Prisoners of Love - A Mystery - COMPLETE

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Updated 9-13-07

What a lovely, opinionated group you all are. Attitudes are running along the lines of "Good, they're back together" and "Hermione needs to hex his balls off." Well, maybe not that drastic. Most of you want him able to give you his best smut, but just be severely chastised.


Strangely, I didn't get a single review asking Hermione to cluck lovingly and take him back with open arms. I guess I haven't attracted any saints or angels to this story.


For those who asked, yes, Draco shows up later with his two cents. But be warned, this isn't the Draco/Anyone section so he isn't a major player here. I don't want any pouty lower lips at the end of the story.


Dee Dee are you related to Trelawney? Sometimes the accuracy of your ideas shocks me.


pluto_rising Lucius...impotent... Read on. Lucius turns into Alan Alda? Gods, no. Ewww. I'm with you, there.


And now for Hermione's cozy little cottage..for two? Oh, did I forget to mention...warning - smut ahead. 8-)


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Chapter Nineteen

Lucius Stays


Hermione took a steadying breath, headed for the parlor door and opened it to the hall that ran down the center of her cozy home, turning toward the back of the house. She went through another door at the opposite end of the hall from the front door and Lucius followed, entering what he recognized was a sort of primitive kitchen with various metal contraptions unknown to him.

Lucius listened as Hermione told him some of the uses of the ‘appliances’ as they were called. He’d never had much to do with his own kitchens and only had a vague idea of what functions were performed there so if nothing else, this was interesting as a view into a foreign territory. During the past several months with Narcissa decamped he’d had to instruct the elves in what meals to prepare and wound up drinking his dinner more often than eating it. He’d eaten out a few times but he was then surrounded by chatty females trying to attract his notice so he’d opted to stay home mostly or visit his men’s club, but there he’d been surrounded by chatty men with investments to tout, so his domicile had become simultaneously a haven and an elegant prison.

Toward the end of the five months he’d been back in his mansion he’d been sleeping and eating so badly that he had even transfigured a bedroom into a re-creation of his Azkaban cell and spent hours in it, trying to silence the increasing howls of loneliness tearing him apart. Nothing had worked except that deadly potion and now he was learning the intricacies of a Muggle kitchen. Amazing.

He saw one odd item and he asked, “What is this?” It was a small, shiny metallic box sitting on a counter. “A tiny ‘appliance’ ”?

“That’s a toaster,” she replied. “You put slices of bread in the top slots and depress the lever. In a few minutes, the bread is toasted and pops up by itself.

Lucius thought it was an interesting but rather silly device. “How does it run? Do you use your wand?”

“No, it runs on electricity, the Muggles’ answer to magic. See this cord? It plugs into the wall there and electricity flows into the toaster. Don’t stick anything into either the wall socket or the toaster – except the bread of course. Electricity can be very dangerous, like a spell you can’t quite control.” Hermione had thought living in her home with Lucius would be fun, but now she was seeing a few pitfalls. He was clueless about her second world and it was like having a young child let loose in the middle of dangerous equipment. She’d never forgive herself if he was injured by any of the Muggle items in her home. “If you are curious about anything new to you, please ask me before investigating on your own.”

She left the kitchen for the side room attached to it that sat behind the back wall of the parlor, “this area is for laundry and the pantry. We keep some of our food here. The door to the backyard is here also.” She wandered back through the kitchen, past the hall door and out a small, open connecting archway to her dining room, positioned straight across the central hallway from the parlor. An oak table and four chairs dominated the small room, which had a grouping of a few pictures of Hermione’s family on one wall (none of whom greeted him, Lucius noted, glaring back at the rudesbys) and a small window facing out the side of the cottage with a close-up view of the side fence. Lucius smothered a wave of claustrophobia. Sweet Goddess, her home was miniscule. Could he really do this?

“This is the dining room and the table where you can do your accounts and things. I hope this is big enough?” She looked up at her husband, still slightly dazzled from seeing his handsome face again, even though in the better light she could see he had definitely lost even more weight since Azkaban and he looked as though he’d not been sleeping well. Did it have anything to do with why he’d shown up at her door? She didn’t know and she wasn’t going to ask again.

