“Like that, do you?”
Remus merely moaned in response, fingers curling against the rug beneath his hands and knees. The blindfold was so tight he couldn’t see any light, adding to the sensations of hard wood covered by a rough rug, of the warmth of the fire, of the softness of her hair against his lower back, of the wetness of her tongue as she licked his arse.
“If you want me to do it again, Remus, I really must know whether or not it was satisfactory,” she said in the bossy matter-of-fact voice that took on an entirely different meaning in the privacy of their bedroom.
“Yes,” he muttered, his arse wiggling to and fro as she teasingly ran her tongue along his cheeks.
“Now see, was that difficult to admit?”
Hermione didn’t give him time to reply before her fingers gripped his arsecheeks and spread them. Oh great buggering fuck, she really meant to do it. In the ten months they’d been dating, such a word seemingly rather juvenile for what was actually occurring between them, she’d proven to be an eager student in the bedroom, and the kitchen, and the loo, and the sitting room, and his study…well, suffice it to say, she had a wicked imagination and an uncanny interest in learning everything that made him one of the luckiest blokes around easily.
Tonight, she had given that look, the one that said ‘I’ve just read or heard something that has me quite curious so be prepared to beg before I finish with you, old man’, and the next thing he knew, he was naked, kneeling on the rug, with a blindfold around his eyes. He’d always admired Hermione, even from the time she was a child no more than fourteen, and his somewhat paternal feelings had remained until she was well out of her teens.
It was only last year, at Harry’s Christmas party, that he’d finally looked and not seen the studious young girl that had always questions and been so keen on learning. Instead, he’d seen a beautiful young woman who blushed slightly when he caught her watching him and moved with an effortless grace that had him reciting very bad poetry in his mind. It had shocked him to realize just how lovely she was, something Ron had noticed when they were kids, certainly, but that relationship had ended shortly after they’d left school, parting on amicable terms.
She’d only ever been with Ron, something he suspected as soon as he realized she was a woman, and it had been quite surprising to see how many foolish men failed to see the natural beauty and intelligence she possessed, two things that called him to her and made him ignore the doubts, age difference, and impropriety of fancying a girl he’d known since she was a child.
When he’d finally asked her out, to a museum exhibit that could be seen as just platonic should she have no desire to see him as anything more, she’d accepted with a shy smile he’d never seen before and, well, the museum exhibit had led to coffee and then dinner and then a snog that left him wanting more and feeling like some inexperienced teen instead of a man half forty.
They’d been together ever since, just recently moving in together, and he had a ring hidden in his bureau for the moment he found enough courage to risk rejection by asking her to be his, something he hesitated doing considering her youth and his lycanthropy. Perhaps on Christmas, he had decided, a year to the day he had finally opened his eyes to the hidden treasure he had no intention of letting go. For now, Hermione was driving him mad with soft teasing licks and gentle strokes of his aching cock.
Her tongue was lazily licking his arse, pushing into him then licking more. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he could look over his shoulder and watch her. However, with his vision impaired, all he could do was feel her hair moving against him as she licked and thrust and finally added a finger that crooked and moved and eventually found his prostate, something that caused his knees to jerk and a low moan from him.
“When I touch here,” she rubbed against him, “it makes your cock twitch. Remus, really, if you knew this was there all along and that it made you feel so good, why didn’t you tell me? I had to read about it in some Muggle book!”
Releasing his cock, her wet palm suddenly slapped against his right cheek. “Hermione!” He gasped, his head going up instantly as she began to spank him, her finger continuing to move inside his arse.
“It was very naughty knowing about this and not sharing,” she said primly, scolding him for not telling her he enjoyed having her fingers and tongue in his arse. God, only she could make him blush for not sharing every sexual interest and fantasy he had, his body swaying as he pushed back against her hand.
And then she spanked him more, telling him she liked fucking his arse and hinting at using one of her toys on him until he was clenching around her and begging, and arousal spread with every single wicked word spilling from her lips. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he loved hearing her talk like this, base and lusty and things he knew she’d never said to anyone else.
When her tongue replaced her finger, thrusting deep inside him, he growled softly, the feeling of possessiveness beginning to stir. He was the only man who would ever hear her talk dirty, still recalling her blushing stammer the first few times she’d done so before becoming more confident and realizing it aroused him as well as her.
Pulling away from her, he moved swiftly, ripping the blindfold off, tossing it on the rug, and turning to face her. Before she had time to protest, she was on her knees and he was buried deep inside tight, wet, warmth. His hand squeezed her breast as he leaned forward, chest against her back, going even deeper, teasing her, twisting and pulling her nipples as he fucked her hard against the scratchy rug. She was panting beneath him, body flushed with arousal and needy, amber eyes glazed with lust and love, her palms flat on the rug as they rutted together, hard and fast and desperate.
“Mine,” he growled in her ear before biting her shoulder, the mark of his teeth fresh, renewed nearly every day. He spilled into her as he claimed her again, his hand leaving her breast to rub at her clit. It was only after she came, body writhing in pleasure, his name on her swollen lips, that he finally stopped fucking her. Pulling out, he watched with satisfaction as their combined release dripped down her thighs. Falling onto his back, his arm went around her waist and pulled her next to him.
“Wish you’d given me some warning,” she grumbled playfully, “that rug is hell on my knees! Bloody hell, Remus, if I’d know it would cause that sort of reaction, I’d have played with your arse ages ago. I’ve always had a bit of an interest in it, after all.”
“How can you be so coherent already?” he muttered as he continued trying to breathe properly, his hand going down to smack her arse. She squealed and blushed, his eyes taking note of the way she wiggled against him at the slap. Grinning, he promised, “When I’m rested, Hermione, I think someone deserves a spanking for being such a naughty, wonderful, wicked young woman.”
The End