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“This is so inappropriate.”
As usual, Draco’s sulking was ignored.
“It’s just–” he tried again but Pansy shot him a look that rightly had his mouth closing into a downturned line.
“Don’t be a spoilsport just because Granger’s not included,” she told him sweetly and he went pink along the high points of his cheekbones, though he tried to hide it with a glare.
She raised a well-formed brow at him and he relented with a sigh. Being friends since birth had given them the advantage of growing up like pseudo-siblings and also the…disadvantage of growing up like pseudo-siblings. Sometimes Pansy wished for a peaceful life unmarred by dramatic, angsty men. Another of her dramatic, angsty men slunk over and slung his arm around the first.
“You can be the facilitator, if you like,” Theo offered to Draco, ruffling his hair in a way Pansy knew Draco only pretended to hate. “That way you won’t be forced to participate and sully yourself for your little bookworm.”
“You’re one to talk,” Draco huffed, shaking Theo off and fixing his hair. “Your little boyfriend isn’t here either.”
“Hear that, Parks?” Theo said, coming to stand beside her and tilting his head at Draco. “Sounds like someone’s missing their little girlfriend.”
Draco looked like he was about to deny it but evidently remembered who he was facing off against so scowled instead.
“I hate both of you,” he informed them crispy, but blushed a true rose at having been sussed out.
Pansy sighed. It was just her luck that the two idiots had fallen in love with two non-Pureblooded Gryffindors and therefore would be insufferable all evening, pining after them. Because despite the fact that they were both already spoken for and despite Draco’s protestations as concerned the appropriateness of using their family relics in such a manner, she knew neither of them would miss being present at such a long-standing, once-in-a-lifetime, closed-door event. There was nothing Slytherins loved more than secrets, after all.
Though unlike the days of old, it wasn’t only Slytherins who mingled in the specially-appointed Room of Requirement. Her eyes flicked to a pair of (very conveniently) Pureblooded Gryffindors where they were standing at the far side of the room. She’d been pleasantly surprised to see them – one of them in particular – given that the gathering was a bit more 'traditional society' than she thought either of them typically mingled in.
Gryffindor bravery would come in handy though, she mused. As would their recklessness. And chivalry.
She smirked to herself at the last, thinking of the many ways she’d like to see that particular trait demonstrated to her advantage, and caught the eye of undoubtedly the more chivalrous of the pair. His brows went up in mild surprise at having her attention on him and then dipped down as he offered her a lopsided smile. She blinked and looked away, intent to not show her hand.
She refocused her attention on Theo, who was now striding across the room. He’d been nominated as the facilitator via votes marked on anonymous, magically-appearing-and-disappearing paper slips which had materialized in front of all eligible participants by some unknown force — the damned castle itself, for all she knew — the week before. It was a fairly prestigious honor to be granted but Theo had moped about it endlessly, disliking the chore of it. He seemed chipper enough now as he picked up the small, globe-like bowl waiting on a nearby stand and then stepped up onto the raised hearth.
“Right!” he said, projecting his voice without the need of magic. The room quieted and turned to him. “If you’re here, then I hope you’ve been informed by someone in the know — whether that be an elder sibling, an unfortunate uncle, or, Merlin forbid, a parent — what this evening entails. It’s formally a networking event and is one of the most long-standing 7th year traditions in Hogwarts history — or 8th year, for us lucky warbrats. It’s a delight to be keeping this tradition going, especially given that it’s very likely many of you were conceived on a night just like tonight.”
“Theo,” Draco complained loudly from the sofa. “For the love of Salazar–”
“Sorry, sorry.” Theo waved a hand placatingly in Draco’s direction. “What I mean to say is that it’s highly likely that your parents met and summarily fucked on a night just like tonight before signing a marriage contract and–”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Draco stood, marching forward and taking the bowl from Theo with zero resistance on Theo’s part. Pansy rolled her lips in to conceal her smile at both Draco’s embarrassingly obvious Muggle(born)-inspired swearing and Theo’s utterly transparent attempt for him to take over. Theo came to stand beside her, elbowing her ribs once before stepping neatly away, predicting and therefore avoiding her own retaliatory jab.
