Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Quartet	By : OracleObscured Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 128263 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
A/N: Dedicated_Reader: Thank you :)
LissaD: "Snape, shmape. Who’s he again? LOL"--I'm going to let that go this one time :)
I'm glad you enjoyed Draco's bathtub romp. I can't guess whether you'll enjoy this chapter as much (but I suspect it's going to take people longer to warm up to Lucius).
17—Nocturne
“Gonna have to face it, you’re addicted to love.”—Robert Palmer
(Lucius)
Lucius watched her intently over his glass of Merlot. With the aid of some Climate Charms to warm the air around the patio, he’d arranged a small table outside and set up a candlelit dinner for two. She’d eaten his scampi gratinati—which technically wasn’t his since he’d ordered it from Credenzo’s—and sipped his wine like a refined little princess, revealing no hint of the nymph that lay just below the surface, the nymph he’d fucked less than a week ago until she screamed his name, the nymph with a taste for cum and a set of lungs that could rattle the windows. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Her hair was pulled up in a twist as it had been on Friday, and she wore a little black dress with a wide V neckline that made him suspect a magical undergarment. Breasts didn’t defy gravity like that without some assistance, and he detected no satin straps peeking out at her shoulders. Of course Muggles made strapless bras, but the complete lack of seams was indicative of magical stitchery. Perhaps later he could check to be sure. Her legs were sleek and smoky in their silk stockings, which meant she’d worn the suspender belt again, just as he’d asked. Lovely.
The only thing he hadn’t deduced yet was how he had come to this. How had he come to be dining alone with a Muggle-born girl who had been the bane of his son’s school career, a girl half his age, a girl he had chased through the Ministry and probably would have maimed if given the chance? Glancing out across the dark lawn, Lucius swallowed back the ball of nausea that crept up his esophagus. He was no longer that man, and his former life seemed unreal now, as if his past were a nightmare he’d recently awoken from, only to suffer the lingering unease of visceral flashbacks that dampened his brow with sweaty panic.
At the time, his actions hadn’t seemed extreme. His father had drilled it into him since childhood that purebloods were superior in skill and power, and the promise of glory in Voldemort’s elite army had been so inviting. Who wouldn’t want a place of honor in the new king’s court? It had never occurred to him that having a monstrous half-human on the throne might not be good for anyone. He’d been too blinded by the prospect of power to see the truth.
Then he’d been sent to Azkaban, and everything had changed. Everything. Dementors had a way of altering a man’s perspective. The nightmares of that pit still haunted him—day and night. Left alone with only his morbid thoughts in a dark, dingy cell, he’d wept over the utter destruction he’d inflicted on his family. His wife and child were completely vulnerable, at the mercy of a madman, and he could do nothing to protect them.
In the hellish year he was incarcerated, Lucius was besieged by remorse and despair. When he could manage to sleep, there was no rest; he began to fear the approach of Morpheus, dreading the moment he’d be jolted awake by the sounds of his own screaming. Those screams were the only demarcation between the terrifying insanity of his dreams and the terrifying insanity of his real life.
He’d dreamt of discovering Draco’s dead body so many times he didn’t trust his eyes when he finally returned home; believing his boy to be a figment of his imagination, he’d clawed at him in an attempt to banish the accusing image from his mind’s eye. But of course, Draco had proven to be quite real—and was understandably frightened by Lucius’s tenuous mental state. His son had been right to worry; they’d all been right to worry. Lucius had been sprung from one hell only to be imprisoned in another. In his absence, most of his worst fears had become reality: Draco had taken the Dark Mark, his ancestral home had been commandeered as a command post, and his family was in constant danger. If there had been anywhere he could have hidden his wife and son, he would have taken them in an instant; but Narcissa never would have left without Draco, and Draco’s mark made him impossible to hide. They were trapped.
Lucius did his best to keep his family alive while the manor was under siege, but the Dark Lord had had it out for them. Every summons was a round of Russian roulette. Lucius was just waiting for the day the green flash of an Avada would be tossed at him like a Quaffle. Death was a game to the Dark Lord, and punishment for not playing properly was swift and vicious.
When the final battle had concluded and Potter had miraculously been victorious, the sudden emancipation had hit Lucius like a twenty-foot wave. His wife and child had made it out alive; they were safe. He was still alive. His family remained intact. Whole. He’d been prepared for the worst.
But he didn’t know the worst was yet to come.
