Work Text:
"Don't you think you could make it perhaps if you hurry a little?"
Hopefully Ron looked at her through the mirror while Hermione was getting ready for work on the dressing table in the bedroom. Although she still preferred a natural look in her spare time, she had gotten into the habit of putting on some mascara and eyeliner every time she went to the store.
"Don't count on it," she replied, then began brushing her bushy curls and softening them with some silky smooth cream before braiding them into a thick braid. "I still have so many orders to deliver that it will certainly be very late.“
"But that is not fair! Tomorrow is Christmas!" Ron reproached her.
With a sigh, Hermione sat down a little straighter. It wasn't the first time they had had this conversation, but although Hermione had tried to explain it to her husband over and over again, he just didn't seem to understand her. "Ron, as you well know, I am grateful for every order. Right now is the busiest time of the year and I can't spare a single customer. As sorry as I am, the family has to stand back. I'll join you tomorrow."
After the war, Hermione had wanted to make a change and applied to the ministry right after graduation, but as time went by, her enthusiasm gave way more and more to disillusionment. Although she had been accepted with a kiss on the hand in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Hermione soon realized that the Ministry had hired her less for her abilities and more for her status as a war heroine. Of course, Hermione had still tried to take advantage of the situation and get involved, but her ideas had fallen on deaf ears in the ossified minds of her superiors, so that she finally resigned with a heavy heart.
When she became pregnant and first her daughter Rose and four years later her son Hugo were born, she had temporarily stayed at home, but a life as a housewife and mother simply felt not right for her, so that when the little ones were out of the woods, Hermione had looked for new challenges. It had been a financial risk to start her own bookstore and in the beginning it had not been easy for Hermione's small business to compete with the big ones like Flourish and Blotts, but her concept of having Muggle books as well as magician literature began to pay off after the first tough years.
In the meantime, she had established a solid customer base, to which a few interested people joined in from time to time, who Hermine tried to keep with her commitment. Now, so close to Christmas, the store was buzzing more than all year round and Hermione had her hands full delivering the many orders in time for Christmas and although the bookstore was closed today, she had the sure feeling that probably some owls with last-minute orders would still be waiting outside the window when she would floo into the store. This was one of the reasons why she had decided to postpone her annual visit to Ron's parents. Normally they had always gone to the Burrows on Christmas Eve and stayed until after Boxing Day, but this year, for the first time, Ron would floo alone with the children to Molly and Arthur,'s and Hermione would join them on Christmas Day.
"Promise me that you will at least be there for the presents," Ron asked, bending down to her, wrapping his arms around his wife from behind and pressing his nose into her neck.
"I promise," returned Hermione, placing her hands on her husband's arms and smiling encouragingly at him through the mirror. "And you give my regards to your parents and the rest of the family, will you?" Without waiting for his answer, Hermione performed a Tempus spell that made her jump straight up from the stool, so that Ron, still holding her in his arms, almost lost his balance. "Gee, it's that late! I got to go." One last time Hermione looked in the mirror to check the fit of her skirt and sweater, then turned to Ron and gave him a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek. "Don't forget the children's bags and the bags with the presents, okay?"
"Yeah yeah, don't worry," grumbled Ron, who seemed so dejected as if he would be separated from his wife for a week, not just one night. "Bye, Hermione. I love you."
On the way out, Hermione grabbed her bag from a chair, then turned back to her husband once more. "I love you too," she let him know. "See you tomorrow and give the kids a kiss, okay?"
Always taking two steps at a time, Hermione spurred down the stairs to the first floor of her house, where she quickly swapped her slippers for a pair of boots in the hallway and slipped into her claok, then went into the living room to the fireplace, where she took some floo-powder from the bowl on the ledge with her hand. The fire was green as soon as she had thrown the powder in. "Diagon Alley. 'Neverland' bookshop," she said loud and clear, then she climbed into the fireplace and a moment later she was gone.
XXXXXX
Phew, she made it.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Hermione wrapped the last ordered book in waterproof magical wrapping paper and tied it to the leg of the barn owl, which was already waiting impatiently for the order.
