What He Wants

Alright folks... this is the last of the orginal 6 chapters for this story... for those of you awaiting chapter 7 hopefully I'll have it up soon. It is finished just so you know.


A/N: Thanks to Niam and Phoenix Burning for giving good... beta

Disclaimer: I don't have a British accent

-bw
P.S.
Have a nice slice of pie.

Two weeks had passed.

Two weeks since she agreed to marry him.

Two weeks of slow, methodical, stoking of the passion that burned hotter than any fire he had ever encountered. She was like mercury, firing his nerves, and boiling his blood in ways he had never experienced, or expected.

It was frightening to think that he was prepared to stand idly by and allow her to consume him so thoroughly, but he was. In fact, he was enjoying every moment of it, relishing every lick of fire that she scorched across his body.

Soon, he would be but a puddle at her feet, where he once stood a pillar of ice. She would melt, and evaporate him, then breathe him into her body where he would burrow himself into her very being.

This was not how he had imagined being with her. It would almost be too much, if it weren't for the fact that in reality, it was too little. If he could only quench the constant need that had him stalking her in the corridors at all hours of the day and night.

He was like a man possessed!

And he was rapidly losing control over the situation.

She was just so responsive to him though. He couldn't stop now even if he wanted to, which he most certainly didn't. He had never been with a woman of her caliber seemingly so enthralled by his touch. Naturally, he just couldn't help himself.

She was so beautiful, and brilliant, and kind, and delicious...

It was a real effort to maintain the resolve to save her virginity for their marriage bed.

He raised his eyes, tilting his head just enough to see her from his position at the Head Table.

She was sitting with Potter and the youngest Weasley (by far the most tolerable of the lot) and facing in such a way that she had a clear line of sight of him.

She seemed to sense his eyes on her and glanced up to meet his gaze, flushing becomingly at the contact. Her eyes sparkled brightly with unbridled desire for him, and he felt an answering heat rise to his own cheeks.

Gods.

She was a force of nature, and one to be reckoned with for sure.
She was like trying to embrace a wildfire. She seared his senses, inflamed his heart, and consumed his very soul.

He could only imagine what it would be like to finally loose himself in her heat.

It would have to be soon.

For his darling, little, Gryffindor bookworm was beginning to turn the tables on him.

Bless her scholarly little heart; she had begun an extensive research tangent on everything erotic. It seemed that she tackled the subject with the same fever as everything else she that decided to put her considerable efforts towards.

Naturally, she was excelling.

And he was slowly losing his mind.


*****


Hermione was beginning to suspect that Severus was trying to drive her completely insane; make her positively mad with desire.

To be in the same room with him was a slow torture. She could literally feel him on her skin even from half a room away. His very gaze ignited her to such states of desire that often stole her breath away when she could meet it straight on.

It was obvious by the way he looked at her, that he could feel it too. If not his gaze, then surely his frantic kisses and heated declarations were certainly a good indicator.

Oh yes, he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

The only thing she didn't get was, why wouldn't he just make love to her already? What in, Merlin's name, was the man waiting for?

Surely she had proven herself an effective student in his highly unorthodox curriculum.

She had certainly applied herself to the subject, hadn't she?

Of course, he was a harsh and demanding teacher, and despite the tenderness he lavished upon her, she doubted his standards had lowered one whit.

Particularly on a subject such as this.

Well, she would just have to try harder, find that thing that would push him over the edge, and hopefully, her into his bed.

Oh, she knew that he was terrified of losing that iron tight grip he had on her virginity. Though she couldn't understand why, considering the things he had already done to her.

Deliciously sensual, highly erotic things that made her insides tingle at the mere memory.

It was like some – wonderfully strange, erotic, scary, dream-like state of affairs.

Her gaze clicked with his from across the great hall.

She needed more.

She needed his...

She blushed as the image of his manhood popped forcefully forward in her mind.

Yes, that was most definitely what she needed.

In the interest of her research, she had taken to studying the male form as it existed within the castle walls. Actively comparing the way Severus' um... well- package – stacked up against the current sampling, and found that he certainly seemed – fortunate – in that department. It was a bit unnerving at first, staring at every male crotch that passed her way, and she began to feel like a bit of a pervert for doing so.

That was until she realized that the bits and bobbles of boys did absolutely nothing for her, while Severus' were quite appealing to gaze longingly at, much to his chagrin no doubt.