“Ha.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning in to whisper while Draco took up the explanation of the evening. “He’s so fucking easy to manipulate now that he’s been osmoting with Granger. Turns out Gryffindors really are the best, eh?”
“That’s not–” She stopped herself. He’d done well enough with the concept of osmosis if not the actual term. “Yes,” she agreed. “The best.”
“So, anyone you’ve got your eye on?” Theo inquired mildly, looking around at the attendees.
Draco had finished the spiel and was stepping down, making his way through the room with the bowl. Pansy twisted her ring, slowly working it over her knuckle as she tracked Draco’s path.
“No,” she said shortly.
Theo snorted. “That was believable.”
He pulled his own signet ring off his forefinger, dropping it into the bowl as soon as Draco reached them. Pansy raised her brow at Theo suspiciously as she removed hers and listened to it plink down amongst the others. Theo poked his tongue into his cheek, raising his brows back at her. Draco, sentimental sap that he was, used his thumb to absently adjusted his own signet ring where it remained on his pinky, pointedly not removing it. She wanted to roll her eyes but for some reason, butterflies were gathering in her stomach and she wasn’t sure she had the verve left for a properly mocking gesture.
Draco finished the collection then remounted the hearth. He jangled the signet rings together, mixing Nott and Parkinson and Greengrass and Macmillian and Weasley and Longbottom and several others that Pansy didn’t care to list until it was a veritable orgy between Draco’s palms.
What had started as a genuine chance to network with other Purebloods had, over the decades, gradually shifted into something less future success oriented and more of a last ditch effort to roll the dice on your future spouse before one was decided for you. Nowadays, the secret event mostly functioned as a way to have a bit of fun and try out another Pureblood without the hassle of putting yourself out there. Naturally, no one was obligated to participate even after contributing their signet ring to the bowl – they weren’t animals, unlike their forefathers – but it was uncommon to sit out.
It wouldn’t be long, Pansy thought, until the Pureblood aspect of it was likewise done away with. And speaking of non-Pureblood…Pansy turned to Theo.
“I can’t believe you put your ring in,” she accused under her breath. “I thought you and Potter were together!”
“Harry’s the best,” Theo told her in an excited undertone. “He’s also unexpectedly extremely possessive; Pans, it’s so hot.” He whined and she tsked. “He told me to come back smelling like someone else’s cologne so that’s what I intend to do. I really, really can’t wait.”
“Don’t be vulgar.” Draco had charmed the bowl to divide the rings into pairs and she didn’t have the head on her for a proper dressing down of Theo’s oversharing. She forced herself not to be hopeful but despite her relentless will against it, felt the flicker of it just behind her heart as Draco began rattling off names.
“...Shafiq and Greengrass...Nott and Weasley...”
“Oh no fucking way,” Theo gasped. “Oh god, oh god, oh god. Pansy, Harry’s going to be so cross with me.” He muffled an excited squeal behind his fist and she couldn’t help but snort her amusement. She almost missed her name because of it.
“...Parkinson and Longbottom…”
Draco caught her eye, a quick flick of all-knowing silver, before carrying on. She didn’t hear the rest of the pairs because she was suddenly both a rock and a live-wire; stuck in place, utterly immovable, and absolutely buzzing.
“Ohhh,” Theo murmured beside her, “Oh Pansy, you coy little thing.”
“Shut up,” she hissed through her teeth, watching Weasley and Longbottom – Neville, she whispered to herself – glance at them and then at each other before both tilting their heads in a simultaneous gesture of well, shall we?
“God, you’ve gone all…pressurized. Like a bottle of Butterbeer shrunken down without the appropriate barometric charms.”
Weasley and Neville were almost to them. Her anxiety spiked.
“If you don’t shut up then I’ll tell Weasley you intend to rub yourself all over him like a feral cat in heat before scurrying off to his best friend’s bed to have your arse reddened for it,” she said, very fast and very articulately.
Theo’s eyes flared with delight. “Oh, please do tell him that. I’m literally begging you to.”
