Word Count: 6,660(ish).
Rating: NC-17, like woah.
Summary: Veronica Mars was going to get herself laid.
Spoilers: None, really, but set early S1, sometime after “You Think You Know Somebody” and before “An Echolls Family Christmas”, take your pick.
Warnings: Sexual content. Lots of it. Also, lots of 'f' words.
Disclaimer: Oh, god, if RT ever found out what I did with his lovely, pristine toys, I would be so far past sued, I don't think they have a name for it yet.
FEAR AND LOATHING IN NEPTUNE
Veronica Mars had come to a decision.
Extreme, sure, but she’d been called worse. It was simple, really, she had a problem and, after much deliberation, she had a solution. That was how she worked. Some people might say there was an easier way, but some people had always tended to frustrate her with their inactivity.
It began with Troy.
Troy was nice, pleasant to look at, he definitely smelled good, and he wasn’t any kind of slouch in the kissing department. They’d had their moments, sure, and Veronica had appreciated them for what they were. She was, secretly – or quite possibly naturally, hidden underneath all her desperately protective walls, she hadn’t decided yet - quite the lover of the snuggle.
She liked the moments sitting with big, strong arms around her. She liked the feel of a chest at her back, rising and falling with breath. She couldn’t get enough of the feel of laughter shared and hands holding hands and just the sense of being with someone else. There was always a point, however, some unspoken little barricade that would rise up whenever Troy’s hands would wander just a little too far.
Veronica was afraid and if there was one thing she hated, it was to be afraid.
So her decision, be it ever so extreme and unusual, was to confront her fear and turn it around on its ass. The next boyfriend she had, if she was ever to have one and it really did depend on an increase in the influx of male people from far, far away, was not going to find her skittish and afraid every time he tried to cop a feel.
Of course her next boyfriend, whoever that might be, was less likely to be a sleazy, drug dealing, lying dirtbag set out to break her heart. She was putting that on the list of wanted qualities. It might even squeeze out ‘sense of humor’ from the top.
And everyone said it, really, the best way to confront a fear was to, for lack of a better expression, jump back on that horse and ride it to a rich, foaming lather.
Veronica Mars was going to get herself laid, which really only left the problem of the layee. A problem that had, after much more deliberation, offered a very simple solution. Out of everyone she knew, there really only was one person who would be willing to just sleep with a girl with no questions asked and without any of the flowery expectations and crap afterwards.
Of course, given that she was the girl and the unsuspecting, lucky ‘he’ was none other than Logan Echolls, getting him to be willing was going to be a little more difficult than usual.
He hated her and she hated him and that was never going to change, not in the foreseeable future, barring any and all possibilities of apocalyptic world endings and/or lobotomies on both sides. And probably not even then.
It was just, somewhere, deep and hidden and in a place she didn’t often want to explore, Veronica still trusted Logan. At least, she trusted him not to hurt her. Even when he was bashing her headlights in with a crowbar and mocking her with precision cruelty, enough to break her open a time or two, she trusted him. Not. To hurt. Her.
Which is exactly how she found herself using her most stealthy lock picking skills to crack open the door to Logan’s pool house in the dark.
There was a fine art in getting an adversary to sleep with you.
Hours of intel gathering, otherwise known as gossip with Lilly, had provided her with much needed information and the tools she would need to accomplish her task. She knew, for example, that Logan often preferred to spend the night in said poolroom rather than traipse through a cold, dark house, that Logan was a very heavy sleeper, and that Logan, for all his rapier wit, was never as sharp as he could be if roused from slumber.
Her fingers tightened inside the blindfold she had wrapped around her right hand as she tiptoed past the bar and the television and the curiously positioned beanbag.
She stopped when she saw him, an involuntary moment as her mouth went dry, five seconds of hesitation, of finally comprehending what she was about to do. He was lying on his back with the sheets of the bed twisted around his waist.
Logan Echolls had always been attractive. That was a given. It was something so ingrained into her subconscious from years of Lilly highlighting the fact that she barely had to think the words. She knew he was handsome. The entire female student body knew he was handsome. The person who knew it most, painfully and obviously so, was Logan himself.
He moved with a cat like grace she barely noticed any more. He was confident and sure and every single motion was made with the surety of getting the result he wanted. He moved with a grace that she felt eluded her, a sleek natural bidding, a control over himself that she could never grasp.