They were social pariahs, and Narcissa was miserable—free but virtually prisoners in their own home. The Aurors were breathing down their necks, and half their belongings had been taken as “evidence.” Thanks to Narcissa’s life-saving lie in the Forbidden Forest—and Potter’s testimony on their behalf—they weren’t sent away; but society saw them as criminals who’d gotten off the hook, and they were despised far and wide.
Surprisingly, he could live with that. After Azkaban, he knew the meaning of true horror; and the simple joy of sleeping in the same bed with his wife again felt like a reprieve he didn’t deserve. That was what people didn’t understand about Azkaban and the destruction of the human spirit. It wasn’t the constant mental bombardment of his own guilt and fear, which ceaselessly ate at his sanity in an endless loop of madness and torture; no, it was the loss of his wife’s touch that had broken him in the end. There was no succor in a jail cell. No hand in his hair, stroking his head until he went to sleep. No whispered kiss to calm his nerves. That loss had been his undoing.
His first night home from Azkaban had been spent wide awake with Narcissa’s thin arm clutched in his hand, unwilling to let her out of his sight. After fifty-six sleepless hours of constant vigilance, he’d finally collapsed in exhaustion. No matter how desperately he fought to stay awake and protect his family, his body insisted he sleep.
Now he felt sleep had stolen the few precious moments he’d had left with his wife. She’d been taken from him, not by despots or battle, but by illness. He’d never even entertained such an unlikely conclusion. Who died of dragon pox in this day and age? If she hadn’t hidden the first green patches that had appeared on her back, they might have been able to save her in time. Maybe. Or at least that was what he told himself. The mediwitch had explained that even if Narcissa had come in as soon as she noticed, it still might have gotten her; her body had been weakened by years of acute stress, and she really didn’t stand a chance against that particular strain. Her beauty had been ravaged in days, and she’d died right before his eyes, wilting like a time-lapsed flower.
Dementors couldn’t hold a candle to the horrors of that hospital room.
After her death, life seemed meaningless. He still had Draco, but a son was not a wife. Snape had come to her funeral; he was the only one besides Andromeda who bothered to show up. There were some whispered words of condolence, but Severus had left him to grieve. Alone. Again. Naturally.
Lucius had gone back to the Manor and wandered around the house like a ghost. He heard Draco crying in his room, but he offered no reassuring word. Draco needed to learn how to deal with the worst life had to offer. He’d had that same sniveling weakness when the Dark Lord had taken over the house, blubbering in the dark when he thought no one could hear him. The boy had been broken so easily. Hadn’t Lucius raised him to be stronger than that? It wasn’t Draco’s fear that repulsed Lucius—they’d all been terrified, and he did sympathize—he just couldn’t stand to see his own son so weak. Draco needed a backbone, not a shoulder to cry on. People would walk all over him if he let his emotions run riot. And it was going to take a thick hide to weather the after effects of the war; the name Malfoy no longer carried the prestige it once had.
He refused to accept failure as Draco’s lot in life. Even if the rest of the world disagreed, the Malfoy name would remain synonymous with success. If Draco could escape his past and make his mark on the Ministry, he might find some happiness yet. Lucius would teach him to fight back and land on his feet. The boy just needed a shove in the right direction.
Lucius hoped there might still be some happiness in the cards for himself as well. The war had left him acutely aware of what he valued most, and with Narcissa gone, his desire for comfort and beauty had to be outsourced. Severus offered him something along the lines of comfort—a lifeline of camaraderie and silent support. Lucius wasn’t so arrogant that he didn’t thank the gods for the stronghold that was Severus Snape; the man was nothing if not loyal, and Lucius found his constancy—even when snarky and bitter—a solace.
The revelation about him being a double spy did absolutely nothing to dissuade Lucius’s opinion of the man. His loyalty to Lily had simply preceded his loyalty to the Dark Lord, and Lucius had to admire that kind of tenacity. Ultimately, Snape’s duplicity had saved Draco's life, which made it difficult for Lucius to find fault with the deception. Despite his derision of anything involving blood purity, Snape had never personally turned on Lucius or his family. Even when the Dark Lord encouraged the other Death Eaters to ridicule Lucius and mock his failures, Severus—as always—held his tongue. It was a masterful move; even Lucius couldn’t deduce his true feelings.
At least not until Snape had touched his hand in passing. The gesture was benign on the surface—no one would have noticed—but Lucius knew that Snape avoided all physical contact outside the bedroom, and the interaction hadn’t been brief enough to be an accident.