She tsked him again but then suddenly it was too late to do anything but sip in a quick breath and crane her neck up to the unfairly lovely face of Neville Longbottom as he stood in front of her, hands in his pockets and that damned lopsided smile gracing his perfect lips. It was so disarming, she couldn’t help but return it, then caught Theo’s ecstatic expression in her periphery, and dropped it at once.
“Hi,” Neville said, and she very nearly shot sparks from her fingertips.
She held her palm out. “Well?” she said, voice clipped.
Undeterred by her brashness, he extricated a hand from his pocket and unfurled his fist to show her their signet rings glinting cheekily up at her from his palm. When he didn’t do anything but hold them out to her, she flicked her gaze up.
“Your choice,” he said easily.
They were the loveliest two words she’d ever heard, doubly so because he actually meant them.
She didn’t hesitate, plucking up his ring with precise fingertips. “And it always will be,” she told him.
He curled his fist back around her ring where she’d left it in his hand, a tiny promise. It had meant something once to take possession, even temporarily, of someone else’s signet ring. She intended to make it mean something again.
She darted a glance to Theo, purely automatic and not at all freaked out and seeking guidance, only to find both his and Draco’s eyes already on her. Draco gave her a tiny lift of his brow, Theo an unsubtle thumbs up. She grit her teeth against their well-wishes and flicked her gaze back up to Neville. He caught her eye and inclined his head to the wall behind them, lined with doors that led to private rooms for ‘networking’.
“Come on then,” she said, as if she wasn’t at all affected by the idea of going somewhere private with Neville.
He stepped aside and she went first, choosing a door almost at random. It seemed the Room of Requirement was still listening to their preferences because the door admitted them into a small sitting room done up in muted shades of green and lilac, a slope-backed cream chaise lounge pushed up against a magical window that looked out over the Forbidden Forest. It was all exactly to her tastes, the color palette an homage to her favorite variety of her namesake flower and the decor clean and simple.
There was, most notably, no bed.
It brought her up short for a microsecond but the sound of the door closing diverted her attention. She turned to see Neville, his back against the door as he made his own quick survey of the room. When she faced him, his eyes drifted to hers.
“I hope this doesn’t need stating but just in case it does: we don’t have to do anything.” His expression was relaxed but attentive. She wondered if his comment was due to also having noticed the distinct lack of a bed.
“Do you not want to?” She thought he did but perhaps the furniture omission had come from his influence on the room.
He stared at her for a moment and then chuckled as if she’d said something adorable. It rankled her in a way only his laughter ever did.
“I definitely want to,” he told her, and the certainty in his voice – the lack of shyness about such a confession – turned her dangerously soft for him. “But we’ve already agreed that it’s your choice. And…” He glanced meaningfully over her shoulder at the solitary sofa. “Well, if you just wanted to sit and chat, or take this back to the origins and discuss ways we could collaborate in the future, then that’s completely fine with me. I’ve no expectations.”
Her heart thudded at his speech and the way he seemed to genuinely mean it. Any nerves she’d had about this – him, them – shifted fluidly from anxious to anticipatory. Him definitely wanting to participate fully with her suggested that the presence of the sofa wasn’t due to any reticence on his part but in fact meant that the room had taken into consideration her (frequent and highly-specific) fantasies about him.
The realization solidified it for her: she wouldn’t be leaving this room without fulfilling it.
She cocked her head, eyes on his and lips curling up into her signature, cat-like smirk. “None? My, I didn’t realize you were so unimaginative.”
His amusement mixed with something almost wicked at the subtle yet telling shift in her tone. “Ah. Actually, you’ll find my imagination is quite rich. I just thought I’d be polite first.”
She drifted backward, hand reaching behind her to locate the arm of the sofa without breaking their eye contact. The velvety texture of it under her fingertips was grounding and vaguely arousing. She curled her hand over it and then leaned her hip against the side.
“Polite is boring,” she informed him.
He leaned his head back against the door, hands slipping into his pockets, the pose easy and unassuming. She watched one hand shift beneath the material and wondered if he was toying with her signet ring.
“Is it?” His tone was mildly curious.
