"You think you're so smart."

"Smart enough not to get locked outside my hotel room on a cold winter's night."

"Yeah, well, you've got those things - they make mighty handy lock picks and all."

"My things? Whatever could you mean?"

"You know what I mean. And don't you dare laugh at me."

"You mean these?" 

"I have talents, too. Just not of the steel claws and such variety."

"These aren't steel."

"Oh! You get so huffy when I say that! It's very cute."

"I'm not cute."

"You can be."

"Okay, I'm outta here if you're gonna keep on that way."

"You know what's really cute? When you call someone 'bub.' God. That's so cute. In a sexy sorta way, I mean. Oh, look how huffy that makes you!"

"You should know when to stop."

"When I'm ahead?"

"After I've unlocked your door for you, bub."

"I'll find another way in. Don't worry."

"Not worried. Just thought you might be grateful."

"Call me bub again and unlock the door ... you may find me most grateful."

"Yeah?"

"Wouldn't you like to find out?"

"Okay ... bub."

Who needs a concierge when you've got Logan around? I flip on the lights - for his sake. He flips them off and locks the door. He glows faintly green in my eyesight. Deep pools of crystal cyan where his heart, liver, lungs reside. Faint lemon for the adamantium.

Like mine, his blood glows as rivers of pulsing silver.

"See anything you like?" he asks me now, stalking closer, on the balls of his feet. Ever the predator when scents are on fire.

"I see everything." I dodge him. Even with his heightened senses and inhuman ability to penetrate the dark, his eyes cannot match mine in this environment.

What he has over me, among other things, is that superior sense of smell. He could close his eyes and track me just by following the whiffs of my scent. But that only tells him where I've been - it doesn't always help him catch me.

Still, the hotel room's not that big. I know this game won't last any longer than his patience.

"Let me watch you strip."

He turns his head, grinning now, toward the sound of my voice. One long arm is thrust out and I am captured in the grip of his strong hand. I resist. He exerts force. When he has me in front of him, so close he only has to lean in to put his lips at my ear, he says, "How about you strip instead, bub?"

"If you want my clothes off me, Logan, slice them off." My voice is a wisp of pale magenta on the air between us. I see the sound of it fly to his ear, the one already cocked in curiosity for what my response would be. I see his low growl curl from his mouth and swoop around my breasts. "You can't hurt me."

He told me once, joking in that smart ass serious way of his, that my ability to heal was a real turn on. Truth is, considering those claws of his, it's a real turn on to me, too. The other truth is, with those claws of his, he's incredibly delicate when he wants to be.

Now that's a turn on. A serious one in my book.

The 'snkt' of his blades snaking from his skin is drawn out as he takes his time. The sound of it is sharp in my eyesight. I let out a tiny gasp as one of them nears my blouse and with one tiny move, cuts away the top button.

"Was that as good for you as it was for me?" I chuckle now, seeing the light in his eyes go blue and flashy, knowing the answer.

"Get on the bed," he says roughly, leaving the claws out.

I glance down at his groin as I back toward the mattress. He's wearing jeans; I can see through them. He's swelling, pulsing in time with the beating of his heart. "I do love those little hearts on your jockeys. Now, talk about cute..."

"They were a gift."

"Right."

His scowl invigorates the all male edge of his jaw. He takes a step toward me.

"Don't even think about it," I say, seeing my voice turn burnt orange, like his answering growl that starts low and soft but grows coarse and relentlessly him as he nears me.

"You may read a lot of things, but my mind ain't one of 'em, cookie."

"Mind reading is overrated." I chuckle at the rise in his core temperature. "And, for the record? 'Cookie' isn't near as sexy cute as 'bub.' Just so you know. Future reference and all."

He drops to his haunches before me. I go to scoot back on the mattress but he stops me with two magnificent words of decisive Logan: "Stay still."

One blade of Logan, blinking cool lemon in the darkness, nears my belly. I take shallow breaths, willing myself to be calm, to remember how much I trust him. At the last minute he turns his hand and places the dull side of one indestructible claw against the skin exposed between the hem of my blouse and top of my jeans. Ever so slowly, with ever so much delicacy, he runs it up my skin, from belly button to cleavage. It slices as it goes through my blouse. Through some sleight of hand I never knew he had, he manages to do this without cutting through my bra.

"Better close your mouth, bub. May catch flies," he says, soft and dark as melted lava cake.

"Logan," I whisper, my voice sweet olive. "Can I move yet?"

"On your back. Then stay very ... very still."