Of course that wasn’t the only time Severus had silently offered his support. If he hadn’t shown up when he did to snap Lucius out of his downward spiral, he might have continued haunting the house until he’d wasted away to nothing. Although they never spoke of what had happened that summer, something between them had been irrevocably altered. They’d been close friends and lovers for decades, but in the span of twenty-four hours—twenty-four hours in which Severus had kept him locked in his arms—they had become something more. Something for which Lucius had no name. He could never quite put his finger on what, exactly, had changed between them, but from that moment on, the link they’d forged had been welded into an indestructible bond. After giving it an inordinate amount of thought, Lucius was still at a loss, unable to find any words that might do the experience justice, but thankfully, Severus was just as reluctant to discuss the nebulous topic.
As Lucius healed, things more or less returned to normal. He rejoined the land of the living, and once he began to eat regularly, his health rebounded with surprising alacrity. Unfortunately, all that healing brought with it some mental clarity and the realization that, in his own way, he was just as needy as Draco. A cringe-worthy epiphany if ever there was one. He sought to bury the insight in the back of his mind, but it kept popping up at inopportune moments.
Like now. He was trying to have a nice dinner with an interesting, albeit odd, witch, and he couldn’t stop wondering how she might fill the holes in his life.
There was plenty about her that he found alluring. She was a bloody wonder in bed, and he liked her smart mouth. The way she’d sparred with Severus during dinner had aroused him beyond reason. But maybe that shouldn't have surprised him so much—he had always been drawn to intellect as much a beauty, and the girl was, by all accounts, brilliant. Even Severus admitted she had more brains than most, which coming from Snape, was a ringing endorsement. And she was a loyal friend to Draco; there was little fear that she would air their dirty laundry before all of wizarding Britain. She was fierce and sweet, which was a combination he didn’t often encounter. It excited him in strange ways. New ways. Not like Snape. Softer. Kinder. More like Narcissa.
But different.
Granger had none of Narcissa’s stunning looks or smooth grace, but she did have a fiery passion, a spark of life that got under his skin and made him feel alive too. Nothing could douse that flame . . . not even three wizards worth of semen. He smirked, remembering how she’d rolled around his bed, begging for more. Narcissa would have balked at the prospect of taking a load on the tits, but Granger couldn’t get enough. He liked that playfulness in her.
“Miss Granger, may I ask you a personal question?”
She looked up from her plate and shrugged lightly. “I guess so.”
“Do you hate me for what I did to you and your friends?”
She blinked and picked up her wine, sipping it as if her food had become lodged in her throat. It took her several seconds to swallow her shock and find her voice. “That’s complicated.”
“I assumed it would be.”
Hermione sighed and met his eyes again. “No, I don’t hate you. I didn’t like you all that much for a long time, but . . . then I saw what the war had done to your family, and I started wondering if you had changed as much as Draco.”
“Have I?”
“You . . .” She looked away and sipped her wine again in what was obviously an attempt to buy some time and gather her thoughts. “I can’t say for sure,” she finally replied, her voice soft with hesitation. “I don’t know you as well as I know Draco. But . . . you haven’t seemed the same since . . . your wife died.”
“So I’m a man to be pitied?”
A look of confusion crinkled her face. “I think you’re just lonely. I don’t know how you couldn’t be with only you and Draco all by yourselves in this huge house.”
Lonely did not begin to describe the desolation he dealt with on a daily basis. “Snape comes over once a week.”
Hermione smiled. “Professor Snape is an interesting man and a talented lover, but I don’t imagine he compares to your wife.”
Lucius sipped his own wine, digesting the insight. Snape might be wrong about Granger; she didn’t seem to be a walking encyclopedia. Her assumptions were intuitive as well as empathetic. He wasn’t used to anyone probing his side of the story. “That’s putting it lightly.”
Her smile grew. “Is that why you asked me here tonight, for a woman’s company?”
Lucius nodded slowly. “I guess I did. That and I like the way you fuck.”
Even though she blushed and looked down at her plate, she grinned broadly. “That’s not a compliment I hear too often.”
Her blush was charming, and Lucius longed to run his fingers along the pink warmth creeping over her cheek. “Maybe you just never had the right man to bring it out in you.”