Standing at the side of his bed, looking down at him, Veronica let her eyes linger. She saw the line of his chest roll down over his abdomen, the taut curves of his stomach, the line of dark, dusky hair that dotted his belly all the way lower to underneath the sheet.
His face, surprisingly smooth and hostility free in sleep, was fast losing the roundedness of his early teens and she could see him lengthening, stretching, morphing from what she’d once known into something else. Into a creature more dangerous than even he knew.
He didn’t work out, he had everything handed to him on a silver platter; it showed in the fact that his muscles weren’t tight and sculpted and flawless, but she saw the possibility, saw the truth of it in his body lying on the bed.
She bit her lip and reached out, her hand shaking as she touched the slight curve of his upper arm. Her body was tense and already charged, ready to run at the first sign of danger.
It was exactly as Lilly had said. He didn’t wake up, not when she tentatively increased the pressure from the tip of her nail touching his skin to the pad of her finger, not when she leaned down close to him, not when her knee landed on the side of the mattress for balance.
And not when she tied the blindfold around his eyes.
“Logan.” She half called, half breathed the name into his ear. “Logan, wake up.”
She watched the skin at the corner of his eyes pucker from underneath the cloth, a frown creasing the middle of his brow.
“Hm?” His whole body undulated, moved with the question as he shifted his face towards hers. “Who’s…?”
Her finger danced over his mouth and pressed his lips together, holding them still. Even as she watched, she saw his nostrils flare, saw him breathe her in and the sight made something curl low in her belly. It wasn’t really her, she knew it, she’d planned it that way.
It was Lilly’s perfume.
Not the everyday scent, the one that made Veronica gag a little in the back of her throat whenever she caught the scent of it, inevitable with the bottle she kept in the back of her dresser. The bottle Veronica had used was the secret stash, the one Lilly used specifically for the nights she planned on sex. It was her calling card.
And Logan obviously recognized it, if the low moan in the back of his throat had been any indication.
Carefully, Veronica sat up on her knees and studied him, before she pulled the sheet all the way off his body. He was already half hard, she could see the bulge inside his boxers, and she watched him tense as she straddled him, coming to sit on the tops of his thighs.
It wasn’t like she didn’t know what to do. She had read books and seen films and the talks with her best friend, alone, would have been guide enough. An Ikea instruction pamphlet would have been enough. Insert tab A into slot B. Simple and easy, dimwitted morons around the world did it every day. It was just that she didn’t really know how.
She wasn’t sure how to get from stomach clenching nerves to the sort of passion that people immortalized in words and songs and movies.
Ever prepared and thinking ahead, she’d worn a skirt. A short one. She could feel the soft silky hair of his thighs tickle the skin inside hers. Thick, corded muscles tightened as she sat there and it made her fluttery. He had to feel her, she knew it, he had to feel her bare skin on his, had to feel the edges of the material as it bunched up against the backs of her thighs and around her ass.
He squirmed underneath her.
It was a groan and a plea and she stopped it again, letting the pad of her forefinger rest in the cushion of his lower lip. He moved too quickly, she wasn’t prepared for him to suck it into his mouth, his tongue coming out to slide wetly against her knuckle.
She couldn’t hold back the gasp, the smallest tremor, as she tried to pull back.
He wasn’t going to stay still and immobile in this, she knew it, knew he was making that clear from the get go as he caught her wrist inside his hand, large fingers circling the bones there. She shook as he smiled and nuzzled her fingers open to kiss the center of her palm and then let go.
The softness of it made her weak.
A quick flick of her wrist shook him free entirely, brought her back to task. Slowly, carefully, studiously, she laid her hand flat on the curve of his neck, her skin thrilling to the feel of gravelly bristle. Logan shaved. It was such a simple, intimate thought, that it shook her.
She felt his body distantly, felt the pulse of his throat under her palm, felt his neck slope to meet his shoulders as she dragged it down, felt the beat of his heart underneath both her hands as she catalogued and traced the lines of his chest.
His left nipple puckered when she accidentally brushed it and Veronica quirked her head to the side to look at it more closely. She tried again, pushing the pads of her fingers against the pink, springy flesh. Her eyes followed the tightening, the way it peaked and pushed back, bobbing up for more.
She was not prepared for his hands to land on the tops of her thighs, pulling her legs open wider and guiding her closer.