His ring was hot in her palm. She slid her thumb into her fist, sliding it through the metal and found she had to keep her thumb bent to stop the band from sliding off. She tried to remember which finger he wore it on; if it was his pinky, and it was this big, she was going to truly combust.
“What would you like instead?” he asked.
She didn’t hesitate, even though the answer was so un-Slytherin she almost cringed to say it. “Honesty.”
He considered her response for a moment and then pushed off the door with his shoulders. Her heart seized in her chest as he approached her, not stopping until he was barely a step from her. She tilted her face up to his, fingers digging into the arm of the chaise for support, both physical and mental.
“How honest would you like me to be?” he asked, voice dropping a register.
“How honest can you be?” she challenged, pulse spiking.
He chuckled. “Did you forget my House?”
Before she could open her mouth to respond, he drew his hand out of his pocket and she lost her retort at the sight of her ring in his hand. He dipped his pinky finger into the circle of it then lifted it up, her family crest adorning the tip of it like a tiny crown.
“Here’s some honesty for you, Pansy,” he began, and she died at the honeyed sound of her name on his tongue. “Seeing how tiny this is – how little your fingers must be, to fit inside it – makes me wonder if you have any idea what you’re in for with me.”
Her mouth went dry and the edge of his lifted at her likely gobsmacked expression.
“I’m honestly ecstatic to have been paired with you," he carried on, "and I honestly can’t wait to find out why your intention made the room give us just that sofa and not something more appropriate for what you seem to want from me and for what I absolutely want from you.”
She inhaled slowly through her nose, spooling in whatever remained of her tenacity and obstinacy and resolve.
“Sit down and find out then,” she told him and his eyes flared.
“Oh yeah?” He deposited her ring back in his palm and then stowed it in his pocket before stepping around her and sitting, his hands running down his thighs once before resting on the cushions on either side of him. Leaving himself open to her.
She took her rightful place on his lap, her knees tucked up against his hips, and relished the way it made her a few inches taller than him. She smirked down at him and he returned the expression, eyes intent on hers.
“This is nice,” he said softly.
She spread her legs further until the front of her knickers was pressed right against the placket of his trousers. She could feel how she’d started to affect him already. “This is nicer,” she purred.
His hands lifted to span over her hips, the warmth of them permeating right through her skirt. He lifted her slightly and slid his hips closer to the edge of the sofa, then resettled her back down on top of him. She could really feel him now, his cock thickening directly below her and putting pressure against all the spots that made her flush with heat.
“And how’s this?” He used his grip to gently move her back and forth over him.
She knew she was blushing, and knew he could tell – damn her complexion — but she honestly didn’t care.
“Very nice,” she murmured, a little starstruck by the fact that Neville Longbottom appeared to know what to do with a woman.
The edge of his mouth lifted in the lopsided grin that drove her mad. “Now who’s being polite,” he teased.
She ground down on him more firmly at that, relishing the way his mouth dropped open.
“Don’t ever call me polite again,” she hissed, hands finding his broad shoulders and using the leverage to pick up the pace. “I’m not polite.”
“I bet I could get you to say please.” His gaze didn’t leave her face even as his hands flexed on her hips, fingers pressing into the flesh of her bum as he helped her move. “Bet I could even get you to say thank you.”
She scoffed but her rhythm faltered at the low promise in his voice. He noted it with a little press of his fingers where they held her, warm eyes glinting.
“Don’t think I can?” he asked, voice pleasant but goading.
She leaned down so she could breathe the words, quiet and provocative, only inches from his mouth. “I dare you to try.”
He grinned at the challenge and at the sight of it, so boyish and carefree and gorgeous, she lost her mind. She didn’t even think, she just leaned forward and kissed him.
He made a surprised sound in the back of his throat but kissed her back instantly, hands sliding up to her lower back until he was holding her to him, the touch sure but careful. Like she was something precious. She nipped at his lip in retaliation for the sweetness and he grunted, hands dropping and going solid around her hips again.
She expected him to push her off him, to lay her down and loom over her as he took charge, but instead his hands pulled her down more firmly against him, keeping her above him. When he pressed her hips backward with his thumbs then toward him with his fingers, she realized what he was doing. She let him grind her over him, panting into his mouth as the pleasure of it steadily built — the physical feeling between her legs as well as the unfairly sexy ease with which he moved her over him, like she was weightless.
