Marie and Logan stared at each other, the firelight making their faces glow orange against the starry black sky.

There was an ocean of words locked away between them that neither of them really knew how to share. It wasn't that they wanted to avoid the conversation so much as it was they didn't know how to have it without things changing too much too fast.

This conversation had been nine months in the making. She'd shared her stories with him last summer. It was late spring now. It was time. Past time. The longer they waited, the more awkward it would become.

Logan had read most of the stories more than once, some of them several times, looking for little details that might help him understand the side of her she'd always held apart. Some he'd read again and again simply because they were his favorites and they turned him on. It was a way to ease the long wait, too. To understand something of her sexuality, even though their relationship wasn't yet sexual.

Marie worried the crinkled paper between her fingertips, the silence between them only broken by the popping of the fire and the shift of the logs as the burned. "Say something, sugar."

"Somethin'," he grunted.

That earned him a smile. "Maybe it's time to break out that bottle? I seem to remember thinking I might need a little liquid courage for this conversation."

"You still think that now?" he asked, returning from retrieving the bottle.

She knew what he meant. Things were different now after The Red Door.

Logan opened it and offered it to her. He always did that. Wanted her to drink first. He liked tasting her on the bottle. She knew he liked it in the same way she liked watching his stubbled throat work as he swallowed. They both had their little tells.

"Yeah." She took a sip and passed the bottle back, sighing as the smooth caramel finish warmed her from lips to belly.

"You scared?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Not of you." She'd never been afraid of him. Man or animal, he'd always made her feel safe.

"Mmph. Embarrassed then?"

"A little. But, you know, in a good kinda way. Not like shame. Like a lot nervous, but a little excited, too."

She didn't smell afraid, just nervous underscored with desire. He'd have stopped long before now if that had been the case. "There's nothin' to be ashamed about in whatcha wrote."

"I know." She took a sip and then another, rolling the bottle between her palms. "It's just that the more weeks that went by without you saying anything about what you read, well, I thought…" Marie swallowed and then smiled brightly. "You know what? Never mind what I thought. And thank you for this," she fluttered the paper in her fingers at him. She still couldn't believe he'd done that.

"Welcome," he grunted. "But you ain't gettin' off that easy. I wanna know whatcha thought."

"Isn't it obvious? That you'd think I was some kind of freak for writing all that stuff."

"But you still shared it with me," he pointed out.

"In my defense, I was drunk when I did."

"Mmph. Would you still make the same choice?"

She sighed. "Yes."

"Good."

"I..."

"Go on."

"I wanted you to read them." Her soft whisper was fierce. She wanted him to see her in a new way. And for him to know that she saw him in a different way, too.

"I did."

"All of them?"

He nodded.

"Which one did you read first?"

It was an easier question to ask than: 'What did you think of them?'

"King of the Cage." She winced a little at that. That was far and away the most violent, graphic story. Probably one of the most honest, too. "Title jumped out at me. Read the others in order after that."

"And?"

"And what?"

"You know what I'm asking."

"You wanna know if I liked 'em. If they shocked me. Surprised me. Turned me on. Pissed me off." His voice grew husky. "Got me off."

"Yeah."

"All of that."

"Good."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Which one, sugar?"

"Which one what?"

"Got you off."

"That number ain't in the single digits, kid." He tried to say it easy, to let it roll off his back, but her eyes were on fire for him and he was feeling the heat himself.

"Which one gets you off the best, then?"

He considered that for a long moment.

"Don't ask unless you're ready for the answer. Might not like whatcha hear."

"I'll take my chances." She'd written them. She knew what she was asking.

"Mmph." He took the bottle from her and savored a few sips before he finally answered her. "That one. Winter."

His answer surprised her. That one was probably the most domestic story of the group. And also the most raw. It was the one with the most disturbing feedback, too. For a lot of readers, it had skated too close to the line of abuse — from accusations of pedophilic overtones to outright allegations of statutory rape. That one had a slew of negative comments, all of which had surprised her.

It was a simple story about a man who'd picked up a young hitchhiker on the road and had taken her to his cabin for the winter. Their sexual relationship had begun even before they'd reached their destination and the girl had been heavy with child by the time spring had come. It had a lot of domestic scenes and simple, everyday intimacies. It also featured a lot of fairly explicit and somewhat dominant sex with a young, inexperienced partner, and later a lot of sex where the focus was on the woman's ripe body as it swelled with the life he'd given her.

Logan watched her face, searching for signs of disapproval or disgust. It hadn't been an easy answer to give, but Marie deserved to know the truth. How deep the sexual darkness in him ran. If she was considering joining herself to him, she should know it all. That one was one of his. A fantasy he felt so guilty about he'd never even masturbated to it until the night he'd read her words on the screen.

He wanted her to understand the darker nature of his sexuality. To appreciate what awaited her. He wanted to be tender, but there was something in him that needed the more animalistic side, too.

