A/N: This is my first ever story on Literotica. It is adapted from a different story of mine, posted on another platform. Hope you enjoy. Feedback is appreciated.
After a hard day's work, Logan stuck his ax in the stump he was using as a chopping block, and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. He was drenched in sweat that trickled down his naked torso. It had gotten into his eyes as well. August wasn't the most comfortable month for chopping wood for the winter, but it needed time to dry.
Of course, 'needed to' was a relative term. He could have sped up the whole process of chopping wood, carrying it, and stacking it in pallets considerably if he'd hired someone to help. On the other hand, he enjoyed it. The simplicity of the physical effort, the sense of accomplishment that came with it, its raw power of erasing all his painful, intrusive thoughts. At least for a few hours a day. Pleased with himself, he assessed the pile he had managed to chop today in the quiet and solitude of his backyard in Middle-of-Nowhereville. It had been a good day. Above average, at least.
Logan's daily activities helped. His memories faded into the background with every swing of the ax. They became smaller each time the satisfying sound of a piece of wood being split and the rhythmic thumps reached his ears. His muscles tensed with each movement, he could feel his strength, skill, and endurance improving with each passing day, and he forgot about his troubles. For a while.
If it wasn't wood chopping, it was push-ups or pull-ups or running. Cooking or cleaning, sometimes. He enjoyed working with his hands. He had even built a dog house the other day. Unsurprisingly, the sound of the hammer hitting each nail had soothed him tremendously.
'I should get a dog,' he thought idly, as he got in the shower.
And, with a small jolt of excitement, he noticed the faucet was leaking. Another thing to fix, another aspect of his life that he could bring under his control. The hot water eased the tension in his sore muscles and he massaged his neck, idly wondering what he should cook tonight.
Suddenly, his musings were interrupted by the doorbell. Jumping back slightly, he turned off the faucet and waited, convinced it must have been his imagination. His friends never visited him, since he preferred outings in the city if he wanted to socialize, and his best friends... well. The thought of them was the one he was trying to run away from, with the push-ups and pull-ups and wood-chopping and the building of dog houses for potential pets he was yet to procure.
The doorbell sounded for a second time and it was undeniable: someone was intruding upon his solitude. Frowning, Logan got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, not bothering to dry himself off. He went downstairs and, upon hearing the bell for the third time, he threw the door open without checking who it was, already irritated.
He should've looked through the peephole. Suddenly, the wood and the exercise and his dinner plans and the leaking faucet became very small. Irrelevant almost.
"Oh, Logan, I'm sorry," Jean said, giving him a quick once-over, her eyes widening when she took in his scantily clad form. "I'm intruding, I didn't realize, I should've maybe--"
"It's fine," he said. Mechanically, because it was the polite thing to say when one was confronted with an unexpected guest. Not because he believed it. It was most certainly not fine for her to show up unannounced on his doorstep after what had happened. "Er, come on in," he added, gesturing rather lamely towards the dark hallway.
"Are you sure it's all right? I shouldn't have just shown up like this," she said, wringing her hands.
"Yeah, of course," he lied. "Fancy a cuppa? Or something stronger?"
"Tea is fine," she replied, with a small smile, and she followed him into the kitchen.
There was a hint of bitterness in her smile and a shadow of something stirring behind her eyes. A sadness of sorts. It didn't dull her beauty though. If anything, her absence from his life had amplified it. Her eyes were wider and of a deeper, more striking color than he remembered. She had done something to her hair, not that he hadn't liked it before. Her curves were painfully visible underneath her clothes... well, especially to him. Since he had mapped every inch of her back then, before his expedition, when it had been just the two of them.
He had memorized her with his fingers and his tongue, hidden away from the world, in a whirlwind of desperation. He had held her, whispered to her, tangled his fingers in her hair, coaxed her lips open with his own while he traced the peaks and valleys of her body, constantly searching, puzzling out what made her tick, where he had to touch her and kiss her and lick her to lure the sinful little moans out of her that he liked so much. He had learned to play her like the most sensual violin in existence. And then...
And then he'd left for his expedition in Antarctica. They promised they'd resume their relationship after he came back. That they'd keep in touch. And they had, for a while. Until their infrequent communication had become non-existent.
She had chosen Howard, her other best friend from uni. As though nothing had ever happened between her and Logan. As though he hadn't fucked her countless times, in his bed back in the city, on the floor, bent over the table, in the shower, in every conceivable place and in every position imaginable. As though he hadn't told her he loved her over and over while he kissed fervently down her body until his lips made contact with the sensitive flesh between her legs.
Granted, he had never voiced his thoughts about the future to her. Because he hadn't wanted to tie her down when said future was still uncertain. Logan busied himself with the cups and the kettle. Behind him, Jean was leaning against the table, tapping her foot. He could smell her perfume. It was the same one from back then. He knew how it tasted when he licked her skin.
