The Wedding - COMPLETE

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Updated 5-17-07


Well, wouldn't you know. It appears word got out about the magical chocolates and I had a visit from two stuffy food inspectors who claimed I wasn't allowed to hand out magical chocolates without their permission. Odd that when I gave them each a box they wandered away mumbling, with their mouths full of candy, to try not to do it again. It's just lucky they didn't know about the beer we had a few chapters ago.


Thank you for all the stupendous reviews. They keep me pounding away on my laptop. I'm glad you liked Lucius, the iPod thief. He does like music and moving his body to a sensuous beat. That makes sense in view of his unabashed proclivities in the bedroom.


I think this next chapter is my favorite so far. I hope you enjoy it.


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Chapter Thirty-Three


The Beach

Several weeks later Lucius was taking Hermione’s hand off his thigh for the umpteenth time in the hour they’d been sitting in the railroad car traveling to the Malfoy beach cottage at the shore. He didn’t dare take his eyes off her roving hands or they’d be skimming his crotch again like they had at the beginning of the journey before he’d learned to watch her. Her doctor had been right to warn him about pregnancy horniness, but what exactly was he to do with her except issue dire warnings to which she paid no attention whatsoever? Hermione wanted to touch and touch she would – AND grab AND squeeze AND fondle. She was becoming a shameless menace. Even public venues didn’t stop her.


He was regretting his idea of an excursion to the coast for the weekend. They could have apparated, or even gone by portkey, although he wasn’t sure that the gutgrinding sensation associated with portkeys was good for her. But no, Hermione wanted to enjoy a leisurely trip by rail down to the beach and enjoy the scenery. Hah! The only scenery she was enjoying was centered on his zipper. She had closed the drapes to the aisle so passersby wouldn’t be able to watch her attempts to breach his breeches, but it didn’t suit him to be on display for anyone who might accidentally slide open their door, or ask to see their tickets.


He’d twice needed to use his wand to pull Hermione’s bodice back up on her travel dress. “Hermione, if you don’t stop trying to undress me – or you - in public, I am going home. I can apparate out of here anytime. I don’t want to leave you, but I will.”


“Lucius, love, I need you – now! I’m burning up. At least give me some relief, if I can’t touch you.” She grabbed his hand and tried to stuff it up her skirt.


Her scent was starting to get to him, especially as she was very aroused and unashamedly behaving like a dockside whore with the fleet ready to sail. He had to admit, she was tempting him almost past his privacy boundaries, and he let her pull his arm under her dress. He could feel the heat and almost immediately was assailed by her wet, restless thighs as she slid down the banquette to get his hand up further. She had pulled his far arm over his body to hers, so they were effectively shielded somewhat if anyone came through the sliding cabin doors. Their first sight would be Lucius’ back hunched over his hidden wife. Lucius weakened enough to push his hand all the way up to his wife’s groin only to discover she wasn’t wearing any knickers. “Hermione Jane Granger Malfoy! You’re naked under there!”


“I told you I was burning up. I took them off when I went to the loo ten minutes ago. Please, love, if I can’t suck on you, use your fingers to make me come.” She yanked his arm further under her dress, smashing his fingers into heaven. They both groaned - her with gratification, and him with despair…and gratification. In no time he was plying his long, elegant fingers into her slick channel like a drunken sailor to Hermione’s dockside whore.


He barely noticed when she slid her fingers to his placket and opened his zipper to her wandering touch, pulling his fierce erection out and squeezing the life in and out of it. It took mere seconds for Hermione to shriek her climax into his deliberately muffling kiss. Not for nothing was Lucius an accomplished lover experienced in many situations where silence had been essential. This was one more, with the difference that he was with his own wife.


He held her so she wouldn’t slump limply off the seat, but within seconds she was leaning over his lap eagerly devouring his turgid tool – it was what she had wanted to do at the start - and this time he helplessly let her. He was beyond caring about anything any more except the next nip of her pearly teeth on his glans and the slide of her delicate fingers up and down his rigid, swollen shaft.


He lay back against the seat and let her have her way, groaning his appreciation and encouragement as she constricted his length, then drew the tip tightly into her mouth with an almost painful suction. He pulled his balls out of his trousers and rolled them together himself, pressing beneath them and increasing the delicious sparks traveling up and down his cock. His breathing became labored and fast and he abandoned his balls, clutching Hermione’s hair in his hands guiding her mouth on him. His butt muscles were involuntarily tensing and easing, over and over as he neared his peak. Just as he let go with a low, agonizing moan of male repletion, the train whistle screamed, letting them know they were coming into the station.


