Chapter 4
Let's Talk About Sex
The discussion moved to the late Professor's study, the atmosphere thick with rigidity and unspoken words as rays of afternoon light streamed through the windows. Logan leaned against the panelled walls, his arms folded over his broad, muscular chest and his mouth deeply set in a frown. The words' sex', 'Marie' and 'addict' rolled through his head repeatedly, and suddenly he struggled to fight the smirk that overtook his face.
"This is a joke, right?" he asked with a good-natured chuckle and pushed himself off the wall. It must be a joke because his Marie couldn't be the mansion's mattress. "You're pulling some kind of Candid Camera bullshit."
"Yes, Logan," Storm replied dryly, flicking a lock of pearly white hair from her eyes. "There are cameras hidden in each corner of the room, and we're being beamed directly into people's family rooms as I speak."
He grunted at her sudden spark of sarcasm. "Look, I know the kid went too far with the bat, but she had her reasons. Hell, I've wanted to hit the punk since I first met him."
"Actually, I believe Bobby escaped relatively lightly," she replied, shuffling the papers on the desk. "If I was in Rogue's position, I would set fire to the bed while he slept with a perfectly aimed lightning bolt."
"Remind me never to get on your bad side again," he snorted, settling on a chair and slumping comfortably into the plush fabric with a heavy, exhausted sigh.
She neatly stacked the papers and gazed at him. "Are you still tired?" she questioned a little too innocently for his liking.
"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am. Some nut with a bug up her ass woke me up too goddamn early."
A boom of thunder drowned her following words, but he caught every syllable with his sensitive hearing. "I'll let that pass for the moment because we have more pressing matters to discuss," she declared, closing her eyes momentarily and sighing. Rubbing her temples, she stared at him through knitted brows. "Let's talk about sex."
Logan almost choked on his tongue and chuckled as the words settled into his tickled soul."Hey, I think I understand all there is to know," he told her, cockily resting his feet on the edge of the desk and slouching further in the chair.
Storm smiled, sitting in the Professor's old chair. "Yes, I've heard all about your kinky tendencies."
That did it. Who cared about one lousy promise that dive-bombed off the tongue of a mutant with Swiss cheese for brains? "I'm not kinky," Logan growled defensively, lifting his heavy-duty boots off the desk and daring her to argue with him. "And let's get one thing straight: I don't do anything they don't want me to do."
Stifling laughter with her hand, she shook her head. "I said you were kinky, not perverted," she answered soothingly, calming his growing paranoia. "Anyway, back to Rogue and her current difficulties."
Lost in the conversation, Logan heaved a sigh. Storm stated a newfound craving to talk about sex and changed the subject again. Why couldn't women pick a topic, stick with it, and see it through until the end? It would be much easier for him to keep his ass firmly in the game if they stopped straying into territories that didn't belong to them.
"The kid, right, yeah," he muttered, shifting in the seat. "She has a one-night stand, and you think that makes her a whore."
A deafening clap of thunder shook the foundations of the building, and an outraged Storm leapt to her feet. "I never suggested that!" she murmured furiously, the cloudless, once-dry summer's day swamped by a sea of hail, thunder and lightning. "And last night isn't the first sexual encounter she's had with a stranger, Logan."
As Logan grimaced at the resounding ache in his ears, he eyed her with a questioning look. "What does that mean?"
The turbulent weather died down, and the light patter of rain beat softly against the windowpane. Pleased Storm hadn't resorted to conjuring another goddamn hurricane, he waited impatiently for an answer. He could quickly deal with troublesome weather when it remained outside where it should. As for Marie's latest troubles, he craved beer, a smoke and her sweet, southern lips wrapped around his length as he watched hockey reruns.
Storm exhaled, tranquil and in control of her mutation. "She's done this before, and it's always followed by an emotional breakdown."
Logan's weary scowl darkened. "You mean she's been screwing guys left, right and centre and kicking off after the meet and greet?"
"I wouldn't put it quite like that," she sighed, gazing out the window. "But, yes, Rogue has a problem. The cure gifted her touch without consequences, and suddenly, it's all she cares about. Her yearnings are diluted with self-hatred and the desperate need to explore and conquer any male who crosses paths with her. It's similar to when you struggle through puberty, and your hormones take precedence over everything else."
