Brightening up your Monday with fluff and smut
An errant ray of sunlight slipped in past the drawn curtains and shone on Hermione’s face.
A slight frown creased her brow as she turned her head away, resisting the tug of consciousness, only to find her nose half squashed against something hard. And she awoke, her eyes opening.
Oh…
Her nose was pressed against Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s bare shoulder.
She felt what was probably a rather dreamy smile curve her lips as the memory of the night before returned to her mind in a rush.
Harry was asleep. Moving cautiously so as not to disturb him, she shifted a little away from him, curling one arm beneath her head to get a better view of his face.
As always in the few times she’d seen him sleeping, she was struck by how different he looked in sleep. He looked younger in sleep but even so, he didn’t look young. It made her newly conscious of just how much the stresses of the past couple years had aged his face beyond his years, even in sleep but especially so when he was awake. She couldn’t help thinking that the lines around his eyes, the way his skin looked stretched tight across his cheekbones, were evidence of the price he had paid for these years of becoming so familiar with the darkest aspects of magic and humanity in defiance of his true nature.
He stirred slightly in his sleep, his head turning fractionally away from her as a sighing breath soughed from his parted lips.
She found herself focusing on his lips, a flush of heat spreading through her entire body. She wanted him. She was a little amazed at how much she wanted him, the ferocity of the lust she felt. She’d known, of course, that she was physically attracted to Harry, but she was still accustomed to thinking of Harry in terms of her emotional attachment to him, so used to thinking of him as the best friend she cared for so much and less used to thinking of him as a physical, sensual being. Now, though, after last night, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to look at him or think of him again without remembering the way he’d kissed her, remembering the feel of his lips and his hands on her skin…
Almost of its own volition, one hand stretched out, wanting to touch his face, trace his familiar features with her fingers-but then she stopped, her hand hovering little more than an inch above his face.
No, she couldn’t touch him now. She knew what a light sleeper he was and how little sleep he tended to get these days. And she knew if she touched him, he would wake up and she couldn’t-she wouldn’t-cut short his sleep now.
She drew her hand back. No, she wouldn’t wake him up.
Besides, she thought with an inward smile, she could touch him all she wanted once he woke up. She didn’t have to try to hide her physical reaction to Harry anymore. She hugged that knowledge to herself, savored it. And savored even more the fact that amazingly-thrillingly-Harry wanted her too.
She had been so convinced for so long that Harry would never see her as being a girl, never view her in anything other than a purely platonic light. So convinced that even after he’d kissed her, she still couldn’t believe he’d really wanted to do it rather than it just being a thoughtless impulse for friendship or comfort or whatever-the mistake of a moment and immediately regretted. She didn’t think-no, she knew Harry wouldn’t deliberately lead her on to think he cared more than he did or that he might use her for purely physical purposes-but for all that, she also knew Harry’s impulsive streak. She knew the way Harry sometimes acted on the impulse of a split second, out of pure instinct, without stopping to think, and how that tendency led him into trouble. And when Harry had broken off their kiss so quickly-just after she’d realized that Harry was kissing her-and started babbling an apology, it had seemed so… inevitable that the kiss might have been a meaningless, instantly regretted impulse.
But then… to learn that, after all, while it might have been an impulse, it hadn’t been meaningless at all, had been, if anything, all too meaningful…
At that moment, in the surge of joy she’d felt, she really could not have done anything else except kiss him-finally-the way she’d wanted to kiss him for months. And for all the times she’d thought about kissing Harry, touching Harry, nothing could have prepared her for the reality of it. The reality of his lips and his hands and his body…
She felt herself flush at the thought, her body melting, tingling, with remembered pleasure…
And then, as if tugged out of sleep by the force of her wanting him, he woke up. Startled awake, really.
It was a little shocking-and a little saddening-the way he jerked awake, going from sleep to complete alertness in the space of an instant, the immediate return of tension to his body as if he was, in that split second, completely battle-ready.
He turned his head sharply and saw her-and relaxed with almost as much suddenness as he had awoken. “Oh.” The word escaped him in something of a sigh.
She met his eyes, seeing the way the shadows in his eyes retreated, faded, as his eyes became clearer and softer than she could ever remember seeing before, a change all the more noticeable now, without the usual barrier of his glasses.
She felt herself blushing hotly under his gaze, suddenly feeling a little shy, self-conscious, at the new softness in his expression. “Hi,” she finally whispered, inanely, needing to break the silence.
“You’re here,” he breathed in response and there was something like wonder in his tone.
He shifted, turning onto his side to face her more fully, and then lifted one hand to touch his fingers to her cheek in a fleeting, feather-light caress. And there was something like wonder in his touch too.
Her breath and her heart seemed to flutter a little at his touch.
“You slept,” she said softly after another long moment of silence stretched out between them.
“I did.”
She felt her heart pinch a little at the thread of surprise in his tone. And on the swell of tenderness, she reached out her hand to touch him the way she’d wanted to since she’d woken up. The way she’d wanted to touch him for years, really.
