Burn

by Aubrey Irons

  “Don’t go forgetting our arrangement, Logan.”

  “I’m aware of it.” I growl out.

  He chuckles; “Aww, now don’t get all mad like this is my fault, Papi.” He spreads his hands wide; “I’m a businessman, and you were just too good a business opportunity to let go of!”

  Years ago, back in the jungle, he’d mentioned wanting to figure out what made me “burn” inside; what made me snap and made me a demon in the ring.

  …I guess neither of us could have predicted that that it’d be him.

  “Now don’t get all sore about it Irish; get mad. Get mad, get out there, and you hit that motherfucker.”

  *****

  I can hardly stand afterwards, and all I’m barely aware of is pushing Javier away and stumbling back to my dirty changing room. The girl is there, of course, and she’s taking her top off, but I’m pushing her out the door too. It’s not just the pain - which is real - either. It’s the fact that through the whole fight, I’ve had one face in the back of my mind, keeping me standing, keeping me sane, and keeping me from fading out. One perfect, beautiful, untouchable face of the last girl on Earth I should be thinking about. I realize suddenly with a sobering thought that there’s only one place I want to go right now.

  Long, hot baths are supposed to be relaxing. They’re supposed to de-stress you and wash away whatever burdens you’re carrying with you as soon as you step into that glorious sudsy water. And yet somehow, despite the tea-lights, the stupid lavender bath-oil that Chelsea got me for my last birthday, and even the glass of wine in my hands, I’m still tense.

  And I’m still tense because I can’t stop thinking about Logan fucking Dempsey.

  Yikes, ok, I certainly don’t need to use the word fuck and his name together in the same thought; nope, not at all.

  Whatever that little encounter on the plane was, whether he set that up or if it was just plain happenstance, it doesn’t matter. Either way, I can’t get the lingering thought of it out of my head. Because just that brush of a touch, the heat of his body close to mine in the tightness of that plane, and the way his eyes burned into mine had me thinking about that night; that first night full of heat and anonymity. Ok, he’s a rich, entitled, pompous ass, but God would I be lying if I tried to tell myself it hadn’t been amazing; like, mind-blowingly amazing.

  And then before I know it, I’m letting myself sink down a little further in the heat of the tub and letting my thoughts wander to that illicit, forbidden place where the memory of that night is stored. I’m thinking of the way his hands ran over the curve of my hip and up to my back, teasing the skin there with his fingertips. The way he was so primal with his need for me, and yet so teasing in the way he brought me to a damn boiling point before he touched me there.

  There, where I realize my hand has crept beneath the bubbles of the bathwater.

  I’m remembering the way his fingers finally delved down between my legs and slipped inside, making me gasp. The way he moved me around like I weighed nothing, and the way he brought me to his mouth, my legs straddling his face as he curled his tongue and his lips around my clit and sent shivering shuddering pleasure through my body.

  I’m reaching for the waterproof vibrator sitting on the edge of the tub that I knew was a mistake bringing in here with me. It’s mistake because then I’m bringing it back down beneath the water’s bubbly surface and thinking of him and the way he felt so damn hard and so damn big as he slowly slipped inside of me.

  His hands grab my ass as I moan into his mouth, and I gasp as I feel him start to physically pull me up his body.

  “What are you- oh GOD-”

  His mouth is kissing down my stomach as he drags me up his chest, pulling me closer until I can feel his breath hot against the cleft of my inner thigh. And then his tongue; tasting me, pushing thickly between my folds to tease around my clit and lap at my wetness.

  I’m usually so passive and so quiet in bed, but that night, he ignites something inside of me. That night, I’m running my hands into his hair and holding him tightly to me as he licks me. I’m rocking my hips against that tongue of his; riding his face as he makes me come again and again on his tongue.

  And I want to tell him that I’m not like this; as if for some reason I need to tell him that this isn’t something I EVER do. But instead I say nothing and just give in to the wild, animalistic fantasy of the single night of passion.

  I’m moving down off of his lips, and it’s then that I let my eyes fall to the massive-looking erection curving from his chiseled hips and abs, and I swallow heavily as my eyes go wide at the sight of it. I’ve been with a grand total of three men in my life, and I can honestly say none of them are even in the same league as this man who’s bed I’m in right now.

  He’s tearing a packet open and rolling a condom down over his thick length, and I’m both nervous and excited for this. But then I’m straddling his hips, and moaning as I feel him press against me down there, his hands holding my hips tightly as he gently begins to slide me down onto his-

  The sudden buzz of my doorbell clanging through the loft apartment has me jolting out of my reverie as my eyes fly open with a gasp. The buzzer sounds again, then twice more.