He blinked several times and arched an eyebrow. "I don't even remember hitting puberty."
"Then you're lucky," she replied, smiling as she sniffed the potted flowers on the windowsill. "And I certainly wouldn't have wanted to meet an adolescent Logan, that's for sure. I think we spend enough time tip-toeing around you and your temper."
"I don't have a temper, I'm not kinky, and would you get to the point because I need a beer."
Storm turned to him with a drained, world-weary stare. "I really have tried to help her," she uttered, beginning to pace. "I picked her up every time she phoned in tears, and it didn't matter what time of night it was. I talked to Hank, and he gave her contraceptive pills and lectured her on the importance of safe sex."
He shook his head at the stupidity of the situation. He understood the irony of a politician pitching the safe sex line. How many senators, governors and all-round fuckers that worked in the White House had been caught with their pants down, missing a raincoat and getting to know their aides?
"So, now it's your turn to intervene," she announced like a teacher introducing a surprise test to a class of aggravated, forever-failing students.
"Are you drunk or something'?" Logan responded with a puzzled look and pointed to himself. "You want me to chat to the kid about sex?" She nodded her head, and he snorted. "You've been knocking too much whisky back, Darlin'."
"Don't call me 'darlin', Logan. Unless you want a repeat of earlier," she snapped tiredly. "We both need to sit Rogue down and talk to her. I've made several phone calls, and plenty of resources are available."
"What kind of help are you suggesting?" he asked pointedly, ready to snort in amusement.
"Well, group therapy sessions for a start."
"This has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Logan complained, slipping his hands into the sweatpants' pockets as he headed to the door. "She's not even here. She's taken off in one of her moods." A mountain of un-graded English papers vibrated on the desk, and he stopped in his tracks. "Are you going to answer that?"
Storm dashed over to the desk, lifted the papers to one side and let him leave the office in relative peace. Her voice was gentle when she answered the phone and crowded with care.
He reached the kitchen for a beer and wanted to kick back and relax upstairs, watch sports and smoke until he would be mistaken for a goddamn chimney. All his plans were hurled out the window with the ferocity of a hurricane when he heard Storm call his name. "Please don't let it be what I think it is," he muttered because he could never walk away when it concerned Marie.
While retracing his steps, he sighed heavily and loitered in the doorway, watching a worried Storm cradle the phone. "Where is she?" he asked gruffly.
Logan puffed on a Cuban cigar, eased his foot off the accelerator and drew the inconspicuous black SUV to a standstill at a truck stop on the outskirts of Westchester. This was the place Storm had given him directions to, and luckily the built-in GPS corrected her bullshit.
Winding the window, he snuffed the cigar out on his palm and flicked it into the calm evening breeze. It had just turned seven by his watch, and he already missed a truckload of hockey reruns. Both Storm and the reckless, bat-wielding mattress had better appreciate this. No, that wasn't fair on Marie. She didn't need him pouring scorn on her lack of reasoning when it came to bedding down and swapping saliva.
He smelt the girl before he saw her. That was expected, but the anguish in her eyes told another story. She approached the SUV, dragging her feet and avoiding his irritated glare. Loitering beside the vehicle, her hand hovered close to the door handle, and she refused to look at him.
His nostrils flared, and an unfamiliar male scent caused his muscles to tense. It was looking more likely by the second that Storm hit the nail on the head with the sex talk. Grumbling to himself, he wondered why a shitty relationship forced Marie to choose this path and why did she have such little respect for her body?
He cocked an eyebrow at her and sighed. "Okay, I get it. You don't want to talk to anybody with a dick but me and mine; we come as a package," he told her, leaning over to the passenger door and opening it. "So, you'll have to get over it or walk back."
Marie hesitated, glancing at the trucks parked a few metres away. Logan assumed she weighed up her options in whatever she called a brain these days. He scowled silently, waiting for her to make a decision. Of course, if she made the wrong one, he would drag her kicking and screaming into the SUV if he had to. Her goddamn antics would secure a headline spot on the Jerry Springer Show if she wasn't careful.
He sighed in relief when she slid onto the passenger seat. The male scent clogged his senses, and he filed it away, figuring he could track the asshole down and deliver a fitting end to the matter with a set of claws.