Time would tell with this difficult, self-indulgent, devious Slytherin who had charmed the pants off her once (in a manner of speaking since at the time she hadn’t been wearing any) and whom she hoped would be doing so again soon. Just a glutton for punishment she was. And he was so erotically good at those punishments. Half an hour in his presence and she wanted to be under him in bed again, his weight bearing her down into the mattress as he stroked her into oblivion. Apparently she had no self-respect.

They left the dining room, returning by a door back to the central hallway. Hermione turned into the hallway and headed back toward the front door, opening a portal further down on same side as the dining room, but leading into a room at the front of the house facing the street. “This is the bedroom and through the side door there is the loo. Shower only, I’m afraid. That completes the tour.” They looked at each other and grinned, remembering Lucius’ guided tour of his cell on her first day at Azkaban.

“If I may be so bold as to ask, where is my bedroom?” Two Malfoy eyebrows went up in haughty expectation. He didn’t see where the second bedroom could be hiding in this dump, but refrained from attaching any more derogatory names to her abode. He was hoping not to sleep alone, although he couldn’t fathom what he hoped to accomplish with his limp dick.

“Hmmm, well, I can offer you a choice of places to sleep. You may bunk down on the parlor sofa. Sorry it doesn’t fold out into a bed, but you might be able to transfigure it a little, only there’s not much room for that either, unfortunately – you’ve seen the parlor. And, of course the dining room’s even smaller, so transfiguring the dining room table wouldn’t be very successful either. Then, of course you’d have to transfigure the table back every day for your desk and meals.” Hermione looked nonchalantly at the wide, cozy bed in her bedroom. “This is the only other possibility, I’m afraid, here in my room with me. It may be asking too much of you to consider sharing a bed, but that’s about it for choices.”

Lucius remembered the size of Hermione’s sofa – it was more of a loveseat for two than a true sofa and the fit would be tighter than one of Rita Skeeter’s skirts. He ruled out the dining room table immediately because of the tedious changes he’s always be making, but more importantly, because he didn’t really want to sleep anywhere but with his wife.

Lucius went over to the bed and sat on it, testing its comfort. “This will do nicely, thank you. After all, we did quite well together in our double cot.” A bit of sly smile sparkled deep in his icy eyes. “I will have my things brought over tomorrow. Where can an elf sleep? I want one of mine to be here so it can serve us. You don’t look like you’re up to much in the way of housekeeping right now.”

“I’m sorry, Lucius, but we don’t need an elf. There’s really not enough room anyway. I have my housekeeper, whom you’ve met, and she comes by every other day to help with chores and some cooking. That’s all we need, unless you’re an absolute pig in your habits and I know that’s not true. You’re the most finicking, tidiest dark wizard I’ve ever known.” Hermione sat down on the bed beside Lucius.

“And you’ve known how many?” he asked rhetorically. “Just for the record, I’m not admitting to the label of dark wizard. It hasn’t any real definition anyway. My dabbling in the dark arts was pure supposition unsubstantiated by fact and it’s not precisely against the law in any case. Hogwarts has a whole class about it, Defense Against the Dark Arts. It’s taught every school year, although apparently not very successfully if Draco is to be believed. Learning about the Dark Arts is an entirely different proposition from actually using that power for harm. Knowledge for its own sake is an innocent undertaking as I’m sure you will agree, as fond of learning as you are.”

Lucius stood up to begin loosening his robe, opening the small closet to find a hanger. He stood transfixed in front of the open closet door for a over a minute, inhaling deeply as though his lungs were starved of oxygen then he blandly turned to his wife, “If I am to be admitted into your bed, I do hope it comes with husbandly privileges.” He glanced at Hermione with his question as he removed a hanger for his robe. “Or is there an impediment to sex due to your pregnancy?” Lucius knew a bit about how far along a wife had to be before sex had to stop. He’d been down that road before. “Your closet has the same scent as that perfume you were wearing when you got clapped into my cell. It does bring back memories.” He frowned, “I wonder if the smell will get into my clothes?”

“Lucius, get over yourself. This is my house. You’re welcome to visit instead of staying here, but if you keep making those insensitive remarks I’ll spray my perfume on every bit of clothing you keep here. Do I make myself clear?” Hermione crossed her arms over her expanded waistline and glared at her elegant husband.