This was how it was meant to go, she was sure of it. Deep in the fuzzy banks of her memory, she dimly recalled the sudden thrill of breathlessness, the slightly queasy, topsy-turvy feeling in her stomach whenever Duncan nuzzled too closely on her neck, or his hand strayed too far up her shirt.
Common sense told her the involuntary jerk her hips gave when she felt his cock pushing hard against the front of her underwear was a good thing. Necessary to the plan at hand.
It was a strange thing, Logan’s penis. She wasn’t any kind of blushing maid who giggled at the sight of a poor, unfortunate boy with an embarrassing bulge in his pants in public, she’d seen enough images to know what a damned penis looked like.
But this one was alive and it pushed back at her when she reached down to touch it. It jerked under her fingers and then reached for her when she let it go, it followed her. She actually smiled down at it, because, all things considered, it really was kind of cute.
“Oh my god.” He groaned, the sound coming from far away. “I think you’re going to kill me.”
It was hot and squirmy and it pulsed in her fingers. She felt the bumps and nodules of blood vessels lining the shaft. Her teeth clamped down on her tongue as she furrowed her brows and leaned to the side, reaching for her ready stash.
The foil tore easily and she looked at the small circle of latex in her hand and then at the straining appendage just underneath. It’s simple instructions, Veronica, she told herself clinically, trying to calm the growing pit of nerves; they did it on the banana in that health class movie you watched in eighth grade.
She couldn’t quite tell if her hands were shaking or he was as she stretched the latex over him, he twitched in her hands, and his hips thrust upwards. Her eyes looked up to meet his face and she saw it stretched out almost in pain, struggling with holding back.
The image burned itself into her eyes and she licked her bottom lip before leaning down.
Her back curled as she lowered herself down on him, felt his stomach twitch under hers as her mouth found the side of his neck and began to suckle. She hadn’t done this before, hadn’t ever kissed anybody so intimately she could describe the taste of their chest hair, the feel of it sticking to her lips as she moved her head lower.
His body rippled like a wave and she rode it, feeling warmth pool through her entire system.
He was scrambling at her shirt, suddenly, and that she knew. That she’d had some experience with as she let him unbutton it and toss it aside, his fingers spreading over the front of her ribs and cupping the undersides of her breasts.
She couldn’t stop herself from grinding against his crotch and the embarrassment nearly flooded out the need.
Veronica was nothing if not single minded.
She slipped her hand between them, grabbing his cock and holding it still, holding it in place as she slowly rubbed against it. His hands tightened on her breasts, thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles on her nipples as she took one of his in her mouth and sucked hard.
Her fingers slid again the damp of her underwear and she scrambled to push it aside, to feel the tip of him sitting against wet folds.
They both groaned.
Rocking back and forth, Veronica bit her lip and just rested her forehead on the top of his breastbone. It felt good, it felt different, and with each soft slick slide of him nudging against her she could feel herself getting wetter. Her breath started to come in harsh pants, shallow and brief, a struggle.
Suddenly his hands pulled her up, her chest to his mouth, and her nipple exploded as he began to suck. It made her thighs weak and surprised her so that she fell down, impaling herself completely on his ready cock.
Veronica bit back the sob.
“Holy fuck!” Logan hissed in a pained voice. “Oh fuck.”
She had known, she’d heard the stories, and she’d been prepared. Everyone said it hurt the first time. But this wasn’t her first, not that she remembered her first, and it shouldn’t have. It shouldn’t have, not like this. It’s was supposed to be easier, she’d damn well earned easier. She couldn’t move, frozen against him.
Goddamn it, it hurt.
“Hey.” Logan’s arms came around her, she could feel the flat press of his forearms against her back as he held her still, his face buried in her neck. “Hey, slow down.”
Slowly, oh so slowly, he slid her up and off him and he was being so gentle she could have cried as he rolled her over, keeping her stilled inside his arms.
“There are ways to do this, you know.”
She could have slapped him for the humor in his voice, that slightly jeering tease, if he didn’t distract her by laying wet, open mouthed kisses along her neck that made her gasp as his hand trailed down her side and over her leg.
She didn’t want to give in, didn’t want him to win, but her legs relaxed open of their own accord and she found herself arching closer, trying to get more. His fingers inched underneath her panties and stroked unbelievable patterns against her still aching flesh.
That wasn’t familiar and that wasn’t what she was used to, she’d never caused her own hips to thrust up with a mind of her own, she’d never created a fever that surged through her veins until she could barely stand it. Until she shook her head back and forth against the pillow, struggling.
