Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Come to Play	By : gee25 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 120 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: AI-Generated story. I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter List
- 1-Relaxation
- 2-Goodness
- 3-Pleasant
- 4-Compulsion
- 5-Absolutely
- 6-James
- 7-Fade
- 8-Yours
- 9-Come
- 10-Relentless
- 11-Mirror
- 12-Pink
- 13-Date
- 14-Patience
- 15-Perfect
- 16-Belong
- 17-Gift
- 18-Magic
- 19-Everywhere
- 20-Shatter
- 12
- 13
- 14
The air in the drawing room was still warm from the fire, from the programming, from the look in his eyes. Hermione traced a finger along Harry’s jaw. “I do know what you want to hear,” she said, her voice a low hum. “But first, I want you to take me out.”
His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of adorable confusion. “Out?”
“On a date, Harry. A proper one. Dinner. Somewhere nice. You will be the perfect gentleman. You will pull out my chair. You will listen intently to everything I say. You will hold my hand across the table. To everyone watching, you will be my doting, charming boyfriend.” She leaned in, her lips almost brushing his ear. “And only you will know that every single thing you do is because your Mistress commanded it. That every touch is a secret act of worship. Do you understand?”
The confusion melted, replaced by a spark of excited understanding. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face. “Yes. I understand. A date.”
“Good. Now, get dressed. We’re leaving in an hour.”
*
The restaurant was all low lighting and white linen, the murmur of polite conversation a soft blanket over the room. Harry, in dark trousers and a shirt that made his green eyes seem impossibly vivid, held her chair with a quiet grace. As she sat, his hand brushed the nape of her neck, a whisper of contact that sent a shiver straight down her spine.
“You look incredible,” he said, taking his own seat. His voice was warm, affectionate. Perfectly boyfriend-like.
“Thank you,” she smiled, letting her foot nudge his under the table. “So do you.”
The waiter came. Harry ordered for them both, his choices impeccable, his manner easy and confident. He asked about her week, his gaze focused entirely on her as she spoke about tedious Ministry reports. He laughed at the right moments, a soft, rich sound that made the couple at the next table glance over with appreciative smiles.
It was a flawless performance. And beneath the table, Hermione’s foot slid higher, tracing the line of his calf.
His fork paused halfway to his mouth for just a second. Then he continued, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. But she saw the faint flush creeping up his neck.
“The curse-breakers in Cairo are being utterly impossible,” she continued, as if discussing nothing but work. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, leaning forward. “They keep arguing about jurisdictional lines.”
As she spoke, she let her hand rest on the table, palm up. A subtle, silent command.
Without missing a beat, Harry’s hand covered hers, his thumb stroking her knuckles. His touch was warm, possessive. Boyfriend-like. But his thumb moved in small, deliberate circles. A secret rhythm.
“They sound like idiots,” he said, his tone light. His thumb pressed harder into the center of her palm.
A bolt of heat shot through her. She squeezed his hand in return. “Complete and total idiots,” she agreed, her voice steady even as her pulse raced.
The main course arrived. As the waiter departed, Hermione leaned in again, as if to share a private thought. Her lips were close to his ear, her breath a feather-light touch on his skin.
“Under the table, Harry. Unbutton your trousers.”
His breath stuttered. A barely-there hitch. His eyes widened a fraction, then softened, going hazy with instant obedience. He shifted slightly in his seat. She heard the faint, muffled sound of a button popping free, a zip being lowered just an inch.
Her own breathing grew shallow. She cut a piece of her salmon, brought it to her lips. “So, as I was saying,” she said, her voice carrying normally again. “The real issue is the goblin liaisons.”
Beneath the crisp white linen, hidden from the world, her foot found its new target. She pressed the sole of her shoe gently against the bulge now straining against his open fly. Through the fabric of his pants, she felt the hard, thick line of his cock.
Harry’s knife clinked against his plate. He cleared his throat. “The… the goblins. Right.” He took a swift drink of water. His hand, still holding hers on the table, gripped tighter.
She applied a little more pressure, rubbing her foot along his length in a slow, firm stroke. “They’re being surprisingly reasonable, for once,” she mused aloud, watching a bead of sweat form at his temple.