Whenever he caught her doing it he would just give her a bemused grin, and a look that bespoke a hint of befuddlement.

Almost as if he couldn't fathom why she enjoyed looking at him so...

Which was simply ridiculous.

Once you got him out of all those clothes, he was quite the specimen. Baby soft, alabaster skin dusted with fine black hairs that covered well defined muscles twined around a tall, wiry frame. He was a study in contrasts. Black and white, 'so unlike his personality,' she thought with a snort.

She wondered if anyone else had ever seen the passionate side of him.

That was really a quite ridiculous thought though, because obviously he was experienced and quite talented in the ways of wooing.

Surely that level of expertise came with a fair amount of practice.

It was a bit disappointing to think that he had shown his heart to another the way he had shown it to her.

She shook that thought away. No sense dwelling on his past, if she did that she'd never get anything done. She was completely prepared to accept him from this day forward. Hell, she'd being doing it daily for a good many months now as it was.

All that really mattered now was that he belonged to her and her alone, and if he didn't make love to her soon, she was... she was gonna... What? Rape him? Well, that was hardly an option. She doubted she could overcome him physically long enough to pin him down and do the deed.

But, damn it, something had to give.

She wasn't so sure she could take one more of his maddening encounters without doing something drastic, or at the very least... foolish.

She would just have to avoid him until she could come up with a plan. She would not let him approach her again until she was certain that she would end up in his bed. And so help her God, if he so much as looked at her funny... Well, she just wouldn't be responsible for her actions.

*****

It took him several infuriating hours to corner her again. Not the activity he had intended to spend his evening perusing to be sure. He found himself fluctuating between rage and genuine bafflement.

What the hell was she playing at, running from him like this?

Had he offended her in some way? Or more disturbingly, had she finally come to her senses?

His plans for her had been neatly thwarted by this little game she was playing, and the burning desire with which he was plagued since that first taste of her lips, was quelling for the first time in weeks.

Rage was slowly but surely taking over the bafflement.

When he finally found her, she was by the lake, standing on the dock used to bring the first years ashore at the beginning of each year. She was placed in dark relief against the blazing colors that accompanied the setting sun, and for a bone-chilling moment it looked as though her fire for him had finally died.

He couldn't allow that train of thought to continue though, she had made him a promise, a promise to which he had every intention of holding her.

He tamped down the anger that he knew would only serve to distance her even more, with great effort.

It wouldn't do to give her a reason to run.

She would be his damn it.

He snuck up behind her, using an accommodating wind to mask his approach.

"Have you enjoyed your little game of hide and seek?" he asked with a dangerous purr that made her shiver visibly. He trapped her against the railing from behind, caging her in his arms, and with his body. "Because let me assure you, my dear, I have not," he continued hotly in her ear.

She shuddered again.

"I can assure you I was not playing a game," she whispered, her shoulders sagging somewhat dejectedly.

He felt his heart clinch at that. "You are avoiding me purposely then?" The words were dry in his mouth.

"Yes," she again whispered.

"Why?"

Did he really need an answer to that question? There were at least a hundred good reasons for her to avoid him, none with which he could reasonably argue.

"Because, you're driving me crazy," she huffed, drawing further in on herself to keep from touching him.

Well that took the wind out of his sails. What could be driving her so crazy that she would wanted avoid him?

He took up the space that she had created, pressing further into her body.

"How?" he drawled into her ear, his lips lightly brushing the shell.

Her breath hitched noticeably as she leaned into him reflexively.

"Please don't do this to me," she begged softly. "I-I just can't take it."

Well, that wasn't the clearest answer she could have given him. But Severus was no fool, and prided himself on his ability to read others, particularly body language, and hers was speaking volumes at the moment.

It was becoming all too obvious that he had an extremely aroused witch on his hands. Perhaps a bit too aroused.

He couldn't help the sigh of relief that the revelation caused.

Still... there was nothing like a good tease to set a mood.

"Do what?" he asked innocently as he began to trace her hip lightly with his hand. He wanted to hear her say it; say that he was driving her to distraction with his touch.

He wrapped his other arm around her waist, and drew her closer. He let his lips find the soft skin of her neck, and placed tender kisses up and down its length.

She sighed into him, tilting her head to give him better access despite herself.

"This, you big prat," she muttered tartly, gesturing absently in his general direction, before whimpering softly when his lips found that particularly sensitive spot on her neck. "I swear if you don't stop, or make love to me real soon, I'll... I'll..."