I slide up on the mattress, tossing my shirt off as I go and then let myself glide down until the bare skin of my back rests against the cool satiny bedspread. From this position, arms flung above my head, eyes riveted to him, I watch as he concentrates on my legs. I kick off my sandals; he shakes his head at me and lifts a claw in warning. I take more shallow breaths. He slices through each leg of my jeans, hem to top. My panties have been sliced through in the process, I note. He kneels between my open legs.

"Remember that scene in the movie 'Breathless'? With the ice cube?" he asks me.

We saw the movie last week, late night cable. I try not to tremble when he smiles at me.

He leans over me, one hand on the bed next to my head, and slices through my bra. And then, with infinite patience, he uses the very tip of a claw to peel each side of my bra from over the breast it'd been shielding from his eyes. "Very nice," he whispers just before he dips down to flick his tongue over each nipple in turn.

"Breathless with anticipation," I say, closing my eyes and arching my back under him.

His claw is smooth, hard, warm as he runs the backside of it ever so slowly down my contours. My neck. The rise of each breast. The peaked nipples. Ribs. Tummy, rounding the indentation of my belly button. Lower still.

He likes that I don't shave, there, where he pauses. He's told me that before. He finds it arousing. I know some hairs must be getting shed in this process but I can't open my eyes to see it. Being blind is such exquisite pleasure for me because I am unafraid with Logan.

"Turn over, bub." He coughs, covering nerves that have come from nowhere, if I know him.

Eyes still closed, I am languid in my actions. I know he's watching me. I know he's about to come undone. As I move to turn, I am also stripping the shreds of the rest of my clothing off me, flinging them away from us until I am nothing but sweating skin and softness. I feel him looming near me, over me, watching as I turn, curving my back, opening my legs so he can still kneel between them, exposing myself to him.

When I am settled and still, he moves, leaning over me, blowing air up my spine until his breath reaches the base of my neck. He reverses the route, this time with the back of all three claws on one hand. When he reaches the rise of my buttocks, I cannot resist the way his movements seem to make them want to respond by moving along with him, undulating up and then sighing down as he leaves them wanting more.

He murmurs, low, deep in his chest. Indistinct mutterings of a man distracted by flesh.

I gasp at the next touch, as if scalded: his fingers. His claws now gone. His fingertips are sliding under my hips, pulling me up enough for his hands to go under me. His body lowers into mine; I turn my face to receive his kiss, frantic and deep and long. His finger enters me and I come, anticipation of this moment more than I can deny. He rubs himself against me as I tremble; the feel of his zipper and rough denim make me moan.

The next sound I hear is his zipper being dealt with by its owner. Hard, hot flesh is the next sensation. I feel him shove it between my open legs, feel him rub it into my wetness. He murmurs against my ear now as I try to get into better position to receive him. I am biting my lip so hard. My eyes open the moment he first edges the tip of his cock into me. His hand helps him get seated inside me and he shoves while I press back into him.

The pillow before me is transparent. The mattress is too thick, too dead, to see through without the will to do so. I don't want to be blind anymore. I force myself to see through to the floor and then below me. I watch as another couple fucks in the room beneath us. He's over her, moving, rutting. Her eyes are closed and she's coming. Silently. Tears in her eyes as they open and look above her, to where I see right into them, going dull umber as the sparks of sea foam rush away from them.

Logan grunts as he gets into the rhythm. I grunt as I respond. We are both panting, reaching further tonight, finding a new level of physicality we've not shared before. His hands, often so gentle on my body, clench into my flesh. I grab his arms, digging my fingers into his muscles. The strength of his arms, the way they don't even seem to notice my nails marking them, makes me sweat harder, grind back against him harder.

I turn my head. He puts his forehead down, between my shoulder blades, and he strokes his cock in and out of me now with longer, deeper thrusts even as he wraps his arms around my hips in some oblivion of impending release. It makes me come, the way he now strikes inside me, finding the spot that sends me off with a shriek that dies into pleading. Urgent pleas.

Urgent.

Hoarse.

Until he comes and comes, gasping out the sigh of release, blissful release at last. So good. So spent.

His chest is damp, hairy, hard as he lies atop me for just enough time to catch his breath. I love the feel of him this way. Too overcome, too sated, too selfish to do anything but collapse - and yet, even in that state, taking care not to crush me because it would be so easy to do that. Instead, I feel as if it's one more way he possesses my body, takes it as his due, covers it as his trophy.

"Oh. Here it is!"

"S'wha?"

"My key. To the room."

"Hmm?"

"I had it in my pocket all along. Isn't that silly of me?"

"C'mon back to bed. Want sleep."

"Scoot over! You're such a bed hog."

"Make me."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Ummm. Yeah."

"Can't a girl even get up to pee and come back to her bed to find a pillow she can call her own? Honestly, I've of a mind to make you move!"

"Lemme see those little fists of yours, bub. They're so cute."