"It's not my fault," she let the bird know. "Just tell your master to think a little earlier next time about the gift for his grandson."
The owl hooted in reply while waiting for Hermione to open the window. No sooner had the witch turned the handle and swung the window to the side than the bird opened its wings, fluttered a few times to try it out, then elegantly took into the air and flew outside.
"You're welcome," said Hermione as a farewell before closing the window again and taking a look at the clock for the hundredth time that day. Although she had had five new orders to process, she had made good progress thanks to her good groundwork, so that she had finished exactly on time. Perfect. Her heart leapt in joy, but Hermione just shook her head. 'Not yet,' she scolded herself. Conscientiously, Hermione made one last tour in the store, checking the windows and the fireplace to make sure she hadn't missed an order, then slipped into the cloak she had hung on the hook behind the door when she arrived and picked up her bag before sitting down at the desk in her small office. She smiled lightly as she looked at the book that lay on the table in front of her.
Charles Dickens' A Christmas carole, of all books, he could have chosen. It was less the fact that it was a Muggle book than the actual content of the book that made her smile. That it was the story of the hard-hearted Ebenezer Scrooge, who was made aware by the spirits of Christmas that true wealth was not in hoarding his money, but in sharing it with the people, was not without a certain irony.
In the meantime, however, Hermione had gotten used to the allusions in book form, which he sent her as a port key. An entire section on the shelf behind her on the wall was already filled with these gifts: Moby Dick, The Count of Monte Cristo, and Much Adoe About Nothing were lined up there with works of magic literature, some of which she had already known and some of which she had only got to know and appreciate through him. In the meantime she had collected a total of ten books. Each one for one time, at which they had met. And today another book would be added. Of course, Hermione knew that she was playing with fire and she also had a terribly bad conscience when she thought about lying to her family. She still loved Ron, she really did, but in the twelve years they were now married, their teenage crush had become more of a brother-sister relationship. The spark she felt when she was with her lover just wasn't there anymore and probably wouldn't come back. Her husband would probably be hit by a stroke immediately if he knew what she had been doing for ten months and with whom, but good Merlin, Hermione just couldn't help herself.
She had never dreamed that it would come to this, when he came to her bookstore eleven months ago. It had been an extremely chaotic week. Rose had just become a first year at Hogwarts and Hugo was being looked after by Molly while Hermione worked in the store, but her mother in law had sprained her ankle so badly while gardening that she couldn't look after the boy for a few days. Since Ron could hardly take his son on his field missons as an Auror, Hermione had no choice but to take Hugo to the bookstore, but although the boy basically liked to read, he was nowhere near a bookworm like his mother. For the first few hours he had been quietly busying himself, painting something and watching a Muggle film on a portable player that Hermione had bought for such occasions, but by noon he had become so restless that he had started raving between the shelves, building book towers and doing gymnastics on the ladder, so that Hermione had to constantly look after him and see how he was doing. By the time Ron finally picked him up after his late afternoon shift, Hermione had been exhausted.
And that was the moment Lucius Malfoy had chosen to enter her store.
At first, Hermione had not believed her eyes. It could only be a mistake that the Malfoy patriarch had strayed into her inconspicuous store of all places. In fact she had said something like that to him when he looked at the displays, but he had only returned that it was not a mistake at all, and after another moment of searching he had finally grabbed a copy of "Pride and Prejustice" and put it on the counter in front of her. Hermione had been so perplexed by the selection that she promptly lost her tongue, and when he said after a moment of silence that she looked like she desperately needed a good cup of tea, she hadn't even contradicted him. Before she knew it, she was sitting opposite him in the small café in one of the side streets of Diagon Alley and was engrossed in a discussion about the works of Jane Austen.