  It’s fucking midnight I hiss to myself through clenched teeth as I quickly step out of the tub to the sound of the bell going yet again. I’m wrapping my bathrobe around my wet body as I storm across the loft space to the front door, briefly wondering if any jury in the world would find me guilty for murdering whoever this is, given the circumstances.

  I slide open the peephole, and I almost can’t believe it, even though really, of course I can.

  Dammit; not him, and certainly not after what I was just doing in the bathtub thinking of him! But there’s Logan, standing there with that cocky grin on his face even though he’s holding a bloody-looking towel to his temple, and it’s almost as if he knows I’m looking at him at that very moment.

  “Little help out here, Doc?”

  I can feel the heat bloom in my face in spite of the frustration of having him actually standing in front of me instead of just keeping to my bath-time fantasies where I need him to stay; “What do you want, Logan?”

  He cocks his head to the side and gives me a look through the keyhole; “I’m selling fucking girl scout cookies, Archer; what does it look like.”

  “You live ten feet up from here, Logan, and I’m sure you’ve got a first-aid kit. Goodnight.”

  He rolls his eyes at me; always so fucking self-assured, like he knows I’m not actually going to let him walk away in that condition.

  And of course, he’s right.

  “You’re a Doctor, Quinn.” He pauses and chuckles; “Unless you prefer ‘Medicine Woman.’”

  Gee, never heard that one before; dick.

  “Keep it up, Logan.” I mutter through the door.

  “Comon, I’m a wounded man! Don’t you have an oath or something?”

  With a roll of my eyes and an angry huff, I tighten the tie of my robe and slide the big industrial door open; “Let me guess, I should see the other guy?” I say it with sarcasm dripping from my voice as I arch a brow at him and cross my arms over my chest.

  He grins, and dammit if he doesn’t still look sexy as all hell even with the bruise on his cheek and the cut on his lip bright with blood; “You really should, actually; I won.”

  “What do you want, Logan?”

  He shrugs; “I dunno, a bandaid would be nice?”

  I roll my eyes again as I step aside and let him come in, sliding the door shut behind him; “I mean what do you want with me?” I look at him expectantly, my arms still folded over my chest; “This is New York; there are literally fifty-four hospitals in this city, not to mention walk-in clinics.”

  “Guess I just come here for the lovely bedside manner, babe.” He winks at me through his shiner of a black eye and grins as he pushes past me towards the bathroom.

  “Just where do you think you’re going?”

  H
e turns and cracks a smile at me; “The bathroom, Quinn. I have to piss.” He stops for a second, and his grin widens at me; “I mean, unless of course you wanna help.”

  I can feel my cheeks go hot as I wrinkle my nose at him; “Don’t be crude.”

  I’ve pulled my bag of surgical supplies out of the closet by the time he saunters out, and I have to shake my head to physically stop myself from staring at the now shirtless Logan moving towards me in the living area. “Try not to get blood on the damn couch,” I mutter, trying to cover my blushing cheeks as he collapses down into it.

  “I’ll buy you a new one.” He stretches out as he sinks back into the couch, his head resting on the back as he stares up at the ceiling and lets out a coughing sigh. Truth be told, despite our banter, I can tell that he really is actually hurt. Not hurt like the night I found him, but he’s definitely taken some mean looking punches by the looks of his face and hard-muscled abdomen.

  He lifts his head up off the back of the couch; “Do you have any beer?”

  I frown; “No? I think I’ve got vodka in the freezer?”

  “Yeah that’ll do.”

  After a long second of silence, I raise my brows at him; “Um, it’s in the freezer, Logan.” What, did he want me to go over and fetch it for him? I mean I know the guy is probably used to servants or whatever but give me a fucking break!

  “Hey, I just didn’t want to bleed all over your floor or anything, Quinn.”

  “So just my couch then?”

  He grins at me, and I’m huffing out a sigh as I get up and storm over to the kitchen.

  He takes a large swallow from the glass of ice and liquor that I hand him after I walk back over, before he holds it up to his bruised temple with a wincing sigh.

  “Why do you do this to yourself?”

  He snorts out a kind of bitter laugh at my question; “Yeah, mystery solved, Quinn. I’m actually a deranged lunatic and I do this to myself.”

  I roll my eyes as I start pulling gauze and peroxide out of my bag; “You know what I mean. Why not do something else that doesn’t get you so messed up all the time?”

  He takes another sip from the glass and shrugs as he chews on an ice cube; “It’s not exactly that simple.”

