Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Set me free Complete	By : Kvarta Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 13653 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling. This story is purely for entertainment purposes, no money is being made from it.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
A/N: Special thanks to my dear Holdt for helping me to work out few kinks out of this chapter.
On another note, I know I should be waiting with posting this chapter, but with my work spinning hectically out off control I think it is safer this way.
Crescendo
She can’t suppress the shivers.
No, it is not fear - not in the real sense. She knows fear, intimately. This is something else, something new.
She was almost petrified during their conversation. He was as he always is, calm and collected. Not distant, more present but unreachable. He is an anchor while she floats in a sea of uncertainty.
The situation isn’t new.
Plenty of times they’ve been in a similar position—she was naked, he was fully dressed. But it is new, now. It has a purpose, an end goal she’s hoping to reach. There is a multitude of feelings clashing, making her shiver.
Desire.
Need.
Shyness.
Insecurity.
Uncertainty.
She trusts him. She trusts him with her life. She’s not afraid of him, but there is also a small dose of fear.
Fear of the new.
Fear of being rejected.
And there is that awkwardness. She is naked not for the purpose of breaking through another wall in her head; she is naked because he told her to be naked. Because he wants her naked.
But does he want me?
His hands on her skin. A slight caress. It is an odd sensation—thrilling, bordering on ticklish and yet she wants it. It feels like she is stripped bare, has stripped off her skin. It feels like he’s caressing a raw nerve.
His skin is warm. She remembers how it feels under her lips, the taste of it.
He tugs on her hips, positioning her. She is clay in his hands. And then...that galvanizing sensation. The palpitation against the soft swell of her hip and the rush of blood that comes with that small bit of knowledge.
He wants me!
The first strike catches her unprepared. It isn’t painful. Still, the sound jolts her as much as the impact—jolts her into the upward stroke and the jiggle. Swats, rain on thirsty skin. They sting somewhat but not like the bite of leather.
There is heat, but not enough of it to consume her like before. And yet each thwack is loud in her ears, loud enough to overpower the rush of blood; each quiver of flesh reaches the unexpected parts of her.
So many sensations. So many things to focus on. And she can’t focus at all.
She just feels.
She just is.
“Are you alright, Miss Granger?” His voice, an anchor.
“Green, Sir.” It is all she can remember to say.
“I see.” He mutters.
The blush creeps up her chest and her cheeks, heating her forehead. It’s not that she wasn’t touched before. But this is the first time she is touched by him.
She could sing.
She could scream from happiness.
She could sink into the ground.
His touch is electrifying. The touch also brings her back to reality, more in sync with her body. Her body that’s excited—graphically so, the wetness on her thighs informs her mind.
He tugs her off his lap and she glides to the ground. His arms stop her slide.
“On the bed, Miss Granger.”
“How, Sir?” Gods, is that my voice?
“Kneeling will suffice.”
He sounds so calm.
“Sir…?” She needs to know.
“You may ask.”
She climbs to the bed.
Snow white sheets blinding her. Rustling. She yearns to raise her eyes, to look at him, but she knows better than that.
He is in control, and still...
“Will you use the flogger now?” Her voice is thick, she doesn’t know where her limits are.
“Not today, Miss Granger.”
Her heart tumbles down. She exhales sharply to stop the disappointment that bubbles in her chest. The rustling stops. She’s sad.
Did she make a mistake? They talked—isn’t he going to use everything they talked about?
His hand is on her chin. His fingers are strong. She can feel it: strength vibrates from his skin to hers. His touch is…tender. So gentle when he lifted her head.
He is looking at her. Dark eyes flicker, unreadable and deep. He looks at her over the expense of narrow, wiry pale chest.
His skin. She clenches her arms, an involuntary reaction. Her palms itch to touch him.
“Who is in control, Miss Granger?”
“You, Sir.”
“Do you trust me?” A deep rumble.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Do you wish for us to continue?” There is a harshness, a bit of steel behind his words.
“Green, Sir.”
“Then we will proceed the way I see fit. What colour, Miss Granger?”
“Green, Sir.”
A slight tug upwards of his lips, just a miniscule motion. Her heart speeds up. His thumb brushes her lips as his hand leave her face. It is a loss, so vivid she nearly recoils. Even so, he didn’t tell her to lower her gaze.
So she watches, instead.
He moves away, to the cabinet and rummages through one drawer. She soaks up his image. The sharpness of shoulder blade against the ropy muscles on his back. The curve of his lower back. The slimness of his leg muscles.
He isn’t brawny, but he is a work of art, to her.
And then it hits her. This is real, it’s really happening.
He walks back to her, so nonchalant that it stops her breath. There’s a rush of blood in her ears. Her eyes, against her will, zero in on one specific spot.
Her mouth is dry. Her voice hitches when she raises her eyes to his.
“May I, Sir?”
“Not now, Miss Granger.”
He raises one hand, a piece of black silk in it. “What do you say to a blindfold?”
Her heart jumps, sinks and jumps again. She is torn. She wants to see him, she wants to be in that darkness.
“Green, Sir.”
Is this me? When did I decide?
His touch electrifies her. She closes her eyes and the black silk caress her face. A touch of magic sends a shiver down her spine. Wetness, between her thighs.
