She is naked when I step into the room, her body highlighted by the silver glow of the moon. I had followed the instructions left by her paid paramour; he was quite willing to divulge everything for the right amount of gold crossing his palms. She is expecting someone dressed up as me, and I take advantage of the fact that she doesn’t know it is truly me.
“You’re early,” she whispers as my mouth kisses her shoulder. I make to pull away, but she grabs my hand. “No, it’s all right,” she sighs out, pulling my arms around her.
My mind wanders to how I came to be here, in this strange hotel room with an ex-student, now colleague, in the middle of this carefully crafted plot of revenge. I don’t recall when I noticed this odd little idiosyncrasy of staring at me that the Granger girl has developed; it wasn’t something she exhibited as a child. It started with my fingers, or rather with her apparent fascination with them. Did she really think I wouldn’t notice the way she stared at my fingers? Oh, she tried to be coy about it, sending furtive glances down the table, but I knew each time her gaze fell on them, like a soft touch. I admit, at first I hardly cared. I’ve no time for Potter’s little groupies, most especially not his little hanger-on, Granger; she was an annoying little blip of a student, and she was as equally annoying now as a colleague. Therefore, while her covert glances at my fingers as we dined might have unnerved me on some level, I decided to act as if it had no impact on me.
I would have written it off this seemingly strange obsession in the annals of “bizarre behavior” often exhibited by those Dumbledore employs had it not been for the copious touching that followed. Mere acquaintances simply do not touch me, especially not former students. I have always been fiercely protective of my privacy and my personal space, and to have someone I am not on intimate terms with actually place his or her hands on me… as expected, I am not at all comfortable with that sort of overt familiarity from people I have only a passing acquaintance with.
However, this did not seem to dissuade the Granger chit. The first time, she tripped, her body falling in such a way that she landed, full force against me. Her hands grasped at my cloak as she struggled to remain upright, her fingers digging into my flesh. I steadied her, and when she just stared up into my face like a gaping codfish, I pushed her from me firmly. I informed her that she needed to be a bit more conscious of her surroundings in the future, since I had no wish to be accosted again.
It was most amusing to watch her scurry away like a frightened first-year.
This peacetime lull has dulled my observational skills. Had I been in a more vigilant mood, I would have realized that Granger hasn’t truly been terrified of me since her third year; apparently, it is hard to hold someone you’ve just hexed into unconsciousness in fearful regard. Yet, I was preoccupied with other things, so I hadn’t noticed the two diverging personality quirks.
The next time she “touched” me was after a Quidditch match. So startled was I by the casual caress, that I failed to remember that Granger hardly ever attends matches. It was a simple thing, just a sweeping of a hand down the back of my robes as she passed behind me in the stands, but it was enough that I noticed. Granted, all of these occasions could have been downplayed as nothing more than coincidences, and I probably would have shrugged them off, giving the upstart a harsh word or two on the next incident had it not been for the mealtime stares.
I noticed that those causal touches correlated with her weekend disappearances. Granted, now that the war effort was over, the live-in staff was no longer required to spend every moment of the school year on grounds, but the majority of us stayed. It was not hard to miss her bushy-haired presence at the nighttime meals.
Then her occasional disappearance on Saturday night became a weekly habit. Gryffindors, no matter how hard they try, truly have a hard time with the act of subtlety. While her weekend voyages might have escalated, her touching was down to once a month; very suspicious considering that it used to herald a weekend jaunt away. Her strange behavior tickled my interest.
All right, I admit, I was dreadfully bored, so the Granger swot’s weird little obsession fascinated me; it wasn’t as if I had anything better to do now that the Dark Lord was gone.
It was only a matter of a muttered word the next time she bumped into me, her fingers clutching at my outer cloak as she made a misstep in the hall. She never even realized I placed a tracking charm on her person. For someone who survived a war, Granger was not particularly careful. She never once tried to determine if she was being followed, never once uttered any counter spells to mask herself; it was entirely too easy to find the girl.
Not that much of what she engaged in that day was of interest. Most of her time was spent in Flourish and Blotts, and then she went to some salon, spending the afternoon twittering away with the Weasley females, before grabbing a quick drink at the Leaky Cauldron with the sodding “boy who lived.” I almost left then and there, having no desire to spend any time with the sniveling little brat, but some instinct made me stay. I’ve learned to heed those instincts.
After about an hour she left, heading into Muggle London. She took the underground to a touristy district, and went into a hotel. I stood outside for a bit, debating whether I should go in or not, when I saw her on a balcony. It wasn’t long before someone joined her.
I was naturally outraged when I saw what the twat was up to.
How dare she take my essence and use it in such a manner. Had she no idea of the legalities? I could have her stripped from her position and placed in Azkaban for such an offense. The Polyjuice Potion is a Ministry restricted potion for this very reason – unscrupulous people taking advantage of opportunities.
Yet, I couldn’t move from my spot. There was no chance she would see me, shrouded as I was with the Disillusionment Charm and an Invisibility Cloak.
