It was wrong. It was very wrong. His eyes darkened nevertheless, to black. Something about her. Everything about her. He took a long drag from his cigarette, the burning end serving as a small orange indicator of his presence in the pitch black room. She hated the smell of his little calmers and often chastised him about smelling of the stench whenever he was around the children. Standing directly eye to eye with him in height. Those eyes.
After another long drag he blew the thick smoke out into the room, and it spread freely into the once clean atmosphere. Those eyes were something. The way they blazed in passion for the Professor's plans and vision, the way they flashed when she chastised him or calmed in natural sensuality when she sat idly, enjoying some fancy all natural herb African tea. Those sky blue eyes were too damn calm for his liking, though. She was too calm. But one thing he saw that no one did; they held raw sensuality. He smirked, and grunted a light scoff. She was an animal. It was easy to see. Against her beautiful chocolate brown skin, Those blue eyes held it all; the way she squinted in disbelief when she'd over hear him cursing out the little bastards, the way they flashed in the Danger Room, the way they calmed in quiet serenity when she sat still in that garden, and the way they lit up slightly when she greeted them. When she greeted him. Never did they look satisfied, never quenched of their unspoken thirst. She had a yin. But she was a goddess. It was only logical to hide her actual morality. He respected it.
Light grey smoke came pouring from his nose as he sat further into his seat, planting his thick, heavy boots firmly on the ground. He could hear her now, "Logan-" and some high and mighty crap about the "foul odor" and the "negative effects it has on the human brain" and so on. That voice was the only reason he listened to her light nagging with a low growl, and not an array of stubborn curses with a long, metal flick off followed by a view of his back. Its sultry, velvety tones called and manipulated the strongest winds, brought loud, bone marring lightening crashing with precision to a target, and commanded booming, ear bursting thunder. Along with its credentials, the effortlessly seductive voice kept the Wolverine physically in place as it nagged him about smoking. Very nice. He strained against his jeans and began gently throbbing, hearing that voice echo throughout the depths of his metal skull, relishing how it caressed every word with casual sensuality, and purred each sentence with unintentional seduction. Eyes closed, he leaned his head on the top of the seat. Oh yes, she was definitely restraining herself. She was a beast. She had a beast. A monster within. The calm of her thick, velvety tones also did nothing to counter what he knew; if anything his knowledge was reinforced. To hear that voice moan would have to be a treat, and to hear it climax his name would have to be Christmas.
Flicking his second cigarette bud to the side of the bed and pulling out another, he began growling. The throbbing was increasing. This was her fault. One hundred percent. For presenting herself as the forbidden fruit, a delectable luxurious fruit that would send all senses to a blind, pleasured frenzy. He lit his cigarette and hurriedly took another drag. Sighing more smoke, he thought again that this was all her fault. Tonight, she, Jeanie, and Cyclocke were heading to some exclusive club for mutants that had opened about a week ago. The other two looked good, but she had stolen the show. The usually so conservative goddess strolled down the stairs in a cerulean dress that emphasized those piercing eyes and slid against her breathtaking frame of full chest, small waist, and round hips.
The long sleeves also clung to her toned, slender arms, and the V neckline plunged Mid-torso, revealing the beginning of her toned abs and cleavage that on her seemed both classy and vulgar. It was a dress that would look regular on the less endowed, and Cycloche bought it for her friend, figuring she would fill it out nicely, without bursting through.
With a stroke of luck, she was correct. Her good friend strided through the astonished expressions with effortlessly erotic grace. He had to catch his cigarette from falling to the floor, and leaned into the wall unabashedly glazing his eyes up the long, toned shapely legs that proudly stood in heels and flexed slightly with each step. She cared nothing about being taller than everyone present, even ol' One Eye who gawked and then coughed into his fist awkwardly. The best thing was, she didn't mock humility or shyness when she was being gawked at by her friends, unlike the sweet red head Jeannie, but took it all in smooth stride.
"You all goin' ta some panzy strip club, eh?" his gravelly voice cut through the silence that surfaced while trying to suppress the itching in his knuckles. Scott chuckled, shaking his head. Jeannie smiled, placing her bag securely on her shoulder. "No, We are not going to a male strip club, Logan," she said as he heard the soft purring of the goddess's voice when Cycloche began placing lipstick with a light gloss on her lips; the white haired woman was gently protesting.
Logan looked down at his cigar, noting it was rapidly deteriorating, and got the other in his pocket ready. That hair was another thing. Pure, cloud white hair that contrasted greatly with deep, rich brown of her skin. It was long and incredibly thick, littered with curls and waves, and it stopped right before her waist, that toned, small indenting in her frame, began. He strained further against his jeans.
