The Taming of the Shrew - Wizard Style - COMPLETE

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12-0-09 F


Finally, Lucius comes home. This chapter has a lemon (not much of a surprise, I know). Remember, all my responses to your lovely reviews are now on my LiveJournal; the URL is at the end of this chapter. I also have a short, short story with a pictorial Christmas card with Lucius to offer. See the Christmas card URL below and/or at my LiveJournal also.


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Chapter Twenty-Seven

Homecoming



Lucius apparated home with no fanfare, slinking quietly into his study and settling behind his desk with a sigh of pleasure to be in his own home again. Seeing the horrendously littered desktop, he groaned, but dove thankfully into the innumerable owl packages and messages that had piled up in his absence. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know where he was, so all his owl mail had continued to come to his home.

Lucius hadn’t felt much like doing anything with his ailing business interests, anyway. Their slow, downward slide was inexorable and nothing he’d done had helped much so far. Sighing, he quickly gathered the mail and set it on the credenza behind him, keeping out a few pieces to peruse that looked most urgent. The familiar messages and business investment prospectuses began calming his skittering nerves and he hoped to lose himself in his correspondence.

Lucius dreaded the moment Hermione would know he was home. Through the house elves Lucius knew she hadn’t left the manor even once and it puzzled him that she hadn’t taken advantage of her freedom and at least gone out shopping or driving. It disgusted him that he was cowardly enough to hide out in his study, trying to put off the confrontation as long as possible, but he still didn’t want to face up to the unpalatable fact that his new marriage was already such a shambles.

How could that reprobate, Snape, create a happy marriage when his own efforts always ended in disaster? Lucius hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in the entire two weeks. A year’s marriage to Narcissa hadn’t seemed to blunt the halfblood’s lewd tendencies one whit, the uninhibited devil. Lucius was certain he had dark circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep listening to them go at it like overage teens. At their ages, they should be more circumspect. He smiled to himself when he realized he was older than either of them and was more envious than irritated.

He had spent his two weeks of hiatus avoiding the company of the nauseatingly cozy couple he was staying with and their all too frequent bursts of loud sexual satisfaction, so ineffectually muted that Lucius suspected Snape of encouraging his departure with their caterwauling. He was nearly positive when he discovered his bedroom was strategically placed right over their drawing room, which housed their favorite worn sofa.

The newlyweds had often sneaked into the drawing room after they thought he was long asleep so they could further polish that shiny spot on their sofa. Severus had always liked bare bottoms and Lucius was certain Narcissa’s was often upended over the back of the piece of furniture. Why couldn’t they just move that sofa into their bedroom so he could get some rest?

Lucius had left a thank-you note for Narcissa, letting her know that he had enjoyed the peaceful view from his bedroom window of a certain ornate fountain. The blond schemer knew it would pinpoint his guest bedroom for her and he had a shrewd notion she didn’t know he’d been housed there. He was buoyed by that bit of Snape-baiting for several days after he left the note.

Lucius took off his cape, settled his cane on the credenza and rolled his dress shirtsleeves halfway up his forearms. A huge sigh escaped as he realized that the amassed reports and accounts he’d neglected for two weeks would take him days to even organize. Whipping off his tie and flinging it toward the visitor’s chair at the side of his desk, Lucius got down to work.

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Her errant husband hadn’t been in the manor ten minutes when Hermione was informed of his return by the elves, several of whom popped into her sitting room at once to let her know. Arranging her face into a spurious, polite interest, she thanked the anxious elves and stood, closing up her current report.

The elves watched in unsubtle hope that their master and mistress would end the upsetting conflict between them and create a solid, peaceful marriage. Domestic squabbles were painful to the creatures and they wanted some relief. When they saw that Hermione was closing up her books and cleaning her quill, they popped out again.

Hermione knew the little house elves were upset at the chaos their domestic arrangement had devolved to, but she didn’t know what she could do about it. The convoluted mess both she and Lucius had made of their union was nearly beyond fixing. She had sent the owl. What came next was an enigma yet to be solved.

Hermione’s eyebrows scrunched together, sowing a little valley of indecision between them. What was she supposed to do now? Go and greet him? Wait until dinnertime and pretend he hadn’t disappeared for two weeks? Confront him about his decision to leave? Was he angry with her? Disappointed? She grimaced – of course he was disappointed and angry. And so had she been with him. But the constant discord between them didn’t do anything but brew more misery. And it didn’t help that she felt starved for the sight of him.