There was something strangely surreal about the whole situation, and yet, for the first time in recent months, Hermione had felt like someone understood her. It was bizarre, but at that moment they had not been Hermione Weasley, Muggle-born witch and former war heroine, and Lucius Malfoy, proud pureblood wizard and former Death Eater, but simply a man and a woman who were passionate about the same subject. Even in her prime, she had never been able to talk to Ron about the things that interested her, and even her friends, like Harry, Ginny and Luna, whom she loved more than anything and never wanted to miss, had no idea what was going on in her head. That she felt close to a man like Lucius Malfoy was more than ironic and maybe it was because she was exhausted or just because of the magic of the moment, but at some point Hermione had to admit that she enjoyed the conversation. Nevertheless, nothing more had happened that evening than that they had drunk tea together and talked about literature until it was finally so late that Hermione could no longer postpone leaving for her home. In the end, they had politely said goodbye to each other without arranging a possible further meeting.
Nevertheless Lucius had not left her mind in the days that followed. Of course, she was still a little suspicious of his motives for the sudden interest in her, but in the end she decided that he might want to break out of the daily routine just as much as she did. Again and again she had to think back to their conversation and she found herself wishing she could meet him again. Perhaps this was one of the reasons why she was more pleased than shocked when, a week after the conversation, an eagle owl sat at the window of her store and brought back to her the edition of "Pride and Prejudice", in the cover of which was written in curved letters: "Austen for tea, Tolstoi for lunch? Friday at noon?"
Hermione knew she was supposed to say "no." After all, she was a married woman, just as he was a married man. On top of that, a man with a dark past, almost twice her own age, even though she had to admit without envy that he still looked pretty good. But it was only lunch, she said to herself. Nothing more. Just a harmless lunch date. In retrospect, she knew that she had lied to herself even then.
And she still did.
As the time approached when the port key would be activated, she put a hand on the cover of the book without hesitation, then closed her eyes. Hermione did not have to wait long before a pull behind her navel announced that it was going off. Despite all those years in the magical world, traveling by port key was still the most uncomfortable way of transport (except for flying on a broom), and it had happened more than once that she had felt sick, so this time she squeezed her eyes tightly together until the pulling in her belly eventually subsided. Only when a gust of wind blew in her face did she dare to open her eyes again, only to find that she was in a meadow in front of a small cottage. The gray clouds hung low in the afternoon sky and the wind tugged at her hair as she walked through the tall grass until she reached the gravel path in front of the cottage. From the outside, the cottage with its stone walls covered with climbing plants was not much to look at, and yet the sight of the grey slate roof, from whose chimney a fine thread of smoke rose, filled her with a feeling of joyful expectation. That was typical for Lucius, although he only lived in the house sporadically, he of course already had the fireplace preheated so that it was comfortably warm when they arrived.
The key was, as always, under the flower pot next to the entrance, which had been planted with a mixture of wild heather and blue cornflowers. As soon as Hermione opened the door, she smelled the familiar, homely smell of open fire, candle wax and old books that the house exuded, and a smile fell on her face as she entered and hung her cloak on the wardrobe. She did not need to look to know that Lucius had not yet arrived. According to the agreement they had made, it was up to her to cook this time, for which he would bring the wine. Last time it had been the other way around. It had been something of a shock to find out that he not only knew how to use a stove, but that his food tasted very good, but Hermione had tried to hide her surprise as best she could. In time, she had realized that this was just one of many things she hadn't thought possible, but the man was obviously full of surprises.
In the meantime, Hermione had been in the house often enough to find her way around the kitchen on her own, so she began to unpack and process the ingredients she had brought in her bag, shrunk and with a freshness spell, without hesitation. Despite the occasion, she had decided on something rather simple: roast beef with fried potatoes and fresh salad. She wouldn't be able to compete with the cooking skills of his house elves anyway, and she had made the experience that when he stayed in the cottage, luxury wasn't what he was after anyway. The entire furnishing could not be called spartan, but nevertheless passed for rustic. Even Lucius himself never wore the expensive robes she had seen on him when they met here. Instead, he dressed in elegant yet simple clothes. A neutral shirt, dark trousers, and a black cloak. "This is my refuge," he had confided to her on her first visit to the cottage. "This is where I retreat when I want to be myself." Even in her wildest dreams, Hermione had never imagined that his self could be so frighteningly normal.
