Lost Souls Found

Fanfiction based in the world of Harry Potter, created by JKR. Her characters are hers. Original characters are mine. No pecuniary rewards. Please see first chapter for full disclaimers and description.

Thank you to my Betas, Elaine and JL. Any remaining errors are my own.

Warning: The \"naughty bits\".

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Chapter 56: Honeymoon

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The Thestral took them only as far as Hogsmeade where Severus retrieved a Portkey at the transit station, which took them to Bristol. There was an elegant five-star Wizarding Hotel there, where Severus had booked the Honeymoon suite, of course.

He smirked at her playfully before lifting her easily to carry her through the door to the suite. It was luxurious, with thick plush carpeting and supple leather furniture in the sitting room, a small but well-stocked kitchenette with a cozy table and two chairs, and an enormous bedroom with a massive bed dressed in deep purple and midnight blue. The bedroom even had an enormous en suite bathroom complete with a huge, sunken whirlpool tub.

Each suite, according to the advertisement, had its own designated house elf to provide every possible luxury and convenience.

There was a fireplace in the sitting room and bedroom, the one in the bedroom already roaring merrily. Several lit candles lined the walls in artistic sconces, adding to the soft glowing light of the room.

Severus set her gently onto her feet at the doorway to the bedroom. He put the satchel down and removed the trunk, tapping it with his wand to restore it to normal size for unpacking—later.

“Rowena, come here,” he said commandingly. His intense gaze took her breath away as long-banked desire flared instantly to life.

“Wouldn’t you rather I change first?” she asked coyly. “Tonks and the girls bought some interesting lingerie for me at my Hen party. I thought I could model it for you?”

He arched one expressive brow and his black eyes darkened impossibly with his own answering passion. His voice was husky with desire.

“Intriguing, but no,” he said silkily. “Come here, wife. I will help you out of that princess gown.”

She felt as though she glided rather than walked the few steps to his arms, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. He caught her up, almost crushing her against him in his ardor.

His tongue sought entrance to her mouth at once, hot and demanding, stroking and seeking. She met the welcome intrusion with her own, sliding and caressing as they wrestled together in joyous passion. He broke the kiss to reach up and remove the glittering headband from her hair and set it carelessly aside on a nightstand next to the bed.

“I knew this would be beautiful on you,” he said tenderly as he undid her hair to let it cascade down her back. “I think you must have been the most beautiful bride ever to grace Britain.”

“Oh, Severus,” she sighed, blushing in pleasure at his rare praise. He smiled at her wickedly, playing his hands through her hair.

“I want to see you dressed in nothing but your hair and that blush,” he said, claiming her mouth hungrily again. His hands roved her back in soft, gentle caresses which left tingling fires in their wake. She wanted his hands on her skin, not through thick beaded fabric! His desire seemed to be the same, as shortly the gentle caress became more searching, demanding.

“Where are the bloody buttons on this dress?” he said irritably against her throat.

“Not buttons, hooks,” she said breathlessly, her head arched back to bare her neck to his suckling kisses there. “Hidden in the seam in the middle.”

He found the hooks and his nimble fingers began to unfasten them, slowly, one by one, toying lazily over each new fraction of an inch of bare skin revealed by his progress.

She clung to him, kissing neck and throat and jaw, tasting him, reveling in the familiar scent of him. Her frustration at his slow teasing was soothed somewhat by her own exploration of his chest as she began to unfasten his never-ending buttons. The cravat was soon gone, thrown forgotten to the floor. The fine silk of his robes felt sensuous beneath her fingers, warm and slick from contact with his body—but it had to go. As each button was undone of the robes and shirt beneath, she licked and kissed the fair skin, toying her fingers through the ebony hair of his chest.

The bodice of her dress was so snug she wore nothing beneath it. When the hooks were undone enough, he gently slid her arms out of her sleeves and peeled it down revealing her, naked to the waist, before him. He impatiently shrugged out of his robes and shirt and cast them aside, baring him likewise, wearing only his trousers.