He realized as soon as he said it that conceit might not be the most advantageous route to take with a Gryffindor. When she met his gaze, her eyes were sparking with defiance, and the cool tone of her, “Perhaps,” made it clear that he shouldn’t assume he was the one inspiring her lust.
Lucius couldn’t restrain the twitch of his lips. Her dismissal did nothing but ignite his determination. Despite what many people thought, Lucius did actually like to work—and Hermione Granger was a provocative goal. Her independence and spitfire attitude weren’t deterrents, they were rewards. And he now knew why the Gryffindor mascot was a lion—it wasn’t their bravery or courage, it was because when you crossed one, you saw your life flash before your eyes. Stepping into her territory made the hair on the back of his neck reach for the sky. His pulse thumped painfully along the side of his neck, but he projected no fear. This was his chance to walk on the wild side, to feel the adrenaline rush of the chase as he approached this lioness among women.
He had to advance with confidence . . . and caution.
“Would you care to take a walk before dessert is served? Some of the flowers are just beginning to bloom, and they’re quite lovely in the moonlight.”
Immediately detecting his tactical shift, her eyes narrowed to wary slits. “These shoes are more form than function,” she said, glancing down at her heels in spurious apology.
Lucius smirked. “Just around the patio. It won’t take but a moment.” He rose and extended his hand in invitation.
She regarded his hand far longer than polite, but finally nodded and said ,“Very well,” as she slipped her fingers over his palm.
Maintaining his mask of courteousness, Lucius inwardly cheered with triumph. He’d made physical contact. The lioness was warming to him.
Ever the gentleman, he offered her his arm, and she scrutinized it for only a moment before hooking her hand into the crook of his elbow. Motioning to the right, he led her along the perimeter of the patio, strolling beside the flower beds at a leisurely pace to prolong their connection.
“You look lovely tonight,” he said softly, watching her reaction from the corner of his eye.
Her eyes flashed to his face, and he saw the reservation ripple across her features. She thought he was using a line on her, lulling her into complacency. He wasn’t. Not at all. She looked fashionable and sexy, the wide V of her neckline almost exposing her shoulders. It was the kind of dress that made a man want to dip a witch low and run his mouth over the naked planes of her breastbone.
“Thank you,” she replied carefully. “You look nice too.”
I know. His appearance had been planned down to the very last detail, everything chosen to present him in the best light. “You’re too kind, Miss Granger. It’s not too chilly for you, is it? The warming charm doesn’t extend this far.”
“It’s just a little breezy. Not too bad for this time of year.” Her words were light, no suspicion coloring her tone.
Lucius unwound his arm from her hand and pulled her into his side—an obvious attempt to put the moves on her couched in the pretense of warmth. When she looked up at him with amused exasperation, he smiled and drew his thumb along the smooth curve of her shoulder. “Wouldn’t want you to catch cold,” he purred, not bothering to conceal his devious intentions.
She shook her head but didn’t pull away.
“Are your feet holding up so far?”
Hermione snorted under her breath. “If I say no, are you planning to carry me the rest of the way?”
Only if you want to ride on my shoulders the wrong way round. “No,” he said innocently. “I was merely checking if we needed to turn back.”
“I’m fine,” she said, a hint of laughter in her voice.
Lucius took her to the far edge of the stone walkway and then stopped to look out over the garden. “See there, the azaleas are just starting to bud.”
“Where?”
He pointed to the large bush near the side of the house. The lights from inside cast a warm glow over one half, leaving the side that faced them in inky shadows.
“Oh, yes,” she said brightly. “Does it always bloom this early?”
“No, it seems the warm weather has inspired it to come early.”
He could tell by her silence that the innuendo hadn’t been lost on her.
Lucius gestured toward the yard. “There are actually flowers already blooming further on, but it’s far too dark to see them from here. However”—he dipped his head, bringing his mouth closer to her ear—”if you close your eyes, you might be able to smell them.”
She didn’t pull away from his blatant come-on, but she didn’t do anything to encourage it either. Lucius was amused by her restraint. They both knew perfectly well why she’d come over that night . . . wearing that perfect little black dress.
“I smell nothing,” she commented with a saccharine sweet smile.
“Are your eyes closed?”
“No.”
Lucius turned his body into hers and ran his fingers along the slope of her shoulder and neck. “Indulge me for a moment. I promise not to strike while you’re sightless.”
Smiling reluctantly, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
“Do you smell it?” he whispered, his mouth brushing her ear. “I know of only one bud that smells so sweet. It’s the nectar, you see. The night air draws it out until it’s spilling down the stamen.”