She had spent the last two weeks trying to come to terms with the direction her life had taken. She had surprised herself with her initial feelings of abandonment. It didn’t sit well that she actually missed the posh wizard. Her dinners were quiet and boring, sitting in her room with a tray. That she would rather have him nitpicking on her table manners in his bloody, formal dining room told her she was succumbing to the lure of her husband’s vaunted sexual appeal, just like all those women recorded in the Daily Prophet. And worse.

She had wanted to make love with him, but not love him. It had seemed a simple idea, whose execution she was finding it damnably difficult to carry out. The only good thing that had happened during his absence was that Hermione got tremendous amounts of her own research done while gamely attempting to bury her wistful desires under various snippets of arcane literature.

~~~

Two hours later Hermione dawdled along the hallway, unsure what she was going to say or do when she opened the door to his study. And even more unsure what her reception would be. She had been trying out the new clothing provided by Madam Malkin under Lucius’ direction and discovered she was quite happy with her new wardrobe. Today she was wearing a slim, sophisticated dress in black and white that had an unusual neckline with a fitted bodice and peek-a-boo cutouts for interest, but demure enough for a daytime shopping trip or visit to an upscale restaurant for lunch or tea.

Hermione stopped in her tracks. She only had the diamond parure, her wedding gift from Lucius, but maybe if she wore the earrings, it would be an additional peace offering of sorts. She retraced her path and retrieved the earrings, put them on and set out for her husband’s study with slightly more courage and optimism in her step.

As she approached the door to Lucius’ lair, her courage faltered a little, but it was merely putting off the inevitable for her to retreat now. Hermione had never been one to back off from disagreeable tasks and she quickly knocked on the dark oak panel, then stood fidgeting on the Aubusson hall runner.

Several seconds ticked by making Hermione wonder if Lucius was still in his study as the elves had said. Then she heard a brusque, “Come!”

With a sudden, fluttering heartbeat and annoying, sweaty palms, Hermione pushed the door open and entered the study. Several steps into the room, she came to a halt, fastening her eyes on her wandering spouse. Her heartbeat sped up furiously and she brought her hand up to her chest in a futile effort to slow down the unruly organ. How had she forgot the impact he always made on her senses – that effortless aura of erotic power? Why did his presence so seductively intrude on the entire, large room when he was sitting quietly behind a desk at the far end of it?

The little witch had spent two weeks feeling sad because he was gone and then berating herself when she knew she should have been thanking her lucky stars for her temporary deliverance from his proximity. She was so tired of pulling against his male magnetism. And it wasn’t all physical any more. His innate intelligence and his sense of humor, his ability to laugh - sometimes at himself - all were seducing her every bit as much as those mesmerizing gray eyes and handsome face.

The dichotomy of his male beauty versus his ugly, wicked past had always sustained her enmity; seeing him again, she was surprised to know its power had faded significantly. Familiarity was definitely not breeding contempt; his attractive façade and the intriguing personality she had found behind it were fast demolishing her defenses.

Lucius lifted his silvery eyes from an irritated perusal of the various pieces of correspondence he had barely begun to read to see his wife standing a few feet inside his door. His frowning visage froze as he took in the small female with bare legs and delicate low-heeled sandals, dressed very attractively in one of the casual frocks he had chosen for her.

Her hesitation halfway across his favorite Kirman rugs caused one of his honey-colored eyebrows to hitch up in inquiry. Outwardly, he looked merely intimidating and slightly annoyed at the interruption. Inwardly, he was floundering so badly his mind was nearly mush. If he’d been asked to say a word to avoid a Crucio, he couldn’t have done it.

Lucius was seeing the desirable woman who had shared his bed and given him intense pleasure - who held in her little hands his hopes for the kind of marriage he’d always wanted and never had. He cursed his erstwhile hosts and their enthusiastic, noisy, erotic behavior, to which he directly attributed his sudden, uncomfortable reaction. He was trying desperately to keep from panting, he wanted her so badly.

The instant, aching bloom of his groin shot a grimace of pain to his face as his member objected to the bent position its turgid exuberance was forced to suffer down the leg of his trousers. Had two weeks away blunted his memory of their antagonistic attitudes at the nightclub? Apparently he had a loss of memory from the waist down. He didn’t expect a hero’s welcome after his retaliation in the private upstairs room of the nightclub, so why had little Miss Censure come so quickly when he had expected to see her at dinner as usual?