Hermione finished expertly swallowing down his creamy cum and gently inserted his spent male equipment back into his trousers, being careful with the zipper. The little witch tsked at her task – as usual Lucius had dispensed with the need for underwear. She hopped up from the seat and began getting together her various bags, while Lucius sullenly watched the little sorceress from his exhausted slump. Dammit, now he wanted to rest, not blithely get up and exit the railcar. It was all her fault. But Sweet Goddess, their little taboo assignation had been stunning to his senses. He had no defense against his little fireball, it seemed. Saint Hermione, indeed! If Arthur knew a tenth of what they got up to, he’d never have let Lucius marry her.


The Malfoys arrived at their cottage in early afternoon and Hermione immediately changed into her swimsuit and ran down to the beach with nothing but a beach towel. Lucius followed after her with more towels, a hamper filled with a few drinks and some sunblock lotion. His family had vacationed here for many years and he was much more familiar with the beach than Hermione who had rarely gone.


Hermione had turned out in a lovely emerald maillot with a bit of peek-a-boo silver lacing at the bodice. The sleek suit hugged all her curves gracefully, showing off her little rounded belly where his child resided. Lucius thought she looked charming – were the green and silver for him? If anyone had noticed his face at that moment, they would have seen a proud, gloating smile and glowing eyes as he surveyed his lively personal property.


Lucius had on a more conservative pair of longish swim trunks in a shimmering black with forest green glints where the sunlight hit the fabric. When Hermione turned back from her headlong race into the water, she saw Lucius putting down the hamper. She wished he were more daring in his choice of swimsuit. A wicked, white speedo would have kept her entertained all afternoon, if it could have kept him contained. She snickered to herself. Keeping his magnificent package tucked securely inside a speedo would have been about as probable as McGonagall starring in a porn flick, but a great deal more intriguing to watch. As it was, his beautifully muscled torso, arms, and legs were as close to perfection as Hermione was ever likely to see on a beach. She looked up and down the sand and saw no one at all. Was this stretch private?


Lucius imperiously called his wife back to him and soon slathered the sunblock on his wife’s body, barely getting her to hold still before she was off and running into the waves again. Oh well, he groused good-naturedly, he’d just have to put more on her when she came out, as he put plenty on his own pale skin before joining her in the water. Snape’s special concoction was supposed to be water resistant, but he would never take chances with her skin – or his own.


He watched over his boisterous wife while she swam and cavorted in the water, whooping with joy at her more reserved mate, splashing him and diving under the water only to re-emerge seconds later with a large grin on her face. He was surprised that she wasn’t freezing in the cold water, but he had noticed that lately she wasn’t as cold as she always had been before. One of his books said something about increased blood volume in a pregnant woman and higher body temperature, and he supposed he was seeing it in the flesh. He decided to be relieved that his crotch was safe from frozen tootsies for awhile, but this rambunctious, lovely young woman was his to protect forever, frozen feet or not. He felt good about that.


Hermione finally came out of the water and dried off, lying down on her towel to soak up some of the sun’s rays. Lucius did the same, lying down beside her and making sure she had more sunblock on her tender skin. “You have so much energy suddenly, precious, why aren’t you tired?”


“It must have been that wonder tonic I got in the train,” she teased, “Oh, now you’re blushing, love,” she chortled, snuggling over onto his towel beside him.


“I’m merely sensitive to the sun, Hermione, I’m not blushing,” Lucius denied repressively. Really, first she vulgarly attacked and mauled him in the train, then she had the effrontery to mention his weakness shamelessly, as though it weren’t all her doing, the hussy. He was NOT blushing. His balls were pleasantly sore as he lay back with her in his arms and they basked in the sunlit English afternoon, taking occasional sips from the drinks Lucius had provided and watching the gulls careening in the air, their raucous cries lost in the sound of the waves.


A little time in the sun was all Lucius would allow Hermione before whisking her inside to get ready for a lovely dinner at a local hotel and some dancing after. As he feared, suddenly she ran down and nearly fell asleep standing up before he could get her swimsuit off and tuck her into bed. Lucius showered and put on a black dress robe, then sat reading while he waited for Hermione to wake up. He wished, not for the first time, he’d thought ahead and hadn’t made Hermione leery of his tux, but it was too late now to fix that.


She slept soundly for two hours, but bounced back up, quickly showered, and donned a new dress of pale, ghost gray chiffon with an antique emerald-studded platinum jewelry set Lucius had pulled from the Malfoy vault the previous week and presented to her as the newest Malfoy wife. The little jewel-bedecked Malfoy declared she was famished for dinner and could they please hurry? She hitched up her bodice, grimacing at the tight fit.


“I’m considering a leash for you, precious. You’re all over the place and then suddenly you crash. You need to slow down a bit, my dear. The world will still be here tomorrow,” Lucius tipped up her chin to look into her bright chocolate eyes with his mesmerizing pale grays.