When his pinky grazed the nape of her neck, she shivered.
“Now I’m certain I smell nothing,” Granger shot back with a grin, but her eyes remained closed.
Lucius chuckled under his breath and pressed his nose to her throat, inhaling deeply as he circled her waist with one hand and pulled her closer. “It’s a subtle scent. Unforgettable, actually. Well worth the effort.”
Her head tipped to the side in a wordless invitation. “You do make it sound enticing. I had no idea you were such a nature-lover.”
Skimming his lips along the line of her throat, he hummed in response. “Mmmmm. I appreciate all the beauty this world has to offer.”
When his teeth scraped her skin in a playful nip, she gasped and burst into a smile.
“Can you imagine my luck when such a beautiful witch agreed to dine with me tonight?” Her skin tasted divine, and he laved the love bite he’d left just to make sure he didn’t forget her flavor any time soon.
“Oh, you are laying it on rather thick now, Mr. Malfoy,” she huffed through her giggling.
He drew back and gave her a warning look. “How dare you insult my date? Apologize this instant!”
A brief wrinkle of consternation marred her brow, but then, when she figured out he was playing with her, the corners of her mouth curled in relief. “Are you quite finished? I think it’s time for dessert.” Turning on her heel, she started back toward the table.
Lucius hurried after her. He had no intention of letting her off the hook so easily. Slipping his arm back around her shoulders, he slowed her brisk pace to a stroll. “I get the feeling you aren’t used to a man declaring his desire for you.”
She swallowed and looked away for a moment before answering. “No, I’m not. But I don’t think that’s the issue here.”
“No?”
“I think it’s that it’s you. Oh! I didn’t mean that as an insult.”
Lucius wasn’t insulted so much as confused. “What did you mean?”
“Just that . . . it all sounds so strange coming from you. You’re so . . . polished.”
That had not been what he was expecting her to say, but he found her delivery of that descriptor humorous. “You doubt my sincerity then?”
She bit her lower lip in the most adorable way, and Lucius had the urge to kiss away the teeth marks. No. Not yet. Give her time.
After a moment of thought, which stopped her in her tracks, she looked utterly dumbfounded. “I think it would be rather insulting to say yes . . . and I’m not totally sure I believe that. You’ve been quite honest with me so far.”
Lucius had to bite his tongue to keep from beaming. Some part of him was insanely pleased with her assessment, and he wasn’t sure why. And Lucius didn’t beam at anyone. At least he hadn’t in a while. Perhaps he could test it out in the mirror later and see how it looked on him. “If it’s honesty that turns you on, I could tell you some things that would soak your knickers in no time flat.”
Her lips wobbled with mirth. “I am rather fond of honesty, now that you mention it.”
Lucius leaned closer and almost laughed when she tensed. He suddenly understood why she’d been so hard to read. The girl was still frightened of him—and after their talk the week before, he understood the reasons why immediately. She might want him sexually, but they were, for all intents and purposes, strangers. And this was their first time alone. All week he’d been dreaming of having her to himself; but his eagerness had blinded him to the reality of the situation. She didn’t know the Lucius Malfoy he’d become.
Moving slowly so as not to startle her, he cupped her cheek and brushed his lips across her forehead before placing a gentle kiss to her temple. Her abnormal stillness told him just how nervous she was, but he couldn’t help noticing she didn’t flinch away either.
Stroking her jaw with the pad of his thumb, he sought to soothe her. There was no need to push her in any direction. She would come to him when she was ready for more. “I assure you,” he murmured low, “that I’ve meant every word spoken here tonight. You look absolutely ravishing. I count myself a lucky man to have spent the evening with you.”
She relaxed just a little.
“I know we don’t know each other well, but I find myself . . . drawn to you . . . thinking about you when I’m alone. You’re a thought-provoking witch.”
He kissed the air next to her cheek, teasing her with the side of his lips. “Would you like to know what I’ve been thinking about?”
She gave him a small nod in answer.
Breathing softly against her ear, he whispered in his most seductive voice, “I’ve been thinking . . . that . . . I’ve never seen anyone go toe-to-toe with Snape’s snark as well as you did, and I don’t think I’ve stopped laughing about it all week.”
A breathy explosion of silent laughter breezed his face, and Lucius chuckled too. “My sentiments exactly.”