She trailed off her threat as he drew the lobe of her ear between his teeth and nipped it lightly.

He snorted in amusement. "You'll what?"

"I don't know," she huffed in annoyance, "but I can assure you that it won't be pleasant."

Clearly, she had waited long enough, and he really had no desire to see what she might consider – unpleasant. He had seen her in battle after all, and had no real desire that set that part of her off. Besides, she actually might decide to take a more drastic action should he deny her much longer.

He knew that despite the obvious lack of Weasley's presence since the near duel that had prompted Severus' original proposal, they had not heard the last of the boy. It wouldn't surprise him to learn that the boy was just waiting in the background for Severus to do something as foolish as letting Hermione get away from him, for whatever reason.

Severus knew he would if the situation was reversed.

He had not spent the last fortnight priming the girl; just to have her throw away her virginity on what he was certain would be a very accommodating Ronald Weasley.

An irrational surge of jealousy flared within him.

She was his witch damn it. Only he would take her, and he would make damn certain that no male would come after him.

He spun her so that she faced him, and took her into a bruising, possessive kiss, pouring every inch of his need for this woman into her in a near brutal desperation.

"You made me a promise," he whispered hotly as he lipped his way across her jaw. "I insist that you make good on it now – this instant."

His voice cracked on the last word, choked with emotion and desire as he was. It was a wonder he got the words out at all.

She met his pointed gaze with a wide-eyed, wondering look, no doubt realizing what he was insinuating.

Wizarding marriages were notoriously simple once one party agreed to the other's proposal. A brief incantation, the signing of names to a brief statement of intent, and a kiss would bond them together.

Reversing the process was a much more difficult achievement.

Not that he would ever consider it. There were simply too many advantages to making Hermione his wife. She was young, brilliant, motivated, and very powerful. She had plenty of time to bear him an offspring or two after establishing herself in her chosen field.

The indeterminate space of silence was growing ever longer, and Severus had the horrible feeling that Hermione was about to turn him down, but then finally...

"Just like that? You expect us to be married just like that?" Her tone was a bit shrill, and she snapped her fingers to give physical credence to what she thought of his time frame.

"Yes," he replied simply. "Is there a problem?"

She stepped out of his embrace, and then wrapped her arms about her waist pensively.

"Severus." There was hint of exasperation in the way she said his name. "It's not that simple, Severus. We- we haven't made any kind of plans for this, and you can't just expect me to just drop everything and run away with you. Even if we just eloped it would take me several days to come up with a workable plan. It – it just doesn't work that way." She began to chew her thumbnail thoughtfully.

What the hell was she talking about?

"Why do we have to run away? We could simply perform the ritual here, right now," he replied, doing his best not to panic. She had agreed to this after all.

She sighed as though what he was suggesting was most unreasonable.

"You act as if we could just wave our wands and be done with it. A Wedding takes a bit more effort than that, even a simple one.""

A Wedding? Who said anything about a Wedding?

A Wedding was a muggle ceremony, and certainly far too ostentatious for what he had in mind, which was becoming clear that the little know-it-all had no clue about.

It almost made him laugh.

"There you go, brewing without a caldron again, my dear." He smirked. "What makes you think I'd be willing to subject myself to something as insufferable as a muggle Wedding ceremony?"

He crossed his arms, and drew himself further into his billowing robes. No doubt they were about to have their first fight, and he refused to go down in anything less than his most intimidating stance.

His defensive posture brought out her aggressive one as she balled her hands into fists then dug them into her hips in the stance of angry women everywhere.

"And just what, pray tell," she asked testily, "did you have in mind, sir?"

He took a step towards her, and loomed, making her have to tilt her head upwards to maintain eye contact.

"You don't know?" he retorted in his most derisive classroom tone. "Surely, Miss Granger, with all that extra research you have been occupying yourself with, you've managed to look up a marriage custom or two."

She blanched a bit at that, then blushed furiously.

"Obviously not," she replied hoarsely. "I supposed I just assumed it wouldn't be that different from muggle customs."

He had a Greasy-Git moment and felt a small amount of glee at her obvious inattention to this particular detail.

"Well, my dear, let me assure you then that you are most undeniably wrong." Gods, how long had he been waiting to say that and it be true? He did love her honestly, but he had been waiting nigh on six and some odd years to get one over on her. "Wizarding marriage rituals are quite straightforward compared to those which muggles choose to subject themselves. There is no elaborate ceremony, and all that is required is a quill, a bit of parchment, an incantation, a kiss, and the desired mate, of course."