His jaw was tight. A muscle feathered there. He was fighting to keep his composure, to keep his expression the picture of a man engrossed in his girlfriend’s work stories. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” she whispered, her lips hidden behind her wine glass.
His voice was a strained, husky murmur, meant only for her. “I feel your foot on my cock, Mistress. It’s so hard. It’s aching. Everyone around us has no idea. They think we’re just talking.” He swallowed. “I want to push into your touch. I want to fuck your foot right here under the table.”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed with warmth. She took a sip of wine to hide her smile. “Good boy.”
He shuddered. A full-body tremor he couldn’t suppress. His eyes slammed shut for a second, his head dipping forward. When he looked up, his gaze was blazing, glassy with unshed tears of overwhelming sensation. The pink lightning. The spray. It was working.
“Are you alright, darling?” she asked loudly, sweetly, playing her part.
“Perfect,” he rasped, recovering with impressive speed. He gave her hand another squeeze. “Just… really enjoying my meal. And your company.”
She removed her foot. He almost whimpered. The loss was palpable in the sudden slump of his shoulders.
“Finish your dinner, Harry,” she said, her tone normal again. “We have dessert to consider.”
He ate the rest of his meal with a focused intensity, every movement a study in controlled need.
*
They walked back to Grimmauld Place through the cool night air, his arm around her shoulders, her head leaning against him. To any passerby, a happy couple returning from a lovely evening.
Inside the darkened entrance hall, he pushed her gently against the wall, his body caging hers. The gentleman was gone. His eyes searched hers in the dim light, full of raw, unbottled hunger.
“Mistress,” he breathed, the word a prayer.
“You were perfect tonight,” she said, her hands sliding up his chest. “My perfect, obedient boyfriend.”
“I wanted to crawl under that table,” he confessed, his forehead dropping to hers. “I wanted to put my mouth on you right there. I wanted everyone to see who you really own.”
“I know.” She captured his mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. It was all heat and desperation, his tongue sweeping against hers, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her flush against the hard evidence of his continued arousal.
He broke the kiss, trailing his lips down her neck. “Please. Let me serve you. Let me show you how good I can be.”
“Upstairs,” she commanded softly.
In her bedroom, he was a whirlwind of devoted energy. He knelt to remove her heels, kissing each instep. He stood to unzip her dress, his fingers trembling with reverence as the fabric pooled at her feet. He stood back, just looking at her in her simple lace bra and knickers, his expression one of awe.
“You are a goddess,” he whispered.
“Undress for me, Harry,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He made a show of it. Slowly. He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the lean, toned planes of his chest and stomach. He toed off his shoes, peeled off his socks. Then his hands went to his waistband. He pushed the unbuttoned trousers and his pants down in one movement, kicking them aside.
He stood before her, fully naked, fully erect, his cock curving up towards his navel, flushed and eager. The sight of him, so proudly displayed, so completely hers, stole the air from her lungs.
“Come here.”
He crossed the room and knelt again, this time between her parted knees. He looked up, waiting.
“Good boy,” she murmured, running her fingers through his messy hair.
He moaned, his head falling forward against her thigh. His whole body trembled with the pleasure-pulse of the trigger. “Again,” he begged, his voice muffled against her skin.
“My good, good boy.”
Another shudder, stronger this time. His hands came up to grip her knees, holding on as if the praise was a physical force.
Hermione hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her knickers. “Take these off me. With your teeth.”
A hungry sound ripped from his throat. He bent forward, his mouth finding the lace. He tugged gently, his nose nuzzling the thatch of curls beneath. He worked the fabric down, his lips and teeth grazing her skin, until the knickers slipped past her thighs and he could pull them free. He dropped them aside and stared at the heart of her, now bare before him.
His breathing was ragged. “Fuck. You’re so beautiful. You’re so wet. For me.”
“For my good boy,” she corrected, her own voice tight.
He didn’t need another command. He leaned in, his breath hot against her folds. He didn’t touch her with his tongue yet. He just… breathed her in. “I can smell your pussy,” he groaned, the vulgarity a sweet, nasty music. “I can smell how much you liked watching me squirm. I’m going to taste you now. I’m going to lick this sweet cunt until you scream my name.”