Hermione was caught for a moment by his beautiful, but worried gaze, then she smiled up lovingly into her husband’s face. “As long as you’re there tomorrow that’s all I ask. Can we eat now? I could eat a hippogriff. I already ate its cock, but apparently that wasn’t enough.”


“Hermione,” Lucius growled in his low velvet warning tone, “Enough of the hippogriff, please.” He was embarrassed by any reference to that animal now, but he was incredibly warmed by her intimate comment. He made no verbal response to it, but Hermione saw those icy eyes light up and she was content.


They apparated to the entrance of the nearby magic community’s hotel, a festive, yet elegant spa used by wizards and witches from a moneyed background. The courtyard had a sweeping vista of the ocean and a beautifully kept garden filled with multicolor blooms and fairy lights in the small, manicured trees. The central foyer had ivory marble floors and tall pillars dotted around the perimeter made of terra cotta colored marble. Several Aubusson runners criss-crossed the expanse for guests to step on as they passed through to the dining room and lounge located on either side of the hotel. It was a bit rich for Hermione’s preference but she was with Lucius so she was happy.


He took charge and consulted the Maitre D’ before shepherding her to a lovely reserved table looking out at the ocean – a romantic view with the moonlight shimmering on the waves as they ceaselessly rolled into and foamed against the shore. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy sat beside each other so both of them could ostensibly watch the view, but they were each secretly pleased that they could just sit closely together. The evening was turning out to be very romantic so far.


Lucius ordered a nutritious meal, which had Hermione pouting until she discovered the flavor lost nothing to the nourishing ingredients. Hermione was just cleaning her plate when the waiter pushed over an array of desserts on a special cart. She quickly looked up at Lucius and held her breath, hoping she would get to order a delicacy from the display. Lucius’ lips thinned in disapprobation, but he wasn’t proof against his little spouse’s yearning eyes. “We’ll share one. Which would you prefer?”


Hermione carefully looked over the entire dessert cart finally deciding on a chocolate volcano cake shape filled with hot fudge sauce. When it was set on the table, Lucius wisely didn’t attempt to eat too much, allowing Hermione to savor each separate bite slowly as he sat back and observed her nearly wanton pleasure in her dessert. When the volcano cake was just a memory, Hermione sighed with contentment and turned her amorous attention to her husband. “I’m ready for some dancing,” she purred, “Shall we?”


“Of course,” he concurred, “but first I want to emphasize, no improper use of hands in public. I want to enjoy the evening, not feel like my arse is up for grabs. If you can agree, I’d like very much to dance with you.” Lucius tried his best to keep an austere countenance because he didn’t want any unseemly antics here where the magic world was watching them.


Hermione saw his eyes darting briefly around the room and correctly deduced that their behavior was on display. “I understand, my love. We’ll keep your arse for our own private entertainment.” She lightly touched his thigh under the tablecloth, zinging him, “I won’t do any more here. Promise.” She pulled him up by the hand and walked with him back across the foyer and into the far lounge where the dancing was starting.


Lucius found them a small table set with a glowing magic orb and let Hermione put down her little jeweled clutch purse, before walking onto the parquet dance floor with his wife and wrapping her loosely in his arms for a slow dance. Hermione kept her naughty hands severely above Lucius’ waist as they moved around the floor, enjoying each other’s sensual scents and the erotic proximity of their bodies.


Lucius discovered to his complete chagrin that it was he who was having trouble keeping his hands off his wife’s derriere. They danced the waltz where he got a bit of relief, moving faster around the floor among the other couples, seeing the happiness shining with a seductive luster in his wife’s dark eyes. When that dance ended, they both grinned in complete accord, sharing their simple joy with each other.


He thought he’d never seen her more vibrantly provocative than at that moment, looking joyously up at him like a favored barbarian sex slave, his jewel-collared necklace adorning her throat, but the picture dissipated some when she started fussing with her dress again. She’d been intermittently yanking on her draped bodice, trying to pull it further up over her breasts all evening. In the middle of the next dance Lucius bent down and hissed in her ear as they twirled around the floor, “Hermione, don’t mangle your dress. It’s perfectly decent as it is. You’ll tear something if you keep yanking on it.”


“It’s just not fitting the same way it did when Madam Malkin made it up for me two weeks ago. I feel overexposed; my boobs are getting too big.”


Lucius replied evenly, “Well, I’m sure Madam can recut the top to make it fit you again, but the dress looks lovely on you.” Lucius leaned down and examined the front of her dress more closely then he said cheekily, “Is that…? Yes, yes, I’m almost sure…you actually seem to be developing a hint of cleavage, but only a hint, mind you. I may yet manage to get my eyeballs waylaid down there.” He got his well-deserved pinch but it was on his waist where it hurt more. “Ow, you need to find another method of retaliation, precious. I’m going to be constantly bruised if you stay with this one.”