“I suppose our discussion about sex is going to be deferred until you get over your snit,” he observed laconically, toeing off his shoes and socks and placing them neatly on the floor of the closet. “So I am to understand then that you may freely throw around accusations of me being a dark wizard with unnaturally fastidious habits while I am not allowed to comment on your inexpensive perfume getting into my clothes. Marriage to you is going to be a constant challenge, I see.”

Lucius unbuttoned his shirt and drew off his tie, setting it on the hanger with his robe. The shirt came off next and Lucius balled it up, looking around for a laundry hamper. He finally tossed it on the bureau for later, flexing his knotted shoulder muscles – he wasn’t quite as relaxed around his spouse as he would like her to think.

Hermione’s indignant response was never uttered - her breath stopped in her lungs as she visually ate up her husband’s body with his shirt off. Right then all she wanted to do was throw all that male bounty on the bed and have her way with every inch of his beautiful, tawny skin. She’d buy a better brand of perfume tomorrow if she could have that body tonight. Her mind was wallowing somewhere around his trouser zipper hoping it would open.

For once Lucius was a little behind the game as he carefully lowered his zipper and stepped out of his pants. He was sidetracked by his body’s astounding rejuvenation and was fervently hoping his miraculous erection, which had sprung to life when he’d smelled that memorable, cheap perfume in her closet, would stick around long enough to be useful, so he missed the rapt attention his last item of clothing was getting as it came off.

Lucius never saw the necessity for underwear and almost never wore any, so the trousers were the end of the show. Or the beginning. He always preferred to sleep nude and he knew it wasn’t anything Hermione didn’t already know, so he turned to her to ask which side of the bed he should take and discovered that he wasn’t the only one who was hoping that his erection was going to stick around.

“See something you like?” he smiled at his spouse in blatant invitation, crossing his fingers behind his back.

“Do you?” Hermione countered, wanting to hear he was happy with her perinatal expansion. Her confidence in her attractions was a little shaky being faced with a husband whose own attractions were lewdly magnetic for her. He was much thinner than in Azkaban, but he’d have to be skeletal before her erotic interest in him would wane - and perhaps not even then. The sad fact was she was in love with the cultured, haughty, selectively principled rogue, so she was determined to make the best of it – and him – as often as possible. Her rogue could kiss like the very devil and she wanted his tongue down her throat. Then that cock.

Lucius gave his wife a lascivious grin and held out his hand to her, “You’ve never looked more lovely, tidbit. You should stay pregnant all the time. If you like, I may be able to help you with that.”

Hermione enjoyed looking at Lucius naked and she was sure he had designed his striptease just for her, but she wasn’t yet ready to be seduced into bed with him as his doormat sex partner. A few negotiations were in order first. Then she would be happy to be seduced. After all, he still had a prime piece of arse to bite, even if it was currently a bit reduced. Good cooking should bring back the mouth-watering goodness of her second favorite part of his anatomy.

“Let’s get through this baby first,” she replied as she, in turn began removing clothing. “Then if you’re serious, we’ll see. In the meantime, having you live here will cost more, so I’d appreciate a few Galleons each week to pay for the food.” She didn’t think Lucius needed to know just yet that Snape had been sending her money. No need to cause trouble between the two or weaken her position as the wronged party.

Hermione’s cardigan and dress came off and she slipped out of her flat-heeled shoes. “I know I won’t need to ask you to pick up after yourself,” she smiled, “however, there may be a few instances where the elves normally do the work like removing dishes to the kitchen where that will now be part of your new routine. You may have to help wash the dishes too.”

She shimmied out of her half-slip and held onto Lucius’ arm as she balanced while removing her stockings. “I’m sure there will be more problems I haven’t thought about yet, so in effect what I’m saying is you’ll have to be flexible if you stay here. For now I don’t intend to change my life to suit your preferences.” Hermione gazed up at her husband watching for his reaction both to her pronouncements and to her frothy pink bikini-cut panties and bra set.

Lucius knew he was on trial, so to speak, and managed to school his features to a bland interest, but he intended to have her back at his home as soon as he could figure a way, and this short, uncomfortable sojourn would blow away as so much fairy dust. He trailed a finger over her bosom noticing the larger proportions of her bra size since Azkaban. Pregnancy was always a friend to breast men. “Hermione, as my wife, you’ll have access to millions of Galleons, so whatever money you wish, you may have. I am not conversant with trading Galleons for Muggle money, however, so I hope I can rely on your expertise for that. You need only tell me what I must do and I’ll perform the task - unless I disagree with it as safe for you.”