He groaned in response. “That feel good?”
“Yes.” She squeezed her hands where she had them and then again as they slid outward over the rounded muscles of his shoulders, and then again around his biceps. She could feel the way his arms flexed as he pulled her back and forth across his lap.
She knew the hidden strength of him, had borne witness to its unpretentious application in Herbology, cursing him silently for being bad at levitation charms and therefore always hauling the heavy bags of topsoil by hand. She loved that strength now and squeezed at him again to feel the firmness under her hands, because for some amazing reason she suddenly was allowed to.
He evidently liked how she was groping at him because his hips lifted under hers in a reflexive thrust, the sensation of it making her hold onto him even tighter as it sent a jolt of arousal through her.
“Oh!” she gasped. She’d thought that what they were doing would be plenty – enough to sate her for now, at least – but the raw sex in his movement had her suddenly desperate for more.
He made a low sound at her reaction. “D’you feel that? What you’re doing to me? How hard I am for you?”
She bit her lip against another pathetic sound, unable to stop herself from visualizing it.
“And are you wet for me?” He pressed his forehead to hers and she nodded against it. “Yeah? You are? Rubbing your little cunt on me is all it takes to get you excited?”
She squeaked, disturbingly turned on by the taunting lilt in his comment. He squeezed her bum, hips lifting under her again. She needed him inside her more than she needed her next breath. She pulled her hand off his arm and had it halfway down between them, its destination first his trousers and then the gusset of her knickers, when he caught it in a quick grip. He lifted it between them, eyes zeroing in on the band of gold around her thumb.
“You’re wearing my ring.” His voice was a mix of stunned and amazed, attention riveted on the band. And then his expression went devilish, eyes sliding up to meet hers. “How’s the fit?”
She swallowed, withstanding his gaze though her pulse throbbed through her, heady and exciting.
“It’s too big,” she breathed.
He hummed a low sound of agreement. “I bet it is.”
“Neville,” she whined, as petulantly as she could manage given that all she really wanted was to beg him for it. He looked altogether too pleased with the state she was in.
“Shall I put it on for you?” he asked, tone innocent. “Show you how nicely it fits?”
She bit the corner of her lip and he tipped his head back, resting it against the back of the sofa and holding her eyes as he used the fingers of his free hand to cage his ring and gently pull it off. It went easily; it really was much, much too big for her.
She watched with bated breath as he showed her his right hand and then aligned the ring with his ring finger, working it down the digit with a few little wiggles. It didn’t go on easily at all.
“There.” He rotated his wrist, letting her see the way the crest on it rested down against his knuckle. She drew in a slow inhale.
“It’s on now,” she agreed. Then leaned forward to press her lips, feather-soft, against his. “Time to show me where it fits.”
He made a strangled sound, like a laugh had gotten tangled with a groan, and cupped her jaw to hold her to him, deepening the kiss. He broke off but stayed close. “Really?”
“Yes, you idiot.” She kissed him again and searched blindly for his wrist, encircling it and tugging it down between them. “Please, I want to feel it.”
He smiled against her mouth, so widely that she felt his teeth even before he used them to nip affectionately at her bottom lip. “Told you,” he murmured.
“What?” She was distracted by the way he’d taken over and had slipped his hand under her skirt with a confidence that killed her.
“I got you to say please.” He stroked the pads of his fingers up her inner thigh and though she wanted, very badly, to scold him for the comment – for challenging her to begin with, then succeeding, then bragging about it – she wanted something else more.
“Inside me,” she told him. “Put them inside me. Please.” She emphasized the word and he chuckled again, fingers exploring higher and higher.
“Them?” He reached her knickers, stroking between her legs and humming as he felt how damp the material was. “How many do you think you can take?”
“I’ll let you know.” She rocked against his hand. “Start with one, though?”
He kissed her, tongue gliding along her bottom lip and then into her mouth when she opened for him. He tugged her knickers to the side and held them back with a thumb and forefinger, sliding the tips of his two middle fingers along her seam. She whined into his mouth and then had to break the kiss to pant when he found her entrance and pressed a thick finger inside her.
