Res Ipsa Loquitur/ The Thing Speaks for Itself
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
5,940
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
5,940
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Part 2
Disclaimer: You know the drill - I don't own the rights to Harry Potter and his mystical friends and acquaintances. I do not profit from this.
Res Ipsa Loquitur/ The Thing Speaks for Itself – Part 2
“Her lips were moving on my neck, moving lower, dancing over collarbone feather light, to nipple, then navel. She nipped at my skin gently and her hands stroked my face, tracing the planes and angles there. My fingers touched her cheek, were tangled in her changeable hair. Our lips crashed together and we melted together in a primal dance. Her hair slipped through my fingers, first candy-floss pink, then lilac, then aquamarine.”
With a gasp, Tonks’ hands flew to her head and she felt where her hair was a vibrant lilac. No… Surely the woman couldn’t be her! She looked around, saw only Madam Pince lurking behind the librarian’s counter, then focused on the page before her.
“Her eyes were heavy lidded, not from sleep but from the seduction. Her hair tumbled across one bare shoulder, veiling her breast. She had always hated her name, but she was aptly christened. She was a nymph, as her name implied, full of mischief, seduction.”
Tonks looked up, her eyes round as saucers, her breath coming in rapid gusts. It WAS her. Who could be writing such things about her? A soft giggling came from behind the shelves. She rose to her feet and peered through the rows of books that marched down the shelves. A group of Ravenclaw girls were tittering amongst themselves, chewing gum snapping. Madam Pince stormed to the table and, with one outflung arm and taloned pointing finger, she directed them to leave. Silence.
Tonks looked at the book and quirked an eyebrow. To read or not to read? It was quite disconcerting to be reading a rather sensual book that featured her. Should she read on and discover what else the book had to offer her, or should she promptly snap the book shut and return to her research? She did what any rational witch would do.
She arranged the piles of books on the table so that she was completely hidden. Then, tilting back in her seat a bit, feet balanced on the rung of the chair, she brought the book closer to her face and turned the page.
“She had come to me, bathed in the moonlight, wearing nothing. And I took her in my mouth as if she were the sweetest mead, tasting her, touching everything. The warmth of her skin on mine, the fullness of her breasts, the swell of her hips and stomach, the sensitive skin at the base of her spine. Her hair was an ice blue that night, ever the rebel. She brought out such a primal instinct in me. I grabbed her, kissing a trail down her throat, down the valley between her breasts, at the mound of Venus. I devoured her with my kisses, possessed her with my body. And then, afterwards, she lay curled on the bed, silent but yearning.” Tonks felt a shot of crimson race up her neck and to her face. She heard a sudden noise behind her, a book snapping shut and footsteps.
She unceremoniously toppled backwards in her chair. The book flew from her hands and hit the newcomer in the face.
“Well, what SORT of research have you been up to Tonks?”
Res Ipsa Loquitur/ The Thing Speaks for Itself – Part 2
“Her lips were moving on my neck, moving lower, dancing over collarbone feather light, to nipple, then navel. She nipped at my skin gently and her hands stroked my face, tracing the planes and angles there. My fingers touched her cheek, were tangled in her changeable hair. Our lips crashed together and we melted together in a primal dance. Her hair slipped through my fingers, first candy-floss pink, then lilac, then aquamarine.”
With a gasp, Tonks’ hands flew to her head and she felt where her hair was a vibrant lilac. No… Surely the woman couldn’t be her! She looked around, saw only Madam Pince lurking behind the librarian’s counter, then focused on the page before her.
“Her eyes were heavy lidded, not from sleep but from the seduction. Her hair tumbled across one bare shoulder, veiling her breast. She had always hated her name, but she was aptly christened. She was a nymph, as her name implied, full of mischief, seduction.”
Tonks looked up, her eyes round as saucers, her breath coming in rapid gusts. It WAS her. Who could be writing such things about her? A soft giggling came from behind the shelves. She rose to her feet and peered through the rows of books that marched down the shelves. A group of Ravenclaw girls were tittering amongst themselves, chewing gum snapping. Madam Pince stormed to the table and, with one outflung arm and taloned pointing finger, she directed them to leave. Silence.
Tonks looked at the book and quirked an eyebrow. To read or not to read? It was quite disconcerting to be reading a rather sensual book that featured her. Should she read on and discover what else the book had to offer her, or should she promptly snap the book shut and return to her research? She did what any rational witch would do.
She arranged the piles of books on the table so that she was completely hidden. Then, tilting back in her seat a bit, feet balanced on the rung of the chair, she brought the book closer to her face and turned the page.
“She had come to me, bathed in the moonlight, wearing nothing. And I took her in my mouth as if she were the sweetest mead, tasting her, touching everything. The warmth of her skin on mine, the fullness of her breasts, the swell of her hips and stomach, the sensitive skin at the base of her spine. Her hair was an ice blue that night, ever the rebel. She brought out such a primal instinct in me. I grabbed her, kissing a trail down her throat, down the valley between her breasts, at the mound of Venus. I devoured her with my kisses, possessed her with my body. And then, afterwards, she lay curled on the bed, silent but yearning.” Tonks felt a shot of crimson race up her neck and to her face. She heard a sudden noise behind her, a book snapping shut and footsteps.
She unceremoniously toppled backwards in her chair. The book flew from her hands and hit the newcomer in the face.
“Well, what SORT of research have you been up to Tonks?”