His fingers slid with practiced seduction over the bra cups and he was pleased to see two hard nubs appear in the pink lace. “I am willing to do what I must to stay near you and our unborn child. If you’ve been incommoded because you are protecting the health of my baby, naturally I will take on whatever outside tasks need to be done. I can go wherever you wish - Diagon Alley stores, Gringott’s, or anywhere else. Perhaps not into Muggle businesses as I don’t have a facility with their money yet, but anywhere in the magic world, I can help you. You can teach me about Muggle money as well.”

Lucius moved closer to the little fecund witch. “As you can probably see, I want very badly to make love to you. Is that going to happen tonight or not?” He cocked his head sideways and his pale hair swung down over his shoulder in a soft curtain of seduction that poured oil on the fires of Hermione’s lust. “Put me out of my misery, please,” Lucius pleaded with one assessing eye on the rapid pulse in his wife’s throat. “Teasing me doesn’t suit you, tidbit.”

Hermione mourned his haggard look with the dark circles under his wintry orbs and the ribs she could count along his sides. He was pared down to a lean swimmer’s body, where before his musculature had been heavier and more solid. Now the slim waist she had always swooned over was so thin his hipbones stuck out and the bottom of his ribcage was clearly delineated. “Why are you so thin, Lucius? Haven’t you been eating? Are you sure you’re not ill?”

He stood contemplating his wife thoughtfully, hands on hips, wondering how much of his recent past to divulge. “Narcissa is long gone as you know, and she always had the ordering of the domestic side of our home. It’s been…difficult… planning meals and giving orders to the elves for keeping up the mansion. I guess I skipped a few meals here and there rather than keeping track of the food stores and planning breakfast, lunch and dinner. I apparently either don’t have a knack for it, or it just wasn’t important enough for me to learn. At least in prison, I never had to worry about food, even if it was horrible.”

“You could have eaten out, Lucius.” Hermione moved into her husband’s arms, running her hands up and down his lean torso and shoulders, tsking at his too-skinny frame. “You look like you’ve been taking chances with your health. You will get regular meals here, and if lack of regular food is your only problem, I’ll expect to see you gaining weight immediately.” She met his light gray eyes with real concern in her own chocolate ones. “Why couldn’t you have gone to restaurants? You can’t be concerned about the cost.”

“I didn’t like eating out at either the restaurants or at my club. People were constantly cozying up to me, trying to chat me up socially or for business deals. So I stayed home a lot.” He hadn’t quite realized the buffer Narcissa had been against the other women in his social stratum who now assumed he was single. And although he could have sent out for food, he’d more often decided to drink his dinner, which hadn’t enhanced his physique any. Lucius gently enfolded his tidbit in his arms, loosely holding her against him.

Molly Weasley had been telling Hermione all sorts of gossip on Lucius’ return to the social milieu of his former acquaintances and keeping Hermione apprised of his progress. There had been heavy betting on which witch Lucius would choose to replace Narcissa and the betting had both tickled and irritated Molly who knew he was already married again to Hermione. The Weasleys didn’t inhabit that social stratum, however, so most of the gossip was secondhand. Lucius’ physical appearance hadn’t trickled down to the Weasleys or to Hermione and seeing him nude had rattled her, causing her to worry that he had something really wrong with him. She hoped it was only not eating well, she could fix that easily.

Lucius continued his expurgated version of his poor eating habits, leaving out the firewhiskey evenings where he had awakened in the morning sprawled on a sofa in the library with an unshaven beard and bleary eyes after one too many sips of his answer for forgetting the young witch who had so disrupted his existence and who was standing so alluringly against the front of him now. His final degradation he didn’t want to think about.

“There always seemed to be a plethora of females wanting to know how I was. ‘Oh, Lucius,’ he falsettoed scathingly, ‘you are so heroic managing to survive Azkaban.’” He looked at his wife sourly, while twining his fingers in her hair, “I was tired of the women verbally scratching each other’s eyes out in front of me, hoping to make themselves more attractive as they basically propositioned me. It was mostly nauseating and put me off my food.”

