by J. M. Madden
Logan stared at her for a long minute, then looked down at their clasped hands. Marigold’s thumb had been stroking over a burn scar, but she hadn’t even noticed. The emotional hurt she saw in his eyes was more important than the physical in that moment.
“You are worth having,” she continued. “Just you. Even with the scars and the crutches and the PTS. You sell yourself short, Logan, and you need to recognize your own worth. I see it, John sees it, Shannon sees it. I have a feeling your buddy Miller did too. The family that you left behind will be overjoyed to have you. I can almost guarantee it. They’ve lost a son to a war. They’ll be happy to get a grandson back.”
“You’re fucking me up, Marigold,” he growled, voice hoarse, pulling away to swipe at his eyes.
Marigold grinned at him and pushed into his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I have just enough wine in me to tell you that I would love to really fuck you up.”
He barked out a laugh, turning to look at her. There was something in the look, though, that demanded explanation. “You say when and I’m there,” she breathed, her lips moving to press a kiss against his ear. It was the same thing she’d done in the bar, letting him know she was interested without being too forward, she thought. But this time, something changed. She felt his breath catch, and the subtle loosening in his shoulders. Marigold didn’t know what to think when he turned to look at her, cupped her face in his hands and took her mouth with his own.
Nerves shot through her belly as he called her bluff, his lips moving gently against hers. Marigold groaned, his taste sending a bolt of awareness down her spine and into her core. Oh, damn... angling her head, she let herself absorb everything she could about him; the scent of whatever he used in the shower, the abrasiveness of the patch of beard on the left side of his face.
Then he did something unexpected. Strong hands under her armpits, he turned her to lay across his lap, looking up at him, dazed. Marigold didn’t know what to think. She’d never expected him to manhandle her so perfectly. Grinning, she reached her hands up to cup his face.
The scars didn’t bother her in the least, but she could tell he was aware of her touching them. Rather than pull away, she touched him even more strongly there, running her hands up his cheek and into his hairline.
With a gasp he pulled back enough to look down at her. “You can’t like touching that,” he said softly.
“Am I hurting you?” she whispered.
He blinked down at her. “No.”
“Then let me touch you,” she whispered.
“Marigold,” he growled. “You have no idea what you’re getting into. I’m not...”
“Logan, look at me.”
His mouth tight, he looked at her. “You are wanted,” she said slowly. “You need to take those words inside yourself and feel them. I want you,” she said firmly, again tugging his head down to hers.
Logan resisted her touch, but only for a moment. “What have you done to me, woman?” he whispered, pulling her tight against his body. They were chest to chest, mouth to mouth, and Marigold forgot everything as she lost herself in his taste. Oh, wow... wine and tangy freshness, like he’d brushed his teeth before coming up here. And holy hell the man knew how to kiss, angling her face to diagonal his, fitting their mouths perfectly. His tongue slipped out to tangle with hers, and Marigold melted. Her body responded in a rush, harder and quicker than it ever had before. She needed to be even closer. She didn’t want to hurt him, though.
“Can I straddle your hips?”
His breath stalled, then he nodded. Marigold moved off the couch, then stepped close, planting a knee on either side of his hips. She could see the length of him behind the zipper of his jeans and she wanted to go there, but a few things needed to happen first. Sitting on his lap, she was almost at eye level with him, just a little lower, and the closeness was...startling. And stimulating. For the first time, he didn’t automatically turn his head away from her gaze, letting her look her fill. She grinned. “You’re very handsome, you know. Without the hat and looking at me this way... The burns are not as devastating as you believe them to be. I promise.”
He heaved a huge breath. “You’re the only one that’s ever told me that. I think you’re partial.”
She grinned. “Maybe,” she admitted, leaning forward to take his mouth again. She wrapped her arms around his head, enclosing them in together. She waited to feel his hands on her body, but he seemed to be trying not to touch her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to give you an out. I’m not going to hold you against me.”
Marigold drew back, frustrated. The wine was clearing from her system and she desperately wanted to feel him wanting her. “I’m not going anywhere, Logan, so you’d damn well better grab my ass and start enjoying yourself.”
Jaw clenched, he fought himself internally, then seemed to give in. He did as she instructed, his broad hands spanning her hips, his fingers clenching. His eyes fluttered shut and she could see the arousal roll over his slackening face. When he dragged her against his groin, Marigold gasped, rocking against his hardness. Oh, damn...
“I have to...fuck, Mari, you’re going to kill me. Stop, just a minute. It’s been a while for me and I don’t think... I’m not gonna last with you grinding on me like that.”
Marigold laughed, loving the way he’d shortened her name. “Um, hello, you pushed up into me, buddy.”
Logan snorted, taking her mouth with his. Then he skimmed his hands up her ribs to her breasts, his thumbs finding and stroking over her nipples. “Oh,” she breathed, the tips pulling tight. More...
Pulling back, desperate for his touch, Marigold crossed her arms and pulled her shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor. Then she reached behind and released her bra, tossing it in the same general direction. When she looked at Logan, his gaze was fixated to her breasts. Cupping them, she split her fingers over her nipples, pinching them, and he groaned. Pushing her hands away he replaced them with his own, then pushed her torso back enough that he could lean forward and wrap his lips around the tips of her breasts.
