“What do you think you’re doing, Mister Black?”
He discreetly put his wand back in his pocket as he faced her, a mischievous grin crossing his lips as he gave her a deceptively innocent look. “You must be imagining things, Hermione. I haven’t done a thing.”
“Then why has the lift stopped?” She arched a brow as she studied him, her tongue unconsciously wetting her lips at the look in his gray eyes. Backing away from him, she scolded, “Stop that this instant, Sirius.”
“Stop what?” His words were husky as he put his hands on either side of the wall she was leaning against. Leaning forward, his lips hovered over her own, his breath warm against her mouth. “It’s this foolish Muggle technology, love.”
“We can’t, not here,” she protested as his body moved against hers teasingly. “Fix whatever you’ve done to the lift before someone notices it stopped.”
“No,” he purred before his lips crashed down on hers. His hands were not idle, moving behind her, gripping her arse before sliding beneath her skirt. Her knickers were damp, growing increasingly wet as his fingers rubbed them against her cunt.
“Oh God,” she moaned as he moved the material of her knickers to the side, one long finger sliding into her as his lips nuzzled her neck. “Sirius, please. Anyone might see. We can’t do this here.”
“You’re soaking wet, Hermione. I think you like that people might see. All they have to do is look out their window or look up from the lobby below and they’ll see your pretty little arse pressed against the glass and they’ll know. They’ll know exactly what a wanton and sexy witch you are, know that I’m the luckiest bastard in the world because you’re mine, and they’ll watch as I fuck you so hard you’ll not be able to stand. They’ll touch themselves while looking at you, wanking as I make you come over and over.”
“You’re evil,” she hissed as she rocked against the two fingers thrusting into her.
“Nah, I’m just reckless,” he grinned and winked before he suddenly turned her, pressing her face against the glass wall of the elevator. Her shirt was pushed up along with her brassiere, her breasts bare as his hand squeezed them, his pelvis rubbing against her arse. “You love my wild streak, Hermione. You love that I free you, that you can lose your inhibitions and give yourself to me without fear. Let go, pet. Just feel. Now tell me what you want.”
“I want you, Sirius,” she whimpered as his hands tightened their grip on her body. She would have bruises when they were finished. She always had bruises when he got like this, desperate and wild, needing to be inside her regardless of where they were or what they were doing. Ever since he had been found on the floor of the Department of Mysteries two years ago, he had gravitated towards her. No one knew how he had returned from the Veil, not even the most brilliant minds of the wizarding world could explain why he was not dead or how he had suddenly appeared naked on the floor at the Ministry with no memory of the battle that had supposedly ended his life.
It had only taken him six months of focused pursuit and skilled seduction to have her succumbing to his charms. She had tried to resist, had argued with herself about giving in to the desire he brought out in her, knowing their relationship was not logical and made no sense at all. The age difference didn’t bother her but they were so different. He was a rule breaker, loved trouble, and was often driven by his desires. He was moody, argumentative, and had a darkness that wasn’t often seen by others.
She was a lover of rules, reserved, passionate about her causes, and not at all daring or mischievous since Voldemort‘s defeat five years ago. Yet they somehow made sense when they were together. She hated that he could make her feel like this, so impulsive and needy, willing to do anything to have him inside her. God, she loved the way he touched her, the way his body fit against hers, the way he looked at her.
“Put your hands on the glass,” he demanded brusquely, his voice heavy with desire as he used his foot to spread her legs, his hand on her waist as he pulled her away from the glass slightly. She rested her forehead against the glass wall of the lift, her eyes staring unseeing at the Muggles below. She really hoped no one was actually able to see them.
They were in the office building where her lawyer worked, her meeting today to discuss issues regarding the trust that her parents had set up before they had been killed by Death Eaters during her sixth year at Hogwarts. It was a yearly meeting to discuss details of property and such, rarely taking more than an hour, and she had asked Sirius to go with her this year because it was always stressful to remember her parents. She still felt guilty for their deaths because it was her fault. If she’d not been born with magic, they would still be alive.
His teeth bit her neck when he realized she was lost in thought, memories of her parents fading as he squeezed her breast. She heard him unzipping his trousers, her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip as she felt her juices flowing freely. The crotch of her knickers was shoved to the side and he entered her fully, a soft moan escaping her lips as she felt him stretching her. The coarse black curls surrounding his cock rubbed against her arse as he began to fuck her. There was no foreplay this time, neither wanting to waste time. They wanted release, neither bothering to remove their clothing, bodies moving together as the lift remained stuck between the seventh and eighth floors.
“Don’t move your hands,” Sirius warned as he continued thrusting into her, his strokes deep as he took her from behind.
Her breasts were pushed against the cool glass, his hand tangled in her hair as he pulled her back against him. She gasped when he moved forward, her body hitting the glass as her head fell back against his shoulder. Her hand moved to his long black hair, gripping it tightly as she raised her leg, wrapping it around his as the angle of his penetration changed. When she felt his finger brush against her clit, she came with a low cry.
“You moved your hands,” he growled before his lips caught hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as he slid out of her, turning her to face him, her skirt bunched around her waist as he slid back inside her, her knickers roughly rubbing against the cleft of her arse where they were gathered. Her hands moved beneath his shirt, scratching his back and pulling his hair as he lifted her, her legs going around his waist, his trousers falling to his knees as he moved inside her. He grunted as he came, never breaking their kiss as his seed spilled, her muscles milking his release.
When he pulled out of her, he gave her a playful smile as she tried to fix her hair and cast a cleaning charm on them. She couldn’t even be angry with him, feeling much more relaxed than she had all day. Giving him a prim look, she asked, “What?”
“Feel better, don’t you?” He waggled his eyebrows and leered as he tucked his spent cock into his trousers.
“Prat,” she muttered even as her lips curved into a gentle smile.
“That I may be,” he said after he released the spell on the lift and it began moving once again. Pulling her into his arms, he whispered, “But I’m your prat,” before kissing her.
The End