His intense gaze pierced her as he stared at the expanse of flesh, remembered in its perfect flawlessness. It was not flawless now, however. There were faint white lines crossing the golden skin, remnants of her ordeal. His brow furrowed as he reached out to trace one long, thin scar, but she pushed his hand away.

“Don’t,” she said urgently. “It’s done, over. Don’t let shadows of the past spoil this now.”

She pulled him close again, nuzzling at his neck and ears, sighing with pleasure at the feel of skin to skin at last.

He held her close, one arm possessively around her waist. The other arm reached out and pulled the blankets down on the bed, revealing satin sheets. He lifted her effortlessly and laid her on the sensuous coolness of the slick fabric, discarding her shoes and his boots and socks before climbing onto the bed to join her. He was amused to notice a silver sickle fall out of one of her shoes and roll away.

He began to relearn the contours of her body with hands and mouth. Molten, open-mouthed kisses at her throat, her collarbone, seeking, tasting. Every sound of pleasure she made ensured he would return to that spot, touch it in more ways, learn just precisely what touch was best. Firm, deep pressure here. Soft, tickling caresses there. His hands stroked her skin as though he was a blind man reading the Braille of her body.

The puckered peaks of her breasts were a dark, dusky rose. She moaned blissfully when he caressed one with the palm of his hand, wriggling wantonly against his touch. He leaned forward to kiss it, his hair falling forward to flutter over her flesh, leaving its own tingling sensations.

He flicked his tongue across the peak of her nipple and she arched up against him, as though pulled by her breast toward the magnet which was his mouth. He grasped the puckered nub in his teeth, worrying at it gently, lashing it vigorously with his tongue. Her hand fisted in his hair as her breathing became more erratic. He trailed kisses across her chest to her other breast, to lave the same attention there.

She writhed beneath him, pressing her groin against the thigh he held tight between her legs, as though to get some relief by grinding herself against him, desperately. Her slender thigh rubbed suggestively against his hardness and he was quickly forced to move away from the delicious sensation, lest he end too soon.

He found the remaining fasteners of her dress and pulled off the heavy masses of silk and beads in one smooth motion, taking her tights with it. She was left laying before him in nothing but a bright blue wisp of nearly transparent lace underpants—and her cascades of hair fanned in disarray beneath her on the bed.

He sat at the edge of the bed to gaze at her intently. He curled one long, thin finger beneath the waistband of the scanty knickers and raised a sardonic brow.

“Were these from your Hen Party?” he asked in amusement.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly, her chest heaving from the force of her breathing. “Something blue…”

His piercing gaze and the question were enough to elicit the desired response—she blushed, bright enough to be visible even in the dim lighting. He smirked in satisfaction and grasped the waist of the underpants. Holding his hands against her skin, he glided them down the smooth expanse of her shapely hips and legs in one long, slow stroke as he pulled them off of her. He discarded the garment on the floor with the dress; the vivid blue a stark contrast against the white.

He paused to appreciate the effect, staring at her hungrily until she squirmed wantonly under his searching gaze.

“Severus, please!” she said softly, holding her arms out to him in urgent welcome.

He smirked wickedly and returned hands and mouth to their slow, teasing, steady exploration, gliding up first one slender leg, then the other, ghosting over her torso. He did not avoid her scars, even as they filled him with remorse. Instead he kissed them each tenderly, almost reverently, as he paid homage to her body.

Her hands traced over his skin, but her touch was not so light. She kneaded the hard, sinewy muscles with a firm grasp, tugging at his shoulders. Fingernails scraped in a touch just beyond gentle, the almost-pain an exciting contrast to the need which had long been building within him. He did not want or need to be more aroused than he already was at present, and often shifted to evade her touch, focusing all his attention on her.

She pulled him up to her, kissing him hungrily. His scent ignited her; his touch burned her. For months he had denied her, denied them, what they wanted, needed. The ache of desire inside her was almost desperate. She fumbled with the fastening of his trousers. His feral grin met her frustration but he made no attempt to assist her. Unable to manage the fastenings at the awkward angle, she moved her hand to cup him through the fabric instead, knowingly caressing and squeezing his hardness. He relented and removed trousers and pants in one, lest her touching should finish him too quickly.

