Defamation of Character

Chapter Six –

Hermione cracked her knuckles. She knew it was a disgusting habit, but it helped with the creative process. Biting the inside of her cheek, she stared at the ocean and let the lull of the waves soothe her worries. She harnessed her Cassandra muse and put pen to paper.

Our honeymoon in the tropics is paradise. Actually, I think it’s paradise. I wouldn’t know since Simon hasn’t let me out of bed long enough to explore. My husband is still upset over everything that happened. I, for one, owe his grandfather, Albert, my eternal gratitude. Without his meddling, Simon never would have been assigned to protect me.

Happy with the ease in which she was penning the long overdue epilogue to The Darkest Magic, she giggled with giddy enthusiasm. She was going to make the sleazy bastard rue the day he showed up in her hot tub.

“Come back inside, my love,” Simon murmurs against my neck, startling me as he sidles up to me and wraps his arms lovingly around my waist. His hands make quick work of the sash, and my robe spills open.

I gasp. “Have you lost all sense? Someone could see!” I pull my robe closed, trying to discourage him. The balcony is high, and the wind is warm off the ocean, but it does not negate the fact that anyone could come along and see my husband making love to me.

He growls, grinding his erection against my buttocks. “The sun has yet to rise, Cassandra. No one can see us,” he reasons with me.

“Absolutely not,” I groan in protest as he swipes his tongue against my earlobe. He is incorrigible. He knows what that does to me. I feel the fire spread through me as he nibbles on my tender flesh. .

“I need you, Cassandra,” he murmurs huskily.

I turn in his embrace, and we kiss. My tongue sweeps into his open mouth, surprising him with my boldness. My hands mold his shoulders, and then his torso. Rubbing myself against his pale, almost hairless chest, I smile as I remind myself that I must get him into the sun, for he is in desperate need of some color.

--

The blue notebook fluttered open, capturing Severus’ attention. “It’s about time the bloody wench started writing,” he growled, as he started to read.

“Simon and Cassandra,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. “Why is she writing about those two again? I thought that piece of literary trash was complete. Honeymoon? Disgusting tripe.”

Severus continued to read. Unlike The Darkest Magic, what she had written was from Cassandra’s point of view and in the first person.

His eyebrows rose. “Sex on a balcony?” He looked out the glass doors and eyed the wraparound porch. “That certainly does have potential.”

Severus took a sip of his tea as his eyes glided over the page. …Rubbing myself against his pale, almost hairless chest. He choked on his tea, tears burning his eyes as he coughed and sputtered.

“Hairless chest!” he gasped, remembering his initial outrage over the similarities between himself and Simon Sanders… Remembering that Simon had a hairy chest and not a hairless one. In awed frustration, Severus watched as the words appeared on the page with an easy flow.

Simon pushes down on my shoulders. He is the only man I have ever—or shall ever—bed. I may not feel completely secure in my own sexuality, but I know what he wants. I’ve read about it in those magazines I found in my Aunt Edna’s attic so many summers ago. I lick my lips in anticipation as I kneel in front of him.

He is unashamed of his own nakedness. My gaze can do nothing but linger on his erect manhood. It is a mere breath away from my face, the tip weeping with a clear drop of excitement. He brushes my hair to the side and tilts my lips toward him. The expression in his eyes is one of dark hunger

Tentatively, I touch the mushroomed cap of his sex with my tongue. I know not what to expect, for I am a novice.

He inhales sharply as though I’ve hurt him, but he groans and takes hold of his member and rubs the tip against my cheek. “Please,” he hisses, moving the rigid flesh toward my eager lips.

His eyes were dry. He couldn’t blink. His cock grew thicker and heavier as she continued writing.

Granting his request, my hand covers his and we stoke the embers of his desire in unison. As the silken flesh slips past my full lips and into my mouth, his hands find their way to the tangles of my hair. He tastes of the earth, warm and full of life.

His rod of flesh twitches in the cavern of my mouth, and he whimpers, emboldening me to create a cadence of ecstasy to lure him closer to completion.