She didn’t know what she was struggling against or for as he continued to suck against the spot on her neck that made her nearly whimper out loud, made her bite down hard to keep from making a sound. Her hips pumped hard against his hand, pushing, reaching for something as his fingers deftly surrounded her clit and tugged firmly.
Veronica stopped struggling as she exploded.
Oh, she thought bizarrely, oh, so that’s what they meant.
She barely felt her underwear being pulled away until she felt him pushing her legs apart, settling himself between them, and then he pushed a finger all the way inside and her back bowed off the bed. His mouth slid down her throat and began licking at her breasts, his nose pushing them up and around to better suit his intentions.
Her hands scrambled on his shoulders, looking for something to do as she felt him thrust a second finger in with the first.
He stroked her, just so, fingertips curling against points she didn’t know existed in herself, when he brought his other hand down to meet the first. Then he was stroking and pulling at her clit with one, while gently fucking her with the other and she had never, ever, used two hands on herself.
That had to change, she made the promise, as her feet planted themselves firmly on the mattress and her back arched so far above the bed only the backs of her shoulders and her feet were touching anything solid.
Her cry caught deep in her throat, bubbling into nothing as she fell back to the bed.
Just as she was cresting over that wave, hard and brutal, she felt him push her wide open with both hands and then his mouth closed over her throbbing clit, his tongue and chin and lips suddenly lashing at her, eating at her, eager and hungry.
She couldn’t breathe. She just couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t breathe and he was… and she was going to die… and this wasn’t right… and she knew… oh, god… she knew why they kept coming back to him… he was an ass, but he did this… and he… and she… and…
Her bones fell away; they just packed their bags and left her, hopeless and limp against the mattress, gasping for air. He kissed her hip and the side of her ribs, the middle of her sternum, the line of her clavicle, the tendon that stretched up her throat. His hands padded the mattress beside her, his entire body crawling up over hers like an animal.
She could feel his breath hot on her skin.
When he hovered above her, face-to-face, Veronica turned her head; it was too personal, too close. His lips grazed off the side of her cheekbone and into thin air.
Logan tensed and pulled back and she could see his scowl, could see him glaring even through the blindfold. The nerves began to return, but just before she reached out to him, he scooted back completely and off the bed.
Forcing her elbows, shaking and jelly like, to hold her weight, Veronica watched as he roughly snatched the condom off his still hard cock and then rummaged around, quite skillfully given the blindfold, in the nearby drawers for a new one.
It was a slight sliver of fear when he came back to the bed, kneeling on the edge, anger radiating from every pore as he flexed his fingers. She could see him straining, face pointed towards her as if extra attention would answer his question, and it left her a strange mix of confused and awed and disgusted all at once.
He was so gentle with her and he still didn’t know who she was.
The ability to sleep with someone without knowing them was an alien thing to her. She had to know. She had to plan it out. She didn’t know how to be so casual, so flippant about the whole thing, about her body, about someone else’s.
“So, this is what you want, is it?”
The tone of his voice sent a shiver down her spine as his fingers closed over her ankle. He dragged her leg up and over his body so that she was spread on either side of him and Veronica felt the sudden inexplicable desire to cover herself, to shield herself even though he couldn’t see.
He leaned forward, draping himself over her, holding himself up by his left hand, wrist and elbow and shoulder bunching under the weight as his right hand stroked patterns down the front of her body. His fingers knew dips and curves that sent sparks up her spine she hadn’t even considered before.
She’d touched herself countless times, both sexually and not, casually dragging soap over the very same areas in the front of her belly, and not once had she brought this out in herself. Her body betrayed her, reacting to him, moving under him, to him.
“You could touch me back, at least.”
There was a dry sort of amusement buried in the brusque tone.
It was different; she could feel it as she reached out to run her hands over his shoulders. He was already different. The way he moved had changed, become almost distant and mechanical and she found she missed the slow, fluid caresses, the care.
Her fingers found knots in his muscles and she pushed at them, bore down until she felt them give, popping under her touch. He moaned against her ribs. The line of him, the feel of him, was different to anything she knew and she couldn’t help cataloguing it, putting each and every reaction into her memory like a puzzle to solve later.
If she thought she was embarrassingly responsive, her body moving like a puppet on his strings, she had no way to describe his reactions. He undulated into her hands, sought them out with a subtle movement, guided her to his ribs, his hips, and the knobs of his spine.