He stretched out beside her and she rolled to her side to press herself fully against his body, wholly skin-to-skin at last. She gloried at the erotic sensation of his hardness as it rubbed against her belly as she rocked against him, slick and smooth. He stifled a choked moan and pulled away from the stimulation before it became too much. He had wanted her too badly, for too long. He would not last.

He gently pushed her back onto her back and threw one strong leg over hers, as though to hold her in place. He bent down to kiss and suck at her breasts and then leaned up on one elbow to look at her.

She was exquisite. Flush with desire, her lips swollen and dewy from his kisses, slightly parted from the rapidity of her breathing. Her eyes were dark with desire. She looked wanton. The gentle light of fire and candles flickered over her perspiration-damp skin, causing it to seem to glow with a light of its own.

He slid his hand down to toy in the dark curls of her hair at the joining of her thighs and she moaned beautifully. Every sound, every proof of her desire merely stoked his higher. He deliberately sealed himself from their Bond lest her desire throw his control entirely over the edge. Instead, he watched her body and her face for evidence of it.

One long finger dipped down into her wetness to slide the moisture back up over the swollen bead of turgid flesh which yearned so desperately for his touch. She cried out when the expert finger danced its feather-light circle around the center of her need. He suckled at her nipples, moving his tongue in time with the motion of his finger, carefully watching her. When he sensed she was nearing her peak—he stopped. He kissed her mouth, hungrily drinking in her mewling sounds of protest and whimpers of need.

It would be quick, when he finally joined her. The only way to be certain of her pleasure was to see to it first.

She felt languid beneath his drugging attentions. She was lost in a sea of sensation and desire. Expert touches guiding her to the very peak of bliss, the endless, eternal plateau of wanting, yearning. One more stroke, one more touch, and she would be there, crashing into the infinite… but he would stop, leaving her body thrumming with need, trembling with tightly coiled desire.

Over and over he did this and each time she felt THIS time he would fill her and release her… this time the aching want would be answered, the vast emptiness of her desire would be fulfilled.

At last she could take no more. When he kissed her frustrated cries away, she kissed back savagely, ardently, her hand at his back clutching and clawing desperately. His restraint snapped. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him. He could no longer hold back. He rolled his weight fully onto her, slipping his knees between hers. She almost wept with relief as she eagerly parted her legs, arching up her hips to meet him.

She was slick and moist from his attentions, the dewy lips of her sex swollen and open. He positioned himself and they brushed against him like a welcoming kiss. Te last of his control crumbled. His restraint of the Bond was gone as well, their passionate emotions meeting with the same crashing crescendo as their bodies as he slid deep inside her in one smooth stroke. He tried to hold still, to savor the hot, gripping tightness for a moment at least, but their need was too great.

Her arms clung to his shoulders, his back, pulling him down onto her as though to meld their skin together, crushing her soft breasts against his hard chest. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, grinding up against him, pressing him still deeper inside so the base of his shaft rubbed against her aching clitoris.

She cried out in passion as she shattered into a thousand points of pleasure, wave upon crashing wave shuddering through her. The gripping spasms of her body as she climaxed felt as though that most intimate core of her body was trying to swallow up his, to suck him even deeper inside. His sounds of ecstasy followed hers as he pounded into her, joined perfectly in body and soul, filling her with his seed and his pleasure.

It was a very long time before they came down from their high. Aftershock waves of the shuddering pleasure still lingered long minutes after their bodies had stilled. She still held him tight, arms and legs wrapped around him in joyous celebration of their reunion at last.

Slowly and gently he slid off of her to lie beside her and pull her into his arms. He did not want to lose the contact just now anymore than she did. Their bodies were sweat-damp and even with the fire, the room was cool. He pulled up the rest of the bedding to cover them. The satin sheets might have been uncomfortably cool on first contact if not for the warmth of their bodies together.