Severus groaned, unable to resist the picture she had painted with her words. He rubbed himself through the fabric of his trousers as he unconsciously widened his legs, forgetting the past few days and his attempts to intimidate and dissuade her.

Twisting my hair between his fingers, Simon takes control. He holds my head and pushes his needy member further into my mouth. I hollow my cheeks, providing more suction. After all, that is what it says to do in the book.

With a harsh growl, he relinquishes his hold on my head, granting me the freedom to pull away. But I continue, determined to finish this delectable treat. Within the breath of a moment, his salty essence splashes onto my tongue.

Severus blinked rapidly and waited for more to appear on the page. When he realized there was no more, he slammed the notebook shut and stood up, intent on either killing her or making her finish the scene.

As he reached the door, the cold touch of reason returned to him and he groaned. “Merlin, how could I have been so daft?”

He hobbled out onto the porch and looked over the railing at the bloody bane of his existence. Hermione Granger was a seductress. She may not have touched him… well, other than breaking his nose and accosting him with the notebook… but she certainly thought she knew exactly how to manipulate him.

Ignoring the torment of his arousal, Severus walked into the sitting room, grabbed the blue notebook, and started editing.

--

Lounging by the pool after a quick dip, Hermione rubbed her hair dry with a towel and sighed. She was quite pleased with the scene she had managed to complete. Her tormenter should really enjoy the bloody thing.

Her notebook leapt from the small table next to her chair and fluttered in front of her.

“What the—” she gasped, suddenly remembering that he had charmed it. The pages fluttered as if someone opened them. When she saw the touch of red ink against the paper, she hissed in outrage.

A note from your editor:

First of all, I thought your novel was about Virginia and James. Secondly, I can see who you are writing about, but am baffled as to why you would include this scene in your current novel. Why is this scene written in the first person, present tense when the rest of the book is written in the third person, past tense? I am no literary expert, but if you intend to include this scene, you need to fix it.

I, for one, do enjoy the first person, present tense of the scene. It lends a personal touch to your narrative. If you were to go back and rewrite The Darkest Magic I would be more than happy to give you some insight as to what Simon is thinking… seeing as you did model him after me.

Slamming the notebook shut, Hermione resisted the urge to toss it into the pool. That bloody, pig-headed, self-righteous bastard! Who the hell does he think he is?

Closing her eyes, she envisioned shoving the tool of her trade up his tight arse but quickly shook the thought from her head. Not only would that be a messy endeavor, it would be nearly impossible as well. Unfortunately, she couldn’t go on accosting him. He had magic; she didn’t. Although that would soon be remedied as soon as Ginny arrived.

Hermione took a shaky breath and decided to ignore his edits. “Personal touch,” she grumbled. “I’ll show him personal touch.”

She opened the notebook and found even more “editor notes.”

…Hairless chest? I thought Mr. Sanders had a hairy chest.

Growling, Hermione began to write.

--

Severus paused as he added more notes to further antagonize Miss Granger. He was surprised when more of the tawdry scene began to appear on the pages.

I stand, unprepared as my husband crushes me against him and begins to kiss me passionately. His tongue swoops into my mouth. He groans, as he tastes himself upon my lips.

“Cassandra,” he pants, pressing his fingers against the juncture of my thighs. He finds me wet and needy. Just as he begins to pleasure me, he withdraws. I watch in awe and slight disappointment as he brings his fingers to his lips, licks the moisture from them, and mutters something.

I do not understand. Maybe it’s an incantation.

Simon grins, his opaque eyes staring into mine.

Then I feel it… the glide of a tongue caressing my most intimate area.

I jump in surprise, and my husband laughs. “Let the spell run its course. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

All I can do is groan and squirm. He turns me in his embrace and nibbles the sensitive slope of my neck. I can feel his recently-sated manhood against my bum.

“Watch the sunrise, my love,” he murmurs, brushing the back of his palm against one of my breasts.