He had never told her about the future he'd dreamed of. He hadn't had time back then to say that, to him, she was his future. She didn't know that he'd bought a ring for her upon returning from Antarctica.
"Milk, no sugar?" he asked, attempting to keep his voice casual and level. Maybe he should have gone upstairs and put some clothes on. But damn it all to hell, it was his house and his life and she was the one intruding. He'd walk around dressed in just a towel or not even that, if he damn well pleased.
"Logan, can you look at me?" Jean said, a pleading edge to her tone.
Well, so much for sounding casual, he reasoned. He turned around to face her and crossed his arms.
"You're mad at me," she said. Not a question, a statement.
"Why are you here, Jean?" he asked, bypassing her non-question.
Her bottom lip trembled slightly. "I broke up with Howard. It didn't... We tried to make it work, but we fought all the time. Shouldn't have come as a surprise actually."
"And you need a shoulder to cry on?" he asked, aware that he had sounded a bit harsh, but too rattled to actually give a damn.
Jean shook her head. Slowly, a thousand unspoken words swirled in her eyes and trembled on her lips.
"I'm so sorry, Logan. I shouldn't have, we should've talked, you and I, sorted things out and--"
"You want me back," he said, matter-of-factly.
Without stopping to think about what he was doing, he approached her. A slight chill was making its way underneath his skin.
"Did I get that right?" he asked, stopping right in front of her and holding her gaze. "Do you want me back?"
"Logan, I... I know how it looks. I know I was unfair, and that we left things off in a weird way when you left. But I swear, I didn't think, back then, I mean... it was insane and I didn't even know--"
"Just," he started, rubbing his forehead. "Answer the question, please."
She bit her lip and nodded. When the word left her lips, it was little above a whisper, but he could hear it clearly, as well as feel the almost incomprehensible
magnitude it took on as it grew and swelled between them.
"Yes. If you'll have me. Yes. I'm sorry. I made a mistake."
Logan swallowed the lump in his throat. Not long ago, hearing her say these exact words had been his hidden dream and biggest desire. In the meantime, though, he had found ways to cope with losing her. With his grief over a life and the image of a future that had never come to be. With the anger. The uncontrollable, searing hot rage. In many ways, he had moved on. Well, technically, he still wasn't seeing anyone else, that part he kept postponing, but he was getting there. And now she thought she could just show up, more than a year later, and ask him to take her back? After she'd discarded him?
Perhaps he should return the favor, he thought. Tell her to leave, slam the door behind her, go upstairs to the bathroom and work on fixing the faucet, then cook dinner, perhaps read while he envisioned how he'd vent out his anger on the poor pieces of wood the next day.
And yet... She was so close that he could feel the heat of her body. He could see the almost imperceptible fluttering of her eyelids. The slight trembling of her lips. He could smell her damn perfume. All of it, it took him right back, it ignited his deepest, most primordial desires and instincts. The raw need to claim her. Take her. Make her his again.
Unable to stop himself, he extended his hand and cupped her cheek. She leaned into his touch. It was electrifying, that moment when his skin made contact with hers once once more. A thousand repressed memories of her writhing underneath him and coming undone around him bubbled to the surface. Slowly, he traced the line of her jaw and her lips parted.
"And you think I'll just take you back? Just like that?" he said, in a low whisper.
He traced her bottom lip with his thumb, and she shook her head.
"I'm not expecting anything immediately," she said, with a slight tremble in her voice.
"Good," he said, inching even closer to her, placing his palms on either side of her, caging her in, almost touching her lips with his. "Because you did a bad thing."
She nodded and her eyelids fluttered shut. "I know," she breathed out. "I'm sorry. I... I was bad."
"Mmm," he said, agreeing with her. He placed a hand on her neck, without squeezing. Relishing the sensation of her soft, velvety skin under his fingers.
It was a dream. A painful, erratic, confusing dream. She'd shown up uninvited and unannounced in his life, unearthing feelings and desires he'd worked hard to bury. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to give her another chance. Then again, that was merely the voice of his reason. His entire body was screaming for him to do the opposite. Yet, he couldn't simply get over it. How could he, when images of her and Howard had plagued him for months?
He chewed his lip and looked down at her as he caressed the skin of her neck with his thumb. The overwhelming urge to grab her, kiss her, hold her, was almost impossible to fight against. Almost. He couldn't forgive and forget so easily. At the very least, she needed to understand how wrong she'd been. She needed to understand that if she wanted him, she would belong to him as much as he would belong to her.
He pressed a light kiss to her collarbone and she shivered.
"If we're going to try this again, I need to fuck him out of your system," he said, lightly squeezing her neck. She moaned. "I will ruin you for every other man, Jean. Do you think you can handle that?"