While the fried potatoes were sizzling in the pan, Hermione was cutting the salad when suddenly two strong arms were placed around her shoulders from behind. "Hey," his deep voice hummed close to her ear as his scratchy cheek rubbed against her skin. Lucius had probably used the fireplace in the bedroom, but the fact that he had been able to sneak up on her like that showed how deep she had been in thoughts. She flinched so violently from shock that the knife slipped off and she promptly cut her index finger.
"Ow!" she shouted out before she reflexively dropped the knife and clasped her bleeding finger. It was more the shock than the pain that drew her scream, but it was enough for Lucius to let go and step beside her.
"Let me see." Without waiting for her reaction, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand toward him for a closer inspection. It was not a large cut, but it was deep and bleeding heavily. "Don't worry. It will be fine," he reassured her. With his free hand he pulled out his wand without hesitation and closed the wound with a quick Episkey, then he put her finger in his mouth and licked off the remaining drops of blood.
"Mudblood" had been one of the ugly terms that he and his son had once used to describe her blood status, but today nothing suggested that he was disgusted by her as he sucked on her finger in a seductive gesture, thus cleansing it of the last drops of blood. On the contrary, his gaze spoke a very clear language when he looked at her from his gray eyes. There was hunger, desire and a promise of more.
But that would have to wait until later if they didn't want the fried potatoes to burn. "Thank you," said Hermione, who felt the blood rush to her cheeks as he released her finger, only to kiss the top tenderly once more. The skin was still warm and wet from his saliva as she pulled her hand back and involuntarily closed it to a fist, not to let him see how much her fingers suddenly trembled. "I think the potatoes are ready now. We should eat while they're still crispy."
If Lucius was disappointed with her reaction, he didn't let it show. Instead, he bent over the pan and breathed in audibly. "That really smells very good," he praised Hermione appreciatively before he breathed a kiss on her cheek. "And I think the 1978 Chardonnay will go wonderfully with it." Without them having to talk about it, Hermione began to set the table, while Lucius took the wine glasses out of the cupboard and uncorked the bottle, so that a little later they were sitting opposite each other in the comfortable living-dining room. Outside, the evening was descending over the countryside, so that the room was lit only by the fireplace and the candles on the table.
The wine actually tasted excellent with the meal, although Hermione was almost certain that there must surely be a law that dictated that such a noble drop could only be drunk with a four-star menu. Lucius, however, did not seem to mind the simplicity of their meal, for he seemed completely relaxed as he ate, talking to her about this and that, but, according to an unspoken pact, not mentioning their families or the past. Hermione, too, enjoyed the food and his company to the fullest, since she hadn't had anything except coffee today due to stress, which caused the wine to go to her head faster than usual. In fact, she was even a little tipsy when they finally cleared the dishes together in the kitchen, where an enchanted brush and an equally enchanted towel would do the cleaning. Had she been alone, it probably wouldn't have taken long for to close her eyes, but she certainly didn't want to waste the little time they had with sleep. So she was more than grateful for his offer to take a walk in the fresh air.
The weather outside the cottage was still windy and cold, but here on the coast it rarely snowed, so a warming spell was enough to keep her cosy despite the low temperatures. Since it was now completely dark, both of them had lit their wands to light their way, so they did not stumble over any of the numerous loose stones or molehills while strolling along the rugged cliffs. Through the cloudy sky, the moon and the stars were not visible, so that they could sense the sea below them more than they could see, but the force of nature, with which the waves were thrown against the rocks, was also acoustically impressive enough. In general, the rough landscape of Cornwall was really breathtakingly beautiful even in the dark, and Hermione could well understand why Lucius had bought a house here of all places, far away from any settlement. In contrast to the dinner, where they had had a lively conversation, they now remained silent in quiet harmony and simply enjoyed the wonderful evening atmosphere. As a matter of course, the blond wizard had taken her hand in his and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb from time to time, and Hermione found that she enjoyed the feeling of his fingers, which promised support and security.
They walked for almost an hour before returning to the cottage and Hermione was relieved to find that the dizzy feeling left in her head by the wine had completely disappeared and only a warm sensation in her stomach reminded her of their feast. The fire was still burning when they entered the house and greeted them with a cozy warmth and Hermione was looking forward to snuggle up on the comfortable couch in front of it, but Lucius apparently had other plans.