“Oh god.” She pressed down on it, taking him to the knuckle and savoring the feeling. His eyes were hot on her, pupils blown, and they didn’t leave hers even as she rose up and then sank back down.
“More,” she whispered, then pinned her lip tightly between her teeth when he aligned a second finger next to the first on her next upstroke. Two felt even better than one and when she’d taken them fully and felt the smooth metal of his signet ring pressed against her, she couldn’t help but rock forward.
He wet his bottom lip, eyes eating up her reaction and fingers stroking inside her at the rhythm she was setting. His attention and careful cataloging of what she liked was exactly how she’d imagined he’d be and the reality of it was swiftly breaking her composure. She felt hot all over, her thighs beginning to burn from the little rocks and bounces, her neck and chest flushed pink.
“Why a couch?” Neville asked.
It took her a moment to parse the words as being a question, for her, at a time like this.
“Oh…oh, just…something I’ve thought about.”
“Yeah? In what way?”
“In this way.” She punctuated the statement by rocking a little more insistently. The motion shifted his fingers until they were pressed against a spot that had her clenching around him. She couldn’t help the low moan that escaped her as her orgasm began to gather.
His focus was absolute, eyes tracking her as she moved on him. “With me?”
“Yes.”
“Why a couch with me?”
She wanted him to stop talking, partly because she wanted him so brainless that he couldn’t form a coherent thought but more because admitting her desires – out loud and to his face – was making her the brainless one.
“Because watching you leaning back on the one in the 8th year Common Room has given me a sodding complex,” she whined, filter all but gone. “All I can think about is climbing on your lap and riding you until you’re pink and swearing and—” She cut herself off with a squeak as he increased the pace of his fingers. Her eyes half-rolled. “Oh please. Oh please oh please oh please.”
“So pretty,” he praised her and she whimpered. “Want to know what I’m thinking about? Now I know I’m allowed to?”
She nodded frantically, so so close.
“I’m thinking about getting you over the arm of this, up on your tip-toes, so I can fuck you how you deserve. Slow and hard to start, and then fast and deep.”
She was genuinely concerned about spontaneously shifting into a mouse, given the helpless, squeaky sounds he was pulling from her throat. He hadn't let up his pace and it was doing her in.
“Show me,” she managed, once her vocal cords had relaxed enough to articulate in English. “Please show me.”
“Gladly.” He twisted his thumb to stroke over her clit and she very nearly came then and there. But then he was sliding his fingers out and using both hands to lift her up. Her feet found the floor purely on instinct and then he was rising up in front of her, trousers tented dramatically and slightly damp from her cunt.
Her hands flew to his belt, undoing it hastily before popping the button and sliding down the zip. He pulled her off him before she could get her hands in, turning them where they stood so he faced the sofa and then rotating her in his arms so her back was to his chest.
“Knickers off,” he murmured in her ear and she scrambled to get under her skirt, yanking them down and off.
He guided her forward, reaching down to pull a knee up until she was straddling the high rounded arm of the sofa, the velvet of it arousing in an altogether new way. She pressed one foot to the cushion and stretched the other to the floor beside the couch, her toes just barely touching. He directed her down with a hand between her shoulders until she was almost flush with it, one hand holding onto the back of the sofa.
He trailed his hand down her spine, flipping up her skirt without pause, exposing her to his greedy eyes. The cool air of the room raised goosebumps all across her skin, heightening her sensitivity. He tugged her hips back a few inches until she was right at the edge of the arm, groaning when the blunt head of his cock nudged at her cunt. She tensed her thighs on instinct, bracing for what she knew was going to be a stretch.
“Slow first,” he reminded her softly as he aligned himself with a few probing sweeps through her folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet. Ready, love?”
“Yes.” She squeezed her eyes shut as he pushed inside, his fingers and words having eased his way. Even so, it took three gradual presses for him to seat himself fully and by the time he was gliding back for the first proper thrust, she felt dangerously close to her end.
He held himself deep, hands flexing on her hips and thumbs stroking softly at the dimples that framed either side of the base of her spine.