“What do you suggest? Spanking? I’ve already said I’d like to do that,” Hermione winked up at her handsome husband. “The idea of smacking your butt makes me so hot, I think I’d just melt like the hot fudge in my dessert.”


The idea of her spanking his butt made him hot too, and he definitely didn’t want to be standing in the middle of a public lounge full of rich wizards and witches with one of his noticeable hard-ons. There were several witches here whom he’d already had the ‘pleasure’ of and he was not in the mood to display his aroused assets to women who would be watching the front of his robe knowingly. So far this evening Hermione hadn’t thought of his past or connected any of the females in the room to him. He wanted to keep it that way.


Another slow dance started and Lucius pulled Hermione closer, slowly gliding to a perimeter of the dance floor and into a darker corner where he stayed with her for several more romantic numbers. One of them was a slow latin number, and Hermione enticed him with her ability to keep up with his dark, passionate enjoyment of the dance as he bent her backward a bit and circled her, his icy hot eyes holding her helplessly in his snare. As they moved to the slow, sensuous beat, Hermione’s eyes shot her own scorching message as she succumbed to her husband’s lithe body translating the heady, latin cadence into his own erotic lure of seduction.


The temperature in the room rose by several degrees and the air began to hum and crackle as a backdrop to his intense male power over her feminine softness. She was caught in his web, hypnotized by the narcotic movement of his narrow, masculine hips as he undulated to the suggestive, tropical beat. His pale hair swayed languorously across his back, making her want to tangle her fingers in it and bury herself inside his insidious, pulsing sexual heat – oh, Gods, she wanted that man naked.


When the dance finally ended Hermione knew her good behavior had degenerated into primitive physical greed. Confessing that she had been extremely hard put to keep her hands off his backside, Hermione whispered urgently, “I want to grab your bum so badly I’m ready to scream, Lucius, so maybe we’d better go home now.”


To be completely honest, which Lucius nearly always avoided on principle, his hands were nearly shaking with disobedience too. And his habit of not wearing underwear was currently his worst enemy. His lips twisted in wry acknowledgement of his weakness but he admitted, “Give me five more minutes and I’m afraid my fingers will be diving down your décolletage. So I agree that we had better apparate home before the Malfoys provide an unexpected lounge entertainment that will make the band superfluous.”


They left the dance floor to retrieve her clutch purse, walked back outside the hotel to the courtyard with Lucius properly escorting his wife, supporting her hand on his forearm, then apparated into their bedroom at the cottage. A few seconds later, two naked bodies were intertwined on the bed, tussling for desperate advantage with grasping hands and greedy mouths, both finding exquisite releases in record time and both sporting love bites that neither could afterward remember either giving or getting.


“I think it was the moonlight,” Hermione languidly offered, tucked under a panting, sweating, completely sated Lucius.


He wasn’t so sure. He’d been ravenous for her all during the dancing, yes, but he was of the opinion that the dessert had been more at fault. She seemed to luxuriate in her desserts lately. Maybe it was her pregnancy, but seeing her soft, pink lips suck in the fudge and hearing her moan with rapture had nearly boiled his blood in his veins.


The dancing had allowed him to work off some of the arousal in physical exercise, but he’d never been more glad that he had worn his robe instead of a tux, although even his formal robe hadn’t been quite enough to camouflage his intentions toward the end of the evening. And Hermione had known that quite well, the salacious little baggage. She had kept to her promise of no hands, but just her sweet little boobs displayed by that dress and her aphrodisiacal scent were enough to ratchet him up to berserk as they danced.


There was no doubt at all that he was losing himself to her sexually and dammit, she wasn’t even trying. She just WAS. Her presence alone was enough to keep him on a leash, panting after her like a pet pug. Had Arthur known what would happen? Had the two of them conspired with some kind of coercive love spell? It must be a very powerful spell if so, and he could see no evidence of the gossamer threads it should leave woven on his skin when he touched her. He shrugged off his unwelcome ruminations and slid into slumber, tangling his little precious more firmly against him as he slept. His formidable intellect had willfully misconstrued his malady – a love spell that wasn’t.


The beach property became a regular getaway for them as Hermione’s pregnancy progressed, but after their first visit, they did their dancing in the privacy of their cottage.


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Well, Lucius is trying mightily to keep his most private affections to himself, but I really think he's losing, don't you? Hermione isn't cotton candy sweet from any angle, but Lucius doesn't need that kind of woman. He needs someone just as strong and relentless as he is. But perhaps more innately kind. Stay tuned for more - a lot more.

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