No sooner had she slipped out of her cloak than she found herself in his arms. Determined, he pushed her against the wall of the cottage while he stormily plundered her mouth, leaving no doubt as to his intentions, and Hermione was ready for more. A hard knee squeezed between her thighs to be even closer to her and Hermione willingly made room for him as far as her skirt would allow. His hands were still cold from the air outside as he let them wander under her sweater, and Hermione released an indignant sound of protest, then he closed her lips again with his own and smothered any objection with his kisses. Although his fingers involuntarily sent goose bumps over her skin, every touch he made created a warm echo inside her, so that she laid her head back at the wall while she gave herself over to his caresses.
Impatiently she tugged at the elastic band that held his hair together to bury her fingers in the white-blonde strands and he let her do so. But when Hermione began to open the buttons of his shirt, he gently but firmly held her back. "Not here," Lucius said darkly, then he simply lifted her up in his arms as if she weigh no more than a kneasel. Hermione emitted a sound of indignation, which he did not even notice. Instead, he carried her over to the adjacent bedroom without any visible effort. Here, too, the fireplace not only provided a pleasant warmth, but also served as the only source of light.
Gently, as if she were something infinitely precious, he laid her down on the freshly made bed, whose laundry smelled of white jasmine and lemongrass, but if Hermione had expected them to continue just as fiercely where they had left off, she had been wrong. Instead, he wordlessly slipped out of his shoes before climbing onto the bed next to her fully clothed and begann slowly undressing her. First, he opened her knee-high boots, one by one, before he reached under her skirt and gently pulled her tights down to make sure he didn't tear a hole in it. Tenderly, he kissed each of her feet after exposing them to make his way up from there.
At first, his lips ran along her smooth shins, then he caressed the sensitive back of her knees so that she wriggled back and forth until he kissed the inside of her thighs upwards, but before he reached the center of her pleasure, he turned away, and Hermione would have loved to scream in frustration as he instead began to unzip her skirt and carefully push it down over her hips before throwing it purposefully over onto the chair where it kept the tights company. Next, Lucius turned to the sweater. It was Hermione's favorite piece, a beige cashmere sweater she had received from her parents for her birthday last year, which flattered her figure like a second skin. Thank Merlin, she had decided not to pull her hair up today, otherwise her hairstyle would probably have looked like a bird's nest ruffled by the wind when Lucius pulled the sweater over her head. Thus only a few strands escaped her braid, which gave her something youthful, girlish.
In fact, Hermione could see honest admiration in his face as he looked at her now, and Hermione had to force herself not to wrap her arms around her under his glowing gaze. It was true, for a mother of two children she was in a good shape. In contrast to her teenage days she had only become a bit rounder in the right places and thanks to her good genes the pregnancies had not left any annoying stretch marks, yet she still felt shame when he looked at her like that. But the moment did not last long, then he bent down and kissed her long and tenderly, before he started to take off his clothes as well. If Hermione had expected him to take as much time with it as with her, she had been wrong. Quickly and methodically, his fingers unbuttoned his shirt before he shrugged it off his shoulders and carelessly threw it in the direction of the chair. Unintentionly, Hermione had to think of a statue from ancient Greece when she looked at him, with his chest so white and smooth, but when she ran her fingers over his skin in admiration, she realized that he was anything but cold. In order to take off his pants, Lucius had to climb down from the mattress once more, which he obviously disliked, but he took the opportunity to get rid of the dark socks in the same step before he got back on the bed.
His arousal was clearly visible through the fabric of his shorts as he bent over her and kissed her, and Hermione noticed how she became wet with lust too as his hard body pressed against her. She wanted him, it would be useless to deny this and at the moment she could hardly wait to feel him inside her. But they were still separated by two layers of fabric as Lucius rubbed himself against her, so Hermione was already preparing to take the initiative and get rid of her panties, but before she could do more than nibble at the hem of her underwear, Lucius held her back.
