Even though he sat at the bar with his back to the door, he knew the moment she walked in. His nostrils flared as he caught the scent of lilacs and honey mixed with her own, tempting fragrance. He was strong, though. He didn't have to turn, didn't have to watch her saunter across the room with her friends, hips swaying as if in time with the song blaring from the speakers above his head. His head apparently felt differently, however, since it turned of its own volition, eyes seeking out the slim figure, the soft curves in all the right places.

He swallowed convulsively and took a long pull at his beer. It was his fifth, not that it mattered. His mutation made pretty quick work of metabolizing alcohol. He wasn't even buzzed yet. So why was he getting light-headed? He felt a shiver run through him as he took in her short black skirt and tiny green tank top with thin straps barely holding it on.

Dammit, she wasn't supposed to wear shit like that! She was way too young for that outfit or the black stiletto heels, the tousled curls that made it look as if she'd just gotten out of bed, or the smoky make-up that somehow gave the sweet innocent he thought he knew bedroom eyes, the kind that dared you to push her up against the headboard and—dammit, no! His hands clenched into fists of their own accord, and he barely kept the long, sharp claws hidden beneath the skin from popping out at the way the other men int the room were looking at her. The only thing that stopped him cold was the thought that popped into his head.

MINE!

Only she wasn't his. One deep, passion-filled kiss while she was drunk on the success of finally controlling her powers did not make her his, no matter what his instincts kept insisting. It didn't make him hers, either. A friendly kiss between...well, friends wasn't a sign of anything except how comfortable they were with each other. Even if it had involved tongue. For a second. Maybe five or ten. There was no need to go overboard, to assume that something was there that really wasn't.

“Rogue!” One of her friends was already at a booth, waving the small group over. Logan watched through narrowed eyes as the younger man grabbed her hand—her bare hand—and pulled her down into the booth, wrapping his arm around her in a hug that lasted a lot longer than Logan thought it should have. The moron was asking for a beating, even though he could tell from across the room that Rogue barely paid attention to the arm around her shoulders.

MINE!

No. No, she wasn't. She didn't think of him that way, and even though he knew she'd just passed her twenty-first birthday—hell, he'd provided the booze for the party—she was just too young. It wasn't right. He didn't even know how old he was. It would never work.

From across the room Logan saw a smile light up those dark brown eyes, her beautiful lips curving with the laughter he heard so easily despite the music. Then she turned, and those eyes were looking straight into his. Something about her smile changed as she stared at him. Her eyelids drooped just a little, masking her eyes ever so slightly, and the corners of her lips spread further with an expression that was practically feline. Was it the way she licked those lips slowly or the wink she gave him before turning back to her friends that did it? Either way, something inside him snapped.

Logan downed the rest of his beer and slammed the bottle down on the bar. He rose, incredibly grateful for whatever impulse caused him to open a tab tonight. Nodding to the bartender to indicate he was done for the night, he headed toward the booth that held Rogue and her friends. She glanced back in his direction, and her eyes widened when she noticed him approaching. Did she really think her flirting wouldn't come with consequences?

“Rogue, there's something I need to discuss with you,” Logan ground out once he reached them. Rogue's eyes dropped to the table for a moment, and she fiddled with the napkin in front of her.

Jubilee's voice broke in before Rogue had a chance to reply. “Aw, c'mon, Wolverine! We just sat down! Plus, it's Friday! Work doesn't apply for another two whole—” by that point Jubilee had actually turned around to look up at him, and she shut up pretty fast.

Rogue raised her eyes to Logan's and smiled slightly. “It's okay, Jubes. I'll be right back,” she said reassuringly as she slipped out of the booth to stand beside Logan. He caught her hand in his and began pulling her away.

As they left he could hear her friends speculating in the background. “Do you think it's the skirt?” “No, I'm betting on the top. Papa Logan doesn't want to see all that skin on Little Rogue.” Snickers all around.