“Are you kidding?” Hermione said with a complete lack of sympathy, but her eyes slitted in delight at his caress, “The moment word got out that Narcissa had divorced you, there have been running bets and competitions to see who could win you. And many of the ‘contestants’ think the way to a wedding ring is through your bed, which it was, I suppose,” she sniggered cynically, earning a scowl from her husband. “I imagine having hordes of nubile witches swanning all around you everywhere you go didn’t raise your suspicions of their common goal? Oh, silly me,” Hermione simpered with a tone that could cut glass, “of course not, it being the status quo for such a rich, powerful, wizard.”

It wasn’t lost on Lucius that she hadn’t mentioned any of his physical attributes as being the attraction, merely his power and money. She was right, he had noticed the women, they’d been impossible to ignore, but instead of swanning, he’d likened them more to piranhas circling for the kill. Not one of the young women had caught his eye or anything else on him. Lucius inhaled the slight scent of his wife’s shampoo as he wrapped a springy, soft curl around his thumb.

He’d discreetly visited his favorite brothel when he’d first been released and was in dire straits after giving Hermione her congé, but that hadn’t helped him as his pecker refused to peck any more. He just hoped to Saint Guinevere Hermione never found out even about that one visit he’d made. The brothel’s stock in trade was privacy; it was extremely expensive and catered only to high society patrons, so they knew how to keep secrets, both about his visit and about his failure to perform. Lucius intended that it should stay that way or he would see to it that their clientele faded away. Everyone understood the rules. His second fiasco with the highborn witch had made him into a monk.

But he knew he had been lucky in his impotent disinterest in the young Pureblood witches because he had a good idea that if Hermione had heard of him sleeping with any other women, he’d be divorced again faster than he could tuck his cock back in his trousers. He didn’t want to be divorced again. He didn’t want to be divorced at all. Not from the tidbit.

He had thought he knew what he wanted and it hadn’t included an inconvenient Muggleborn wife who short-circuited his brain without effort. How would he explain to his friends and colleagues his marriage to someone so far outside his upper crust existence when his Pureblood status meant everything to him?

But now his status was so much chaff in the wind, meaningless if he lost her. He was treading a knife-edge with the bewitching, brainy little hellcat and he didn’t know how to retrieve what he’s so carelessly thrown away. No - not carelessly. It had been a matter of self-preservation against her incandescent power over him, which had so frightened and infuriated him after she’d been released from their cell that he had grabbed the opportunity to escape the marriage when he had found out that the indolent Warden le Fay hadn’t filed the papers.

He’d suffered excruciatingly under the loss of her companionship and allure in the months he’d been left alone in the cell after her release, and he had hated his weakness, but he’d slowly discovered in his succeeding months of ‘freedom’ in his upscale environs that what he had traded into was light years worse. It was a black hole of nothingness.

Narcissa had been a beautiful Pureblood ornament decorating his social life, but she’d been lousy in bed and had no ability to keep up with him intellectually. It seemed that he’d now traded for someone who would be a detriment to his social standing but was spectacular between the sheets and could meet him as an equal mentally, never mind mesmerizing him on an emotional plane he avoided thinking about. He sometimes felt like tearing his carefully groomed hair out. Nothing was as it should be. Where had he gone wrong?

Watching Lucius, Hermione understood that he had made his own uneasy version of peace with himself in attempting to reconcile with her, but she knew he hadn’t assessed the entirety of his new enterprise. He still wanted to bring her into his world and make the best of it without giving up too much of himself to a relationship that apparently threatened him somehow, probably undermining his dominance and prestige – and most of all, his autonomy.

A great deal of her beautiful wizard’s ego was built on his sovereign power and Slytherin privilege and it wouldn’t be easy prying any of his ideas of supremacy out of his grasp. Lucius was going to come very late to Hermione’s idea of equality and sharing in a marriage, but she was going to either bring him around or scalp him before their mating dance was through.

“Can’t you at least give me some encouragement,” he inquired seductively, “if I’m to be your new busboy?” Lucius reached down and ran his hand lightly up and down his own thick length in invitation.

“Lucius, if I touch that stick of dynamite you’re fondling, your fuse will light and our discussion will blow up,” Hermione scowled, looking down at his eager offering, trying not to succumb to her husband’s magnetism, but it was getting harder to keep her train of thought when she could see he was getting harder, too. That really was a beautiful shade of red-purple.

