“Marie,” Logan repeated, inhaling deeply, every exhale carrying a hint of a growl. He needed to stop that, or she was going to realize something was wrong with him. But that scent—it did things to him.
And it was only getting worse—or better—even more attractive as she truly relaxed for the first time since he’d met her. That bitter edge of fear and anxiety melted away, leaving behind only her own natural, indefinable smell, the one his instincts identified as perfect, right, sexy—meant for him. Just for him. His territorial urges were going haywire. Knuckles itching, he bit back another growl.
‘Rhapsody in Blue’ came on, and he continued to sway, holding her by the waist and rubbing her against his aching erection as subtly as he could. “Marie. That’s . . . pretty.” Something inside him was breaking. “That’s . . . Oh, God, I fucked up, didn’t I?”
“No, no, please, this is good. Don’t stop. I’ll make it better for you—“ she rolled her body against him expertly.
Logan felt sick. He stilled the movement of her hips. “No, honey, it’s okay. This is good. I meant before. I fucked up before. I didn’t—I made you—this is all I wanted,” he lied, holding her gently, not even dancing anymore. Or perhaps it wasn’t a lie. This was all he wanted, a connection with her, even if he’d gone about it all wrong. Unable to meet her eyes, he spoke into her hair. “This is all I really want, just to be with you, just like this. I was trying to ask you to come back to my hotel, in the parking lot at the restaurant. But I thought you’d say no.” His sigh of frustration came out as a growl. “Then I saw you at the club and—“
“It’s easier to ask a stripper,” she said without any discernable emotion. “Then it’s just a transaction. I understand.”
Logan bristled at that. Mainly because she was right. He held her tighter, half-expecting her to struggle against him. But she didn’t, and somewhere inside he felt a deep, primal satisfaction at her compliance, her acceptance of him. He didn’t know why, but it would have hurt so much if she had rejected him, then or now.
I was afraid, he thought.
“I was an asshole,” he said.
“No,” she said firmly, still trapped against his chest. Her hands moved over the back of his neck, gently massaging his tense muscles. “No, you weren’t at all, and . . . well, the fact that ya think you’re an asshole just proves even more that you’re not.” She laughed softly.
“Hmph.”
“Logan,” she said kindly, pulling back just enough to touch his face. “I’m . . . glad I’m here with you. I’m not gonna lie; I’m so tired, I was thinkin’ about just—“ her gaze dropped to the floor, “—just killin’ myself tonight. Lettin’ myself freeze or somethin’. Just lettin’ go. I’m so glad I’m here with you, ‘cause I don’t think I coulda gone in there and danced in front of all those guys again. I just don’t think I coulda done it.”
“Marie—“
“Lemme . . . lemme finish.” She continued running her hands along his cheekbones and jawline, almost reverently. “I dunno if I believe in God, but if I did, I’d think he sent you to me tonight. I’d think he sent me a guardian angel, just for one night. That’s what I was thinkin’ about when ya stayed with me in the restaurant. That’s what I let myself believe.”
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000