It’s him.
The bed bends. It shifts. His body, radiating heat. Her breath is fast—loud and sharp in her ears.
Her skin prickles. Erupts into sensitivity under the light touch of his fingertips. There is a feeling so concentrated that it borders on pain. She yearns for more.
Her body arches and sways towards that touch.
A light scrape of short-trimmed nails over her thigh. His fingers sending small shocks down her spine as they slip lower, caressing each vertebra.
A moan rips from her throat.
His satisfied hum.
This is beyond her experience. Beyond everything she’s ever known.
Another moan, almost a cry. The wet sensation. There is no roughness, just the lightest of touches. Before her brain can process, she’s reached out, hands twined with his hair.
So soft. So silky. Not what it looks like at all.
Her body arcs. His hands...supporting, fanned across her back. His mouth...working a magic of its own. A magic without any magic. She’s a live wire, a conduit that sends electricity in a Y—concentrating it in her until there is nothing but a raw burn of need.
I’m falling.
She is eased to her back. Cold sheets against too warm skin.
His hands flutter against her, the eruption of goosebumps all over her, even the skin of her scalp prickles.
She wants more of his touches and the light scrapes of his nails and teeth.
She wants less.
Her hands curl, catching the fistfuls of silky white cotton.
The inside of her thigh quivers, his lips are soft and smooth against it. There is a pull inside her. A hurricane that builds the pressure. Unknown urgency.
She is trembling again, shivering eruption caused by his breath and tongue and mouth. He knows how to touch. He knows where to touch. To sent the sparks flying and cajole her system. More wetness, seeping from her.
I should be embraced by this.
But she isn’t. She is too wound up. Too high strung to care.
The light dissolves around her and she dissolves with it, in a coarse cry and arching of her back. Her heart is a mad drum in her head, she feels it pounding in her ears, in her neck in her... breath.
The bed shifts again. He’s sitting between her wide open thighs. There is no connection at the moment but she doesn’t need it—she can feel him with every fiber of her being. He waits. Patient.
Time ticks away. A minute, an hour, a day, an eternity before the air stops dancing around her. And when she speaks, she can’t recognize her voice.
“May I...reciprocate, Sir?”
A light caress of her inner thigh. “Not today, Miss Granger. That is not what you need.” His hand glides and rests on her small stomach, just above that ticking bomb inside her.
Her hands reach for him, they grope at the air with desperation. Why am I so desperate? What do I need?
“The blindfold will stay on.” he informs her.
On for what? “Green, Sir.”
“I’ll ask just once, Miss Granger.” There is a note of warning in his voice.
The mattress wobbles. There is a heat above her. Her hands reach for the blindfold and he stops her. He’s pinning her hands above her head with only one of his. His breath is heavy and hot in her ear.
“What colour, Miss Granger?”
She tries to free her hands, but his grip is tight. The heat rises, there is that heartbeat inside her again. Heat chokes her, and her body thrums to the unfamiliar beat.
Green, say green!
“I’m on the potion.” No! You mess it up now! What if he... he agreed, but still... This is what you want!
“Not until you are on the potion I brewed. It is non-negotiable.”
“I...y...please.” This can’t be me.
And there it is, the connection. It’s all she wanted, it’s not what she imagined. There is so much missing.
She needs to see him.
To touch him.
To feel his skin with her lips.
She’s floating and she’s drowning. There is too much and too little. The cycles of tide go round and round, rolling. Whatever she needs - eludes her.
And there is fear again.
Her hands are free, she grabs his shoulders, clenches hard. There, his breathless voice, soft and silky.
“Shhhhhhhh, I’ve got you. Just relax, little one.”
And there are his lips. They steal her breath, they take her cries and moans.
She is in a vacuum. Her blood beats a strange rhythm; she is pulsating in the void. There is the absence of outside, but she is inside - she exists in that—inside.
~ S ~ S ~ S ~
There is a dual beat in her ear. Her own and his.
His skin is warm, slightly dump, slightly ticklish. He is boney and still comfortable. His body is relaxed next to hers. His arms safeguard her from reality.
Was that what I wanted?
It was and it wasn’t. She rolls the images in her head - there are surprisingly few of them. Only emotions, sensations. But, was that what she’d wanted?
No, it wasn’t. It was what she’d needed. Just like he promised.
Her breath hitches just a bit. Realisation spreads the warmth of a different sort. There will be time for what she wants.
Time with him.
Her fear bursts like a soap bubble. There is no need. No reason for it. He told her everything. Not with words. His words deceive, they mislead—it is a second nature to him. But she understands.
She finally understands.
All that time, talking. Staring at the same cracks on that wooden floor. All that time she tore down one wall after another, not because of what he did but because of who he was. And she hadn’t even realised until now...
She knows him. She’s learned how to read him. And once her fear is gone - she sees him. Words whisper in her head.
Little one.
She shivers and his embrace tightens just so. Yes, he has her. And she has him. Everything is as it should be.
Silence and the double-beat.
They dance that dance, but everything else was pre-set. The tune was chosen months ago, on that day, on that wooden floor.
~ THE END ~
- 4
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Set me free *Complete*

Set me free Complete