"Oh," she whispered softly at this revelation. Then narrowed her eyes with a fair amount of fury, and jabbed a finger into his sternum. Painfully. "However, I don't think I much care for your obvious enjoyment of my ignorance. I admit that I should have looked into it a bit more closely, especially since I agreed to it, but..."

He cut her off with a raised finger. "I am only going to explain this to you once, as you are such a brilliant young woman you should not have any difficulties following along, and I am only explaining because I truly respect you, Hermione, but make no mistake you will become my wife momentarily.

"When I asked you to marry me, I initiated the process we are about to complete. When you said yes, you agreed to complete the ritual at my request. I have just now asked you to do so. There is no turning back without serious repercussions. Unless you are seriously having second thoughts and not just –jitters- at the inevitable coming a little sooner than you expected, I suggest you tell me or get over them."

He reached out and grabbed her waist, forcibly pulling her back against him.

"I can no longer be denied," he said tightly.

He felt a responding tremble rush through her body, and knew that she was reaching the same conclusion.

"Well then, I don't suppose you have that fabled bit of parchment and a bloody quill do you?" she asked, her jaw set determinedly.

He smirked. "As a matter of fact I do. I thought it might come in handy at some point or another," he replied glibly.

She shook her head and gave him rueful smile. "And you call me insufferable," she retorted tartly.

"You are," he replied, then traced a gentle finger down her cheek. "However, I wouldn't have you any other way." He captured her lips in a brief kiss. "Now, stop stalling and marry me you impertinent girl."


*****


Fifteen minutes and one marriage incantation later found her standing nervously in the doorway of her husband's bedchambers. It was strange; she so desperately wanted to do this, to be with him this way. But she wasn't so sure about the wife part.

Clearly, it was too late now though.

She had done it. She had married him. She was now, his wife.

Oh God.

She looked up to see her husband – oh god, husband – stretched out across the bed. His robes and coat draped carelessly across the chair in the corner, his boots hastily discarded beside it.

Suddenly, his bare feet came into her line of vision and she found herself unable to tear her gaze from their presence. They were long and slender, and as pale as she knew the rest of him to be, but for some odd reason the sight of them was almost unbearably intimate.

It reminded her forcefully of the first time they were together in his bed; the first time he had stoked her to a blazing inferno. She knew he had been barefoot that time as well, but she had not paid any conscious attention to them. Since then, each of their encounters had seen them mostly clothed through out.

All except one.

They had had one other encounter where he had allowed himself to take pleasure until completion. The night he gave her the ring that she now wore on her left ring finger, the night she had thought that they would finally make love. Instead, he ground out his pleasure against her hip as he choked her name out when he came, shuddering in her arms.

He had grabbed her cheeks in his long pale hands after that, and began placing whispered kisses on all the places on her face that made her sigh, all the while muttering, "not yet, not yet."

He was overwhelmed, she was certain, though for the life of her she couldn't figure out what he was waiting for.

Apparently, yet had become now.

This was what she had been waiting for, what she had wanted for, needed even.

Obviously, he got what he had been waiting for as well.

He was saving this for their consummation. He wanted her as his wife before taking her completely.

It was unexpectedly old fashioned of him, considering all the things they had done.

"Problems, Hermione?"

The sound of his voice pulled her out of her wool gathering.

Was there a problem?

"I don't know," she replied honestly.

He pulled himself from the bed and, in a surprisingly fast move, was standing before her.

"Is this not what you want?" he asked as he gathered her into his arms. He placed a light kiss to the place on her neck that never failed to remind her why she was in love with this man. His rich smooth tone dropped to a husky murmur, "Have you not begged this of me on more than one occasion?"

That was true enough. She had done that, and shamelessly so. Why was she hesitating now? Was the reality that much different? Was it just the whole 'married' thing? Did it really matter?

She hadn't planned on leaving this situation, at all. She was just going to continue to stay. Here. With him. Did it really matter that the marriage took place a little sooner than expected?

In the grand scheme of things, she supposed it didn't.

"Yes, I want this," she murmured back. "I want you."

"Then come to bed with me. Let me make love with you, Hermione. I have so longed for this moment; the moment when I am finally inside of you, feeling you around me."