Hermione leaned into his hand like a cat, and Lucius shuddered as a blissful jolt wracked his gut with pleasure. He’d earned a shred of trust from his lioness.
“Between the fits of laughter, I must admit my imagination was less than noble,” he confessed lightly.
Her smile made the curve of her jaw flex in his palm.
Thank Merlin she wasn’t offended. “My brain seems to be fixated on the idea of you spread out naked before the fire . . . your hand between your thighs.”
The stuttered release of her exhale betrayed the growing level of her arousal.
“You always put on an excellent show in my imagination . . . spreading your legs so I can see everything, panting my name as you ride the edge of release.”
The warmth of her blush singed his hand.
“The sound of your voice so sweet,” he murmured, his own voice barely audible. “Begging me to make you come.”
Swallowing hard, she nodded.
Lucius bit his tongue to keep from laughing. “Yes? You want to come?”
She nodded again.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Your tongue,” she whispered.
Stifling his snort, Lucius licked the shell of her ear. “What else?”
Her hand rose, and she grasped his wrist. It was the touch he’d been waiting for. If he wanted her calm enough to come, she had to call the shots.
“More,” she pleaded.
“Is that what you’ve been thinking about this week . . . my tongue between your legs . . . licking your sweet little pussy until the juice is running down my chin?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lucius almost doubled over in hysterics. Sir already? He’d prefer it if she called him by his name, but she obviously got off on the honorific, and he had no intention of snatching away her sexual security blanket. “Say it. Beg me to make you come.”
Her body began to tremble, her breathing so labored he was afraid she was going to pass out. “Please, sir.” There was a lengthy pause before she whispered, “Please lick my clit—make me come.”
Except for the continued ticking of his thumb along her jaw, he didn’t move. “And what should I do about this persistent bulge in my trousers? It is getting rather uncomfortable, and I’m sure you have all sorts of helpful ideas about what I could do with it.”
“Fuck me with it!”
He could hear her smile, and the enthusiasm of her demand made his cock throb. “Fuck you with it? That does sound pleasant.” Without warning, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet. In three strides he had her pressed against the brick wall, snuggled into the corner where the bay of the drawing room protruded from the house. She was clearly shocked by the sudden relocation, but beyond a quiet gasp, she made no protest. Grabbing the hem of her skirt in both hands, he heaved it up over the curve of her arse and dropped to one knee before her.
“Ohhh,” he laughed. “No wonder you were so chilly earlier; you’ve forgotten your knickers again.”
She was panting too hard to answer, staring at him as if she couldn’t believe what he’d just done.
Lucius smiled up at her and slid one hand along the back of her thigh until he reached the strip of bare skin just beneath her bum. “I find a nice stocking rounds off a meal beautifully, don’t you?”
He gave her no chance to answer before plundering the slick line of her slit.
“Ahhh!”
Chuckling at her inarticulate cries, he lapped though her folds, groaning in delight at the deliquescent bounty dripping from her core. She was so different from Narcissa—the noises she made, the smell of sex, the feel of her fur against his mouth. Narcissa’s flaxen pubic hair was so sparse it was almost transparent; Hermione’s bush was thicker, but so strikingly soft he didn’t mind the extra padding. His nose pressed to her puffy pubis, and he scooped up a tongue full of her nectar with one long swipe.
Fucking hell! How could she taste better than he remembered? How was that even possible? Did she bathe in honey? Dip her pudenda in a tub of strawberries and champagne? Even Snape’s custard paled in comparison. He closed his eyes and sucked the salty musk from her inner labia. Magnifique.
Cupping the back of her knee, he pressed her leg to her chest and exposed the entirety of her juicy gorge. The shadows made it difficult to see, but even in the soft light of the moon, he could see how pink and ripe she was. Lucius planted his face between her thighs and lapped at her clit, eager to hear her lose control.
She grasped his hair to keep her balance and moaned quietly. The sloppy squelch of her flooded cunt echoed against the stone walls and rang through the garden like an erotic amphitheater. Lucius could have come from that sound alone, a sodden testament to his talents.
“Uh!”
She was close. Unzipping his flies with one hand, he pulled out his cock and tested its durability with a quick volley of strokes. He was hard enough to drill a hole through the wall, but thankfully there was a much softer option glistening before him.
Right as she was nearing the home stretch, Lucius pulled back and dropped her leg.
“No!”
Smirking, he stood and, with both hands under her arse, hoisted her up against the wall. “Don’t fret, my pet. I’ll get you there in no time at all.”