They have no idea, Logan thought, dark humor filling his mind for a moment before his focus shifted back to Rogue. He led her through the bar until they reached the side door he'd been headed for. He shouldered the door open after a quick look at the bartender, who knew him and just winked.

The alley was quiet as they entered it. Just enough light penetrated from the street to see that it was reasonably clean. It helped that this was Westchester and not New York City. Logan dropped Rogue's hand and turned to face her. Step by slow, torturous step he moved forward and she moved back, until her back was pressed to the rough brick wall.

“You know you're not really going back in there, don't you, Marie?” Logan asked, placing his hands on the wall to either side of her face, trapping her.

Rogue's eyes, huge and dark, looked up at him. “I'm not?”

“No, you're going to be too busy for that,” Logan replied, his lips hovering over hers. Her scent changed slightly—not fear, arousal!

It was too much for the animal inside him howling MINE! NOW! This kiss was wilder, hotter than the one she'd given him earlier that day. That kiss had been all heat and excitement, it was true, but this was an inferno. Rogue stepped closer to him, twining her bare arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. His hands found the sweet curve of her ass, the smooth skin of her back. The little moans she made in the back of her throat drove him further until he was ready to push her skirt up right there, but thankfully he was able to latch onto a small piece of sanity and drag his lips from hers—by about a fraction of an inch.

“We are not doing this here, Marie,” he growled, although his hands, and other parts of him, told a different story.

“All right. We'll save that for another time,” Rogue said wickedly, sliding her hand down his chest to cup his erection through the denim of his jeans. “If you're sure you don't want to finish first.”

Logan groaned and pressed his cock against her briefly, reveling in and tortured by her hot, slender fingers. He dropped his arms, grabbed her hand once more, and hauled her toward his bike. This was going to be the longest six-minute drive of his life.

Rogue grinned as Logan mounted the motorcycle. She hopped on behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, allowing her hands to wander for a moment, inspecting, caressing. Logan's growl brought out a husky chuckle from her. She still hadn't recovered from the past few minutes, and she didn't intend to. The bike roared to life, and the vibrations between her legs made her shiver. Logan felt it, growled, and hit the gas as if his life depended on it.

They made it back to the mansion in three minutes. While that might have been a record, neither Rogue or Logan really cared. He stopped in front of the mansion's garage, clutched one of her wandering hands, and used it to yank her off the bike with him, up the stairs and through the back door. Rogue grinned at his urgency, although she certainly felt it too.

They broke another record getting to Logan's room, the door crashing shut behind them. Logan pressed her up against it, and just before his mouth descended on hers again she managed to get out, “Am I going to be spending a lot of time like this, sugar?”

His only answer was a snarl as his searing lips met hers. Rogue lost all ability for coherent thought at that point. She faintly heard the *snickt* of a claw being released, but the important thing was that at least one of his hands was doing a very thorough inspection of her breast through the silk of her shirt, and it was driving her almost as crazy as his mouth was. She squirmed against him, which apparently gave him the perfect opportunity to lift that claw and slash the side of her skirt from top to bottom. The flimsy piece of material didn't need any encouragement to drift to the ground, and then Logan's warm hand began exploring, smoothing over her ass cheek and then around the front to the tiny scrap of black silk that was her poor excuse for underwear. Rogue moaned as his fingers found her clit through the silky panties and twisted. Another *snickt* and the panties followed the skirt to the floor.

Rogue, with what was left of her mind, decided that it was completely unfair that she was half-naked and he was still fully clothed, so she called forth some of the strength she had once borrowed from him with her mutation and literally ripped his shirt off so that her hands could devour that delicious muscular chest, the rock-hard abs and—mmm, speaking of hard, hellooooo Logan! Rogue's busy hands snapped open his jeans and pushed them down his hips. There! Hah! He had less clothes on than she did...wait, no, there went her top. It didn't really matter because her hands were now full of Logan's cock and balls as she rubbed and fondled, desperate to feel every inch of him.

