She lay on her bed, whimpering and panting, fingers still glistening from her own juices. It wasn't enough. No matter what she did, she couldn't put out the fire burning inside of her. Ever since Logan had touched her at the Statue Of Liberty she had felt like something was missing. After getting the cure that feeling had turned to a need. She needed him, needed Logan. Needed him to take away the ache that twisted the pit of her stomach, made her muscles quiver and core dripping wet.
He lay on his bed, sheets tangled around his torso, staring at the roof and trying to block out images of her. Dream had come to him again. And in that dream she had come to him again, small fingers, skin like silk wrapping around his erection. Ever since he had touched Marie at the Statue Of Liberty there had been some kind of connection between them, a deeper understanding of one and other. Nobody had gotten that close of him before during his remembered life, and now he couldn't get her out of his mind.
It was worse during the nights, when all she had to accompany her were her own dreams and thoughts, but it wasn't much easier during daytime. At night she had only her imagination, only a picture of him in her mind. During days she would see him, talk with him and train with him. It was pure hell. To touch, to smell, to feel his touch, always so innocent and proper when all she wanted to do was to tear off his clothes and fuck him until they were both too tired and numb to move.
He would have taken any hell, any torture mankind had to offer instead of hanging out with her. Touchable little vixen, lusting after him. Thick scent of their arousals clouding his mind all day long. Their training sessions were more a test to his self-restraint than to build up her skills and strength. More than once he had had to end the scenario in Danger Room and leave before he threw her down and took her then and there.
It wasn't proper. She was a student. He was a teacher. She was supposedly getting over with the break of her long-term relationship with a boy of her age. He was supposedly getting over with the death of the love of his life.
She lay on her bed, eyes closed and knees bent, fingers rubbing her clit and dipping inside of her hot core. Imagining him there with her. His fingers and lips on her, rubbing and nibbling. Tongue laving over her most sensitive parts. She came with a frustrated cry, tears streaming down her temples. It wasn't nearly enough.
He bolted from his bed snorting from disgust. He was still shivering, stomach and chest smeared with ejaculate. Sheets and pillow were soaked with sweat. Another dream of her. This time it had kept him in its clutches all the way through. Through every possible and impossible position until he was coming, buried to the hilt inside of her. That dream would haunt him for a long time.
Leather clad skin met leather clad skin. Limbs grabbling and tangling, breath hitching. Low murmured curses. Muscles straining. Either of them had been this aggressive before. To the outside observer it looked almost like they were honestly trying to kill each other.
It was a twisted version of foreplay. When scenario ended they were exhausted, sweaty and too wound up to move. They lay on the cold concrete floor side by side, trying to calm down. She sat up slowly and couldn't prevent soft moan that escaped from her lips when movement caused the suit she wore tighten between her legs, pressing against over-sensitized flesh. His hips bucked upon hearing that sound. He covered it by sitting up, too.
"Come on. Can't go hogging this joint all day," he said, standing up and offering his hand to her.
At the locker room door they both hesitated for a moment. Two doors. One marked as 'ladies', other 'men'. Hands hovering over doorknobs, gazes brushing against each other fast.
She wanted to go after him. Just walk in, plaster her body against his. Slickness between her thighs had nothing to do with warm water cascading over her. But it had everything to do with him. Everything to do with the way his hips had grind against hers when he had her pinned under him in the Danger Room. Everything to do with the way his eyes had raked over her body when they parted at the locker room doors.
He could smell the scent of her arousal. It clung to his senses long after doors between them had closed. He could hear the sound of the shower from the other side of the wall. He could imagine her in there, skin glistening, dripping wet and hot. He was getting sick of it. Sick of the throbbing ache at the pit of his stomach.
Another night. Another dream. She was panting and rubbing her nipples, pinching them hard between her fingers. In her dream he had finally taken her, huge cock stretching her open, ridding her from her virginity and giving her the release and feeling of peace she was craving. After it she had woken up, hot and bothered, ready to go, ready to blow apart, and he wasn't there. She was alone.
He wanted it. Wanted to tell her, to show her. Go to her room and take her every possible and impossible way. Make her his. Feel her around him, taking him in, making him hers. He wanted it so bad it was slowly driving him insane. He hadn't even bothered to open his bed. He was pacing restlessly between window and door to the foyer. Only two doors unlocked separating them.
They were in the garage, fixing his bike when tension finally snapped.
She dropped a bolt she was handing to him, and bend down to get it. It scurried away from her, under the workbench, and she had to lean lower to reach it. Hard, greasy hands clasped to her hips and pulled her back up, against hot and heaving chest. Bolt forgotten she brought her hands up, pulling his head to her neck and grinding her buttocks against his crotch. He growled and spun her around, hoisting her up and plunking her to the workbench. Her legs wound up around his waist, his hands tangling to her hair and pulling her face closer to his.
