirt over his head, and tossed both away from him. Gloved hands landed on his chest, trailing smooth leather so softly that he shuddered under her touch. His gaze roamed the newly uncovered expanse of pale skin, the silky green panties, the translucent scarf draped over her torso.

Logan tugged out his wallet, fumbling through it for a condom, which Marie seemed to find quite amusing. He spared her a quick glare, but she only laughed harder and tugged on his belt. She undid the oversized buckle and slid the leather out of the loops, tossing it over her head with a small smirk. Then she reached for his fly.

Biting his lip, his fingers clenched around the leather wallet with a ridiculously strong grip, he forced himself to hold still while she unbuttoned his pants and reached into his boxers to free him.

Leather-covered fingers on his cock.

God. Logan ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth, no longer trusting his fingers to work properly. Not while she was exploring his length with eager little hands. She squeezed and tugged and stroked until he was clenching his jaw in an effort to hold back.

"Stop it," he ground out, yanking her hand from him. He met her smug gaze and dragged in an unsteady breath. Control. You have to have some control, he reminded himself. Slowly, he brought her gloved hand to the back of the couch and wrapped her fingers around the top. "Hold on," he ordered, flashing a smug grin of his own when her breath caught.

Carefully, carefully, he leaned over, bringing his face very, very close to hers. "Open your legs for me, darlin'," he murmured. "And hold real still." He leaned in and kissed her, hard and fast on the lips. Slightly lightheaded from the tingle of her powers, he sat back in the space between her legs, his gaze sliding up one pale, trembling thigh to her center. "Good girl," he encouraged, smirking when her wide-eyed gaze followed his bare hand down to her panties.

With the first touch, she nearly levitated off the couch, her back arching up, which did very impressive things for her breasts. Logan pressed his fingers against her, rubbing slowly, gently against her clit, thin silk the only barrier between his hand and her wet heat.

"Logan," she whimpered, her eyes drifting shut. "Logan--"

"I know, baby," he said, his gaze fixed on her face. He sped his motions, moving in time to the lift of her hips, to her gasps. When she bit her lip and pressed herself against his fingers, he pulled his hand away with no small measure of reluctance, sliding it up to the scarf on her torso, smoothing patterns on her abdomen.

Her eyes flew open. "What are you doing?" she demanded, disgruntled and frowning up at him.

Logan grinned. "Thought you wanted me inside you, darlin'."

She shuddered under his hand. "Oh, good plan," she said, nodding enthusiastically and moving to sit up.

He planted his palm just below her breasts, right at the edge of the scarf, and held her in place. Then he slid an appreciative hand up over her bra. "You really are gorgeous, Marie."

She shifted impatiently, still balancing on the edge of orgasm. "Logan," she reproached. "C'mon."

He bit back a snicker and squeezed her nipple. Lifting his hand from her, he rolled the nearly forgotten condom onto his length, a move she watched with open interest. He wasn't a bashful man, especially not when it came to sex, so he sat still and let her look her fill. Even if his cock was sticking absurdly out of his boxers.

Blushing a little, she met his gaze and arched an eyebrow. "Nice."

"Thanks," he answered dryly. Then he lifted his right hand and slid out an inch of adamantium. "I need to make a little alteration," he said. "Hold still."

Her thighs were still trembling, but she managed to stay still long enough for him to slice through damp silk. Logan hitched his jeans up, making sure he was as covered as possible, because he really wanted her legs wrapped around him. He met her gaze. "I should put a shirt on."

"No," she said. "I want to see you. I'll --" She shifted, her legs opening further, and Logan had to remind himself not to drool. "I'll be careful."

He certainly wasn't going to argue with that. Logan nodded and shifted position, guiding his erection to her entrance. The scent of her arousal was nearly overwhelming, and he pressed into her slick depths, growling at her tight grip.

Marie arched a little, groaning at the feeling, and he lifted his upper body away from her, his weight on his hands. This was way too dangerous, way too many possible points of contact. His bare torso. Her bare legs. But hell if he could stop now, not with her body holding him so damn tight.

"You okay?" he panted, trying to hold still, to let her adjust.

"Wow," she said on an exhale, eyes wide and dark, dark brown. "I can feel you."

Logan groaned and rocked against her almost involuntarily. "Marie."

Marie wrapped her legs around him, her calves pressing against his thighs, urging him on. She met his gaze and gave him a brilliant smile. "Move that fine ass of yours, Logan," she ordered, grinding her hips against him.

Whatever fragments of control he had left abandoned him at that, and he began to move, pressing himself against her, thrusting into her, into *Marie.* He tried to angle himself so he would hit her clit, but he also had to keep himself away from her deadly skin. And why the fuck hadn't he brought his gloves so he could--

He stared, speechless, as Marie's small gloved hand slid down her body, reaching for her clit. He felt leather-covered fingertips brush against his cock and jerked hard into her body.

"God," Marie gasped.

