My Konstantine

Chapter Four


When he arrived, she was already sitting on the edge of his white leather couch, one that was placed in the middle of his living room. Her hair, instead of the long white-blonde it had been only moments previous, was now a shocking shade of magenta that would have made him blanch had he noown own what he was going to get out of the deal.

Sex—and apparently lots of it.

“Took you long enough,” she said with an impish smile upon her glowing face. Her pale skin was reflecting the dim candles that were enchanted to light up when someone was present in the room, and Percy suddenly found himself quite thankful for the feature. The last time he had done anything like—like what he was about to do was with Penelope, and—

And he didn’t want to think about her right then. Or ever, really, if he were going to be completely honest with himself.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he stared hungrily at her lounging figure, not really very sorry at all.

She watched him for a time, tapping her long fingers against the armrest of the couch. He stood mesmerized by her languorous body even as a clock somewhere nearby struck one o’clock in the morning.

“It’s getting late,” she murmured, lazily bringing her right hand up to touch the hollow of her collar bone. “Shall we go to bed?”

He didn’t need any more encouragement.

“If—if you want,” he squeaked and was immediately horrified. He was almost twenty-one years old, for fuck’s sake—he could have at least kept control of his voice.

She flashed a wicked grin. “I most certainly want, babes, I can guarantee you that.”

He shuddered slightly before slowly walking over to where she was. Once he was within reach, he offered her his hand and she took it, her soft skin sending shivers down his spine.

What was it with this woman? He had met many others who were, in ways, much prettier than she was, but her allure—he couldn’t help but want nothing more than to bury himself under the covers with her and never come out. If he were told that he could have to spend the rest of his life with her, alone or otherwise, he would die a happy man.

And he had just formally met her less than eight hours before.

When she was finally standing upright, he bravely slinked an arm around her waist and pulled her in close, enjoying the feeling of her soft body pressed up against his in a glaringly obvious contrast.

“Hard already?” she murmured wickedly, and he knew full-well that she had already been well aware of the power she held over him. She twisted her hips in a delightful way, grinding against his erection in a way that made him almost gasp with pleasure.

This already and they hadn’t even kissed.

That, he decided, must soon be remedied.

“Can’t help it,” he mumbled into her hair, his left hand finding its way down to the mound that was her arse. Noting her perfectioe ide idly wondered if this was actually her standing before him—her being her in her natural form, he amended. And then he decided he just didn’t care.

“So what are you going to do about it?” she whispered, her lips millimeters away from his earlobe.

He didn’t bother answering verbally. Instead, he turned his head so his lips were brushing up against her cheek, and when she pulled back ever so slightly, he maneuvered once more until he had captured her lips with his own.

When he got right down to it, his tongue had never touched anything that tasted as good as she did. As he lost himself in the flavor of her mouth, they managed to make their way through the living room and down the hall until they reached his bedroom. This was familiar territory, and he felt decidedly more comfortable there than he had back at Headquarters. Here, there were no siblings or fathers or mothers to walk in on them, and there was no Remus Lupin to smell the lingering scent of sex on their skin after they were through.

That, above all else, was what he was most thankful for.

When he shut the door, she pulled away from him unexpectedly and giggled, reminding him that she was only human—although, he mused, even goddesses laughed.

“What?” he murmured, too engrossed in her lips to really pay attention to what was going on anywhere else.

“Your room,” she said, giggling again. “It’s so bloody clean.”

He looked up and frowned slightly. Nineteen years of living with his mum had drilled into him good housekeeping skills, and it was against his nature to leave a bed untidy.

“Would you rather it was messy?” he asked, running his hand down the curve that was her side.

“No,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his once more. “We’ll be making it messy enough on our own.”

Delighted, he shivered at the prospect and, at the same time, hooked his thumbs onto the bottom of her t-shirt and pulled upwards. She moved wordlessly with him, and soon she was standing before him in a magenta bra, her worn jeans still hanging from her hips. He stared at her golden skin greedily, licking his lips as he allowed the shirt he was holding to drop from between his fingers.

A little mess was good every now and then, after all.

“I have matching knickers,” she murmured, stepping forward until her breasts were smashed up against his chest and her hips were pressed up against his.

“Really?” Percy replied, unable to tear his eyes away from hers. “Can I see?”

She laughed a loud, throaty laugh that made him harden even further. Instead of replying, however, she leaned forward and pressed her full lips against his, sending a shockwave of that something through him for what must have been the umpteenth time that night. Her hands somehow found their way up to his neck and his hair and oh
How had he survived for so many years without her?

Simple, he thought to himself—the whole point was that in fact, he hadn’t. Skin on skin, teeth on lips, hands roaming in places that were supposed to remain a mystery…this was life. This was living. Him in her, it was the breath of life he had never had. On one plane of existence, it was just sex; just a terrific shag he might or might not tell his friends about in the morning, one that he’d fondly reflect back on when he was past his prime.

But they had passed that level the moment he had first entered her, back in Grimmauld Place.

Somehow, inexplicably, they had fallen onto his bed which, as promised, was no longer tidy. He noted with detached satisfaction that she was pulling her shirt over her head—where had his robes gone?—and that, because of the darkness of the setting for their first encounter, he was seeing her bare skin for the first time.

A whirlwind of hands and lips and clothes flying everywhere led to her naked body—her gorgeous, soft, curvy naked body—hovering above him as she straddled his own naked body.

Naked. He hadn’t any idea that such a state could be so ungodly wonderful.

She was teasing him now, brushing her fingertips up and down his pulsating erection, as if thinking idly about what she wanted to do with him. He figured it was entirely possible that that was exactly what she was doing; he’d never know for certain, however, and when realizing this, he decided it would be much better if he just focus on how bloody wonderful she made him feel.

“How do you want me?” she murmured, shifting so her wet heat was centimeters away from the tip of his hard on.

Torturous villainess, most shrewd of the shrews of Stratford…

“Just—” He gasped as she wrapped her fingers around him and squeezed. “Just like this.”

And then she came down on him. Hard.

Once fully sheathed in her tight hotness, he could do nothing but moan and grope blindly for her sides—her hips—her breasts—he didn’t care, as long as he was touching her, feeling the warmth of her skin on the palms of his hands. For that single eternal moment, as she rode him with her head thrown bad and every inch of her glowing skin exposed, she was his and he was hers.

In a way, it was almost poetic.

He came inside of her with a shuddering gasp of relief, and she soon followed, her moans quite possibly the sweetest sound he had ever heard. She collapsed on top of him, her body small enough for him to be able to wrap in his arms without either having to shift positions at all.

She was a perfect fit, he noted bemusedly, too exhaustedly awestruck to think much of it. He knew the conversation would come; after all, they couldn’t very well fall asleep like this, with the candles still burning and the cool night air whispering against their hot skin, despite the fact that she was tucked neatly in his arms. They would have to move sometime.

But Percy would have been perfectly content to stop time and stay like that forever.