Hermione saw the frown and took a step back. So he still wasn’t happy with her. She waved vaguely at the door and offered a bit snippily, “I can come back if you’re busy. Maybe you’d like another week?” She took another step back, wanting to disappear, embarrassed with the reception she had received. Then she stalled. Why should she be the one to retreat? She hadn’t done anything wrong…well, except vilifying him occasionally, or maybe quite often, with her acidic tongue.

He had certainly been angry at her snide, clever words to Narcissa, putting his ex-wife on the spot. She had done it to hurt him and it had. Unfortunately, it had hurt him much more successfully than she had foreseen and she was sorry for that. If she had it to do over again, she’d already decided she wouldn’t have said what she had. Should she tell him that? Or let that evening sink into murky oblivion?

Lucius laid down his betraying quill to mask the shaking of his hands, then folded them on the center of his desk. She was throwing darts at him already and all he wanted to do was bend her over his cluttered desk and fill her with his very inconvenient – and painful - erection.

When he had first arrived at the Snapes’, he had been too heartsore to be moved by their lascivious moans and groans coming through the floorboards from the room below. But the sounds of pleasure reverberating through his bedroom had begun affecting him until he was as randy as that Casaba melon fellow – he’d forgot his name again.

Now, seeing his petite wife, he was well past randy and drowning in desperate. His lunch conversation with the passionate pair of married lovers reminiscing about that shameful orgy had been at once both upsetting and arousing. Now he wanted to bury his accumulated remembrances in Hermione’s prim little quim.

Well! Hermione fumed. This is embarrassing. Why doesn’t he say something? She stood facing her husband across the study, her chin rising as the moment dragged on. She had missed the stupid man, she had sent the owl, and he was giving her a stone cold reception.

“Am I keeping you from your work?” Hermione pointed to the scattered pieces of correspondence she could see covering his desk. Maybe he was merely irritated at being disturbed when he probably had a lot of accumulated mail to sort through.

Lucius looked down in bewilderment at his messy papers as if he was only noticing them now. He looked back up at the little witch and she saw his expression falter for just a second.

What was going on here? Hermione was puzzled at her husband’s silence and decided to take it as permission to go closer. He was holding himself very still. Unnaturally so. Was he injured? Her heart jumped in alarm. She took several steps toward him until she could see what she’d been unable to from across the room.

His eyes, those beautiful, alluring eyes of his, were nearly black with his expanded pupils. Oh yes, she had seen that before. Hermione relaxed even as her heart sped up; she knew exactly what that meant. The instant she knew he was reacting physically to her, her entire manner changed. Her wizard was heavily aroused - but apparently he was fighting it.

One of her major worries had been that he was carousing with another witch. Lucius was highly sexed and couldn’t seem to stay out of her bed. Two weeks without sex seemed an impossibility for the lusty wizard as the lonely days ticked by for her.

The little witch wife had alternated between sad and mad at his furtive flit more times than she wanted to remember, but her conscience had always harshly reprimanded her. She had driven him from her bed with her jealousy. If he went to another woman, she had no basis for complaint.

His black-eyed stare, though, gave her some cause for hope. If she aroused him – his glazed focus had descended to her torso - maybe he hadn’t been diddling elsewhere. She would probably never know, but seeing him again, it wasn’t important. He was home now and primed for sex. She needed to re-imprint his interest on her. Hermione was thankful she had another chance and she meant to take it.

Lucius watched her coming nearer; he could smell her fresh scent as she approached and his stiff staff cranked up to high gear, now viciously causing him great discomfort. He didn’t want to shift his aching gearstick and alert her to his revved up condition; it might cause his wife to leave and he didn’t want her to, now that she was here.

He had suffered for two weeks, thinking his new marriage had already almost foundered because of his temper. Now, looking at her, he had no idea how she felt about him. All he knew for sure was that his libido had flared like a lit torch when she walked into his study. It was all he could do to keep from pawing the ground like a lovesick hippogriff at her approach. His facial expression was the blandest he could devise, but his hands clasped each other in a white-knuckled death grip.