His words were hot and breathy in her ear, and he took her hand and dragged it to his hard, pulsing member with his own, squeezing them together around the turgid flesh.

"This is for you, Hermione. All for you. This is what you do to me day and night."

Oh god...

"Yes," she hissed, too lost in the feeling of his hard cock in her hand, ready and willing to finally be in that place she desired, to be much more coherent than that.

She began to rub him more vigorously through the thick wool of his pants, wanting him to be as ready as possible, as hard as possible, before piercing her virgin flesh.

She had little doubt that his size alone would dispatch her maidenhead with little more that a single thrust. Nor did she doubt that whatever pain might occur, would not override the deep need to have him inside of her. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that only the spilling of his seed inside her womb would slack the fire that he ignited in her.

The mere idea of it increased her enthusiastic ministrations to his cock, making him growl and hiss like some otherworldly cat-like creature, before he stilled her hand abruptly.

"Careful," he admonished gently. "We wouldn't want a conclusion before we have a beginning."

She blushed at that, though the idea that she could have made him come in his pants was somewhat heady, if rather counter-productive at the moment.

Perhaps some other time then, when her need wasn't so great.

"Sorry," she muttered wryly, dipping her chin to her chest.

He chuckled softly, and tilted her chin back up to meet his gaze.

"Never be ashamed of what you do to me, Hermione," he said, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. "I know I'm not."

She squeezed him saucily. "Care to show me how this thing works then?"

He chuckled again, the tremor of it rumbling through his torso and vibrating her nipples in a most delicious manner.

"I'd be delighted," he drawled silkily while pulling her hand away from him, and gathering her into his arms. "However, first things first, I believe I need to prepare the way as it were."

He kissed her then, passionately and all consuming; his tongue twining around hers sensually. Gods, but she loved the way he kissed her. He never failed to bring about that giddy, tickling sensation in the pit of her stomach whenever he would bring his mouth to hers.

Right then and there, she knew she would never tire of the way he kissed her, or the way he touched her for that matter. She just hoped that she would never tire of his hard member plunging deep within her.

Which she most definitely wanted very soon.

He began a slow, torturous process of removing her clothes, seemingly savoring every clasp, every button that came undone with his long, beautiful fingers. He reveled languidly in every centimeter of flesh that he revealed with his tongue and lips until she was gasping for breath.

The heat that had plagued her so since the beginning of his admitted feelings for her, began to build until she felt as though she has quicksilver flowing through her veins instead of blood.

'Quicksilver in his arms.'*

Or something like that. It was something she was certain she had read once in some lurid tale or another, but the point was finally coming home to her, though at the moment her mind was too befuddled to remember from where the quote originated.

"Oh gods," she groaned as his hot mouth found a turgid nipple, laving and suckling at her until her knees were nearly too weak to hold her up. Only the arm that stayed wrapped around her waist kept her from falling to the floor in a puddle at his feet.

She felt him smile into her flesh, at her breathy declaration before moving to her other breast and treating it in equal fashion.

She threaded her fingers into his soft, lank hair, holding him to the spot for just a few moments more, before pushing his head away from the sensitive bud.

"Please Severus," she crooned breathlessly before pulling him by his hair back to her lips for another one of those mind blowing kisses of his.

He pushed her backwards until her knees collided with the edge of his bed, and she was awash in the sense of déjà vu as she was carried back to the first time she had been in his bed.

Gods, the things he had done to her that night.

Then he pushed her again, hard enough to land her rather ungracefully across the bed. He gave her what could only be described as a hungry look as he grabbed the edges of his shirt and literally ripped it from his own body in his haste to disrobe.

She was briefly disconcerted by the look, and the intense focus he seemed to be paying her, and she found herself wondering (not for the first time) if she would be enough to fulfill his obvious desires.

"Don't do that," he whispered in that dangerously soft tone that never failed to quell the most obstinate of students as he stalked her across the bed. "Don't doubt what you are capable of doing to me, Hermione," he clarified at her questioning glance, his half nude body snaking its way up her completely nude form. "I'm certain that I have made it clear to you that you are more than enough for me."

How did he do that? How did he always know exactly what to say when she had those moments of doubt about her desirability?

All pondering left her as she felt his bare chest come in contact with her own, her nipples straining against the light grazing of his fine chest hairs as he slid up her body. His fingers traced fine, intricate patterns on the inside of her thighs, causing them to part automatically to his touch.