  “No, I mean, you’re rich; isn’t there plenty of other rich-guy type stuff out there you could do that wouldn’t get your face bashed in?” I shake my head as I start to dab at the cut on his face with the peroxide; “Shouldn’t you be trading in bonds, or funding super-PACs or something?”

  “Trading bonds, or funding super-PACs?” He chuckles; “Well sounds like you sure know how to have a good time, Princess.”

  I shoot him a look; “I know how to have a plenty good time, actually.”

  “Oh really?” He’s leaning closer as he grins at me, and I find myself not wanting to pull back even though I know I should; “So you know how to just cut loose and play?”

  “Yep.” I say with a withering smirk of my own.

  “So, kinda like how you were playing with yourself thinking about me right before I walked in here?”

  I can literally feel the blood drain from my face as my heart just drops. I’m frozen and just staring at him with my jaw right there on the floor as he leans back into the couch and grins.

  “I-” I’m sputtering; “I don’t know what you’re-“

  With a look of triumph on his face, Logan pulls out my fucking vibrator - the one I evidently left out in plain sight in the bathroom - from behind his back where he’s obviously been hiding it since he first sat down.

  The blood comes rushing back to my face with a burning feeling, and I suddenly just want to collapse into a puddle and just drip through the floor-boards.

  Logan grins at me with a sort of gleeful look on his face; “I mean, maybe you weren’t thinking about me, but I somehow doubt it.”

  I grit my teeth, feeling angry and mortified as I slowly shake my head at him; “Anyone ever tell you you’re an arrogant asshole?”

  He laughs; “If I had a dollar for-“ He trails off and then chuckles; “Well, I’d be me.”

  I stand quickly and storm back towards the front door of the apartment; “Well go be you somewhere else, dickhead.”

  The actual genuine shock on his face is almost worth the price of my dignity and my embarrassment, but not quite; “Aww, now Quinn, don’t be-“

  “Out.”

  “I mean I can stay if you think it’ll help you out, back in the bathtub with your little friend here-“

  “OUT.”

  Logan shuts his perfect mouth and nods slowly before he wincingly stands and shuffles towards me and the door I’m holding open.

  “You forgot your shirt, Rocky.”

  He grins as he passes me, leaning in so close to my ear that I feel a shiver at the heat of his breath, hot on my neck; “Keep it, darlin.”

  “Out.”

  “Fine.”

  “Do you like it here?”

  I shrug; “Room and board while on active duty, and the pay’s pretty decent,” I strap up my gloves, warily eyeing the guy easily two and a half times my age lacing up his own; “Listen, pal, you sure you actually wanna do this spar match? I’m kinda, uh, good.”

  The older guy with the silvered beard grins at me, taps his gloves together almost like he’s eager, and steps into the dirt circle; “Hoo-rah, Marine.”

  I freeze for a second before I whip my head around to stare at him; “What’d you call me?”

  Ok, so I’m hardly the only ex-U.S. Military who works for Blackriver, or even the only guy who may or may not have walked away from duty before getting here. But, it’s pretty much on the list of “never talk about” when you’re living with a bunch of roughneck, battle-hardened mercenaries like the guys here.

  The old guy smiles at me; “Like I don’t know another jarhead when I see one.” He pulls up the sleeve of the t-shirt he’s wearing, showing me the faded eagle, globe, and anchor tattoo there.

  Ok, didn’t see that coming. Still, I shrug and brush off his Marine reference; “Nah, I was a cop back home before this.” It’s half true; ok, more like a quarter true, at best. I never even went out and took the test or anything.

  The older guy nods, but there’s a smart glint in his eye that says he doesn’t buy a word of that bullshit; “Hey, I don’t need to know.”

  That’s right, he doesn’t, I fume to myself. Whoever this old dude is - arms dealer or whatever he is - he’s sorely mistaken if he thinks he can just waltz into camp one afternoon and start playing head games with guys like me. Marine or not, this guy’s asking for a beat down.

  “Officer?”

  “Huh?” I look up from tying up my shoes to see him studying me.

  “In the Marines, I mean. Were you an officer?”

  I can feel my temper flare; “Listen, pal, I already told you-”

  “Right, right,” He shakes his head; “My mistake, I meant in the police force.”

  I narrow my eyes at the old guy; I don’t know who this asshole is, but he’s got a lot balls to walk in here trying to bait me like this when we’re about to step into a ring together; “No,” I say quickly; “I wasn’t.” I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of asking ‘why’, even if the question is practically falling out of my mouth.

  “Ahh, I see.” He says, smiling at me; “You just seemed like the leader type.”