She can feel him watching her again; a prickle of awareness that starts at the back of her neck and travels down her spine every time she tries to ignore him. His gaze seems to always be on her; has been since they left the Dursley’s and came to the Burrow to stay until the wedding. At first, she thinks it is just her imagination. She can’t figure out why Bill, of all people, would watch her so quietly, so intently. The few times she’s met his gaze, his eyes have been intense and he’s been stroking his bottom lip with his thumb. She flushes and looks away; promises herself that she will not look next time.

But she always looks. How can she not? No one has ever looked at her like that, like they could push her against a wall and take everything from her without hesitation. She wants Ron to look at her like that, doesn’t she? She’s fancied him for years and it finally seems as though he might reciprocate her feelings. She doesn’t love Bill, barely even knows her best friend’s eldest brother, but she’s always found him attractive. Even now, with scars on half his face and a personality that has changed so subtly most haven’t even noticed, she finds him handsome. But he isn’t Ron, so she shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts.

He frightens her. No, that’s wrong. Her response to him frightens her. Before now, he’s just been Bill, friendly and smart and always paying attention to what she says despite the fact she's so young. Now, he is quiet and intense and pays attention to her for an altogether different reason. She might only be seventeen, might never have had a boyfriend, and might only have ever really kissed one boy, but she can recognize the look in his gaze as he watches her like a predator stalking prey. She’s managed to avoid being alone with him because, honestly, she isn’t sure she can escape if he decides he wants, if he attacks.

No, that’s wrong, too. She knows he’d never hurt her, not even with the strange effects of his bites, but she might not be able to resist if he tries to seduce her, tries to make her his and that scares her. She can’t do that, not to Fleur and not to Ron and not to herself. It isn’t fair! Why does she have to feel this lust, this desire, all these strange emotions that have her body acting so oddly for someone she can never have? She loves Ron, she knows she does, but she has never once felt like this for him. The times they have hugged, it has been comforting, sweet, like coming home. He makes her feel warm and safe, even with their bickering and disagreements. Bill makes her feel so many things but safe and warm are nowhere on the list.

He makes her feel hot, like a fever is starting at her feet and spreading all over her body until her cheeks are flushed and her pulse is racing and there is heat in the pit of her stomach. If she is being completely crass and honest, he makes her wet, makes her long for privacy to touch herself in the places she’s discovered during long evenings at school when there is nothing to do but lie in bed and explore her own body. She knows it well, knows it better than any bloke probably ever will, and she knows he arouses her. She loves Ron but she wants Bill.

“Eet ees time.”

Hermione is startled by the soft voice in her ear. She looks up from the text she’s been staring at for the past hour to find the room empty save for Bill and Fleur. “Where is everyone?” she asks slowly. “Is it already so late? I should go upstairs.”

“No,” Bill growls softly as his smile becomes dangerous and tempting. A wave of his wand has the door shut and a few husky words have the room under a soundproofing charm so no one will hear what is happening inside. His gaze pins her in place as it lazily sweeps over her, lingering on her hips and the curves of her breasts before meeting her scared and excited gaze. “You’re not going anywhere, pet.”

“Eet confuses you,” Fleur whispers from beside her as soft hands slowly move up and down her arms. “Poor ‘ermione. So young, so lovely. He wants you, preety girl. We shall have you now. Eet ees time. No more silly games.”

“No,” she protests as she listens to Fleur’s words, the annoying long e’s not bothering her for once as smooth palms caress her arms before they move to linger on her stomach. She tries to stop Fleur from pulling her shirt up, from exposing her belly, but rough fingers are suddenly gripping her wrists, pressing them against the chair. She shivers as Fleur’s hand brushes across her tummy and draws small circles with the pad of her fingers.

“My brother has had his chance, pet. We waited but he’s never going to want you, not like this, not like I do, like we do. To him, you’re safe and predictable and boring,” Bill purrs as his thumbs tease the sensitive underside of her wrists. “He wants what you want: excitement and danger and all the things you shouldn’t but that you can’t stop thinking about when you’re lying in bed at night stroking your pretty little cunt.”

“Bill, no,” she whimpers as he seems to see into her very soul with his penetrating gaze. His words are filthy and she wants to scold him for talking that way in front of her, in front of his fiancée, but wet lips are moving along the column of her neck and she gasps when she feels hands move from her tummy to envelope her breasts.

“Say yes, ‘ermione. We can show you many theengs, teach you everytheeng,” Fleur urges before she kisses beneath Hermione’s ear. Her tongue slowly licks a trail from neck to jaw, her teeth nipping flushed skin, and then Hermione is turning her head unconsciously and meeting warm lips.