“Harry—”
But his mouth was on her, and her protest became a sharp cry. His tongue was flat and broad, lapping at her through her slit, gathering her wetness. Then it pointed, flicking over her clit with a precision that made her back arch off the bed.
“That’s it,” he growled against her, his words vibrating through her sensitive flesh. “I’m licking your clit. I’m sucking it. I can feel it swelling on my tongue.” He demonstrated, pulling the little bud into his mouth, applying a steady, rhythmic pressure.
Hermione’s hands fisted in his hair, holding him to her. The coil inside her, wound tight from the entire evening of secret control, began to fray. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
“I won’t,” he promised, his voice thick. One of his hands slid up her inner thigh, his fingers parting her folds, opening her wider for his feasting mouth. “I’m going to make you come on my face. I’m going to drink every drop. And then…” He pushed a finger inside her, curling it, and she cried out. “…then I’m going to beg you to let me fuck you. I’m going to beg you to let me put my cock in this perfect, wet pussy.”
His words, his tongue, his finger—it was too much. The orgasm built, a towering wave. She was panting, her hips lifting off the bed, chasing his mouth. “I’m close… Harry, I’m so close…”
“Come for me, Mistress,” he ordered, his green eyes blazing up at her from between her thighs. “Come all over your good boy’s tongue.”
Hermione’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening in his hair. She could feel the heat of his mouth, the flick of his tongue against her most sensitive flesh. “That’s it, Harry. Just like that. Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. His tongue worked in lazy, deliberate circles, each one sending a jolt through her body. Her hips lifted off the bed, chasing the sensation, desperate for more. “I’m so close…” she whispered, her voice trembling with need.
Harry’s hands gripped her thighs, holding her open for him. He groaned against her, the vibration making her clit ache. “I want to taste you when you come,” he murmured, his lips brushing her inner thigh. “I want to feel you pulse on my tongue.”
The thought sent her over the edge. Her back arched, a sharp cry escaping her lips as the orgasm tore through her. “Harry!” she gasped, her body shaking with the force of it.
He didn’t let up. His tongue pressed harder, faster, pushing her closer to a second peak. “Come for me, Mistress,” he repeated, his voice a low growl. “Let me feel you.”
She couldn’t hold back. The second wave hit, her body convulsing as she came again, her wetness spilling onto his waiting tongue. “Oh God, Harry…”
He lapped at her hungrily, drinking her in as if she was the only thing that could quench his thirst. “You taste so fucking good,” he moaned, his hands sliding up to grip her hips, holding her steady as he devoured her.
Hermione’s head fell back against the bed, her chest heaving as she rode out the aftershocks. “Good boy,” she panted, her fingers tugging gently at his hair. “Such a good boy.”
He didn’t stop until she was spent, until her body was limp and shuddering beneath his hands and mouth. Only then did he look up at her, his green eyes dark with satisfaction and something deeper, something that made her stomach flip. “Mistress,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’m yours.”
She reached down, her fingers tilting his chin up to meet her gaze. “Mine,” she agreed, her voice firm despite the exhaustion creeping into her limbs. “Now get up here and show me what else you can do.”
He moved quickly, his body sliding up hers with a hunger that matched her own. She didn’t need to command him again—he was already reaching for her, his cock hard and eager as it pressed against her damp folds.
“Do you want to fuck me?” she asked, her tone teasing but irresistible.
He groaned out an answer before lowering himself down to prove it.
Inside the darkened entrance hall, Harry pushed her gently against the wall, his body caging hers. The gentleman was gone. His eyes searched hers in the dim light, full of raw, unbottled hunger.
"Mistress," he breathed, the word a prayer.
"You were perfect tonight," she said, her hands sliding up his chest. "My perfect, obedient boyfriend."
"I wanted to crawl under that table," he confessed, his forehead dropping to hers. "I wanted to put my mouth on you right there. I wanted everyone to see who you really own."
"I know." She captured his mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. It was all heat and desperation, his tongue sweeping against hers, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her flush against the hard evidence of his continued arousal.
He broke the kiss, trailing his lips down her neck. "Please. Let me serve you. Let me show you how good I can be."
"Upstairs," she commanded softly.
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Come to Play