UPDATE - I've added an AN to begging of chp 1, but will recap here -

If you don't want to read about gritty relationship exploration, where people make questionable choices and act out of (conventional) character, my stories aren't for you. If you're easily offended by words and fictional situations, my stories aren't for you. If you are searching for stereotypical happy endings where characters skip off into the sunset/ ride away together on a white horse, my stories aren't for you.

With that out of the way, if you're still with me (and I sincerely hope you are!) and enjoying, please leave me a juicy review as encouragement :)

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Chapter 12 - The Incubator

Marie

He followed me back all the way to my room. I didn't stop him when he came inside.

"You are here because…?" I asked, without turning.

"I thought you'd like the company." He answered simply.

"You don't want to fuck?"

"Christ, what the hell is wrong with you?"

I faced him then, to gauge his sincerity, "I could ask you the same question."

His expression hardened a notch, "Simple answer; there is no need."

"Glad you're finally being straight with me." I retorted, stung.

Just then, I was taken by a sudden wave of sickness I thought had passed weeks ago. I barely made it to the bathroom in time before I spilled the meager contents of my stomach into the toilet bowl.

A warm hand came to caress the back of my neck as the sound of wet vomit hitting stainless steel became dry heaves.

"Take it easy." He whispered, tenderly brushing my hair out of the way.

I fell back against him and he caught me easily, taking my weight and settling us both back against the wall while I struggled to regain my breath.

"You okay?"

I nodded, feeling his arms tighten around me.

'Sorry." I mumbled.

"Don't be."

He helped me shower, because I now had sick in my hair and down my front, brush my teeth and get re-dressed ready for bed. It was actually very helpful as I was feeling a bit fragile from my unanticipated trip down to the infirmary, and all the retching.

Once I was under the blankets, I expected him to leave as we'd not been spending time together recently. But surprisingly, I didn't want him to.

"Will you stay?"

Logan looked up into my eyes for the first time in what felt like weeks. Looking troubled, he replied, "Only until you fall asleep, then I have to go." Something about my expression must have been telling, because he added, "I'm supposed to be on duty."

Too worn out to argue, or bargain, or even throw him a disgruntled look, I settled back onto the flat pillow.

Dutifully, he unlaced his boots and stretched out beside me, rear-end probably hanging off the side of the bed to accommodate my sprawled body. He wiggled one arm under my pillow, and the other across me, over the blankets. I shuffled closer into the wonderful heat his body was giving off.

He smelt nice, clean. Laundry detergent and soap. And something so unique and familiar it brought a prickle of tears to my eyes.

"Baby, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong." He leant in to lay a kiss on my cheek but I turned away.

"Don't do that!" I sniffed.

"Do what?"

"Don't kiss me. Call me baby. It's too… it's too confusing. It makes it sound like you care."

He blinked "…I do care about you."

"Not in the way I need you to… used to have these ballet slippers, beautiful pale pink satin…" Memories from a lifetime ago. The pretty porcelain figure in the music box mocking me in all her bare-skinned ivory perfection. Reminding me of the things I could never have.

Logan's eyebrows pulled together in confusion, but I kept talking.

"I never wore them, only kept them in their box of silk wrappings. In time, my feet grew and I'd still not worn them, too worried over spoiling them. But in doing so, they lost their purpose. They were no good to me anymore. That's what your doing to me, Logan. You're keeping me from my true purpose."

I watched his Adams apple bob as he swallowed, "I…I can't…I don't have a choice…"

"You do! You don't have to do what they tell you!"

Looking deep into his shifting hazel-and-gold gaze, I could tell he was terrified. Unable more than unwilling to tell me what was on his mind. I understood then that this way of life was so deeply ingrained in him, it was the only way he knew.

"What happened to you?" I asked, stoking a light finger his along his cheekbone. He recoiled like I'd burned him, squeezing his eyes tight shut.

I wove my hand into his wild tawny hair, tilting his face back up to mine, urging him to open. It took a painfully long moment before he acquiesced, and when he finally did, my heart all but stopped.

Tears glittered there, threatening to fall, I knew then I'd do anything in my power to help lessen his pain. In one swift motion, I was over him, pressing my worn out body to his in a crushing hug, and he gripped me back, just a little too tight. Both putting everything unsaid into that hug.

Then my lips were on his, hot and wet with his tears. Consuming them. Hoping to erase their cause.

"I need you," I moaned into his mouth, hoping he'd take care of me the way I knew he could. Because he did care, in his own fucked up way. Not enough to save me, but enough to temporarily pull me into this illusion of love I so desperately longed for.

I should have known how it would really go down; it had been weeks since our last encounter, both needing release so desperately from the aching. But Logan was a feral. He was ashamed, his manhood threatened through show of tender emotion.

The world suddenly flipped and I was sprawled on my stomach, the head of his thick cock, already hard and weeping, rubbed against me crudely, stimulating us both. I let out a sharp gasp of surprise, invulnerable to everything else.

He growled into my neck as I pushed a hand under to curl around the soft swell of my belly.

The small action seemed to touch a base response within him, breaking through the lust-haze, and he pulled my hips up before thrusting down into me with a pained groan.

He didn't give me any time to prepare.

This new angle was so much. Not just between my legs, but everywhere. The deep burning stretch, my body struggling to accept his. The sheer raw force of him, visceral and radiating power. The blatant, uncompromising hold he had on me.

My fingers scrambled against the loose bedsheets for purchase, finding none. The blunt pressure acutely intense and completely addictive.

I turned to watch him, exquisite in his undoing.

Something changed in that instant.

A palm thrust my head back down, long fingers anchoring in my hair. A harsh snarl against my neck, sharp teeth and bristles scraping over delicate skin. His movements sped, becoming jerky and erratic, gripping me so tightly I knew I'd be showing bruises come the morning.

And then he let out a low, woeful sound; half way between a sob and a whine, and wrenched from my body.