She nestled against him, her head on his chest, listening to the soothing sound of the beating of his heart, too perfectly content to have any need for words.

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It was still dark when they woke, though neither of them cared to pay attention to time. Her body was utterly relaxed, draped over his, her head on his chest, the feel of her warm and soft and perfect against him. She raised herself up, resting her chin on her hand to gaze down at him. The candles had gone out, or a house elf had extinguished them, leaving only the light of the fading embers of the fire.

“Hi,” she said, smiling happily.

He snorted. “Hello yourself, wife.”

“You okay?”

“If I am not, it would be churlish of me to say in light of the circumstance, don’t you think?” he said, smirking with amusement. “Besides, oughtn’t that to be my line?”

She giggled.

“I am quite certain I heard something crass along those lines at your brother’s wedding, when his esteemed guests were trying to humiliate him and his new bride as they were leaving. Something about, if she could walk properly after the honeymoon, he’d done something wrong,” he said sardonically.

“Severus!” Her giggle turned into a squeal of laughter. “That’s positively indecent!”

“Hmmm. Then it matches my thoughts at the moment,” he said casting her a feral grin. He was rewarded by the delicious shiver which ran through her, which he felt through her warm skin against him. “Perhaps you ought to show me what other scraps of lingerie you have hidden in your trunk.”

It was too dark to see her blush, but he knew it was there. She lowered herself to kiss him tenderly.

“If I’m going to model expensive lingerie, I need a bath,” she said firmly. “Dancing at the wedding made me all sweaty.”

“Among other things,” he said suggestively. “A bath is an excellent idea; I believe I will join you.”

He slid out from under her and went into the bathroom, completely unconcerned with his nakedness. He was exceedingly thin; but wiry, well-defined muscles rippled across his body as he moved with his cat-like grace. The golden light from the fire suited his complexion as well, giving a warm glow to his fair skin.

She heard him move about in the next room and then the sound of running water before he returned to scoop her up effortlessly. She squealed in surprise, but did not resist, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head on his bare shoulder. It was extremely erotic to be naked in his arms like this and she sighed contentedly as he carried her to the next room.

The tub was indeed enormous, but already seemed nearly filled with scented foam. It was situated in the corner of the room, with mirrored walls on two sides and soft, lavender scented candles in holders on the ledge in front of the mirrors where they reflected the gentle glow. The tub was so large it had steps leading down into it and two molded lounge type chairs along the sides, with massaging bubble jets from neck to feet embedded into the chairs.

He sat on one of these, settling her on his lap so that she was waist-deep in the warm, swirling water. She moved to slide away, to sit on the other chair, but the iron band which was his arm around her waist held her in place.

“How come you get the nice massage chair, then?” she said, pretending to pout.

“Because I did all the work,” he said, smirking unrepentantly. “Besides, I’m an old man with numerous chronic aches and pains. If you desire me to perform adequately, I must tend to them judiciously.”

“Oh, you!” she exclaimed, laughingly splashing sudsy water into his face. “Old man my hat!”

He blinked and turned his head, but not fast enough, as white foam struck home. Towels and flannels sat neatly stacked along one side of the tub, in easy reach of the occupants within. She grabbed one of the flannels to gently wipe the soap away from his eyes.

He snatched the cloth away from her and smirked at her dangerously. Her breath caught in her throat at the intense look and she shivered again in spite of the warmth of the water.

He wet the flannel and randomly selected a bar of scented soap from a nearby basket full of the multicolored bars, and lathered the cloth. With the slow, intense deliberation he gave to everything he did, he began to bathe her. He was not a man to do anything by halves and this was no different. First he lathered, and then duplicated the motions to wipe away the soap.

He began with her hand, slowly and sensuously washing and massaging each finger with his own, beneath the sudsy cloth. The natural nubs of the terrycloth were just rough enough to be an additional stimulation, like thousands of tiny cat-tongues lapping at her skin. He massaged her sensitive palm, rubbing strong thumbs firmly over it; expertly releasing tension she hadn’t known was there.

