by Nicole Fox
“Where is Logan?” she asked, not really wanting to talk about it anymore. The subject was exhausting, and she wasn’t sure she’d make it through another round of interrogation.
“He went outside to make a phone call; he says there is someone he knows back home that will get a message to his people but will not have his wire tapped. It’s the only way he can ask for help from those still loyal inside of his organization without getting caught.” Nikki was watching her like a hawk, her chocolate eyes searching every inch of her for something.
“Are you sure you’re the right person to be giving Logan advice?” Francesca snapped, tired of being stared at like she was about to lose it. She didn’t feel like she was crazy, but Nikki seemed to be waiting for signs that she was.
Nikki rolled her eyes. “You know, I’ve made some dumb decisions, but I’m not an idiot. I’m also a master at getting out of bad situations,” she said, holding up her hands and smiling, “which makes me absolutely invaluable.”
But instead of laughing at her sass, Francesca just because angrier. “Nikki, I’m serious. What are we supposed to do if none of this useless planning works out?” Francesca couldn’t bring herself to say the rest, the words that haunted the edges of her lips and filled her mind. “How am I supposed to live without him if he goes to prison for life, or if he leaves and returns to the east coast?”
Nikki crossed her shapely arms over her chest, pushing one hip out as her smile turned to a sneer. “This planning isn’t useless, Francesca,” she answered, her voice deadly quiet. “I might not be perfect, but at least I’m trying to help. At least I’m not so straight-laced I might end up in a straight jacket. You know you are allowed to say no to your mother right? She can’t rule your life anymore; you aren’t fifteen. Have you ever said no to her once in your damned life?”
“What does this have to do with Logan?” Francesca’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
“You’ll let that woman decide who you should or shouldn’t be with; you know, after everything he’s done to the two of us, Davis doesn’t deserve you. Davis doesn’t deserve to win either. He deserves nothing from you,” Nikki looked out of the kitchen window, her perfect hair starting to fall out of her half-hearted bun.
“Now Logan- my goodness, girl, you are good at pickin’ them — he needs to get his head out of his ass and look around. He’s too quick to be rushing off and making rash decisions. What the hell was he planning on doing? Punching his way to the truth? This isn’t a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie.”
Francesca just stared at her friend, mixed feelings clogging up her throat and cutting off any response she might have had. Nikki was so very right, but also so wrong. She opened her mouth, but no words came out, so she clamped her jaw shut instead. After a moment, Francesca sat down on one of the kitchen barstools hard and buried her face in her hands. “I don’t want Logan to leave,” she whispered finally. “But if he feels he needs to return home, I can’t stop him. Nothing I will say will change his loyalties to his people back home.”
“I can think of a few things that might change his mind,” Nikki said, wiggling her shoulders suggestively. “But if Logan knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay here. Forget who he was and what he was and just start over.”
Francesca didn’t say anything to that; she wasn’t sure there was anything she could say.
So instead, she remained silent. And waited.
# # #
Logan
“So you’ll get that to Blade?” Logan said for the final time. He was pretty sure that he could trust Marlin to bring information to his contact inside of the Satan’s Chaos Motorcycle Club, but Logan was also pretty damned sure he could have trusted Zook with his life, too, once upon a time.
Which was why Marlin was the third person he called.
Logan hoped that at least one would bring his message to Blade or Pyro intact. If any of them were not loyal, Logan would get an idea who pretty quickly, based on the people he entrusted with which message. Hopefully, they would send him a message on the generic email addresses he’d sent up for each of them to reply to him with.
Now only time would tell who he could trust and who was hoping he’d get caught. So far away from his people, he felt worthless, like he’d abandoned them. He wondered what had become of all of his friends and rivals back home, and if any of them believed he’d actually killed Snake Eyes.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter what they think now, just so long as they believe my message. If someone disappeared for a week without contact, I’d probably think the worst of him, too.”
Logan reached into the pocket of his jacket and was surprised to find half a pack of cigarettes left. He only really smoked when he was out drinking with the gang, so this must have been left over from their last outing together. He pulled the pack out of his pocket and lit one, inhaling the bitter smoke deeply into his lungs.
If nothing else, the act of doing something took the edge off. “If I go back right now, they’ll lock me up and throw out the key. No one cares if they're already convinced you’re a villain. No one wants to know what really happened; they’re just happy you're finally behind bars.”
He would heed Nikki’s advice, trying to build a case against Zook before making another appearance at home. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. Perhaps they would be able to hire someone to find out something for them, collect some clues, and make Logan’s return home to Boston a good one. Instead of one in handcuffs dragged between two police officers.
He inhaled deeply, puffing the yellow-gray smoke into the perfect blue of the desert sky, a frown on his chiseled face. As much as he said the east coast was home, the more time he spent here with Francesca, the more this felt like home. But that couldn’t be right.
Francesca couldn’t have become so important in such a short period of time. Could she? Logan didn’t want to delve too deeply into his feelings for her, but his heart seemed to have other plans. He daydreamed, not just about having Francesca’s body, but also about making Francesca’s home his own.