"He didn't make me do it. I propositioned him," she admitted softly, shaking him out of the murderous thoughts. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek as she continued to talk. "Put your claws away because he left forty minutes ago."
A disgruntled Logan hadn't realised he unsheathed his claws. With a grunt in response to her admission, he sheathed them, and thoughts shifted to returning her to the safety of the mansion. He turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine for his own benefit, attempting to free himself from the rich tapestry of fantasies revolving around those lips of hers.
Marie gazed at him as he drove the vehicle onto the freeway. "Aren't you going to say anything?"
She smelt like salt, remorse and self-hatred and probably wanted him to yell just so he'd take her mind off her latest stunt. That wasn't going to happen. Sure, he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake the stupidity away, but it would never work. He tried it before after a failed mission, and the shit hit the fan.
Keeping his eyes on the road, he held the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip. "You already know you made a mistake," he grunted, letting the anger soak into his voice. "What do you want me to do about it, huh? I sure as hell can't turn back time."
Here came the waterworks, and he pressed his foot down on the accelerator, overtaking a white sedan. "He gave me a ride, and I offered him one in return. I couldn't help it," she whispered tearfully, and he didn't even have a tissue to hand her. "I feel lousy enough, and I don't need your judgement, Wolverine."
With a sudden growl, his eyes flickered from the road to her face. "Yeah, and what do you need?" he demanded, punching the steering wheel in frustration. "You want me to pat you on the back and say, 'Good job, kid'? How about I sniff out another loser for you to fuck?"
Marie's hurt gaze recoiled from his, and she unbuckled her seatbelt. Instantly, he flipped a switch beside him, and the car automatically locked. "Let me out!" she ordered, pointing a trembling index finger at him. "I said, let me out!"
"I heard you the first time, Marie. Now quit pawing at the windows before somebody calls the goddamn cops," he sighed heavily, glancing at her. "I told Storm I'd pick your misbehaving ass up and drive you back to the mansion, and that's what I intend to do."
He didn't care much about his promise to the weather witch, but the thought of the kid ending up in the morgue because of her newfound obsession played on his mind. "So put your seatbelt back on, sit back, relax, and quit hollering because I've had a long day, and I'm about to lose what's left of my patience."
Marie put her seatbelt on and frowned at his irritable nature. "Storm told you, didn't she?"
His eyes narrowed at the traffic ahead. "What if she did, huh?"
"It's none of your business!" she cried sharply, her words ricocheting off his frayed temper.
Fantasies be damned to goddamn hell, her current attitude pushed him closer to losing his infamous temper. If it had been anybody else, they would have been mincemeat.
"It is my business," he growled, keen to reach the mansion gates as quickly as possible and head straight for an ice-cold beer. "I made a promise, and that makes it my goddamn business. Especially when you're running around town doing what you're doing."
The crestfallen Marie twisted the hem of the shirt fabric around her fingers. He noticed her pale and partially exposed flat stomach. Still, his eyes couldn't linger for long because he almost crashed into several vehicles that loitered in the incorrect lane.
Logan honked the horn impatiently and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. He avoided whistling because that would have been a big giveaway to his discomfort. Maybe he would invest in a bumper sticker that read: I have a perverted, kinky mind and sometimes whistle tunelessly because my feral instincts make me feel like a horny rat bastard.
It would become the king of bumper stickers and obviously beat into submission the usual, 'My son is an honour student at Who Gives a Flying Fuck School'.
"What would you do if you were me?" Marie questioned him softly.
"I wouldn't be asking that question for a start," he responded, sighing in relief when the traffic cleared. "I'd also have more respect for myself." He knew that made him sound like Cyclops, and his inner Wolverine howled painfully at the comparison. "If you ever get the urge to do this again, come find me."
Her interested gaze followed his eyes to her taut, naked abdomen, and she smiled. "Are you trying to save my pussy from all the mean mutts?"
It was a clever play on words; he could give her that. "Look, just think about it, okay?" he grunted with a sympathetic frown.
In his world, protecting Marie had never meant screwing her; it really hadn't. The thought had never crossed his mind before the last few days. But the issue remained, and he would rather her go through the motions with him, somebody who generally cared about her, than a good-for-nothing drunk or the ice prick. He might have been at ease with the suggestion for now. However, he suspected that his good intentions would turn around and bite him on the ass before too long.