“How’s that?” he asked, voice tight.
“Perfect,” she breathed. “Is it…how is it for you?” She blushed hotly at her obvious need for validation, something she considered to be her most embarrassing secret desire.
“Fuck,” Neville breathed, slowly working himself in and out as her body adjusted to accommodate him. “You have no idea— Circe, you’re incredible, Pansy. You feel so good. So perfect.”
She muffled her whimper, spine arching as she took him again and again and again, his praise turning her liquid. The position he’d put her in had her front sliding gently across the velvet, stimulating her from her nipples to her clit, and the pressure from below made it so his cock rubbed along her front wall on every thrust.
He steadily increased his pace and when he reached the rhythm that had her mewling, held her steady with a broad hand on her lower back and maintained it until she was swearing.
“That’s it,” he panted as she started to flutter in earnest. “That’s so good, Pansy. So...good.”
She teetered right on the edge, the crest swelling hotly inside her, but was suddenly overcome with the need to look at him as she came. She raised her chest, twisting and reaching behind to grip his forearm where it was braced on her hip. His eyes flicked up from where they’d been riveted on their joining, his expression initially concerned and then melting into a knowing, sexy smile.
“Hey,” he murmured.
But she didn’t have time for small talk.
Barely had time to squeak the words “Gonna come” before she was doing it, nails digging into his arm as everything inside her went hot and tight, the crest of pleasure almost painful with how little room he’d left for her. His jaw hung lax, exhaling a groan of his own as she shuddered and pulsed.
“Oh, what a good fucking girl,” he muttered, the hand on her back sliding down to grab a handful of her arse. “Tight fucking grip. Feels so…fucking…good.”
Pansy knew he’d fucked her stupid when the only thought that floated to the surface was the partly formed observation that his mouth was just as dirty as his hands usually were. She'd judge herself for it later but in the haze of her comedown, she let herself luxuriate in being yet another flower carefully tended to by his expert touch.
She inhaled, finally relaxing, and gave him a shy, pleased smile. He returned it then swallowed thickly. He’d slowed his strokes for her, ever considerate, and she could practically feel his heartbeat in his cock with how strongly it thudded. He'd waited to come until she was completely finished. So damn chivalrous.
“Can I…where should I come?” he asked, voice tight.
“Anywhere you like,” she mumbled, arm shaky where it was braced against the back of the sofa, the other still gripped tightly around his arm. Looking at his face was hard, like looking into the sun, but she bore it; honestly couldn’t make herself look away.
“Even here?” he confirmed, bumping his pelvis against her bum, cock deep.
Her nod was jerky, electrified by the idea. No one had ever come inside her before; no one had ever thought it worth the risk.
He leaned over her, bringing the arm she held under her ribs until he was hugging her down against the sofa arm, his nose brushing hers. He kissed her, softly, and then held her tight and picked up his pace until it was fast and deep, just as he’d promised.
She could feel the almost scratchy material of his jumper against her bum, the tails of his white Oxford a soft contrast, and the reality that Neville was fucking her over a sofa while they were both fully dressed had her next aftershock fluttering through her with a stronger pulse. She moaned and he lost it.
She caught a few groaned out words – good and perfect and Pansy – as he rode out his orgasm, hips jerking as he spilled inside her. He caught his breath, the heaving of his chest against her back a new sort of sexual satisfaction.
“Fucking hell,” he mumbled, nose burying into the crook of her shoulder. “You’re amazing.”
He drew out, cock dragging their combined slickness out and against her thigh before he stepped back enough to gain the leverage to pull her upright with the arm banded around her middle. She felt trembly on her feet but he was there, holding her, and it was all the support she needed.
She turned in his arms, looping hers around his shoulders and giving him a soft, honest smile. “So are you.”
He kissed her, just as sweet and honestly, and she let herself melt into it. He righted his trousers and then made a little sound, like he’d just remembered something. He dug a hand into his pocket and drew out her ring, holding it out for her. She tilted her head at it as if considering, though she’d already made up her mind, then curled his fingers back around it.
“Keep it,” she said, looking up at him. “I don’t really want to be a Parkinson anymore, anyway.”