Her legs encircled his waist, and Lucius reached down to align himself with her entrance. As soon as he had his glans nudged into her opening, she growled and dropped her hips, sinking half his length into her molten core with no preamble or preparation. They both inhaled sharply, and Granger’s eyes went wide, as if she’d forgotten what it felt like to be fucked. Her jaw fell slack, and the ragged heat of her exhale steamed his neck.
“Just relax,” he muttered, catching his breath and easing in the rest of the way. “I want you to enjoy this.”
The impossible tightness of her walls clutched at his length as he drew back and slid in again. Her muscles had a mind of their own, pulling him one way then the next, trapping him in place and milking him with the dexterity of a fist. He remembered the unbearable clamp of Narcissa’s virginity the first time he’d taken her, but Granger’s squeezing was nothing like that. This was the supple strength of a champion, the articulation of an artist.
Her body gave in to his gentle rocking, accepting the intrusion with a surge of lubrication. Lucius grunted and picked up the pace. “How’s that?” he panted. “Do you want it harder?”
She nodded vigorously, squirming his dick even deeper with a sinuous swirl of her pelvis. “Mmmmmm!”
Lucius hissed and grabbed her by the hips. “Are you ready to come for me?”
“Will you kiss my neck again—like you did last time?”
He grinned. “Did you you like that? Is that why you wore this pretty dress for me?”
“Yes, sir!”
His belly clenched, whether from the sir or the confirmation that she wanted him, Lucius couldn’t be sure. He latched onto her throat, and she thrashed in his arms like an animal. Holding her tighter, he nipped the side of her neck and laved her jugular, flickering his tongue over her thundering pulse. When he started to suck, she gasped and rode him so hard he had to completely stop thrusting so he could concentrate on keeping her impaled.
“Ride me, love,” he growled in her ear, spurring her on. “Rub that little clit against me. I know you’re ready to come. Show me what that pussy can do.”
“Uuuuunh!”
Her walls fluttered in warning, and then the contractions were tearing at his cock, compacting him with the strength of ten Grangers plus two.
“Lucius!” Her cry came at the top of the arch, her muscles furiously twitching around him.
He continued to pound her as she rolled over the residual peaks. His balls dripped with the outpouring of her release, and the wet slap of his sac against her arse was so perversely gratifying that he almost thanked her for the privilege. “You are so fucking sexy when you come. Say my name again. I want to make sure you don’t forget who made you scream like that.”
“Lucius,” she whispered. Her lips found his jaw, and his stomach clenched as she kissed a sweet path to his ear. “Come inside me, Lucius. I want to feel you dripping out of me all night.”
If madness could be induced with one phrase, that might have been it. His hips found a new gear; the delightfully vulgar sound of flesh against flesh filled the outdoors. Her tongue traced the shell of his ear, and he almost went over the edge right then.
“I love the way you fuck me, Lucius.”
“Mmm,” he grunted. His sac contracted, and his belly turned to marble as the pressure burst from his balls. “Fuck!”
“Yessss,” she crooned, her breath warm on his ear. “That’s my cream now.”
Lucius gradually stilled as his balls ran dry. He leaned into the wall for support and rested his forehead against her shoulder. Panting, he closed his eyes and muttered, “You’re a little cum queen, aren’t you?”
She laughed softly and kissed his damp neck. “Did you like that?”
“Very much so.”
“Me too. Don’t pull out yet, okay?”
Beaming into the shadows, he nodded once. “As you wish, your majesty.”
"Addicted to Love" by Robert Palmer. 1986. Written by Robert Palmer. The song was originally going to be a duet with Chaka Khan, but Khan's record label wouldn't release her to work on Palmer's label. She is still credited for the vocal arrangements in the album's liner notes.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=XcATvu5f9vE
Nocturne--A musical composition that is inspired by, or evocative of, the night. --Wikipedia.
Scampi gratinati--broiled scampi with aromatic breading.
"Ten Grangers plus two" is, of course, a play on Dr. Seuss's "ten Grinches plus two" line.
The line "Alone. Again. Naturally." that Lucius references is from the song "Alone Again (Naturally)" by Irish singer-songwriter, Gilbert O'Sullivan. 1972. (And, yes, Lucius would know a Muggle song. The reasons will be revealed in a future chapter.)
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=D_P-v1BVQn8
- 16
- 17
- 18
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Quartet