I watched, with horrid fascination, the entire scene on the balcony, until the doppelganger pulled her from the edge into the hotel room.
I am, by no means, a novice to carnal delights; I, however, have always adhered to a strict code of conduct when it came to engaging in such pleasures. Ex-students, no matter how nubile their young flesh might be, have always been off limits. There is too much of a backlash potential; the possibility of a professional inquiry a strong enough deterrent to sampling what has been freely offered by some of the less promising examples of my tutelage.
Yet, as I stood in the cold weather, watching the determined young woman worm her way around my stringent policy, I was faced with the possibility that perhaps I had been too hasty in my dismissal of all ex-students.
I left that night, my arousal pressing painfully against the front of my trousers, my mind whirling away with a numerous possibilities.
It wasn’t hard to track down the paid escort, he was more than willing to divulge everything, including when she wanted to meet next, provided I paid well for the privilege.
Obviously, the girl was determined to enjoy my favors, be they legitimate or not; so there was nothing to stop me from enjoying her at my leisure.
It is these thoughts that fill my head as I watch her now.
I wrap my hands around her waist and tug her to me; we tumble onto the bed in a heap of flesh, arms and legs akimbo. I quickly move on top of her, pressing a knee between hers as my hands pin hers above her head.
I look into her eyes, dark brown and glassed over with passion, her body trembles under me. I press my lips against hers, fiercely claiming her mouth, my tongue sweeping in to taste her. Her body slowly melts into mine, just a subtle softening as my mouth devours hers.
With a whispered word, her hands are immobile, leaving mine free to wander. She struggles a bit, trying to pull them free. I lift myself from her body, admiring the slight sheen of sweat glistening on her flesh, her eyes snapping with passionate annoyance.
I slowly trace my fingers across her face, letting the rough pads scratch light against her soft skin. Her eyes close as my fingers caress her cheek, her mouth parting slightly as I trace my thumb against it. She is so trusting in this moment, despite the fact that her hands are basically tied above her head.
I move my hand down her neck, slowly stroking her throat. Her eyes snap open as I gently press in. I watch as she finally comes to the realization that she is completely helpless at this moment, she breathes solely because I allow it. I expect her to protest, to demand to be set free, or to put up at least some sort of struggle as the fingers of my right hand move over her flesh, but a throaty moan fills my ears. I keep a light grip on her throat with my left hand as I move my other hand down, just lightly grazing a nipple with my fingers.
She arches up into my touch, her nipple hardening under my light touch. Releasing her throat, I move my mouth down, slowly drawing the other nipple into my mouth, as I pinch at the first. I alternate between the two, sucking and licking at her breasts until she whimpers and squirms up against my mouth.
I let my hands wander down her body, stroking down her skin with long sweeps, learning every curve, touching every crevice. She lets out a whimpering moan as my hands slide around her thighs, just brushing against her nether lips. I can feel how wet she is, her body tensing as I tease along her sensitive flesh, never touching her damp center. My fingers move back up her body, tracing around her navel, and I hear a disappointed groan.
I lean close and blow warm breath across her stomach. Her sensitive skin breaks out in gooseflesh.
She barely registers when I move from her. She moans in protest as I shift her onto her stomach, pulling her onto my lap. Her flesh is flushed and warm under my hands. I stroke down the curve of her back, my hands sweeping down from her shoulders to the cleft of her arse.
“You’ve been a bad girl, Miss Granger,” I whisper in her ear.
She tenses up. It is most gratifying to see. She tries to roll off my lap, but my hand on the small of her back prevents that motion.
“Let me up,” she mumbles. I can feel her stomach and abdomen tighten as I adjust her position on my lap. She tires to buck up, but her hands are still held by my whispered spell; only I can move them as I wish until the counter-spell is uttered. My hand slides down her back again, gently caressing her bottom. She moans a bit as I gently knead the flesh of her arse.
“Do you know what happens to bad little girls?” I ask, letting my hands stroke her soft flesh. Her body trembles under my fingers. She grunts as my right hand cups the bend of her right hip and lifts, molding her into the position I want. I part my legs and deftly pin her legs between mine, eliminating any freedom of movement she might have had. Her thighs twitch as she squirms against me, though I don’t think she realizes yet what she is in for.
I let my fingers explore her flesh, watching her reaction as I trail feathering touches over her peaks and valleys, dipping along the cleft of her arse and down the sloping skin of her thigh. She whimpers as I flatten my hand along the taut muscle of her right cheek. I can feel her quiver, her pelvis region straining against me as she tries to get into a less vulnerable position. I correct her infraction, pulling her pert arse high again, and I let my hand pet down her graceful sloping back from her neck to her tailbone.
The first smack comes quick and strong, catching her off guard. Her body lurches on my lap, her breath coming out in a sharp gasp.
“You bastard,” she gasps out, just as my hand connects flat and hard with a second smack.