From her hand the seeking cloth slid up her arm, circling it gently to touch every millimeter of skin with long, gentle strokes. Up her arm to her shoulder, collarbone and neck. Even the delicate shell of her ears and behind them. Down her neck again to shoulder, arm, and hand on the other side, repeating the tender attentions there. The entire process was repeated as he rinsed the soap out of the flannel and now chased it slowly over her skin to wipe the residual away.

His eyes followed the cloth as though memorizing her everywhere. The intensity of his tender scrutiny was like another touch. He said nothing. He didn’t even kiss her, so focused was he on his task. Yet she felt precious, like a rare and delicate flower he was tending cautiously—perhaps in his case like a rare and delicate potions ingredient.

She sat obediently; rapturously gazing at his face, awed at the expressions of tenderness and passion she could read there. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel beautiful, beyond earthly beauty.

The questing flannel slid back up her arm to return to her chest, her torso, the nubby cloth heightening her sensitivity, as though electrifying her wherever it passed. He washed her breasts with gentle care which was almost reverent. He moved in a slow, teasing figure-8 pattern leaving the dark rose colored peaks untouched, yet puckered in anticipation.

His dark eyes flew to her face, then, watching her expression. He had an indecently smug expression on his face at the desire clearly written in hers. He ghosted a flannel-covered thumb across one hardened nipple and she gasped softly, throwing her head back wantonly as she leaned forward into the touch.

He smirked knowingly and repeated the sensation on the other side, which rewarded him with a tiny whimper. Again he rinsed the soap-slickened cloth and tormented the trembling skin by precisely repeating his every motion before, now to wash the soap away.

Too soon, he left her breasts and adjusted her position on his lap, moving her away slightly to give him freer access to her legs. The cloth felt like a living thing beneath his hand, like a thing with a mind of its own. It was a living tongue, each tiny nub like a taste bud seeking to memorize her flavor, licking at her like a lolly, tasting each morsel of her flesh. His hand trailed down one slender thigh and calf, teasing at the erogenous zones of her inner thigh and behind her knee. The cloth gently licked and tasted her ankle, toying with the sensitive skin around her delicate heel and tendon.

The consuming thing massaged her foot, playing suggestively with each toe, releasing tension in the ball and arch of her foot, while causing tension of a very different sort deep inside her abdomen. Slowly, it climbed back up her leg again. Her thighs parted brazenly, her body yearning for the touch there. His caress across her inner thigh was feather-light, delicious, teasing… maddening. Only the tiniest ghost of a touch as the trailing end of the flannel brushed against the mouth of her core before reaching the other thigh. With slow deliberation, he exactly mirrored the attention of the first leg and foot with the second.

By the time the cloth slowly glided back up her leg, she was almost panting with desperation. The burning cloth passed by her need to caress its way up her torso again. She was over waist-deep in the water; there was no need to rinse her legs. She was immensely sorry not to have the delicious sensations repeated yet again.

Once more, he repositioned her on his lap, as easily as though she was a rag doll. She felt so relaxed and languorous in spite of the desire burning within her, she almost felt like one.

This time he turned her to face completely away from him, settling her between his legs and pushing gently forward on her shoulder so she leaned away. He gathered the damp mass of her hair and put it over one of her shoulders to gain free access to her back. He must have also collected a second flannel, because she could feel both of his hands moving over her back beneath the gently roughened cloth.

Long, slow strokes of his hands massaged and washed her back and shoulders, as though every inch of her skin was precious to him. Wherever he touched her ignited tiny fires of passion until her entire body felt like one raging inferno of ardor. She was a quivering dichotomy—simultaneously utterly relaxed and languid—and yet fever-bright with desire.

The talented hands slid down her arms again and pulled her back to recline against him. She moaned in contentment, as she felt encased by him, his strong arms around her, his long legs along side hers, his hard body behind her, holding her close. She could feel his hot breath at her ear as he began to nibble and lick the flesh he had washed.