“Come to bed, tidbit, we’ll talk in the morning. You can even show me how to wash dishes. Come to bed – please.” Lucius let go of his fleshy inducement, leaning farther toward Hermione and hugged her against his body more firmly, wrapping a proprietary arm around her shoulders and lifting her face with his long, elegant fingers. He swooped down on her mouth and all it took was his tongue licking the seam of her lips and she succumbed faster than Harry could say Voldemort.

Oh, hell, she decided, accepting Lucius’ marauding tongue as it slid over hers,Why deny myself the sex? I have a lifetime to teach ‘rover’ here new tricks. I’ll just work on the first one, she giggled to herself, ’Lie Down’. Hermione leaned into her husband’s embrace and his arms folded more closely around her, pressing her rounded tummy up against the concave leanness of his. She wiggled a bit trying to get into a comfortable position but his stick of dynamite was creating a vertical bump between them.

Lucius scooped up his petite wife and laid her on the bed, coming down beside her to continue his onslaught of her tender mouth. He knew she was putty for his osculatory expertise and meant to take advantage of it. It didn’t hurt that kissing her made him wild, too. He tucked them both under the covers to keep her warm because her skin was feeling a bit cool to him from standing around in her underwear. In the time it took Lucius to drag Hermione’s knickers off, she had managed to wriggle out of her bra leaving both of them naked in the sack.

“Hermione, am I forgiven for leaving you?” He pulled back just far enough to see her pretty brown eyes as they narrowed on him in sudden irritation.

“Now why, I wonder did you choose just this moment to ask me that?”

“Because you’re more likely to say yes right now, of course. I’ve never heard that pregnancy ever affected a female’s intelligence so I admit I was hoping to get beyond the past without too much Sturm und Drang.” Lucius essayed a small kiss on her nose, then went watchful again.

“Well, Lucius, the answer is rather tricky. What you did was crushing to me and you blew a hole a hippogriff could fly through in our relationship. I suspect it will be a long time - if ever - before I truly trust you again, which is sad for us because trust is such a major part of a marriage. On the other hand, I am very interested in resuming the sexual side of our marriage because I liked that part a lot. So I guess for now, I’m using you for sex but I’m not nearly ready to forgive you for your selfish behavior. I do hope that’s okay with you?” Hermione beamed with saccharine sweetness and slid her fingers down past Lucius’ chest muscles and into his groin curls, finding just what she was looking for – her personal passport to paradise.

He had hurt her, so much that at the beginning there were some days she couldn’t seem to stop crying. But as time went on, she knew she had to meet up with him again when the baby was born and the hiatus would be time enough to reassess what she wanted from him. In the interim, she could plan ahead. Now her plans could be put into operation - just a little early. She saw Lucius’ eyes harden and his mouth purse in annoyed disapproval, but his pupils were dilating with his arousal. Hermione smiled. She knew just where to rub to make Lucius lose track of his own name.

“Tell me I have this correctly, my dear. I am to act as your kitchen help and now I am also your sex toy? Is that all?” Sarcasm radiated from him just before he struggled to smother a gasp as her tiny hand found an extremely sensitive point on his erection and began massaging it. Damn her, she was using all the tricks he’d taught her to please him. Sweet hell, she was good at that.

“For the moment,” she purred. “If any other jobs occur to me, I’ll let you know.” Hermione flexed her fingers, adding a gentle scratching to the tip of his penis and she could have sworn his eyes crossed before those icy windows to his egotistical soul closed in ecstasy. Maybe she wasn’t any better than he was, deciding on a little revenge to make her feel better about being cast aside for all those months, but she didn’t care. She needed some of her own back for his miserable behavior before she could settle down with him in any kind of true, intimate relationship.

For Lucius, it had been so many months since his fleshy Firebolt had been more than a flaccid memory that he was having a difficult time focusing on anything other than the ribbons of sensual pleasure flowing through his body. Being a sex toy sounded like heaven and he could wash a few dishes, couldn’t he? It couldn’t last very long. When the baby was born he would be master again. His family would be in his home, under his rule. What was a dish or two? He took the plunge, “I agree. Open your legs.”

“I don’t want to be on my back, Lucius. The pressure from the baby cuts off circulation to my legs. Choose another position.”