Hermione saw Lucius’ discarded tie hanging on the visitor’s chair and she idly scooped it up, playing with it as she nonchalantly wandered into reaching range – hoping he wanted to reach. She saw his telltale eyes track her, but he merely swiveled his head; his body stayed in his chair under his desk. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was a solid reason for him to keep his lap out of sight – very solid. She decided to test her theory. Hermione used her own eyes to touch all over his face, bringing up a mottled flush of full arousal on his already pinkened skin.

“Welcome home, Lucius,” she cooed and bent toward him, one hand sliding through his hair at the back of his head to hold him while her tongue traced the outline of his lips.

Lucius was so shocked he gasped and his mouth opened; her tongue quickly invaded, dueling with his lax one. Two seconds later, Lucius shot up off his desk chair, picked up the provocative little witch and strode to the old green leather sofa at the side of the room where she was unceremoniously flattened under him on the cushions as he took over the kiss. The tie dropped unnoticed to the floor.

Lucius captured her lips in rough persuasion, gripping her curls with the clutching fingers of one hand while he raised his chest off her just enough to systematically begin undoing the buttons of his dress shirt with his other hand. He ground his needy organ into his wife’s pelvis, nearly bursting with the relief of having it migrate upward to looser territory in his trousers.

The firm buffing her mons was providing for his erection made him melt all over her, his body holding hers down so she would have no chance to get away. The desperate wizard wasn’t concerned with anything but burying himself deep inside his wife; she had lit a match to his simmering sexual pain and he was simply out of control.

Hermione had been quite accurate with her idea that Lucius needed sex often. She was finding out what happened when it was denied. Had it occurred to the little witch, she could have found solace that Lucius seemed to have abstained while he was gone and his desperation was a great compliment to her, but that conclusion never had a chance to bloom in her mind due to the distraction of his next words.

Taking a second from reaming out her mouth with his tongue, he growled, “My belt. My trousers. Off!” He lifted his hips with his command so she could do as he willed.

Hermione smothered a smile and hurried to unfasten first the belt, then the front of Lucius’ fine wool trousers, tugging them off his butt as far down as she could go from her position, trapped under him. His chronic lack of underwear made the project easier, but his pants still got stuck around his knees.

Lucius groaned with impatience and reared up, stumbling to stand by her reclining form; he threw off his unbuttoned shirt and kicked away his shoes, then his trousers in record time. Naked but for his socks he turned back to the astonished little witch and said, “If you want that dress to stay in one piece, get it off, now!”

Hermione wasn’t stupid; she had poked her tongue in a wasp’s nest and now she was going to be stung. That suited her. She raked hot eyes from her wizard’s palely gleaming locks, down that chest she always admired to fasten on her ruddy prize for the afternoon. She giggled.

Completely out of what little patience he had and angered by her unkind levity as she looked him over, Lucius dragged her up ungently by her arms, twirling her to face away so he could reach the zip at the back of her dress. One tug and he loosened her dress enough for it to drop to the floor between them. All she had on under it was a thong made of white lace with tiny black bows at her hips.

Long, grappling male fingers immediately slid back into her hair, clutching at the curls and making her wobble backward against the furnace of his body, spoon-fashion. He pulled the back of her head to rest in the hollow of his shoulder while nestling his painful protrusion between her sweet, feminine butt cheeks.

Lucius had an unimpeded view of his wife’s breasts over her shoulder, which he ignored, instead sliding his other hand directly into the front of the miniscule thong and straight into a surprisingly wet interior. Two fingers curled forcibly, crudely inside and upward bringing a gasp from a suddenly attentive witch.

“Do you find all this funny?” His other hand tightened uncomfortably in her curls near her face mimicking his erotic grasp lower. “I can’t imagine why,” he rasped. “Five minutes with you and it’s as though I was never gone. Did you not understand why I left?” His entire world had turned primitive and not quite sane as her woman’s scent brought him too near an untimely release.

Her scalp was tingling from his hold, but she gazed up at her wizard confidently, “I was giggling because you were standing there and it reminded me of the bowsprit of the Titanic.” Her bum was brazenly wiggling on the bowsprit as she spoke. “It was quite magnificent.” She heard a distinct hiss from the aroused man behind her and her body tightened, signaling to his inserted fingers that she was enjoying his bullying.