I whimper as he seduces me with his words and his magic. God, I love magic! “Simon,” I cry.

He grinds against me. “Just imagine, Cassandra,” he whispers. “Imagine what it would feel like if I were inside you right now.”

I moan, awash in decadent pleasure. I lean forward and widen my stance, forgetting my earlier protestations. I am on fire. My husband’s lurid imagination has corrupted me.

“His lurid imagination!” Severus scoffed. “More like the lurid imagination of the author!”

“Tut, tut, Young One,” Simon chastises playfully. “I couldn’t possibly take advantage of my wife in such a manner.”

Moisture coats my thighs as I welcome another orgasmic wave. “You had better… shag… me… if you… know what’s… good for you.”

Lifting my robe, Simon nudges my legs farther apart. I grasp the ledge and wallow in bliss as my husband slides into me.

Severus slammed the notebook shut and conceded defeat. He could feel the heat in his cheeks, though why he should be embarrassed he didn’t know. After all, it was Hermione Granger’s deluded fantasies he had just read, not his own. Her personal prose was a bit on the insipidly romantic side. But it certainly did garner his lustful attentions.

Like most men, he was more a visual connoisseur than a literal one. However, the picture that she had painted was one that he had no difficulties imagining as he stared out over the ocean.

Shaking his head, he had to remind himself why he was here. He needed to dissuade his former student’s crush. He needed to destroy any fanciful notions she may have construed about his character. He could not have her filling his students’ minds with nonsensical romanticism. His job was difficult enough without having to fend off unwanted advances.

He must remain firm in his convictions. He could not relent, nor could he start to appreciate Miss Granger’s obvious attempts to strike back at him, no matter how much she seemed to think he deserved it. She had started this whole mess, after all, by writing that idiotic book and using him as the main character. It was time to let Miss Granger see just whom she was fanaticizing of! He had set out to seek a revenge that would be worthy of his Slytherin nature. He sighed. Then why did it feel as though it were beginning to unravel?

The truth of the matter was… he didn’t really have much of a plan, other than making Miss Granger miserable.

Erect and uncomfortable, he walked toward the master bathroom and flicked his wand at the shower, turning the cold water onto full blast. Dammed if he would lower himself to masturbation on the words of some romance writer! He hadn’t anticipated Granger’s vengeful quill, or her rather detailed imagination. Once he was finished with his cold shower, he would finish editing her newest entry and think of a different tactic.

--

As Hermione penned the last bit of the scene between her beloved characters, a tidal wave of embarrassment overwhelmed her. She looked down at the page and no longer saw the angry, red scrawl of editor notes mucking up her creative processes.

What she had written was a poorly disguised attempt at seduction! She had opened up the floodgate of her frustration and had let it all pour out.

Hastily, she scribbled over what she had written. Why… why didn’t she just write him a personal note, detailing what she would like for him to do to her, or better yet, what she would like to do to him? What on earth had possessed her to write about Simon and Cassandra?

Good gods, she was pathetic! Here she was, regretting her brash Gryffindor behavior and wishing that the sun would melt her into an oblivious puddle so that she would not have to suffer her former professor’s snide comments—or worse, seeing him face-to-face. In setting out to “punish” him, she had only humiliated herself further.

Glaring at the horizon, she cursed under her breath. Where was Ginny, and what was taking her so long?

--

TBC

Author’s Notes—First, I must apologize for the delay in posting. My surgery went well, but unlike the last surgery, I was unable to type after wards. I now have voice recognition software thanks to my wonderful, supportive husband. It is a slow process. Luckily, I got the majority of this chapter written prior to the surgery.

Secondly, I would like to thank my beta readers. Jen is my cheerleader, constantly poking and prodding me to do my best. CocoaChristy is my mind reader, polishing my sentences and completing my thoughts. Soul Bound is my comma Nazi. She is currently on vacation, so if there are any commas out of place, it's my fault. Beta reading is a thankless job. If you feel the need to leave feedback, please thank my beta readers. Without them, this story would not be written.