The position was reminiscent of the Thestral rides, the erotic way he had held her and touched her then—driving her wild even fully clothed. This was the resultant fantasy at last made real. She could feel his rock-hard shaft pressing hot and urgent against her, giving additional evidence to his arousal, besides the ragged breathing which tickled seductively across the supple valley of her neck. She leaned her head against his shoulder, joyously giving him freer access to her throat and shoulder.

His mouth teased and tormented all the erogenous places he could reach. The tender joining of neck and shoulder, the almost hyper sensitive skin at the nape of her neck, the delicate shell of her ear—none of it escaped his grazing teeth and sipping kisses. His hands slid down her body between her legs to tease and torment the delicate petals of her core. The fingers danced across her inner thighs, the thumbs lightly passing over the aching bead of her clitoris, leaving her breathless and wanting. She arched her back to attempt to follow the teasing hands, stimulating his hardness pressed between them with her writhing.

His breath caught in a barely stifled groan and he shifted her again with more urgency to his actions. He lifted her easily in the buoyant water, sliding his legs closed beneath her. She murmured her approval and parted her legs to straddle his and positioned him eagerly at the aching entrance of her emptiness. His hands at her hips controlled her descent in one long, slow stroke. His soft moan of satisfaction mingled with hers as they joined.

One strong arm wrapped tightly about her waist, holding her tightly impaled upon him, but not allowing her to move. For long moments they were motionless, breathless and wanting, yet savoring the sense of connection. His hard shaft filled her tightness, throbbing in time with the beating of his heart. Her slick, muscular passage echoed the throb with involuntary, clenching spasms of her own, as desire curled tighter within her.

She wanted to move, to rock, to slide with him into ecstasy. His vise-like grasp would not permit it—he was not done exploring her, teasing her. The flannel found its way back into his hand and across her body, unerringly reaching her center. He stroked her lightly through the tender-rough fabric of the flannel—too lightly to bring release, yet too much to allow her some relaxing of the desperate need within her. Just enough that each stroke caused her body to quiver around him in aching half-spasms of unspent passion.

Maddeningly, as she drew closer to the brink, the flannel—the tortuous thing seemed to have a life of its own—brushed even lighter, the minutest caress of a thousand tiny fingers flitting across in a feather-light touch. Only the cloth alone caressed her now, as he dangled it teasingly where it would just sweep across the nub in ghostly touches.

And then, where an instant before the touch had been frustratingly not enough, it suddenly became just right. Perfect. Wonderful. Exactly what she had always needed, how could she have ever imagined wanting more, don’t stop, don’t change a thing, please…

Her body tightened in one long, slow grasp from entrance to the very mouth of her womb, both of them trembling now in the passionate, perfect, suspended-in-time moment of pure pleasure in that infinite instant before release. His long, low groan as he gave himself up to the inevitable echoed hers as the first wave slammed through her, her body gripping around him deep inside her. His arm at her waist was no longer holding her still. He rocked her against him in short, urgent strokes which kept him deeply buried within her so he could feel the waves of her pleasure, and she his, as intimately and completely as possible.

They rode the waves to the end, floating in a sea of bliss, weakly echoed by the warm, swirling water surrounding them.

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She insisted on wading through the ocean looking for ‘perfect’ seashells to take home to Katrina until her robes were wet to the waist and her lips were blue with cold. At that point, he would no longer hear arguments of ‘just one more’ or ‘but look at that one over there’ and insisted she return to the suite.

“Now, go take a hot shower before you freeze off something of which I have grown fond and I will order supper,” he said imperiously. “When you get out, you may show me what it is our sister-in-law believes is worth claim to my favor.”

Her teeth were chattering too much for her to give coherent argument, or even invite him to shower with her—though they had done that several times to their mutual enjoyment. She nodded obediently and disappeared into the bathroom.

Half an hour later he was sitting on the sofa before a warm fire, having used several warming charms in the room as well to ensure she would not be chilled.

“All right, I’m coming out, but you have to close your eyes,” she said. This had become enough of a ritual over the last few days he did not argue, but set his book aside and closed his eyes expectantly. He could hear her soft tread on the carpet and scent her shampoo as she passed by him.

“Okay, you can open them.”