She knew she shouldn’t, knew it was a bad idea, but she couldn’t stop herself cupping the side of his jaw, just watching his expression as she fingered the soft, barely there stubble at the side of his throat. His face went blank, shuttered, and she saw him swallow thickly as he leaned into it, nuzzling her hand like a cat.
Then he growled, a gurgled sound of frustration and despair.
“You want to do this? Then let’s get it over with.”
Veronica froze when his hips dipped lower, pushing her thighs further apart. Her hands fell, forgotten, to the mattress beside her face and she closed her eyes, curling her fingertips into tight little fists. She knew what was going to happen, she knew it; she’d just done it not ten minutes earlier. Tab A, slot B. It was why she’d come. She knew, but she really didn’t.
Maybe this was how –he- had done it. Body hovering over hers, controlling everything, even the placement of her limbs.
“Hey.” Logan pushed himself up on his hands, bringing his face up level with hers. “Wherever you just went? Don’t.”
She held her breath as he lowered his face into her neck, but she couldn’t stop the gasp as he opened his mouth and laved his tongue on her skin, leaving a strip of cool saliva and then sucking hard to dry it off. His hands pushed her back together, forced her to focus as they ran up her sides and into her ribs, played havoc with the beating of her heart as he kneaded her breasts.
“If you’re here with me.” He growled low in his throat against the bobbing of her pulse. “Then you’re here with me.”
He was right, she could feel it in the way her body began to respond, the growing heat and something that wanted to reach, desperately reach for something that she couldn’t identify. She had to strain to get it, clamping her hand down on the divot of his waist, pulling his body in closer as she pushed hers up, angling her hips towards his as he rocked against her.
Logan suckled a line down the front of her throat to the midline of her sternum.
“You don’t smell like her here.” He took a deep breath in. “It’s better.”
The words stunned her, ran up into her brain and sizzled there, distracted her so she didn’t notice the sudden change in his movements, didn’t feel him change purpose until he actually pushed in, his hands steadying her on either side of her waist.
Her fingers stretched out in spasm against his skin as her spine arched, her neck snapping back so that her eyes saw the headboard and her mouth opened, jaw widening as if to relieve the pressure that was building inside.
She could feel him everywhere, hips digging into her thighs and hands marking her skin and mouth panting hotly against her chest and his ankles knocking awkwardly against hers, could feel him large and hard inside her, stretching her, pushing and pulling all at once.
And it wasn’t bad.
“Oh, god. Oh, jesus.” He panted, shaking hard as he held himself still. “You’re so fucking…”
And before he could finish the sentence, Veronica clawed at him, stroked down his back, pushing her fingers into the soft fleshy pads of skin above his kidneys, urging him to move, trying to get him to do something, to…
He pulled out and pushed back in slowly.
“Fuck.” He gasped it and she couldn’t have agreed more.
Gradually, she began to move, experimentally pushing her hips up to meet his, spreading her thighs wider, it increased the pressure, gave her a sense of… of… the word friction shot inside her skull and bounced off each surface… and she gripped him by the sides of his hips, dragged him closer as she began to match his movements.
Push and pull and slamming together and tearing apart and she could really get used to this, she really could.
“Your turn, baby.”
He surged forward, digging his hands deep into the mattress next to her and sliding his arms underneath, wrapping himself around her and holding her close as he suddenly rolled them, pulling her against his chest as he settled onto his back.
“You want it, you work for it.”
Veronica anchored her hands on his chest as she adjusted, pushing herself to a half sitting position. The angle pushed him deeper and she gasped, trying to find a comfortable place for her knees until she finally nestled them in close to his hips.
He raised his legs behind her; she could feel the added support against her backside and was grateful.
“It’s okay.” The slight frown was back in his forehead, a crinkle of tension as he settled his hands on the side of her hips. “Just find a rhythm.”
She let him push her up and pull her back down a couple of times before she caught on, before her hips began to move of their own volition. It didn’t take long before she found the friction again, her muscles clamping down around him, hard and pulsing inside her.
Their hands wandered, hers roaming experimentally over his chest, tangling in his chest hair and tugging, pressing against the firm pectorals and running lines down the grooves of his straining abdominal muscles, bringing her wrists in close to her body and then out again, like a painter on canvass. His hands cupped her hips, sliding back over the side of her thighs and down over her backside, his fingers clamped hard digging into the globes of her ass and pulling them apart before letting go.