Wait. Said his gaze as their eyes met. Not yet.
And though Hermione felt impatient to do as she was told, she held herself back. Let him have his way as he grabbed her breasts thourgh the bra and gently stroked her nipples with his thumb. Instead, she straightened her back and reached out to him as he began to lick across her sensitive nipples, one by one, until the tips seemed round and firm like two pearls pressing against the fabric of her bra, begging for freedom and Lucius finally had mercy with them.With the dexterity of a man who knew what he was doing, he reached under Hermione's body, where he unfastened the hooks that locked her bra, finally freeing her from the disturbing garment. She could tell that he liked what he saw when he returned to her breasts, whose peaks stretched out towards him expectantly. With relish he sucked one of the nipples into his mouth while he enclosed the other breast with his hand. Even when lying down, Hermione's breasts were ample enough that they lay heavy in his hand and he seemed to enjoy kneading and massaging the firm flesh.
A groan escaped Hermione's lips as this kind of caress sent waves of lust into her center and she clung to his shoulders and involuntarily opened her legs a little wider. She offered herself to him, but although Lucius slid directly into the space she had created, he made no attempt to penetrate her. For the moment it seemed to be enough for him to spoil her breasts and to hear the sound of lust he was able to elicit from her in this way; only when her buds were almost sore did he let go of them and instead kissed a path across her belly until he reached the waistband of her panties. Playfully, he bit into her protruding hip bones several times, only to lick over them afterwards, until Hermione finally couldn't hold back any longer and directed his head downwards with her hands.
In the meantime she was so wet that her panties stuck to her and she was sure that he had to smell it too, but she wasn't ashamed of it. She knew how much it tured him on that her body reacted to him like that. As she had expected, the realization of how ready she was for him created an animalic growl in his throat as he pressed his face against her covered vagina and inhaled her scent. As if to make sure he wasn't wrong, he pushed the fabric of her panties aside and slipped a finger into her slippery hole, only to find that he could sink into her without any problem. The contact made Hermione gasp and she pushed herself even harder towards him, only to groan in disappointment as he pulled the finger back.
Merlin, she was tired of him just playing with her. She needed him now. Deep and hard and throbbing and indeed she thought she had reached her goal when he finally pushed her panties down, but instead of penetrating her, Hermione felt his tongue licking across her shaved entrance. In the first moment she flinched in shock. No man had ever taken her with his mouth before, and the unaccustomed idea that he was about to eat her out, made her cheeks burn with heat and her body involuntarily stiffened. But the impulse to press her legs together was ever thwarted when Lucius pressed his strong hands against the insides of her thighs and spread them even further, so that Hermione finally surrendered to her fate. With eyes cast to the ceiling, she clawed her hands into the sheet beneath her, but any shame she felt disappeared in one fell swoop when he sucked her clitoris into his mouth for the first time.
With a pointed scream, Hermione's head jerked up and she stared stunnedly down, only to meet his gaze, which seemed to look at her in amusement, while he repeatedly licked his tongue across the small bundle of nerves between his lips until Hermione thought she was on fire. Without her actively wanting to, one of her hands detached from the sheet and instead clawed into Lucius' long mane, trying to pull him even closer, until her passion continued to rise and her pleasure center suddenly seemed to explode. Her orgasm shot through her body in hot flashes, causing her to shake while her mouth was filled with inarticulate sounds she had never heard before.
Every hair on her skin seemed to stand up, while her vagina continued to contract and flood her body with waves of adrenaline until everything about her seemed to be completely over-stimulated. But Lucius was not finished with her yet. All the while, he had been patiently lying between her legs, gently guiding her through the whirlwind of her orgasm with his caresses, only to let go of her and return to her mouth instead. Her cheeks were burning from the remains of her high and her lips were swollen when he kissed her again, so that she felt his stubble all the more clearly. It was strange and at the same time arousing to taste herself in his mouth and Hermione already felt another wave of lust rising in her, which shocked her as much as it pleased her.