His profound silence and intent gaze embarrassed her as much now as the first time, but she tried not to fidget.

This one was a tiny scrap of red lace. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised to find it was made from a single thread! Her hair was straight and loose, having just been dried from her shower, and she had pulled some of it forward as though trying to hide behind it.

It did, in fact, conceal more than the garment did.

However, the incongruous attempt at modesty clashed so violently with the brazen adornment he found it all the more erotic.

This bit of lingerie her sister-in-law had purchased for her was very likely to become his favorite, at least of those he had seen so far. It started at her shoulders to plunge in a daring ‘V’ to the junction of her thighs, barely widening enough along the way to cover her nipples, leaving most of the ripe swell of her breasts wantonly exposed. More of her torso was revealed than covered, as the ‘V’ did not join until just in time to cover the dark mass of curls at her pubic bone.

Thin, spaghetti-strap ties at each side of her waist joined the front ‘V’ to the back to accent her narrow waist and the gentle curve of her hips. This was merely a mockery of a nod to ‘modesty’, as it in no way held the article ‘closed’ beneath her arms.

“Tonks bought it,” she reminded him, as though worried he would think she would chose such a thing for herself. “She thought you would like it. She said to tell you that you owe her one,” she said, fidgeting in spite of herself in the face of his silence.

He said nothing, but arched a brow and made a turning motion with his finger, indicating he wanted to see the back. She hesitated, a blush suffusing her face, but turned.

Her hair was almost, but not quite long enough to conceal the portion of the thing causing her embarrassment. Indeed, her hair spilling down her back nearly concealed the entire bit of useless lace. Except for one, tiny detail.

The back ended in a thong.

“Very well. You may buy your sister-in-law something nice for her upcoming wedding anniversary,” he said, smirking at her in sardonic amusement when she turned back to face him. “Something very nice, though tell her she lost points for the color. How dare she buy my wife something in Gryffindor red?”

She giggled nervously and sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck—which was not the way to stay dressed—such as she was. He kissed her warmly and let his hands trail over the exposed areas—where he had plenty of room to ‘play’. Unfortunately, the house elf who attended this suite was unfailingly prompt and their meal appeared on the table with a ‘pop’ without any sign of the creature.

“I believe I know what I will have for dessert,” he said silkily.

“Mmm,” she agreed, kissing him languorously once more. “Sounds delicious. I’m just going to put on something warm, I’ll be right back.”

His arm tightened around her, preventing her from leaving his lap. He was not as adept at ‘doing’ her hair as she was, or even the werewolf, nor did he wish to be. He liked it loose. However, on this occasion, he managed well enough to twist the silky soft masses before tying it in a knot which was quite sufficient to keep it up and off of her back.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I want to see you in that,” he said, with a wicked smirk.

“Severus!” she said, blushing. “I’d feel less indecent if I was wearing nothing at all!”

“Precisely,” he said, leering at her teasingly. “I was unaware I was capable of such lascivious thoughts, but I find I am enjoying them. You will just have to attempt to learn to tolerate the result.”

She gave a very exaggerated ‘put upon’ sigh and pretended to slump wearily against his shoulder.

“I suppose I will learn to manage,” she said, spoiling the effect by giggling.

The evening was rather chilly. Rowena’s body involuntarily proclaimed the temperature as her nipples pressed brazenly against the scanty lace of the fabric. Then again, the responsibility for that might have been the hungry feasting of her husband’s eyes on her body during the meal. Whatever the reason, he enjoyed supper a great deal.

They both enjoyed dessert.

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A/N: One of my betas believes very strongly that this chapter is entirely superfluous, and obviously I agree—I almost did not list this chapter at all on FFN for fear of getting myself thrown out of their archive. It was difficult to censor this down enough to be certain to meet their rules and still have anything left worth posting.

I am surprised, considering how much I enjoy reading it, to find that the ‘steamy bits’ are actually very difficult to write without feeling repetitive. I hope this meets your approval. Comments lovingly adored. On to Chapter 57 and the Epilogue!