“A dangerous, impossible dream,” he thought, blowing smoke out into a ring in front of him. It doesn’t matter what I want or how I feel; a life with Francesca is never going to be real. That kind of life would never work out. I don’t belong in her high society any more than she belongs in jail beside me. But that doesn’t change how much I wish it would work out.”
Logan put out his smoke and went back inside, trying not to think at all.
Chapter Eighteen
Francesca
Francesca was still standing by the sink when she heard Logan come back inside. Nikki, on her way out, said something to him, but it was too quiet for Francesca to hear. So she kept her eyes locked with the window, not really seeing anything outside.
Creaks on her hardwood floors warned her as Logan came closer. Francesca heard the front door shut as Nikki left, but she still didn’t turn around.
Logan cleared his throat, and Francesca’s fingers gripped the counter around the sink even harder. The tile felt cool and wonderful under hands, the kitchen so wonderfully stable. But the rest of the world kind of felt like it was tilting to one side. After a long moment of silence, Francesca took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for falling apart. I — I didn’t know what else to do.”
There were little shuffling noises behind her. “I’m sorry, too, Francesca.” He stepped even closer, until he was within touching distance. She could feel the heat of the outside echoing off of him, smell the scent of a cigarette on his skin. Shivering, Francesca held still as Logan stepped close enough to press his lips to the back of her neck. “I — That was unfair to start a fight with you. I run into things without thinking usually and, well, thank you for stopping me.”
Francesca turned slowly in his arms, coming to face the beautiful man behind her. She knew he was sorry, but she also knew better than anyone that she might not be around to talk him down from whatever crazy thing he decided to do next. Sighing, tears
pricking the edges of her emerald eyes, she ran her fingers along the shaved sides of his black hair, then traced the curved line of one of his tattoos down his neck to his collar.
“No one is perfect, and I’m not asking you to be, Logan,” she whispered, falling head-first into the mocha color of his eyes. “All I ask is that you stop and take a deep breath before making decisions. I — ” Francesca stopped before she could say too much; Logan didn’t want to hear about her feelings. He didn’t want to hear how attached she’d become. She would only become a burden to him. She kept her mouth shut, kissing him instead.
He pressed her back against the sink, his hands sliding hard around her ribcage. His rough handling was enough to send a little thrill through her whole body, shivering along her skin like gooseflesh. Lips urgent, Logan kissed her deeply and thoroughly, something different in the feel of him. There was something dark that the hot core of lust couldn’t seem to touch. But soon, Francesca was so lost in the feel of him, those thoughts slipped from her mind for more urgent concerns.
Picking her up off of the floor with his strong hands, Logan set her down on the edge of the sink, sliding his hips in between her knees to press closer to her. His leather jacket slid to the floor at a touch, and Francesca pressed her soft lips to the curve of his neck, newly exposed. The skin there was salty and smelled of something spicy mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke. Her hands caressed every inch of his body, trying to memorize every bit of skin. She wanted to know every line of his tattoos and every spot that made him moan when she touched it. Francesca wanted to engrave the feel of his body on her memory forever, to keep him close when the world inevitably tore them apart.
Pressing closer, Logan grabbed Francesca’s thighs through the thin fabric of her skirt hard enough to leave little bruises like fingerprints. He forced their bodies closer, and she could feel every line of him against every bit of herself. His hands caressed, hard, and she moaned, throwing her head back as the fire mounted inside of her belly again. Her pussy throbbed like second heartbeat, aching for the touch of him. Any touch would do.
Francesca cried out as Logan slid his thumbs under the hemline of her skirt, slipping her lacy panties down the long lines of her legs, brushing every inch of skin he passed on his way to her feet. Then, on his knees in front of her, he looked up at her with a kind of wickedness that make her heart flutter. She liked how demented he could look, and more than anything she wanted to know what little wicked thoughts make his face light up like that. She wanted him to act them out on her flesh and give her wicked little thoughts, too.
Starting from the floor where he rested, his erection pushing hard against the fabric of his ragged jeans, he kissed the tops of her feet, caressing fingers and lips finding her ankles and slowly inching up. Francesca closed her eyes, her mind tracing the maps he kissed into her skin. Flames flickered wherever his mouth brushed, turning into raging brush fires as he climbed his way north, tattooing invisible patterns across her skin.
Francesca moaned, low and long, in the back of her throat as Logan reached her thighs, his teeth nibbling ever upward. He was driving her mad with the slow caress of his mouth over her body, and no amount of pleading and begging seemed to speed up his pace.
So when he finally reached the prize at the top of her thighs, she screamed into the silence of the kitchen. She was aware of everything in that moment: the cold tile against her bottom, the feel of her long hair caressing the skin of her back, and the ambient scent of fresh coffee in the background. But mostly, she felt the hot, burning lines that Logan licked into her clit. He buried his face between her thighs like he needed to taste her to continuing living, his mouth slow, tantalizing, and yet hungry all at the same time. Grasping the sides of Logan’s head, Francesca rode against his mouth hard, screaming her pleasure into the empty house around her. Her whole body shook with every thrust of his mouth against her center, and she cried out in time with his caresses.