When she slept with Ron, which had been increasingly rare in recent years, he had at best succeeded in bringing her to a climax once, if at all, she had never experienced a second time in a night with him. But for the moment she did not want to think about her husband. She didn't want to think at all, but only lose herself in the whirlpool of passion that Lucius generated in her. When she finally felt the tip of his manhood at the entrance of her hole, Hermione almost cried with relief. Finally the time had come and they would merge, become one individual and lose the sense of where her body ended and his began. One push was all that he needed, because she was so wet that Lucius could slide into her without any problems until he was completely buried inside of her. Then he stopped and looked at her. Sucked in the sight of her face as if he never wanted to forget it, and Hermione returned his gaze with eyes sparkling with desire, wondering if he was thinking the same thing as she was. It felt so good when he was inside her. So perfect and right, as if they were made for each other. As if his member was the sword for her sheath. The thought stung her heart so much that she finally had to turn away and this was it what broke the spell.
Slowly, as if he wanted to dwell in her forever, Lucius began to move his hips, swaying back and forth, withdrawing from her millimeter by millimeter, only to enter her again just as gently, while he watched her face closely. Unlike him, Hermione had her eyes now closed, her mouth half open, her breath coming in harsh thrusts, and her fingers clawed so tightly into his shoulders that she was sure the marks would still be there tomorrow, while she concentrated fully on the feelings his penis was evoking in her. Her first orgasm had made her vagina so sensitive that she thought she could feel every inch of his manhood as he rocked back and forth in a sluggish rhythm, but it wasn't enough. She wanted everything of him, to feel him even deeper inside herself.
Instinctively she lifted her pelvis and wrapped her legs around his hips, trying to take him even deeper. With success. A gasp escaped her lips as she thought the next time he pushed inside her, she would feel him so deep that his glans would kiss the entrance of her womb. Lucius must have felt it too, because he moaned deeply and Hermione could feel the muscles of his abdomen trembling as he struggled for control and she felt a quiet satisfaction knowing that it was her doing, that he almost lost control. So she pressed herself even closer to him, adapting to the rhythm of his thrusts to signal that she was ready for more, and he followed her lead, not only increasing the speed, but also making his movements more urgent and powerful. Again and again he withdrew so far from her that only the tip of his glans remained in her, only to thrust into her again with such force that the bedsprings squeaked in protest. But this rougher gait was only right for Hermione. Her body really demanded it. Every movement of his shaft was accompanied by an obscene noise, she was so wet by now and the friction of his penis against her swollen clitoris made her almost crazy.
Merlin, she was so close to coming ....
Even Lucius seemed to be barely able to hold on. Panting, his breath came to her ear and she could feel the sweat running down his skin as she pressed her heels against his lower back. With a growl, he grabbed one of her legs and put it over his shoulder so that he could penetrate her even deeper, and it was this new angle that finally sent Hermione over the edge.
"Lucius, oh god, Lucius!" She couldn't help but scream out his name when she finally came, otherwise she would probably have suffocated. The second orgasm grabbed her like a huge wave, even more powerful and stronger than the first one, so she had to cling to him while her walls contracted around him, as if she too needed the support he offered her. Stars exploded behind her eyes and she began to tremble involuntarily as her high passed through her, like a gigantic burst of energy. Her pulse roared in her ears, so that she could hear, rather subcontious, how he finally came.
In contrast to Hermione, Lucius only emitted a moan as he spilled his seed deep into her body. His hips began to stutter and jerked for half a dozen more times, then he lay still. The weight of his body on hers, together with his slowly flaccid member still inside her, had something pleasantly soothing about it, and Hermione wished that this moment would never end. For a long moment she just lay there enjoying this post-coital happiness before opening her eyes again, only to find that his eyelids were now closed. His forearms were propped up to the right and left of her head, his hair hung tangled in his face and his warm breath brushed against her cheek. It was a strangely touching picture and Hermione could not help but stroke one of the bright strands from his forehead, which caused him to open his eyes and look at her.