"Lets fuck," he whispered harshly.
She didn't have the time to answer. He took her lips with his own, devouring her mouth, tongue prodding her lips, demanding an entrance. She let out a muffled gasp, granting it to him. She was already melting; hot, sticky pool wetting her pants. She could hear loud clatter of tools when he swiped the bench clear from behind her without interrupting their kiss.
He broke the kiss with a loud groan, hooded eyes scanning her reaction. Cheeks flushed, lips already swollen. Almost desperate need and wanting making her eyes glitter.
"Lay down." She obeyed. He took off her pants; admiring the view her splayed thighs granted him. Slick folds waiting for only him, waiting for his touch. She squirmed under his scrutiny, trying to reach him with her hands.
He would have wanted to take this slow. To learn to know her. To taste her. To hear every moan and whimper he could drag out from her. There was no time for that now. That would have to wait until later when they weren't this horny. He opened his jeans and let the fabric pool around his knees. Cold air of the garage made him shiver, but he knew he would be warm and comfortable soon enough. He pulled her closer to the edge of the workbench.
She grasped his wrists. His hands were still holding her hips and he just stood there, his cock brushing against her wet curls. He leaned over her, placing a soft kiss to her forehead. One hand left her hips and curled with hers, their fingers lacing together.
"Scream if you have to." Then time of words and gentleness was over.
He sheathed his cock to her with swift stroke, breaking through her barrier. She was so slick and hot she barely felt the small twinge from his intrusion, and then she was full. So blessedly full and whole it took her breath away. She could only stare at him, admire the liquid fire in his eyes. His brows knit together and he pinched his eyes closed, lips turning to a grimace.
She fit with him snuggly, like a glove. Hot, silky passage wrapping around him, small hint of blood assaulting his senses, stroking the fire inside of him. He stopped for a moment; just the feel of her muscles working around his shaft was almost enough to push him over the edge. His knees were trembling. He wanted to lie down. He felt dizzy. At the same time he wanted to take her hard, make her scream his name when she came.
She whimpered from disappointment when Logan suddenly pulled out from her and took a step back.
"Turn around. On your hands and knees." It was hard to follow his instructions. She had almost no strength left in her arms, but she did as he told her to do. Almost instantly she was rewarded when she felt his tongue sweeping over her swollen folds, probing little deeper and finding her clit. Then it was over. She could hear him shifting behind her and felt his hands on her waist. He was tugging her down. Down from the bench.
"Somebody's coming," he said, fastening his jeans and handing her pants.
They didn't stay to see who the intruder was. They fled through the back door of the garage. Garden was silent around them when they staggered towards the mansion.
"Your room or mine?" Logan asked at the grand hall. She couldn't make the decision. He scooped her to his arms and kissed her.
"Mine's okay?" He asked, walking up the stairs. She nodded, rubbing her thighs together. Short walk had only intensified the need she had.
At his room they shed their clothes fast. Fabric was only a nuisance; either of them needed slow and gentle foreplay of undressing each other. Task completed he pushed her to his bed and crawled between her knees. Sight of her slick, slightly reddened sex made his cock weep. He crawled higher and pushed back in, both of them moaning in unison. Two pieces of puzzle. And he had no intentions to get out of her anytime soon.
He was hard and smooth, sliding in and out of her, thick head of his cock grinding against her cervix with every stroke. He started slowly, but quickened the pace and force of his thrusts soon, making her cry out and dig her nails to his shoulders. It was good. It was pain. It was lust. It was pleasure. It was exactly what she needed, what she had craved for. He pulled out again, only to turn her over, and pushed back in from behind.
He got even deeper this way, pushing in and grinding his hips against her. He had to bite her shoulder to stifle a groan. She pushed against him, begging him to go harder. She would wake up bruised next morning, but they were both past caring, and he grabbed her waist, to get a better leverage before pounding in to her again. Small jolts of pleasure made muscles in his lower abdomen cramp, and he knew it wouldn't take much to tip him over the edge. From the sounds Marie was making he guessed she wasn't far from coming either.
"Stop… Stop!" He stilled his movements and allowed her to turn on her back again. She smiled a little, pulling him back on top of her.
"It was a little too much…" She whispered, wincing a bit when he sunk in to her again.
"Okay…" he managed to grunt when suddenly her inner muscles convulsed around him forcefully. His buttocks clenched and almost painful release tore through him.
"Christ…" His hips bucked against her instinctively. She was still panting and gasping from her own orgasm, legs anchored around his waist, hands clutched against his chest.
He laid on top of her, limp cock still inside of her. They were too tired to move. He reached for a blanket from the floor and spread it over them little awkwardly with one hand. She sighed, closed her eyes and wrapped her hands around him, snuggling her face to the crook of his neck. He let her steady breathing lull him to slumber.