A bead of perspiration dropped onto one breast from her husband’s temple and she relaxed further against him. If she hadn’t had the hard evidence poking her just above her rear, that wet drop and the slick chest her shoulders were sliding on would have told her the man was seriously aroused. She could feel his smooth, heavy sac bumping the globes of her butt.

Hermione looked up and caught her mate’s scorching regard with her own sparking eyes, “I suppose we do need to talk about why you left, Lucius, but may we discuss that later? It’s been two weeks.” She gave another wiggle to emphasize the direction of her thoughts.

Lucius’ hand loosened its hold in Hermione’s hair and slid down her cheek, coming to rest around her throat. He could feel her heartbeat furiously drumming as he held her immobile in front of him, his two fingers still embedded within her. “You didn’t manage to find that younger man to relieve your needs while I was gone?” Had she invited anyone to the estate while he was gone? Was that why she hadn’t left it?

The question was posed almost idly, but Hermione heard the urgency behind the whimsical tones. “Is that what you were doing?” she replied. “Finding someone who could give you the submissive behavior you prefer?”

She was quite aware that she had a hot, hard, sexually inflamed man plastered against her back, but she couldn’t help making the tart riposte as her echo to his jab. It was her besetting sin with him, to persistently fight his contentious comments. Why he alone should always garner that extreme reaction and no one else, she refused to examine.

His hand tightened in warning around her throat, “Who said I prefer submissive behavior?” His wet fingers began an in and out stabbing motion, making the little witch moan and rock back against his importuning penis.

Both were aware that their questions about infidelity hadn’t been answered, but the conflagration bursting into flame from the friction of their rubbing bodies quietened the questions for the moment as more urgent needs were dealt with.

Lucius continued to ply his digits dexterously into and out of his witch, luxuriating in her twitching response, which transferred immediately to his cock, but it only ratcheted his arousal higher and fueled his predatory instincts. His palm stayed firm on her throat, holding her immobile as he played her body, adding a questing thumb through the folds of her sex.

He was soon rewarded with a keening wail from his tiny tormentor as her body went rigid under the relentless strumming of her nerve-filled nub. All too soon her petite frame went into sensory overload; she mindlessly dug her fingernails into the spread of masculine thighs caging her from behind, barely registering the soft, sparse, honey fur she was scoring as she screamed. The erotic torment between her legs didn’t let up until her fragile body jerked one last time from her colossal climax and she slumped back against him, her quiescence indisputably offered to her ardent taskmaster.

When Hermione finally went limp in his hold, Lucius triumphantly lifted her and unceremoniously dumped her back onto the sofa, coming down over her with no other intention than to replace his fingers with his crying cock. Her thong disappeared with one wrenching pull.

There were no attempts at gentleness, no crooning or romantic touches, nothing but a conquering male claiming his overdue rights to a female who had tied him into feral knots. His first thrust went halfway, coating him enough with her juices so that the second thrust found the back of her passage.

After that, time blurred for them both. Lucius established a punishing pace, only coming out of his trance long enough to grunt as Hermione’s legs wound themselves around his narrow waist. His forearms had burrowed under her shoulders, allowing him to close his fists in her soft hair again. Neither spoke, Hermione because she was still dazed from her orgasm and Lucius because he was now living entirely in his cock, each entry into his wife’s tight channel a resurgence of primitive satisfaction and need.

Soon Hermione was also single-mindedly focused on her core as stab after stab of her husband’s tool brought the sexual waves of orgasm rising to their peak once again. All she did was tilt her hips to receive the greatest amount of Lucius within. Beyond clinging, she made no other contribution to their mating and Lucius wanted none.

Every time he pushed inside she slipped further under the waves of his erotic spell until no trace of her will remained. Only his – to command – to own – to take. When he circled his hips in a corkscrew motion, she thought she’d go raving mad.

The primal pummeling couldn’t last forever and Hermione’s overburdened sheath began to tighten with the approach of another climax. Weakly, she petted his back, using her fingertips to follow the cords of muscle that were bringing her so effortlessly to paradise. She could feel him swell inside her, almost beyond her capacity and knew it signaled the approach of his release. Those cords of back muscle went rigid while his breathing became even more labored in her ear. The sensual scoring of her inner sheath was tipping her into the abyss once again and the sublimely aroused witch wallowed in her sexual submission.