Her climax came over her hard, unexpected, shaking her body to its core. She nearly tumbled off of the counter as she thrashed in Logan’s perfect arms, her whole body convulsing with the lighting that sang in her blood.
“God, I want this forever,” she thought. And the shock of that thought echoed through her whole body. Logan looked up at her from the floor, his eyes nearly black with desire, his lips slick and salty with her own juices. Her green eyes collided with his, the look feeling so much deeper and intimate than even the oral sex from a moment ago. “Do I really want Logan forever, in spite of everything?”
And her heart warmed at the thought; she wanted to come home to his crooked smile and tattooed skin every day. She wanted to wake up next to the chiseled jaw and that beautiful soul that peaked out from his eyes every day. Nothing could have prepared for her for the flow of love and affection that spilled out of her heart at the sight of his beautiful face. Time seemed to slow as Logan stood, his eyes caressing the lines of her face.
# # #
Logan
Beautiful, perfect, warm.
There was something especially beautiful glittering in the depths of her emerald eyes. Logan couldn’t keep his eyes off the woman before him, her skin blushing with her orgasm. She was beautiful, clever, perfect. How had he gotten so lucky to stumble into her life as he ran for his?
Stepping forward, Logan wrapped his beautiful Francesca up in his arms, pulling her warm body into his. She gasped a little as he pressed the line of his hard body to the soft, perfect curves of his, closing her into an embrace. He never wanted to let her go.
If only I could stay here forever, he thought, aching a little at the thought. That wasn’t possible of course, but maybe he could pretend for a while. Pretend she was his. Pretend he could stay and play house with Francesca the TV star.
Kissing her hungrily, Logan pulled her closer, clinging to her like there was nothing else stable in the whole world. And Francesca clung to him, too. He wanted to believe that she needed him just as much as he needed her, but he wasn’t sure. She was better than he could ever be, too much of a good, straight-laced woman in an upscale world for him. She’d never wondered where her next meal would come from, or if she would lose her house and be thrown on the street.
They came from two different worlds, but for now, Logan wanted to pretend that didn’t matter.
Running his hands over her body, hands rough and groping, he pulled her out of her clothing, tossing them aside and leaving her exposed. Her breasts heaved with breath as she slid her hands under his shirt, pulling it off and tossing it to the side, too.
They clashed, all bitten lips and tongues, Francesca’s long nails digging into his shoulders. Logan could feel her straining against him, like she was trying to push past his skin and meld with him. He pulled her closer, the head of his cock finding her opening, slick and ready for him.
He slid inside her to the hilt with no warning and Francesca cried out, her teeth finding his earlobe as she scratched long, angry lines down his back. Her thighs wrapped around his body as he thrust inside of her ready, dripping body. The feel of her, velvet soft, hot, and slick with desire, wrapped so close around his cock as he plowed into her. She pulled him closer, tighter, wrapping around his body like a snake. Francesca’s wicked mouth found his ear, her hot breath whispering pleas. “Harder,” she coaxed. “Fuck me harder, Logan. I need you!”
So he did. He did everything she begged for; every wicked thing that passed through her lips he obeyed. Slick with sweat, his jeans stuck to his body, he kept on, slamming his body into hers again and again. Whenever he came close to orgasm, he pulled out, caressing her clit with the soft head of his cock until she cried out his name over and over again. He felt the muscles inside of her grasp him harder with every orgasm.
But he wouldn’t stop; he wanted to make this last as long as he could. He wanted to feel her ride up against him as waves of pleasure poured through her again and again. Logan needed to know that, for these precious moments, she belonged to him completely and wholly.
“Holy shit, Logan,” Francesca cried, down on her knees, as he plowed into her from behind. His view was amazing, the round curves of her buttocks the perfect place to grip her harder. The way her pussy clung to his cock and held on, he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer, but it was worth it to see her so completely spent with pleasure. A fine sheen of sweat glittering off of her skin in the warm lighting in the kitchen. Her skin looked golden-brown against the bright white of the tiled kitchen floor.
Logan decided he liked the way she looked in white.
Francesca clawed the edges of the floor as the muscles in her pussy grabbed hold of him even tighter, and she screamed. Francesca’s spine arched, her head coming up from the tile to call out his name like a prayer.
Her face half-hidden by a waterfall of white-blonde hair, her eyes shut hard, and her lips parted in a silent scream of pleasure is what sent him over the edge. His climax slammed into the base of his spine, clawing up his back and spreading outward until Logan, too, cried out. They collapsed together, panting and drenched in sweat, limbs tangled and without strength. The world had disappeared around them, and nothing existed except the two of them, silent except for their heaving breaths and thundering heartbeats.