“Say yes,” Bill demands as his grip tightens around her wrists. She whines at the pain, her body arches from the chair as she seeks contact with him, and her legs spread to either side of the chair as she tentatively returns Fleur’s teasing kiss.

Hermione whispers, “Yes,” when Fleur pulls back. She looks from the beautiful French woman to Bill and knows this is wrong, knows she should run, knows she should never leave her room until they are gone, but she can’t say no. She wants.

“Say it again,” he growls before his head lowers. His teeth tease her neck, kneading the flesh but not biting down, and the danger of what might happen if he did bite has her body shuddering beneath his. “Tell us what you want, pet.”

“You.” The word is torn from her lips as she fights to keep it secret. “I want you. God, please. Need.”

“Stop teasing her, Bill,” Fleur scolds softly from beside her. “She ees ours, now.”

“Mine,” he corrects sharply before he looks at his future wife. He waits until she nods before he smiles at Hermione. “I’m sorry, Hermione.” His voice is soft and, for a moment, she sees him as he’d once been, caring and friendly, and then that is gone, replaced by what he is now, the same but different. She looks at him and smiles gently, accepting him. He lets her arms go, his hands move up her bare legs until his fingers reach damp cotton, and then everything happens so quickly.

Clothes rip. Lips are between her legs. Hands bruise. Nails scratch. Fingers push inside, so big, hurt at first. Body rocks forward, slides from the chair, his thumb presses against her there and she doesn’t want. No, Bill. No. God. Yes. So good. Please. Desperate and hurried, tongue laps and teases and rubs. Too fast. Lick and suck, fingers move in and out, teeth scrape. And then she sees stars behind closed eyelids as her world explodes.

Hard floor is behind her back. Hands grip her breasts. Tongue licks and mouth sucks, nipples that feel so tight, her breasts feel so heavy. Legs spread, wanting more, needing more. Bare skin against skin. Sweat and sex and cinnamon and vanilla. Soft lips against hers. Tongue teases, gentle hand caresses. Blonde curls suddenly against her nose, rubbing and making her sneeze.

Gentle laughter as teeth and tongue and lips continue to move over her body. Try again. Scared. Never wanted this, never wanted a woman, not sure what to do. Tentative lick and moan of pleasure, more confident, tasting wet and sweet, need more. Her tongue licks and laps, soft cries above her head, teeth blunt on her skin, biting but not. Marking. Claiming.

Pain. Sharp and swift. Too big, too long, too wide. Scream muffled by soft blonde curls. Finally a chance to breathe. No! Please get it out. Burns. Hurts. Oh, feels…better.. Words caught as her tongue begins to lick and lap again, teeth nip at the sensitive bud that always makes her lose control, her efforts rewarded by a cry of pleasure from beautiful lips. Gentle words coo from above. Relax, pet. Ee will not hurt you. Wants you. Just relax, ‘ermione. You’re ours now. Oh, yes. Right there. Good girl. Bruises form on hips. Pain fades. Pleasure causes cries and moans and More. Yes. Bill. Please.

Wetness on her face. Come in her mouth, on her tongue, soft palms stroking her hair as she gulps in oxygen. Gaze on ceiling then on him. Intense. Rough. Desperate. So very desperate. Lips bruising, fierce and possessive. Tongue licks come from hers, fingers move through her hair, words of encouragement and arousal and Eet ees so hot. Fuck her hard, Bill. Make her yours. Ours. Pretty ‘ermione. Deeper and harder. She likes eet rough.

Legs wrap around his slender waist. Fingers trace his scarred skin, lips follow their path. Accepting. Wanting. Needing. A low growl against her throat. Whisper of words. Sorry. Shouldn’t be doing this. Can’t control. Have to have. Want so much. Mine. Always mine. No one else’s. So tight, my Hermione. Body arches against his. Skin slides against skin. Muscles tighten. So deep and hard and Yes! More. Please. Nails on freckled skin. Scratch and claw. Pain forgotten. Body adjusts, moves, needs more. So wet, coppery scent of blood and sex and sweat and too much. Breasts are squeezed, nipples twisted, soft fingers wipe her sweaty forehead, brush through unruly hair.

So close. Breathing ragged. Body rocks. Clings. Needs. Thumb on her, presses down, rubs, and that’s it. All it takes. Cry of his name. Body tenses and then relaxes. Shudders against the hard floor, tightens around him, keeps him inside. MINE growled against her ear before she whimpers in pain, teeth bite skin, marking and claiming, come spills inside her. Body falls on top of hers, holding her tight, possessive and firm. Warm lips nuzzle her neck, tongue laps at the bite, hands keep her close against him. A soft body presses against her side, breasts against her arm, smooth hands on her ribs and hips, lips on her shoulder.

She feels safe and warm. Protected. Wanted. Home.

The End