She had missed him so much - his pine scent, his little half-smiles when he was trying to hide that he was amused by something she’d said, the way his beautiful hair shifted on his shoulders when he turned his head. She’d missed so many things about him, but most of all she’d missed what he was giving her now – the sliding feel of him as he entered her body, stretching her to her limits, the dynamic vigor of his weight on her as he brought all her feminine senses to screaming completion in that fleeting moment when two people so woefully different found that perfect place of unity.

Hermione’s moist skin was sticking to the green leather of the sofa, but she welcomed the small, additional pain as a goad to her emerging primitive response. As her new orgasm caught her in its vise, her light petting of Lucius’ back suddenly became ten tiny pinpoints of pain as her nails turned to talons and sank into his firm flesh; she writhed and howled under him, totally in thrall to her basest emotions.

The return of Hellcat Hermione knocked Lucius off his stride, losing him his tenuous control and he went over the edge into his own violent climax with a loud, anguished bellow. His body shook all over, incapable of anything but reaction to the massive emptying of his sac and the scorching scratches on his back. Lucius rode a tsunami of sexual satisfaction until he at length came crashing down from his release, slumping on his petite wife. He didn’t much care if she were comfortable or not. He muzzily figured if she didn’t like it she would say. She wasn’t reticent about telling him everything else she didn’t like about him.

“Gods, I can’t stay civilized around you,” Lucius groaned wearily, gasping but satiated for the moment. Silently, he plucked at one of her diamond earrings, letting her know he had seen them, but said nothing else. He closed his eyes and let his weight drop more solidly onto his wife’s body, covering her completely. There was no room for him to slide sideways and he didn’t want to rise. He was completely wrung out from lack of sleep, too much firewhiskey, and most of all the enervating release of tension at his carnal welcome home.

“I missed you, Lucius,” Hermione whispered as Lucius gathered her under him more comfortably, his ghost-pale eyes slowly sliding shut. “There was no one else.”

Lucius opened his eyes again at her words and his gaze fastened on her face for a moment, then his expression softened, “There was no one else for me, either. I meant what I said in my note. I want to start again with you. Only you. You sent the eagle owl. Does that truly mean you’re willing to try with me to make something of our marriage?”

Hermione looked into her husband’s beautiful ghost gray eyes, her own earnest as she replied, “I’m sorry I behaved so poorly at the nightclub.” Hermione threaded her fingers through his hair, following the strands down and pulling the wet ends off his sweaty shoulder.

Lucius shook his head in denial of her words, “I’ve done much more poorly as your husband in so many ways.” A slight smile lightened his expression, “You’re extraordinarily good at winding me up. No one gets to me like you can. But,” he leaned in for a quick kiss, “I would like to draw a veil over our rough beginning if you agree? And see what we can become to one another.”

“I don’t want to fight any more, either, Lucius,” the little witch sighed. Then she smiled, “I like the idea of beginning again. We may still be something of a Punch and Judy show occasionally, but I’m willing.”

“Punch’s rather homely looks aside,” Lucius raised one haughty eyebrow, but ruined the effect with an amused twist of his lips, “I can live with a spirited marriage. For the record I do not want a submissive wife.” His body still had faint tremors from his raw regression to primal sex, but he relished those sensations echoing through him even as exhaustion claimed him. With a searching scan of her face, Lucius’ worries about his reception finally eased and he said, “I do believe we have reached an accord. And on that note can we just not talk any more for now? Things always disintegrate when we talk and I’m dead tired.”

“Mmmm, all right. We can talk more later. I’m happy you’re back.” Hermione saw the gentle look in his eyes and was just as relieved to avoid any disrupting discussion for the moment. Lucius' pale eyes closed again and he became a dead weight on her. She turned her face into Lucius’ neck, quickly dropping off to sleep, unconcerned at his blanketing ballast on her petite body. She could breathe and that was all she needed. Her husband was home.

tbc...


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Don’t forget this chapter’s pics -

http://labibliographe.livejournal.com/57818.html

And the hot, pictorial Christmas card of Lucius and very short story at:

http://labibliographe.livejournal.com/57403.html

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