He shifted his weight to one hand, got the other around her breast, working her nipple through the thin silk. The feel under his hand, around his cock, it was driving him closer and closer to the edge, but he'd be damned if he'd come first. "C'mon, baby," he urged, watching her hand on her clit, timing his movements to hers, filing what she liked away for the next round.

He slid out of her and pushed back in, rocking harder and harder against her, slamming her breath out of her with each thrust. Logan's gaze raked over her body, her pale skin, her white-on-black hair, her wide brown eyes, and every sound she made dragged him closer to orgasm. "C'mon," he said, an edge of desperation in his voice.

"Logan," she said, and it was almost a plea. She moved her head restlessly, her free hand clutching the back of the couch with serious force.

God, she was close. She was so, so close. "What do you need, baby?"

She shook her head, gave a wordless moan. Her eyes opened wide and she stared up at him. Their gazes locked, and it was so damn intimate. She lifted her hips and moved her hand, and then she was coming around him. And she never broke their gaze, even as her mouth opened and she arched up in ecstasy.

"Logan," she said, and he'd never heard his name said like that, with such wonder.

And he was gone, pulsing mindlessly into her, teeth clenched against the roar threatening to escape him. He stiffened, as deep inside of her as he could get, and he'd never come so hard in his life.

His arms were shaking, and he was two seconds away from collapsing on top of her when he remembered. Skin. Right. Deadly.

"Marie," he said, and he dropped down to his elbows, yanking a corner of the scarf up to cover her mouth so he could kiss her senseless. Her hands landed on his waist, digging in as a substitute for the hug he knew she desperately wanted to give him. "Hang on," he said, pulling back, pulling out of her with a groan.

He sat up and glanced around, locating his flannel shirt on the floor and scooping it up. His fingers were a little unsteady, but he managed to get it on and partially buttoned. Then he gave Marie a smile and reached for her hand to pull her up. "Move over, darlin'."

She obeyed with a languid ease, allowing him to collapse rather spectacularly onto his back before she curled up on his flannel-covered chest. One long, bare leg slid in between his. They were both still breathing pretty hard, and Logan's eyes drifted shut in post-coital bliss. Logan tried to remember why he'd ever considered Marie off-limits, but he couldn't concentrate what with all those curves pressed against him.

"You're right," Marie said after a while.

Logan jerked awake, wondering if he'd really just dozed off in the library with a half-naked Marie in his arms. "Huh?" he said stupidly.

Marie giggled against him and nipped at his chest. "I wanted sex," she clarified. "I just --"

Logan carefully moved his arm, encircling her back but keeping his bare hand on top of the scarf that was crumpled around her waist. "You didn't think I wanted it," he finished for her. Man, he really was just so stupid.

She nodded. "Yeah."

"I did," he admitted gruffly, deciding not to try to explain about his idiotic lines in the sand. He'd make a mess of it and manage to offend her, and then there'd be no more of this fabulous sex. And that was unacceptable.

"Moron," she muttered, but he could tell she was grinning.

"You rested up?" he asked.

She didn't answer right away, and he could perfectly picture the puzzled look on her face. "Rested up?"

Logan dropped a kiss to her hair. "Round two, darlin'." With that, she started to giggle in earnest, her lush body shaking against his. Logan bit back a groan. "What, you didn't think we were done, did you?"

"God, I hope not," she said with such feeling that he tightened his arms around her. This thing with Marie, it felt -- it felt good. Real good.

"Look at me," Logan requested.

Marie seemed reluctant, but complied, meeting his gaze with a wary expression.

Logan cursed himself yet again for his lack of gloves. He wanted to touch her lips, to caress her cheek, but settled for tangling his fingers in that white streak of hers. "I won't ever be done," he told her seriously. He wasn't good at this declaration crap, but he had to make sure she understood this wasn't just about sex. "You get it?"

Her smile was genuine and, to be honest, quite breathtaking. "I get it," she answered warmly. "I won't ever be done, either."

Uncomfortable with the seriousness of the moment, Logan lifted his eyebrows at her. "Good to know. That mean you got a body suit anywhere we can experiment with?"

A slight flush stole across her pale skin, and Logan was amused to see it extended all the way down her torso. "Experiment?" she echoed, just a little breathlessly.

"Yeah," he answered. "Something real thin, 'cause I want to do some serious exploring and you're gonna want to feel it when I do."

Marie shivered in his arms -- and damn if he wasn't starting to seriously enjoy making her squirm -- and slid one gloved hand under his shirt to trace patterns low on his abdomen. "We're gonna need to get you something like that, too," she said, her tone low and suggestive as her hand creeped lower.

Logan's muscles jumped under her fingers. He was paying so little attention to her words that he very nearly agreed. But a body suit? The Wolverine? Some lines were never meant to be crossed. Ever.

"Hell, no," he decided, moving to sit up. "C'mon."

Laughing, Marie reached for her jeans. "Where are we going?"

With a sigh of mock impatience, Logan answered, "To bed."

THE END