Craving

Author\'s Note:I own nothing you recognise.

She stalked down the old stone corridors of Hogwarts, relishing the silence that pervaded the air. How often these past few months had she prayed for it? The castle both her friend and her enemy, in providing half-hidden dark corners for quiet and hastened trysts, but without the privacy she and her lover (Master) needed.

How long had she been stuck, in a teeth-clenching spiral of frustration, of need and unsatisfactory sensation?

Her skirt dragged on the floor behind her, the hem in front just high enough that she didn’t trip, that she could see the jewelled slippers on her feet peek out, the glitter of the embroidery slowly drawing the eye. The velvet felt heavy and deliberate on her thighs.

Tonight would be the night they finally gave in, let go and succumbed to every dark fantasy either one had ever possessed, safe in the knowledge there were no students around to hear it.

Her choice of outfit had reflected this anticipation. In the end it had come down to dressing like one of the school-girls they had spent the past few weeks directing hateful thoughts at, or the robe in which she was currently clad. Both would (hopefully) have the result of driving his need, his lust higher, so this night would be a rich firework-like explosion of climaxes.

She needed to be fulfilled, damnit. This itch inside her had been growing ever since last summer, the last occasion she had pulled herself out of his bed to stagger to her own, and was promising to drive her mad if it wasn’t scratched soon. Tonight. Now.

She smirked. ’And what he’s got is more than adequate to reach that pesky spot.’ Her smirk widened. ’Oops, vulgar, vulgar Granger. Watch that tongue!’ She broke into a grin. ‘I hope he does.’

Eventually she had given up on the tartan skirt and tight white shirt as too clichéd, and left them languishing in the box in the back of her wardrobe. Her gown now was the darkest possible green velvet, off the shoulder and moulded to her torso before full draped skirts bloomed from her hips. Her only underwear was a pair of green lace panties. Drops at her ears, a simple necklace and her Tiffany’s bracelet added a touch of silver to the overall look.

It always drove him that extra bit wild when she wore his house colours.

She approached his classroom and her step slowed as she bathed in the joyful anticipation. She could roll it on her tongue like some exotic sweet, the hope, the nerves, the lust and the spice of fear. She loved this emotional cocktail almost as much as the dance itself.

Almost.

There was light on underneath the classroom door. Once she had gotten it wrong and arrived on the designated hour at his office in the Slytherin dungeons by accident. She’d never made that mistake again. Her breath caught a little in her throat.

She knocked timidly.

‘Enter,’ came the reply. His voice was enough to send shivers across her skin, as if it contained the power she craved. If it did, it was a poor shadow of the real thing.

She slid through the doorway, shutting the door behind her. He stood with his back to her, supposedly examining something on the blackboard that fascinated him. Black robes as always, a brandy glass still holding a dribble of liquid clasped gently in his right hand. To the right of the board the door to his chambers was open, deliberately to remind her – as if she needed it – what this evening would hold. She cleared her throat.

No response. She tried again.

“Professor?” Never mind their personal relationship, their years as colleagues, their games of chess and their laughing conversations on literature. Here they both loved the power awarded to him with that title of address, and she adhered to it religiously.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” He responded to the title as she knew he would. Just that suggestion, that hint that he had power over her brought a new wetness between her legs.

“I am here, as requested, Professor.”

“What of it, Miss Granger?” Her throat went dry. He was going to make her beg. The trickle of wetness became a gush, and suddenly her thighs were slick as she rubbed them together, shifting from foot to foot where she stood.

“Please…” Her voice cracked, and she trailed off. He turned and looked at her for the first time, those black eyes (so beautiful) pinning her where she stood, making her feel helpless and needy, turning her knees weak to the point she wasn’t sure they’d support her. The half sneer on his face was nearly her undoing.

“Please what, Miss Granger?” His voice held the same sneer as his face, and her love of a challenge rose in her and helped her answer.

“Please Professor, I need you…” She hoped it would be enough. The evening was so new that if she begged for one particular thing she would regret narrowing their possible activities.

It was enough.

He laughed and threw the glass and its contents into the fireplace, where they shattered in a burst of heat and flame. The violence of it brought a new wave of lust crashing over her and glued her to the spot in which she stood, trembling as he advanced on her. Not once had he broken eye contact.

“You need me, do you Miss Granger?” His voice still held a sneer as he reached her and circled her, not touching, not yet. Her trembling grew more uncontrollable, and her nipples grew hard, pushing against the fabric of her dress.

‘He’s like a snake,’ she couldn’t help but make the comparison.

“Do you need me to strip you bare?” He was taunting now, but it only heightened her want. He was in front of her again, but she couldn’t move her eyes to follow his path. “Do you need me to taste that creamy white body of yours?” He continued as he passed beyond her sight line.

“Do you-” He was suddenly behind her, his body hot and hard against her back, one of his hands wrapping around her waist. “Do you need me to fuck you?” The harshness of his words and the tightening of his hand on her waist made her gasp and slump against him. His other hand moved her hair, and he was putting his lips on the place her neck met her shoulder, half biting half licking in a way he knew made her whimper and writhe.

“Do you want that?” She could only nod helplessly as he breathed the words into her ear, too helpless within his grip to do more. She could feel his erection pulsing against her buttocks and wanted to grind back on it-

He was pushing her towards the desks, towards the desk she’d occupied so many years ago. “Well then, you need to be over here.” He half snarled, steering her. She was taller now, and the desk only met the top of her thighs as he bent her over it. A perfect height for her to be bent over and accessible. He was raising her skirts with one hand, fumbling with his robes with the other. She felt him pause for a short moment as her panties came into view, before he ripped them off her, snarling. The pressure the action put on her clit and entrance made her cry out and push back onto him. He chuckled behind her, and she felt him against her buttocks for a spilt second, hard and blisteringly hot, before her plunged into her molten heat.

She cried out, feeling him hot and hard and huge inside her, spreading her open, the slight twinge of discomfort from being stretched and open disappearing in the swirl of the sensations he was causing. The rhythm of his thrusts became steady and purposeful, making her push back against him, involuntary cries falling from her lips. Then he shifted his angle, and he started to rub over just that perfect spot inside her Godsyesyespleaselikethatdon’tstop…

She could feel it inside her, the pressure, the whirling tingle that started in her lower back and spread along her spine, making her lips and nipples burn and quiver, making her clench around him as she arched her back and thrust against him faster, desperately, she was so close so close...

He pulled out, leaving her sprawled on the desk, confused as to what was happening…She had been close goddamnit, why had he stopped, why? The emptiness inside her was like a living being clawing at her that it needed him back, now. She moaned and pushed her hips up into the air, trying to entice, to tempt him back.

He chuckled again. “Little slut.” The words held affection in them as well as the standard humiliation, and she shivered, part embarrassed, part not caring as long as she got to cum. “No orgasm for you until I say, understand, Miss Granger?” He sounded darkly amused.

She nodded, whimpering under her breath. His hand was in her hair at the back of her neck and it drew her off the desk and down onto her knees on the floor, her skirts still rucked up about her waist. He was, even now, rock hard, and coated in her juices. “Suck,” He said, the words quiet but recognisable as a request none the less. She took him into her mouth, the sweet tang of her own taste mixing with his musky one to produce something that she could only think of as them. He didn’t take long to get off, she only had to suck once, twice and he was throbbing in her mouth while he shot himself down her throat as groans spilled from his mouth.

She swallowed, like a good girl, still whimpering at the terrible emptiness inside her.