9 – Another Point of View
No one could say he didn't go after what he wanted. That's for damn sure. He'd always lived his life to please himself. When he wanted something, or someone, he didn't hesitate to go after it, or her.
Jean had been no exception, much to Scooter's annoyance. But he found himself stumbling over what to do day in and day out where it concerned Marie. When he wanted to fight, he grabbed a bike and rode to the nearest cage-fighting arena, even if it took three hours to get there.
Shit, if he wanted the remote control to watch a hockey game while the brats were watching some ridiculous musical about high school, all he had to do was bark out a commanding “Move!” and he was presented with an entire room to himself.
Marie had always thought it cute. CUTE! She'd saunter in behind scrambling students, watching them run for their lives and would softly laugh before plunking herself down next to him and cracking open an ice-cold beer, completely uncaring she wasn't of age. That was his girl.
And when exactly he'd starting calling her his girl in his head was beyond him. He'd found himself, over the past several months, starting to watch her. The way she moved, the way she smelled, the way she fought, the way she handled the students, the way she looked at him...he watched and it had become impossible to stop. He'd bought her that gift and he'd been surprised how much he cared what she thought of it.
When it hadn't gone the way he'd planned, he'd had to seriously re-evaluate his own point of view on her. She wasn't a kid on the side of the road anymore, struggling to prove she could take on the world. She'd grown up and learned she didn't have to prove herself to anyone. She was vibrant, kind, humorous, sassy...and fuckin’ the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And hadn't that thought thrown him for a fuckin' loop.
Where was he supposed to go from there? He was still busy trying to protect her like she was some kid while at the same time getting embarrassingly hard around her. He'd thrown up a couple of prayers of gratitude during those times that she'd made it to nineteen before he started fantasizing about her in bed, brown and platinum hair swinging down her pale naked back while she moved up and down against him, head fallen back in ecstasy. If she'd had any kind of decent father, the man would have had good reason to run him through.
And that ate at him more than anything else. It had been hard enough knowing she'd been cast out the way she had, like a damn leper. But he'd stopped at that when he'd gone through her records, unable to read on. Then she'd decided to fuckin' go and open-up to everyone like some kind of grown-up and dump his worst nightmare on him.
He'd almost grunted in satisfaction when she'd confessed to downing those three bigoted nurses. He could see from the look on her face there was more to that story but he had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn't be flattering to her -- in their eyes, not his. And then she'd grazed by the story about the kiddie-diddling pervert and dealer with no balls and he'd just about lost his mind.
So there he was, torturing himself about wanting this girl who'd been treated like the worst kind of street trash for the better part of a year, who deserved better than him, almost convincing himself to not touch and she had the nerve to go and pull off some spectacular missions and first-rate ass-kickings. She was making it fuckin' impossible not to want her.
On top of everything else, fucking Gumbo showed up and on the very first fuckin' day in the same room with her, the stench of his arousal spiked so high Logan thought he'd been brought here to do nothing but stud. It just about sent him through the roof.
He'd never considered him a threat, but his feral side had wanted to stick his adamantium claws straight through his gut and growl into his ear the word mine. But she'd taken his antics in stride and never paid him attention, even after the little Cajun shrimp had put his Goddamned hands on her and gotten himself a healthy dose of Marie's powers.
And when, after a long drawn-out fight, she and the girls had come across the reenactment of fucking Auschwitz, she'd kept it together long enough to get Kitty back to the jet. She'd kept it together enough to lead them back to the pit, to get back to the mansion, give a full detailed report and not lose it 'till she got to the privacy of her own room. He'd never been fuckin' prouder of her; Or more in love with her.
He'd almost spilled the beans that next morning. When she'd woken up smelling like him and looking like she'd just rolled out of his bed after a very satisfying night, he'd wanted to tell her right then. But it would have been tainted. The previous night’s events had made the mood taut and he hadn't wanted it to be that way with her when he showed her. And he'd fully intended to show her.
Which is when he'd really started losing ground. 'Cause he couldn't be within twenty feet of her without her scent making his jeans unpleasantly uncomfortable. He'd tried. God, he'd tried. A few times, he thought he'd had it together. He would sit with her, they'd chat, she'd smile, he'd almost flirt and then she had to go and smell even more mouth-watering than she already did. Fuck!
'Cause he couldn't fucking handle any more sparring exercises with her. Her scent was always enhanced when she worked out and he always walked away in pain and not from her kicking his ass. She'd unavoidably rub up against him and he'd get hard. How was he supposed to get anywhere with her if he was going to act like a Goddamn teenager every time he was around her?
That's when he'd come up with the idea of training the three younger X-women together. It helped with the tension in the room and he'd actually thought it a good idea to teach them how to deal with men double their size. Problem solved, right? Wrong.
Jubilee had risked her life a couple times, making far-too-accurate speculations about his predicament. It wasn't too long before she was outright telling him he was fuckin' up. But he was Wolverine and he did things his own way and he always got what he wanted. Except this time.
He started noticing the Cajun sniffin' around her again. And this time, she seemed more open to the idea. They actually spent time together and he made her laugh, which just about killed Logan to see. He started to feel irate and insecure and fuckin’ possessive. He'd watch them together and want to drag her away to his room and teach her what it felt like to be touched. But instead he sat back in silent rage and watched her smile for the damn Cajun. He had thought he could handle it.
Until the fuckin' dickhead put his hands all over her during a ridiculous excuse for a sparring session.
XXX
“What's it matter to you what I let him do with his hands, Logan?”
He turned to her and felt the last edge of restraint snap. She needed to fuckin' know. He reached for her and couldn't help wanting to trap her to him. In moments, he had her pushed up against a wall with his body and he could just fuckin' feel every last curve of her.
“Because I'm the only fuckin' man who should be touchin' you like that.”
Mine! he thought wildly.
Her shocked gaze registered his words and suddenly -- Shit! -- he could smell her body react to him. His stomach coiled burning hot and he tightened his grip on her hips. Her scent was intoxicating and inside he roared in triumph. He turned his head and slowly swooped down, wanting to taste her mouth, wanting to drink her in. She wanted him!
“Don't,” she whispered.
Or not. He stopped his movement but didn't pull away. He brought his eyes up from her lips to her suddenly terrified eyes.
“My skin...” she added. And he could breathe again.
“Was never a problem...” he finished. He could see his words affect her. A blush slowly made its way up her neck and across her cheeks and he wanted to know just how far down it actually went.
“Marie...” It came out as a growl and wasn't it enticing the way she shivered at the sound of his voice.
“Let me touch you,” he begged.
He brought his thumbs up to gently rub over the cotton of her long-sleeved shirt. She caught her breath. He smiled inwardly and continued to trace small circles against her abdomen, feeling her muscles contract at his touch.
“I wish you could.”
She was so quiet and he could hear in her voice how much she meant what she'd said. He didn't have gloves on and he didn't want any accidents the first time he managed to get her like this.
But he wanted to touch her lips with the pad of his thumb, wanted to stroke her face and bury himself in her hair and then...the fuckin' phone rang.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
OK. Next Chapter is up and running. Aaaand it's in Logan's POV! Isn't that incredible? I think so. what could he be thinkin'?
Chapter End Notes:
So hot hot hot! And if you like...Review, review, review! Or I feel sad.