One of Logan's hands was still lodged between her thighs, playing with her clit, fingers sliding in and out of her now very wet pussy. The other hand left her breast after it ripped off her top, something that made her whimper demandingly, but before she could do much more than register the cooler air on her breast Logan's fingers had threaded through her hair, and he was pulling her head back. His lips traveled down her throat, burning kisses into her flesh, until he reached her shoulder and bit down—HARD!

“Oh, God, Logaaaan!” Rogue shouted as, between the bite and another twist of her clit, she exploded into a million teeny tiny pieces. “Please, Logan, please!” she begged, sobbing as she came.

“What do you want, darlin'?” he demanded, his hand still pulling her head back so that she arched against him.

Rogue moaned for a moment before answering. “Your cock! Please, Logan, I need you inside me!” she cried.

Somehow they were on the floor. Rogue had no idea how that had happened, but she didn't bother trying to think too hard about it because Logan's wonderful hand was now pushing her thighs apart. He ran his hands up her thighs, her sides and her arms before he captured her wrists above her head.

“You're mine, Marie,” he growled as he teased her pussy with the tip of his cock. “Say it!”

“I'm—oh, God, I'm yours, Logan! Yours, yours, yours! Just, please, I need you NOW!” she said, letting out a growl of her own so he'd know she was serious. The growl turned to a moan as he thrust inside of her and her hips rose to meet him. She wrapped her legs around his waist to take him deeper on the next thrust, and then nothing mattered except the feel of him sliding in and out of her pussy and the way his mouth claimed her again, his tongue mimicking what his cock was doing to her.

Rogue had no idea how long this lasted, but just as she was about to climax for the third—fourth? fifth?--time, Logan's pace increased, and he tore his mouth from hers only to shout her name. “God—Marie! Yes, baby, yes!” he yelled as he came, shuddering over and over again with his release. The feel of his cock pulsing inside of her sent Rogue over the edge a final time, and she added her own shouts to his. Logan collapsed on top of her, and they both spent an unknown amount of minutes trying to remember how to breath.

Rogue was just starting to feel able to maybe move her head, maybe a foot, when Logan stood, gathered her up and deposited her on the bed before flopping down next to her. They stared up at the ceiling, his head on her shoulder, her hand playing with his sweat-soaked hair.

“Damn, darlin', you're amazing, you know that?” he finally said.

“You're no slouch yourself, sugar,” Rogue replied with a grin. “This was definitely much better than Mr. Happy.”

Logan reared up and glared at her. “Who's Mr. Happy?” he snarled.

Rogue laughed. “Mr. Happy's the dildo Jubes bought me for my seventeenth birthday. She almost gave it to me in public, but I'd seen the bag and so ripped it out of her hands and ran up to our room before anyone could try and make me take off the wrapping. Mr. Happy has served very well for the past four years,” she told him dryly. “You're my first real, live experience, sugar.”

Logan's eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. “If I couldn't tell you were telling the truth, Marie...” he trailed off in wonder and then looked over at the floor where they had just screwed each other's brains out.

She laughed again. “I had a very active imagination, access to more porn than was probably good for a celibate girl in the form of first Jubes' and then my stash, and a dildo, Logan. I got about as much practice, if not more, just by pleasuring myself than most teenage girls manage to get from their boyfriends, who probably weren't able to get them off as well as I was able to make myself come,” she told him. She lifted a hand and trailed her fingers down his chest and then lower. “Hmmm...I think you like that idea,” she said mischievously.

“Darlin', you have no idea,” Logan said, leaning down to take her mouth yet again.

Much later, Rogue's sleepy voice whispered in the darkness, “You know, that was one of my favorite outfits.”

“Marie, anymore outfits like that and you'll kill me.”

“Don't worry, sugar. I only have about twenty similar skirts, and about forty tops that were just waiting for me to get control of this skin of mine.”

Another growl. It looked like Rogue wasn't going to sleep yet, after all.