“Faster.” It was almost a plea as he thrust harder up. “God, faster.”
It popped in her knees as she complied, up and down and forward and back, slip and slide and holy fuck, cracked until she put the weight in her thighs, used their momentum to bounce instead of lifting herself up. His fingers stroked at her, grabbing uselessly at her sides and down her stomach, trying to hold on to something, anything, and she understood the desperation.
“I want… I want to see…” He bit back a low groan when she rolled her hips in a deliberately cruel wave. “God, at least say something… anything.”
Veronica discovered that, despite all previous assumptions to the contrary, she could not deny him when he begged.
“Logan.” Her voice sounded cracked and broken, unused as she moaned out loud. “Please…”
She knew it was a mistake the second he stopped moving, when he turned to stone underneath her.
“Fuck!” His hand came up and tore the blindfold off. “Veronica?”
It felt like an eternity, sitting on top of him like that as she couldn’t take her eyes away from his angry ones. They held her still, flashing with emotions she couldn’t read, hurt, betrayal, distaste, all soaked in lust.
“Wait.” And then she was the one begging as her legs squeezed in a plea. “Wait, Logan, please.”
“Oh, fuck you.” He hissed it as he reached up and grabbed her by the shoulders. “I should have known.”
Then she was flipped onto her back and the air flew out of her lungs, escaping her throat with a hiss as he landed on top of her again, pinning her hands beside her face. He thrust firmly between her legs, but not firm enough, just barely teasing the pattern they’d begun before.
“I should have fucking known it was you.” The words came out garbled as he took a deliberate sniff all along the side of her neck. “With Lilly’s perfume and the blindfold, the whole fucking game. I should have known. What are you trying to pull, Veronica?”
“Logan.” And it was like she couldn’t say anything else, now that he’d given her the space to say that one thing. Just his name. “Please, I didn’t…”
He kept teasing her, rocking just hard enough into her to inflame her nerve endings but not satisfy them, not give them any ease at all, until she pushed up, until she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him back inside.
They both groaned their approval.
“I want… I just…”
But the words got lost and he wasn’t listening anyway.
“You wanted to ride the fucking Echolls train, let everyone know.” And he pushed her chin up, pushed her face out of the way as he leaned in close. “Well, here you go.”
She could feel tiny blood vesicles rushing to the edge of her neck; feel them being sucked harsh and deep from her throat. Logan knew, they both did, that Veronica Mars walking into school with obvious hickey was open slather for torment.
“Fuck you.” She struggled back, pushing against his shoulders until he rolled off and away and she rolled after him. “You goddamn prick.”
He didn’t fight back as she straddled him again, pushed his hands away and began her own assault on his neck. She knew, they both did, that if it were open slather against Veronica Mars with a hickey, it would be nothing compared to what waited for the person who showed up with an obviously matching partner.
Somewhere along the way, he’d gotten his hands on her hips again, had pulled her back to him and they’d started grinding. He slid all the way back in and she let it rumble up and out of her throat as he pistoned her above him, hard and brutal.
Then she took over, jerking her hips out of his hands and smashing them down hard, harder than he had, trying to punish him and she didn’t even know what for. The thick, corded tendon of his throat was pulled entirely between her teeth and she sucked fiercely, slamming down harder and hoping both of them hurt.
She wasn’t entirely sure it was about sex anymore.
“Enough!” He grunted, sliding his hands between them again. This time she was ready for the roll, for the sudden flip of air and the soft thud of the mattress at her back. “What the hell did you come here for?”
A mean light glittered in his eyes, twin pinpoints of narrowed spite.
“Or did you just need to come?” His right forearm snaked its way across the front of her chest, pinning her down, his left hand slid between their bodies. “Is that all you want? The swim team not doing it for you anymore?”
Veronica arched her back in spite of herself, gritting her teeth against him as he found her clit and began stroking her to a fever pitch.
“Come on, then.” It was hissed, but the venom wasn’t entirely there, she couldn’t feel the familiar sting of it. “Hurry up and get it over with. It’s not like you haven’t done it already tonight, just fucking come, Veronica.”
“Logan.” It scratched out of her throat as she tried to regain some composure, some semblance of control as her body writhed with his. “Please… oh, god, please…”
Their words were fighting, but their bodies weren’t.
“Just fucking come.” And the hostility in his voice broke on the words, making them sound more like a plea than an order. “Jesus Christ, Veronica, just come so you can go. Get the fuck out. Get out of my bed, out of my house, out of my fucking head.”