Lucius didn’t care how his cock got inside her, he just wanted relief from five months of impotent indifference which had disappeared the moment he had smelled her perfume. He lifted her and set her lying spoon-fashion against him on the bed facing away. His fingers found her melting core and a second later so did his staff. Lucius held her hips still and began his millimeter by millimeter journey to the center of his universe.

“Tidbit, you’re so wet I’m afraid my tool is going to drown before it gets all the way in you.” His knees came up under hers, and he pushed her spine forward a little over her tummy so he could spread her wider. One masculine knee was inserted between hers and he slid more of himself into her warm depths, groaning with the best feeling in the world for the dick-endowed half of its population.

Hermione was in her own personal Shangri-La, loving her tall, haughty husband wrapped around her and filling her with his desire and heat. Having this man in her bed and in her life again was a dream come true for her starved heart and libido; his special scent and tender touches almost made her cry she was so profoundly moved by his intimate cuddling, just as it had been in Azkaban. Her silken sheath welcomed the masterful wizard and her hands convulsively clasped his on her hips as she made slight rocking movements to help him penetrate farther. She had missed him, but she had missed his body’s ability to take her out of herself, too. If she never was able to make him give any more of himself to their marriage, this was a strong recommendation to take him on his own terms. At least it always seemed so when he was inside her, stretching her so deliciously and thrusting himself at just the right spot to make her forgive him almost anything.

Her unabashed longing for her handsome mate was her downfall and she knew it. It was just lucky that he didn’t know it or her life with him would degenerate into misery and heartache on her side and arrogant, self-indulgent patronization on his. She couldn’t let that happen for both their sakes. As Hermione began to worry, her body’s sexual signals to her mate weakened.

Lucius wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t recognize his wife’s sudden lack of focus on what to him was earth-shakingly important. He snaked his hand around her to fondle and squeeze a swollen breast, gently twisting the hardened berry at the tip in between his finger and thumb, then plucking it and delivering a fleeting pinch before soothing her breast again. He was rewarded with the renewed clenching of her core on his thankful organ so he did it again. Soon he was lured to the nape of her neck, licking, kissing and then biting her as his own arousal escalated in masculine demand.

Hermione’s tiny gasps morphed into moans then a mindless litany of his name said over and over, her body rocking against his in an attempt to impale herself however she could.

Lucius was only too happy to help and he started a more forceful invasion, feeling his way until he found how far up her channel he could safely go and then establishing a rhythm that sent them both into their own intimate dimension. Her hair was grasped in a tight fist holding her still for Lucius’ controlled stabs into her core. Soon they knew nothing but each other, hearts beating together, souls entwined, as it had always been at Azkaban.

And this was exactly what Lucius had run from. His thrusting stuttered for a second as his mind registered the imminent recapture of his autonomy by this tiny female, but this time he knew what the other side was like and the grass was definitely not greener. It was withered and broken – and impotent. He picked up his pace, basking in his sensual connection to his wife. All too soon they both crested the hill and their bodies tightened, then flew apart with the most intense orgasms either had had since they’d been together before.

Lucius’ hand settled over her enlarged belly after he had swept the covers over them and resettled behind her. He had re-entered her life – and her body – but he knew he was still barred from her heart. He supposed he deserved it, especially if he wasn’t returning the favor by offering his heart in exchange.

As two pair of eyes closed in slumber, neither of them realized that for the other it was the most relaxed they had been since prison. Night closed over the darkened bedroom as two deeply asleep lovers curled down into a calm bower of fragile peace.

tbc...

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Item 1) For all you Harry fans, I'm entertaining ideas on how Harry should behave toward the 'happy' couple. I've written him in as being severely unhappy but not actively working against the marriage. He's a bit of a hothead (in the books and movies) so he can't just roll over and 'play nice,' as movie Lucius likes to say. Harry isn't in the story as a major character, but your thoughts would be appreciated. I'll read them and see how to synthesize his actions for the story.


Item 2) Please let me know if there is a different word used in England for 'toaster'. I'll switch the term (unless the thing is called 'box for turning a plain piece of bread into toasted bread'. Then I think I'll just stay with the American 'toaster').


Two possible assignments this chapter, if you choose to help me with one or both of them. Otherwise, your general opinions on Lucius' latest finagling and Hermione's parries will be happily accepted. Sometimes I think she should just use a whip and a chair. (Hey! I heard those murmurs of 'bring on the whip'. Naughty...Tsk.)

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