Author's note: Sorry, y'all. This week kicked my ass. It's 1pm and I'm still in my jammies and on my third cup of coffee... But it's the beginning of a three day weekend, so there's hope. lol Onward!
Not five minutes later, Logan was buried balls deep, grunting roughly as he thrust. He'd found a cramped back office with a heavy, old desk that suited his needs perfectly. The girl was spread obscenely beneath him, her luscious thighs around his powerful hips. The idea that he was fucking a woman where countless sermons had probably been penned tickled his dark sense of humor.
The Rogue sat in a squeaky old chair directly across the desk from him so there was no way not to meet her eyes over the heaving body of the woman under him. She was slowly rocking the chair in time with his thrusts. Squeak. Squeak. Squeaksqueaksqueak.
Was that deliberate or could she just not help herself? It made ignoring her difficult. Maybe that was her game?
He forced his thoughts away from her to the woman in his arms. Her hair wasn't the only kinky thing about her. She was delightfully uninhibited. More a mutant-groupie than a fight-groupie, he'd discovered when she'd pushed a hand in his pants and panted into his ear, "Woy! You be a big one all over! Power comin' outta your pores. Felt you all the way across the room. What can you do?" It cooled his lust, but only slightly. She smelled of anise, tasted like rum and didn't ask him to use a condom. It was a combination that worked for him.
"I heal."
"From what?" she'd breathed against his neck while measuring the weight and heft of his thick cock in her palm.
Everything. He left the claws in, sensing she was one of the ones who'd like the threat of violence and the danger a little too much.
"Bite me n' find out." She did, giggling when he shivered. A trickle of precome wet her fingers. "Harder."
She wasn't shy. She bit him sharply and he pinched her nipple in return, twisting to make her rear back so she could watch him heal.
"Ô ô!" Her soft gasp of surprise was genuine. And appreciative. She ran her fingers over his chest, licking a smear of his blood from her full lips as she watched the crimson mark fill and heal and then fade away. His own brand of dark magic. "Again?"
Logan nodded.
The girl sucked his neck, a bruising kiss that she watched fade with a wild light in her pale eyes that were neither gold nor gray nor green. He saw it, saw the spark there catch fire. There was no going back now. Next she shoved his shirt off, raking her nails down his arm to watch the red trails disappear. He groaned, pumping into her clenched fist.
"Chelbé….beautiful," she crooned, peppering his stubbled jaw with little kisses. "You like pain?"
He nodded again, unwilling to say the words aloud, even now. Marie had him in in her head. She knew. She knew.
He tried not to think about her. It was ironic. Marie had wanted this to be about just what he desired, but to give her what she wanted, he had to not make it be about her. Impossible, with the scent of her lust filling his head and the weight of her eyes on his body. Her heartbeat slammed in his ears, speeding faster the cruder he became.
"You be rough with dis girl."
It was somewhere between a request and a question, but he didn't miss the hopeful note. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he jerked her hard against the unforgiving bulk of his body with an inhuman growl.
"Not too rough!" She was shaking with excitement. "Like iron, you is," she murmured, touching him with curious fingers. "Hard all over, not just where it counts! Be more to you than healing, no?"
He didn't answer. He just fucked her.
Legs wrapped around his hips. Nails in his back. Teeth in his neck. Blood pounding in his ears and between his legs. He came with a roar, their two bodies plastered together. He didn't even try to put on a show or make it good for anyone but himself.
The girl's cursing changed from filthy whispered praise to outrage. She hadn't come yet. He laughed darkly, pulling out. It was all too easy to hold her struggling form. "Hush," he rumbled, not even bothering to dodge her ineffective blows as he pushed his thick fingers between her legs and used the semen he'd left behind to bring her to a decadently throbbing orgasm.
"Tonnerre!"
Which he took by the tone of her exclamation and her boneless lethargy to mean: Oh, my fucking GOD!
He shoved back in, still hard, and fucked her through another orgasm. The squeak of the chair told him without looking the Rogue was still keeping time. He came again and kept going, enjoying the primal musk of come and sweat and the silky glide of ejaculate with all his heightened senses.
The girl's staccato exclamations, calling on deities he'd never heard of, became pleas to fill her up with his power, and then broken curses, and then only moans and gasps.
Logan opened his eyes and caught Marie's gaze. She leaned in, deliberately, and put her hands on the desk. A direct challenge.
The Wolverine snarled at her as he thrust forward. Sharply.