Then he went still against her, his face in her neck.
“Just leave me alone.”
Just as she was reaching for him, for what she wasn’t sure, to push him off or pull him closer, he sprang into life. He grabbed her jaw in both of his hands, holding her still, and smashed his mouth down hard on hers.
Veronica froze for a second.
Then she relented, stopped fighting his lips and his tongue as he forced his way into her mouth, voraciously tasting her. He was shaking. Her hands, instead of pushing him away, planted themselves at the sides of his ribs and held him closer.
The inside of his mouth tasted like dark, musky girl come and minty toothpaste and she licked the taste of herself from his teeth.
Her feet climbed the outside of his legs, scrambling up until they planted themselves on the backs of his thighs and her hips crashed clumsily into his. And it was different; she could feel it in the way they weren’t working as separate entities.
Even if they were fighting each other, they were doing it together. She could feel them pulsing in a syncopated rhythm, back and forth, and even struggling it felt better. Her inner muscles clenched hard, trying to keep him inside for longer, deeper intervals, and his body responded by grinding at different angles, hitting new points and places that made her moan into his mouth.
Her finally let her mouth go, panting for air.
“Oh, god.” She gasped, staring blankly up at the ceiling. “I can’t… I can’t…”
It made him give a desperately soft little chuckle.
“Well, you fucking better, because I’m about to.”
She was tired and worn down and her muscles were failing and she wasn’t sure she could, everything was about to fall apart, her whole body was about to give up on itself and all she really wanted to do was curl up and lie still for days, let sense memory soak in the night.
He obviously wasn’t going to let that happen as his hand returned to her clit, twisting and tugging it until she was reduced to a garbled string of incomprehensible pleas and strangely thrusting limbs. She felt the orgasm hit her out of nowhere, throwing her into a blissful wave of release.
As she came back down, she felt him give several last, frantic, awkward thrusts until he stilled on top of her. His weight came down heavy and she wasn’t sure what to do, so she settled her hands on his back and tried not to think of how well their bodies meshed, even as he was threatening to cut off vital blood supplies.
Just as her eyes were closing, just as she was beginning to catalogue inside her brain which parts of him were the most comfortable against her, his legs nestled into hers, his hips snapped to hers like a jigsaw, their ribs pushing against each other with each inhalation, the slide of her fingers against the soft, vulnerable flesh of his side, he gave a slight grunt and rolled away.
Veronica breathed fresh air in the absence of heat and comfort.
“Was that it?” His voice came to her tight and controlled and pained. “Is that all you wanted?”
She closed her eyes for a second, tried not to picture him doing whatever he was doing, cleaning himself, discarding the condom, washing her away with half a bottle of vodka, she didn’t need to know what he was doing.
Then she sat up, blinking slightly as her body readjusted to movement, to the new altitude of being upright. The flash of color to her left, if she wasn’t mistaken, was her shirt. Her underwear couldn’t be too far away and, conveniently enough, her skirt was still bunched up around her waist.
Easy access; easy exit. It always paid to plan ahead.
He didn’t say anything as she gathered her things. If he looked at her at all, if he noticed the slightly awkward way she moved and gentled her body into walking, he didn’t say so. If he remembered even half of the concern he’d shown her when he didn’t know who she was, he didn’t say so.
When she reached the door, Veronica looked back. Logan was lying stretched out on his back with his arm slung over his face, blocking out… most likely her.
“Thank you, Logan.”
His answer, bitten out and vicious, sounded a lot like ‘fuck you’ to her ears, the meaning well clear behind it, but what she heard was something different.
Oh, she thought briefly, for about a gagillion orgasms in a row, for showing me what sex should be, for not tormenting me like I know you could have, for not throwing this back in my face like I know you want to, for not asking why when I can’t ever tell you, for being so skilled, for being what I needed when I needed it most. Any of those do?
She took a breath.
“For helping me get over my fear.”
It was the most truth that had passed between them in over a year.
“Veronica.” He sat up, taking his arm away from his eyes. “Wait…”
Her answer, bitten out and vicious, might have sounded a lot like ‘fuck you’ to his ears, the meaning well clear behind it, but she hoped he heard something different.
The door closed behind her, solidly, with a little click, and as she walked back to her car, she wondered if anything was going to change between them, or if this too would become part of the minefield of their relationship.