Her muscles clench and squeeze in response to the stinging heat of my blows, her hips twisting as she tries to rock herself off my lap.
“Let me up, you bastard,” she squeals as my hand meets the curve just where her arse and right leg connect. She sucks in a gasping breath as the next swat lands with precision in the exact spot on her left cheek.
I can feel heat radiating from her reddening arse as my hand connects with her flesh, cheek-to-cheek, high and then low. Her body writhes against my lap as breath rushes from her lips in low yelps and growls. Each movement of her body presses against my erection. Her hips twist and thrust against me, her body shuddering with sobs.
There is no resistance when I slide my hand between her legs, my fingers pressing into her silky wetness with a gentle probing touch. Her inner muscles grasp my finger as I slide it inside her.
“Oh God,” she moans, her hips lifting up off of my lap as my thumb brushes against her clit. She makes a low, animalistic sound as my thumb circles around that sensitive spot.
I gather her in my arms; I can feel her tears against my chest as I stand up. I toss her on to the bed, as enticing as she is; I am not done punishing her. She winces as her red arse hits the bed, her hands still tight above her head. Her eyes glitter dangerously as she stares up at me.
“Bastard,” she growls.
“That is getting rather old, haven’t you come up with anything better?” I whisper as I sink down by her feet. She kicks out, trying to connect. I grab her foot mid air.
“Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger, is that any way to treat a colleague?” I ask as I lay a hand on her hip, drawing a small circle with my fingers. “I honestly think you should be grateful,” I mutter as I trace along the path of her inner thigh. She groans in response, pushing her hips up against my hand.
“God.” She shudders as I slide a finger deep inside her. “You sound just like him.”
I kneel between her legs, the fingers on my right hand slowly circle her clit, as I watch her face. She looks down at me, over the length of her trembling, flushed body, and our eyes meet. I lower my face to her core, my eyes still on hers, and inhale deeply; her scent is intoxicating.
I blow lightly on her swollen lips, the cool air making her moan as it hits her fevered flesh. She tries to buck her hips up against me, her head tossing from side to side as I watch the effect. I remove my hand and blow against her quivering lips again. She whimpers and moans, her hips struggling to get close to my mouth.
“Please,” she pants, her breasts heaving with the effort it takes to speak.
She is magnificent in this moment, her breasts high and pert, her body flushed with arousal. I slowly lower my mouth to her slick folds, parting them with my fingers as my tongue slides against her glistening flesh. She moans loudly, her hips bucking up off the bed as my tongue flicks across her clit.
She pulls at the invisible bonds, her body shaking violently as I push a finger into her.
“Severus!” she shrieks, pushing up against my mouth, surprising me. I look up at her face, her pussy clenching around my finger as spasms wrack her body. She is glorious as she comes.
She chokes out an agonizing groan as I slowly draw her clit into my mouth, feeling her whole body shudder against my mouth. I push a second finger into her, feeling her inner walls clamp around both.
I pull my fingers from her drenched sex, slowly licking her essence from them as she watches me, taking in deep sucks of air as she tries to catch her breath. I move over her, my cock just inches from her entrance, as my lips capture hers. Her hips rocked against mine, trying to impale herself on my length. I rise above her, bracing myself on my arms, watching her expressive face. I whisper the releasing spell and her arms tangle around my neck, dragging my head down to hers again.
With one quick thrust, I am deep inside her. She gasps out against my mouth, her arms tightening around my neck as I surge deep into her hot core.
“Yes, Severus,” she moans, pushing up against me. “Fuck me.”
I grab her hips, thrusting deeply, feeling her inner walls constrict around my length.
“Do that again,” I gasp out as she rotates her hips against mine.
“That?” She does it again.
“Yes…” I reward her by pushing deeper. She moans, unable to speak as I surge into her again. She arches her back, bucking her hips against mine as I begin to slam my cock into her.
“Oh, my little bitch, I love the feel of your body under me,” I grasp out, driving my cock deeper into her.
I feel her teeth sinking into my shoulder, her walls contracting around my length as I thrust myself into her wet heat. I can feel an orgasm building as I slam myself into her. I rotate my own hips, grinding slowly against her clit, her body shuddering as I thrust into her.
With a long sob, she breaks apart, her nails digging deep into my back. The feel of her shuddering around my cock sends me spiraling towards the end. She moans deliriously as I push one last time into her before my own release. I drop my head against her shoulder, panting against her neck.
She shifts against me, and I roll over onto my side, watching her face. She seems quite uncomfortable in the aftermath of what we have just shared. I watch her reach for her wand; she utters a quick cleaning spell, never once looking at me. I suppose that means we are done for the night. Pity, I had more I wanted to do to her luscious body.
In no time, she is dressed. She awkwardly leans over and places a few Galleons on the night stand beside the table.
“I’ll owl you in a week,” she mutters, again without looking at me, before striding out the door. All I can think, as I watch her disappear, is how gratifying it will be to have her sooner than she thinks.
Chapter 4
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