The energy transferred beautifully through the hardwood, jolting Marie in the chair as if he'd penetrated her with more than a visceral stare.
He did it again.
And again.
On and on until the girl clung to him and wailed for mercy. Logan came, this time with low grunts he couldn't silence, ejaculating stream after thick stream until his whole body shook. His eyes never left Marie's face. Her hands never left the desk. Not until the last hitching judders had wrung every drop from him.
When he was finished, the Rogue rose, swinging his keys from her finger and stalked from the room like a goddess.
The girl lay back on her elbows as he pulled out, not even bothering to close her legs as she watched the black wings on Marie's jacket disappearing into the dark. Her eyes found him, casually observing him tuck and zip and buckle before he moved around the desk to sit down in the chair Marie had just vacated. Stretching out his long legs, he lit a cigar.
"What you be?" she said with a soft sigh, running a hand lightly over her throbbing sex and spreading the slick of him up her thigh before finally sitting up and pushing her skirt down as she turned to face him.
"You know," he said tiredly, taking an aggressive drag off his cigar.
"Non. You not be what they are out there." Her fluffy hair bounced as she nodded towards the door and the cage that lay beyond it.
"Mmph," he grunted, opening various desk drawers until he found what he was looking for. Unscrewing the bottle, he took a healthy swallow. It burned all the way down.
"Tchuuu!" It was a dismissive sound. "You be something more. Loa. Mystères. Invisibles. One of the Old Ones."
He snorted at that. "You guessin' or askin'?"
"Mmm… this girl be thinkin' you be the Baron Samedi."
Logan laughed outright at that. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"He be the spirit of the dead," she intoned with reverence.
That just annoyed him. Reverence was the very last thing anyone should be directing at him.
"Do I look dead to you, honey?"
She ignored him. "He lives at the crossroads between this world and the next. He be the spirit of death an' healin' an' fertility." She slid her slippery thighs together, pointedly. "He also be the spirit of resurrection."
The mirth faded from his face. "Fuck," he muttered, taking a long pull from the bottle.
"He be married to another death loa. Maman Brigitte. Powerful magic, her. The eternal flame. The ancient, primal female power. Her sign be the black rooster." The look on her face was wistful. "Was that her watchin' us?"
"Shut up."
"Baron Samedi be known for his love of cussin' and dirty jokes and fucking beautiful women." Her chin lifted proudly. "Always has a cigar and a drink in his hand."
The hair on the back of Logan's neck stood up.
"He got these?" Brandishing a hand between them, three gleaming claws appeared with a metallic hiss.
"Oh!" The girl jumped up with a small cry of alarm, tripping over her feet in her effort to put some distance between them, despite the fact Logan was still seated, unmoving, in the chair.
His semen crawled down the inside of her thighs in pearly droplets. Another intimacy almost too painful to bear in the aftermath. Thank Christ Marie wasn't here to see it.
The girl had stopped, still as stone, staring at him with disturbing fascination. The cadence of her breathing was different and her scent was changing. Fuck. She wet her lips, eyes transfixed on his claws and glowing like coals. It was only a matter of time now before she stepped forward. He knew what came after that and he didn't want to rend the girl with anything except his cock and a few sharp words.
One flick was all it took. Flesh parting so easily he almost didn't feel the sting at first as he opened himself from wrist to elbow with one deliberately brutal slice. It hurt like fuck. Blood poured from the raw wound, the rich coppery scent covering the musk of sex and the peppery, acrid stink of the girl's fear.
"Boo," he snarled.
The girl fled.
The Wolverine watched, taking another long swallow off the bottle as his arm knit itself back together. Pushing himself to his feet, he trailed his bloody fingers over the desk where the Rogue had gripped it so fiercely just minutes before. He could still feel the lingering warmth of her hands.
A touch that was not a touch.
It suddenly seemed to press in on him like a wave, the terrible distance between what things could have been — her small fingers wrapped securely around his tags and hope in her eyes— and the way things were now. Another woman's scent drying on his skin and Marie, alone in his truck, thinking about fuck only knew what.
His temper flared. The bottle left his fingers before he was even aware he'd thrown it. It shattered against the wall with a wet, satisfying crash. The shards sparkled in the low light like frost at twilight. It looked like ice and felt like tears, crunching under his heavy boots as the dark stain spread, creeping slowly like old blood.
The Wolverine stalked into the night.
Up next: Charcoal. In which the bridges they burned light the way to the next revelation...