"Any other favorites?" she asked, taking the bottle back from him.

"That one where they hook up after meetin' in that fancy bar and they barely make it upstairs. She wants it bad. Fucks her against the door of his room."

Her whole body shivered. "Mmm…"

"And that one in the music room too, where she asks him what he wants and then gives it to him, right there on her knees with his hands in her hair and his back against the door."

It was an interesting cross-section from a diverse group of stories, but the three he mentioned all had a similar thread running through them. Immediacy. The sex, whether passionate and sweet or raunchy and wild, happened quite soon after the man and woman met. There was no long wait. Marie wasn't sure how to feel about that.

The expression on her face was unreadable.

"Darlin'?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Needing time."

"Ya lost me."

"The stories you chose. All of them…. there's no waiting. She's ready right away."

"Maybe. But it ain't why they do it for me." At least not consciously. All of them touched a primal nerve for different reasons, but maybe she had a point. The waiting was hard and it was wearing on them both.

"Why then?"

"Dunno. They just do. Possessive bullshit, maybe. Who knows."

"I think I do."

"Yeah?"

"The one in the nice bar- that one's about meeting her when she's his equal. Not a girl or someone he has to protect. She's someone he can take from and give to right away."

"Mmph." That was a little too close to the mark. He didn't regret meeting Marie in the way that he did. Those elements, her youth and their collective pain and intimate history had forged an unbreakable bond. Still, there were times he wished she was older, even though he knew that if she had been, he'd probably have left her on that road and never looked back.

"The music room one is like that, too. Give and take. She gives him what he needs."

"Maybe he just likes that she cares enough to ask."

"Maybe."

"Or maybe he just likes gettin' his dick sucked."

"Logan!"

"Heh." He chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"That one, Winter, that one's about—"

"I don't wanna talk about that one, kid." That one was about possession, pure and simple. Virgin blood on his cock and a winter of keeping her filled with come until she grew swollen with his seed. Bound to him for all time through a child made in love, safe and warm and content in the home he'd built for her and their family. Those things made him uncomfortable even now.

"It's okay if you do."

"Mmph."

"It's not so different from what you wrote here." She smoothed the page between her fingers, eyes touching the words reverently before flicking up to meet his.

"I guess it's not." He held out his hand and she passed the paper to him, watching his face as he read the words. "I knew you sharin' what you wrote was a big deal, but I didn't realize how big until I tried writin' this for you."

Her eyes softened. "Thanks, sugar. Thanks for saying that."

He folded the paper back into quarters, uncomfortable with what was revealed there, and then he tossed it into the fire with grunt.

"No! Logan!"

"What?"

The alarm in her voice set him on edge and he had to grab her arm to keep her from reaching into the fire. She struggled against his hold as the page glowed orange and then curled in on itself, a whisp of blackened ash as it rose into the night.

He was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

"Why did you do that?" her lip trembled. "That was a beautiful gift and now it's gone forever."

"Didn't imagine it would mean that much to you." He kissed the tears from her eyes. "Sorry, kid. I wasn't thinkin'." It had never even crossed his mind that she might actually want to keep it.

"That was the best gift I've ever gotten."

"Bullshit." Words on a page. How did that even compare? He'd given her plenty of other gifts over the years. Things that were worth a lot more than that. Things he'd paid for with pain and blood and the stinking desperation of more fights than he could remember.

"It's not bullshit. That was a gift from here." She touched his heart. "A piece of this. Of the truth. Of our past. Of that part of you that you're only just now beginning to let me see. It did shock me a little, but I liked it too. It turned me on. I wanted to read it again tonight. To be in your head and imagine it and..."

"Say it."

"And to touch myself. To use the words— your words— to make myself feel good." She was blushing, but her voice hadn't wavered.

"I'll write you another," he said thickly, hating the idea of spending another painful few hours putting his thoughts down on paper, but now that he knew what it meant to her— and what she intended to do with it— it was a price he was willing to pay.

"You bet your ass you will."

"Heh." He enjoyed the Rogue, especially when she was assertive with him.

"You take requests?"

Now that he hadn't expected.

"Do you?"

"Only from you. Tell ya what, do this for me, cowboy, and I'll write anything you want."

"Anythin'?"

"Anything."

"Done deal."

"What do you want me to write about, sugar?"

"You remember what you said to me that night at The Red Door?"

"I said a lot of things that night."

"Yeah, but only one of 'em was about feelin' my claws on your skin between the ropes."

"Oh, God." She couldn't believe he'd said it flat out like that.

"I wantcha to write about that. About us doin' that. I wantcha to use my name. And yours. Tell me what you want. How you imagine it. How you want me to be with you when it happens."

"When?"

He smiled. "When you're ready, darlin'. We'll get there."

Up next: Hit Me With Your Best Shot. Things heat up as the cracks really begin to show. Both of them are stubborn, passionate people who've never really been the sort to pull a punch, verbal or otherwise…