Despite the faint glow of light that the fire gave off, Hermione thought she saw herself in his gray irises. With glowing cheeks, shining eyes and red swollen lips, she seemed as satisfied as she felt and she showed him this by giving him a smile in which she put all the things she could not tell him. Was not allowed to say. And Lucius smiled back and Hermione couldn't tell if it was the fire or if he really seemed melancholic. His kiss on her forehead seemed almost chaste compared to what they had just done, then he withdrew from her and left an emptiness that Hermione had never known in her life. Warmly, his seed ran out of her and made her aware that she should get up and clean herself, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to let the moment of closeness between them end, so she finally just snuggled up to him and ignored the wet feeling beneath her. Lucius put an arm around her and pulled her to his chest, then they were silent, for there was nothing more they could say.
XXXXXX
Hermione could not remember falling asleep. Neither could she remember Lucius covering them both with a blanket. But it seemed that at some point, fatigue had triumphed over her will to make the most of the night and finally sent her into the realm of dreams.
When she opened her eyes again, it was still dark outside, but Hermione clearly felt that morning was not far off. Next to her, Lucius' deep breaths showed that he was still deeply and firmly asleep, and for a moment she toyed with the idea of just nestling back into his arms, but the sense of peace she had felt in the evening was gone, making it impossible to find her way back to sleep. Not much longer and she would have to get ready and floo to the Burrows. Since arriving at the cottage, Hermione had been more or less successful in putting Ron and the children out of her mind, but now the familiar guilt was coming to the surface again. She was a bad person. An adulteress. Why couldn't she just be satisfied with what she had like all the other women? Why did she have to long for something that if it came out would destroy her family forever. Ron did not deserve that. He was not a bad person. He was just not the right man for her. That much she had come to understand. She had deluded herself that her feelings were enough to build a marriage on, but apparently she was wrong. It just wasn't enough.
She wanted more. So much more. But with Lucius?
As carefully as possible, she moved her head on the pillow to look at him. There was nothing left of the fire but a few slightly glowing coals, but it was enough to see the contours of his face. The high forehead, the aristocratic nose, the proud chin. To this day she did not even know how he felt about her. What was she to him? A nice pastime? A willing love affair? Or more? Probably not, and even if she was, there could be no future for them. They came from different worlds. There was nothing that connected them except their hunger for each other.
'Really?' asked a skeptical voice inside her. 'And what about the love for books? The passion for heated discussions? The long walks in nature? '
'Shut up'. She admonished herself. It was not to be. Never. She wouldn't leave Ron for him. Divorce was out of the question. Although the children weren't so small anymore, they still wouldn't understand it. Merlin, she hardly understood it herself. If she had had any sense, she should never have gotten involved with Lucius. She should leave now, turn her back on the cottage and never come back before it was too late. Before anyone would find out where she was spending her supposed overtime. But Hermione knew she was not capable of doing that. For years she had only functionated. The business, the family, the children, she had fought on all fronts until she felt hollow and empty. Only her affair had made her feel alive again. She did not want to give that up.
Silently sighing, Hermione stared into the dying embers of the fireplace. Just the thought of having to dive into the perfect world of her family in law seemed impossible to her. Preferably, she would simply like to lie here and spend Christmas Day in bed. But apart from the fact that probably Lucius also had to floo back to the Manor, she could not do this to her children. Rose and Hugo deserved a nice Christmas with their parents in the circle of the family. Just as it had always been and as it should continue to be. Nevertheless, Hermione dared to dream for a moment. Of what could be and what should not be. Of simply staying here and shutting the world out. But it was nothing more than a dream. Carefully she slipped to the edge of the mattress and slipped out of bed as quietly as possible.
On tiptoe she collected her clothes and got dressed. Although she had planned it differently, she decided to take a shower at home before flooing to her in-laws. She knew it was cowardly, but Hermione wanted to leave the cottage before Lucius awoke. It was better that way. Not that she was getting weak after all. One last time she stepped beside the bed and put the gift she had brought him on the bedside table before sneaking over to the door.
"Merry Christmas," she whispered barely audibly, then turned around and slipped out of the room. Her wand was still in her cloak when she took it from hook. She had not used it since that evening, and she thought wistfully of how wonderful the walk had been, when she finally pulled out the wand and disappeared after a last glance in the direction of the ajar door.