Her body, so toned and curvaceous, so luscious, so supple, so devilishly breathtaking and desirable. Lean, feminine muscle in her shapely legs. He sighed again, imagining the feeling of those thick, toned legs wrapping around his waist tightly as he thrust into her relentlessly. This was wrong. He blew more smoke from his mouth, and flicked the bud to his side before lighting another.
Those full breasts, flat muscle in her torso, toned chocolate arms, wrapped around his muscular neck. Her soft, slim fingers running through his wild hair, her beautiful blue eyes darkening as his vicious brown eyes would. How would that feel? He took a long drag of his cigarette. It would feel...nice. She was a beast, a goddess caging her own savage. That control. Would she try and dominate? And attempt to make him groan and growl as no woman has made him before? He needed to know.
He would. The window flew open just as he unzipped his jeans to allow his bulge to be freed. A light breeze encircled the room, and the goddess herself flew in gracefully, hair swirling around her shoulders, and then settled when she landed delicately on the ground.
With the dark blues, and bit of moonlight from the large window, he could only see the outline of her perfection. "Who are you?" she asked after taking a soft whiff off the atmosphere, "And what business have you in my room?"
Logan snickered, but didn't place himself back in his pants, "Thought ya'd know, darlin',"he responded remaining comfortably seated. She sighed and sat at the edge of her bed, taking her heels off and setting them nearly by the bed. He admired the arch in her back. "What do you need, Logan?" she asked. She was tired, and glistening slightly from soft perspiration. He licked his lips, putting out the cigarette with his fingers. The way she said his name made him want to make her say it again and again.
"I don't appreciate your smoking in here. If you needed to converse with me and smoke, I would have endured it better," she turned to him, "outside." Logan stood and stepped into the soft light the window supplied, still unveiled and ramrod straight. "See what you do to me, 'Ro?" he smirked. At first, Her eyes didn't leave his handsome, stubbly face but when she slowly glanced him up and down, she didn't falter, and instead sighed.
"Are you planning to force yourself onto me?" she asked. Logan grinned, stroking himself lightly. The idea wasn't too far fetched. She was amused. "I wanna force yerself outta ya, "he responded.
Ororo smirked, tilting her head slightly upward and standing with her eyes slightly slanted. Her goddess front was starting to falter. If coaxed, the beast whispered to Logan, her hidden need will come full throttle. She will be mine. Fiery lust began building in Logans belly, and the beast in him wanted nothing more than to ravage the woman before him, claim her, the goddess, as his own.
"I do not find your vulgar advance acceptable Logan," she purred more deliberately now with her hip slightly swaying to the side, "You are free to go." The muscular, roughly handsome man scoffed and grinned arrogantly, revealing his pearly, white canines. She was aroused, he could smell her. And now she was casting him out of her domain. With a growl, he stalked over to her and snatched her by the waist with one large, hairy arm and crashed his lips to hers. She reciprocated, and he was awarded the minor fantasy of feeling her slender fingers caress his neck, before she came to and bit his tongue, drawing blood. The kiss ended abruptly with him keeping his firm grip around her. He pressed further against her midsection, the only separation between him and her core being her dress and smirked, smelling the indication that she was more than enjoying this exchange. To the gruff man's dismay, before he could hike her dress up, a gust of wind blew him against the wall.
As he stood, Ororo sent another brisk gust to pin him against the wall, before bombarding him with a long , continuous force of wind blowing against him while manipulating the air behind him to hold the growling man against the force, keeping him in place. Her eyes glowed a slight white as she prowled to him and undid his jeans completely; in swift motions his manhood was zipped up, buttoned, and straining against the thick denim once again. Satisfied, Ororo released him, and he stood on his own. "Yer pretty strong, there Ro'," he snickered, "and ya handle a man pretty nice."
The soft white of her eyes faded and returned to the darkened blue that Logan had caused. "Very true," she smirked glancing at his lower region and back at him, "Please pick up the remnants of your cigarettes, dear friend, and leave." She emphasized leave. Logan lifted his eyebrow and grudgingly obeyed. Standing, he got his lighter to light his unfinished cigarette, but a brisk wind gust blew it out.
"Ya want me. Yer mine."
"I belong to know one. "
"Sayin ya belong ta many?"
"I'm saying," Ororo responded with an impish grin, "You cannot have me. Goodnight," she whispered in his ear, and opened the door for him before he could respond with more than a chuckle.