Marigold trusted him to hold her secure as he worshipped her breasts. She just didn’t want to hurt his legs with her weight. Surely, he would tell her if she was too much...
Logan moved between both breasts, his tongue stroking strongly. Then he began to suck, and Marigold groaned, feeling her body get wetter. It was if his mouth was connected directly to her clit, and it was preparing for him. “Oh, that’s lovely,” she whispered. Then he tweaked one nipple as he suckled the other, and something about the combination sent a pre-orgasm shudder through her. If he would only stroke against her jeans...
As if he heard her thoughts, he reached a hand between them, stroking her through her jeans as he tongued her nipple to the roof of his mouth, the edge of teeth on her skin. The orgasm hit her hard, sending her spinning through space. Marigold twitched and moaned, head rocked back on her shoulders as Logan held her, grinding against her.
If Logan ever could have dreamed that her satisfaction would push him right to the edge of his own, he would have made sure to at least be undressed and in a bed. Fuck. As it was, he didn’t dare move. His body quivered, needing release. His dick was cranked behind the fly of his jeans and he needed to stretch out and release.
Logan watched Marigold open her dreamy green eyes. The look of satisfaction in her expression was so worth the pain in his screaming legs. At first, her weight had been okay, but the bouncing around had made him ache in a distracting way, completely counterpoint to the good ache in his dick.
“You,” she whispered. “Are dangerous. I’ve never come like that before, with a man sucking my breasts.”
Cupping her head in his hands, he brought her mouth to his own again, trying to feel the truth in her words. There was no doubt she came, so, he would have to trust her honor. Her tongue darted out, stroking against his own and sending another delicious thrill of need through him.
Then Mari was gone, sh
ifting carefully off his lap. He watched as she grabbed a pillow from the couch, dropping it to the floor, then kicking it into position between his legs. It took Logan a moment to understand what she was doing and he sat up, trying to push her away.
“No, don’t...” he started.
“I know I don’t,” she said firmly, dropping to her knees on the pillow. “But I want to,” she grinned, reaching for the fly of his jeans.
Logan snatched at her hands. “Mari, listen to me. I’m not... there was damage.”
That stilled her hands and she glanced up at him. “Okay, well, we can go slow.”
Logan grimaced. “I’ve got burns over most of my lower half, and my dick wasn’t spared.”
“Okay. Does it still cause you pain?”
“No, not anymore. It’s just... there’s scar tissue.”
She lifted a brow at him. “And you expect me to stop because you don’t look right?”
It sounded a little ridiculous when she said it like that. With effort, he removed his hands, stretching them along the back of the couch. Then he curled them into fists.
It seemed like he had given so much recently, emotion-wise, that he was just kind of done. If she wanted to see his fucking dick, he’d let her, then, maybe he could retreat to his cold little world again. If she got him off, great. If not, he’d do it later. And the lines would be drawn.
Her fingers brushed against him again. While they’d been talking, he lost interest, a little, but within seconds he was hard again. What he hadn’t told her was that the scar tissue had a bit of a dampening effect on him. It took harder touches and strokes to get himself off. He hadn’t been with a woman since the ex, so he had no idea how his body would respond buried inside a wet woman.
The feel of her orgasming on top of him sent a fresh roll of heat down through his body. If he could have ripped those jeans off he would have, just to feel her body’s release. He had a feeling she was very wet, and the thought of sinking into that, into her, excited him.
She released the zipper on his jeans and spread the sides wide, exhaling loudly in the silence of the room. One of her hands flattened against his cock, then wrapped around him. He still wore his boxers, but the fabric was thin. Thin enough that he could feel the entire length of her hand against him, even over the scars on the lower side.
Marigold slipped her hand beneath the fabric of the boxers, fingertips finding his crown. Her touch danced lightly around it and he breathed through his nose, feeling her find the moistness at the tip. Her forefinger circled his head, spreading that wetness and teasing lightly.
Logan watched her face as she played. There was sensuality there, like she was actually enjoying what she was doing. Surely, she’d felt the scars when she’d flattened her hand against him...
Marigold leaned forward, bracing her arms over his thighs, in a way holding him still as she pulled the fabric away from his penis. Logan clenched his jaw and watched her, unblinking, as she surveyed the damage. As if sex wasn’t hard enough, he had to display his most private damage. She didn’t flinch, though. A softness entered her eyes as she flexed him up along his belly, looking at the worst damage. The crown and the top three inches, or there about, were fine. There was a strip up along the right side of his dick scarred as well, but it was narrow. It was only closer to his body where the burns were more pronounced, along the pipe beneath, circling around his shaft and up his belly, around his right hip and down his legs. His scrotum had been burnt as well, and when he’d been in the hospital, they’d very nearly removed it. One of the doctors thought it was salvageable, though, so they’d fought the infection with hard antibiotics.
“This had to have been so painful,” she murmured, leaning forward to press a line of kisses along his length, her tongue swirling around his head again.