"Yes," he hissed softly into her neck as his fingers parted her wetness and pressed against her clit just right with practiced ease. "Open for me, Hermione. Let me make you come," he growled against her flesh.

She opened even further, allowing his fingers access to her opening which he immediately plunged long fingers into, stretching her tight channel to prepare the way for his much larger member.

Her breath caught at the realization that this was finally it, that soon he would be inside of her, and all she had to do was have an orgasm to ease his mind of her preparation. She bucked her hips into his exploring hand, desperate to get this part over with so she could finally have him buried deep within the quivering heat of her body.

Her need for him was blinding, and his ministrations became more focused and intense, and she was almost there, but she needed something, something to send her over that edge that would bring her one step closer to heaven.

"Talk to me," she gasped, somehow her body recognizing the need to hear his deep, sensual voice to take her over that final hurdle.

"Gods, Hermione," he groaned as he quickened the stroking of his fingers inside her tightening walls. "So hot... so wet for me. I can't wait to feel you wrapped around my cock, my cock that is so very hard for you. Come for me, Hermione. Come so that I can bury myself inside of you."

That did it. That was what she needed to reach that crest. She heard him whisper something else but was too far gone to understand what he said. It all became moot, however, when she felt something poised at her entrance, something much bigger than his fingers, and before she could even consider the ramifications of that, he was inside of her.

Finally, blessedly, deep inside of her.

There was no pain, and the feeling was so much more than she could have ever hoped for.

The only problem was that he had stilled completely.

"Severus?"


*****


Oh sweet Merlin. If this wasn't heaven then there was surely no such place. She was so tight, as he knew she would be, but the reality of it was overwhelming. He had never been sheathed in such tight heat.

He couldn't move.

The grip her virgin sex on him made it nearly impossible to do anything but just be.

He knew that she had called to him, could even hear the concern in her tone as she said his name, but he simply couldn't speak at the moment. He had waited so long for this, had been unbearably hard for her for so long, that he just needed some time to savor the sensation of her wrapped so snuggly around his aching cock.

He needed to give her some indication that everything was as it should be though.

A kiss perhaps; he could manage a kiss.

He brought his mouth to hers; kissing her as deeply as his cock was buried within her tight sweetness, making her moan. He swallowed the sound which seemed to go straight to his manhood, making him impossibly harder and making his organ throb in time with his heartbeat against her slick walls.

She relaxed the death grip she had on his cock, giving him enough slack to perform an experimental thrust deeper into her nearly stinging heat. It was like bathing in fire and being too numb to feel the pain but conscious enough to see the flames.

"Oh sweet Merlin," he breathed out against her mouth.

She wrapped her legs around his buttocks, opening herself further and giving him the space he needed to begin a series of long, slow strokes. The friction was unreal, searing his nerve endings, consuming him as he knew she would, and he found himself wondering how he would ever hold out until she was able to have her fill of him without succumbing himself.

"F-finish it, Severus, p-please. I-I don't think I can take much more," she pleaded through shallow pants, her gaze redirecting to the place where they were fixed together; her wide eyed gaze clearly fascinated by their joining.

He followed her gaze, resting his forehead against hers for purchase. The sight truly was something to behold. He had never watched before, had never been compelled to observe the act of his cock sliding in and out of a lover, but then, he had never had a lover quite like her.

Not lover, wife.

Oh gods, this was his wife he was invading in such an intimate fashion. His wife that he was now free to do this to at any available opportunity and no one could say one whit about it. There would be no taking her away by another man or her friends and family.

She was his, finally, irrecoverably his.

His pace picked up without his conscious consent until he was pounding into her, molding her womanhood to his specifications, making her his perfect fit. Soon her body would be like coming home, and he fully intended to set up house in this new residence.

"Mine," he growled in a fit of possessiveness. "My Hermione!"

He claimed her mouth once again, drinking her in, claiming her completely in body and soul until finally he felt her break apart in his arms; the milking action of her tight walls soon sending him spiraling after her.

Then there was nothing but darkness as he collapsed on top of her.

tbc...

* A/N: The Quote: 'Quicksilver in his arms' is a nod and wink to the absolutely divine story 'Letters for Exile One Merciful Morning' by the most talented TexturalSphinx. Go read it for god's sake.
Here is the link-
http://ashwinder.sycophanthex.com/viewstory.php?sid=9016