“It was really painful when I’d get a hard-on, which you just can’t control sometimes,” he admitted.
“Hm,” she responded, lips spreading to wrap around his crown.
Logan suddenly couldn’t breathe as he watched her. It had been one of his greatest fears, not being able to have sex again. Since the injury, almost seven months now, he hadn’t had sex at all. He’d been too afraid to see revulsion in a woman’s eyes when she looked at him. Jacking off worked well enough.
Strong fingers wrapped around his shaft and Logan lost track of his thoughts. His orgasm had been forced back earlier, but he could feel it rising again. The foreignness of having a hand not his own on his flesh was enough to amp him up. The sight of her lips on his body... she licked him in twenty different ways, up and around, through the slit, finding exactly where he was most sensitive. Then she nibbled her way down his shaft, finding and caressing the scars like they were no different that the rest of him. The feeling here was different. In some places it was more sensitive, in others much less so, to the point that he barely felt her touching him at all because the nerves had been burned away.
Marigold understood the reactions of his body better than he did because she concentrated her attentions higher, around the tip of him, drawing him closer to that edge. Logan was amazed that she hadn’t run screaming from him, so he let himself relax a little. Looking down at her paying homage to his beat up dick, he let some of his closely guarded control go, again. It had been okay last time, so he would have to hope that it would be okay this time as well.
Marigold shifted on her knees, bringing her pretty breasts higher. She kind of wrapped the warm mounds around the base of his cock as she tongued him, and the graphic visual was too much for him. Yet not enough. The orgasm slammed into him, waves of pleasure making him arch up off the couch and deeper into her mouth. She pulled back enough for her hand to take over, pumping hard at the base, and he watched his release coat her breasts and fingers. Logan panted for breath, his body moving in ways it hadn’t for a long time. Marigold had found a level of pleasure for him that he hadn’t been able to himself.
And he hadn’t even fucking been inside her. His head dropped back to the couch cushion as the aftershocks rippled through him.
Marigold was very careful of the skin on Logan’s penis. As delicate as it was on a normal man, it seemed even more delicate on him, even with the addition of the scars. And they seemed to impede his pleasure, a little. She rubbed her forefinger and thumb together, feeling his release and wondering if he had the energy to join her in the bed.
Maybe this had been enough for tonight. They’d each gotten off and though her body still hummed with need, it wasn’t as sharp as it had been before. It could either be fanned or banked. Logan looked like he needed to chill for a little bit. She had a feeling this had been exceptionally emotional for him, because he hadn’t let anyone else see him this way. She felt honored that he had trusted her enough.
“Come lay down,” she offered impulsively. Reaching for her discarded t-shirt, she wiped her breasts clean, then his penis.
Logan looked at her bed and she could see the indecision. “I don’t know...”
“No commitment stated, inferred or requested.”
He barked out a laugh. “Oh, really.” He rubbed at his face. “Fine. Just for a little while.”
When he got to his feet and tucked himself away, she decided it was a good thing she’d asked him to stay. He was obviously in pain. “Are you okay? Did I break you?”
He winced, straightening his hips and back. “No. It’s just...a little more exercise than I’m used to. And the fall earlier. It might be good to lay down.”
Marigold swept ahead, swinging the comforter, blanket and sheet back for him to climb in, but he detoured toward the bathroom. “Back in a minute.”
Marigold stared at the closed door, wondering what the hell she was doing, inviting him to stay. Logan could probably make it to his own apartment, but it might be nice just sleeping in the bed with him. What a great ice breaker before sex.
Oh, hey, yeah, you snore like a freight train. What was that? My feet are ice blocks? Yeah, I could have told you that.
<
br /> Actually, the thought of just wrapping her arm over his chest and nestling in was very appealing to her. Realizing she was still naked from the waist up she crossed to her dresser, looking for a clean t-shirt to sleep in. Then, moving through the space, she picked up a few things as she waited for him to return.
Marigold picked up his cell phone from the coffee table. It was in a black, heavy duty case and the screen lit when she moved it. Nineteen percent. She set it on the bedside table and plugged it in since it took the same charger her phone did.
When she didn’t hear anything from the bathroom for a while, she snapped off most of the lights and climbed into bed. Her apartment was warm, but it was still cold outside, so it was nice to snuggle into her flannel sheets.
The bathroom door opened and Logan stepped out, leaning heavily on his crutches. When he saw her in bed, he paused, glancing toward the apartment door. Marigold didn’t want him to leave, but she wouldn’t force him to stay. He seemed to weigh her with his gaze. Eventually, he swung to the side of the bed and leaned his crutches against the wall.
Thinking she would give him some privacy, Marigold rolled over in the bed to face the dark living room area.
“If you don’t want to look, that’s fine, but if you’re turning over on my account, you don’t need to.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “I know you’ve had a lot going on today, so I didn’t know if you were up for a reveal, or whatever.”
He shrugged as he unfastened his jeans and pushed them down his legs. “I’m kind of numb, right now, so I don’t think I really care what you see. It is what it is.”
She hated the defeatist tone in his voice. It reminded her too much of her mother.