His eyes closed at her touch as her fingers gently brushed a lock of his unruly hair away from his eyes then traced his eyebrow before skating down his temple. Funny, how even now, when she knew she could touch him so much more intimately, it was being able to touch him like this-simple, barely-more-than-platonic touches-that meant so much to her. Her thumb lightly stroked the bridge of his nose and then down to touch the dent just above his upper lip. He reached up and caught her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her palm, and she caught her breath at the sensation, the way sparks of desire tingled up her entire arm. She’d never known her palm could be such an erogenous spot but she suspected she’d never forget it again.
He opened his eyes and his expression abruptly changed, his eyes darkening. She followed his gaze to realize, belatedly, that the movement of her arm had caused the blanket to slide down and that, with her arm still extended, he now had a clear view of her bare breasts.
She felt herself blushing even hotter than she had before, her entire body burning with an odd mixture of self-consciousness, arousal, and the beginnings of embarrassment. It had been so much easier to be uninhibited, to invite his touch so openly, in the darkness. Now in the light of the morning…
She could have retrieved her arm, Harry’s grip on her hand having slackened in his distraction, and shielded herself from his gaze. She could have-but she didn’t. In spite of her self-consciousness, in spite of her sudden, uncharacteristic shyness, she didn’t cover herself. Because whatever else, she wanted to be with Harry like this, wanted it enough that it easily over-rode her instinctive modesty.
“God, Hermione,” he finally rasped with a sort of reverent enthusiasm. “I told you you’re lovely.”
She felt his words as if it were a touch, felt her nipples tightening, her insides seeming to liquefy with desire. And she couldn’t help the soft moan of arousal that escaped her lips.
His eyes darkened and flared at the sound and then he reached for her, his fingertips lightly resting on her breast and then tracing a delicate circle, his touch oddly hesitant, as if this was the first time he’d touched her so intimately and he wasn’t sure she would let him. Little tendrils of fire seemed to streak out along her every nerve ending at his touch. He brushed his fingers across her peaked nipples once, twice, until she gasped, a fresh shiver of want streaking through her and pooling between her thighs.
It was stunning, how her entire body reacted to his touch and to his expression, the look of totally focused intensity on his face as he stared at her, as if memorizing the way her body looked and learning the reactions of her body to his touch were the only things in the entire world that mattered to him.
Oh, the way he looked at her… She felt… beautiful. More than that, she felt desirable. Sexy. For the first time in her life. And in some small corner of her, she dimly realized that she’d wanted to feel beautiful, perhaps all her life. And now, she did. Because of Harry. And it was thrilling and, somehow, arousing too.
Only Harry, she thought fuzzily. Only Harry could arouse her so much with just looking at her… In some small corner of her mind that still retained some coherence, she knew that lust was universal and arousal a natural thing-and yet, at that moment, she was somehow sure, too, that this-this unfurling of warmth and knee-weakening desire inside her from his touch and his look-this was unique to them. This was about him and her and somehow, irrationally, she couldn’t help but feel that she was meant to be with him like this. Meant to have him touch her like this, his hands exploring, learning, the curves of her breasts, the hardened peaks of her nipples, the soft skin of her stomach…
He was learning her body the way he already knew her personality and her thoughts… And something about the thought made her suddenly desperate to learn him too.
Her hand had fallen to rest on his bare shoulder but now she moved it, sliding down his arm in a long caress that also served to push the blanket further down, baring them both to the other’s gaze.
And just as he had watched her, studied her, it was her turn now to study him, letting her gaze roam over his chest and then down his flat stomach to his jutting arousal. Harry wanted her. And somehow, even though after the night before and all that had happened this morning, she had already known that he wanted her, even as much as she wanted him, seeing the proof of his desire amazed her all over again.
Oh Lord… It was… him, she thought inanely, any ability to think coherently leaving her brain completely. She was seeing all of him now and he was… He was… She couldn’t think of a word. All she knew was that she burned with wanting to touch him all over.
She let her hand sweep across his chest, brushing her fingers over his flat nipples as he had done to her, and he made a sound like a strangled moan. Her hand wandered further, down his stomach, feeling his muscles contracting automatically at her touch.
He had lost weight, she realized, rather inconsequentially. She knew she had lost weight in the last year but she hadn’t known that he had too. It hadn’t been apparent when he was clothed but now, she could see that it was true. It was evident in the hollows above his slim hips, in the way she could feel his ribs so easily in running her hand down his stomach.
Her heart pinched a little and in the surge of tenderness, she reached for him, sliding closer so she could kiss him, softly at first, and then with more passion, as she felt his arm tightening around her.
She broke off the kiss only to drag her lips down his chin and then further, scattering soft kisses along the line of his jaw and then sliding further down to kiss his throat, her lips parting so she could touch her tongue lightly to the delicate skin just below his Adam’s apple. She felt it bob as he swallowed, a half-strangled groan issuing from his throat, and she smiled slightly against his skin, thrilling at this power to arouse him.
Her hands hadn’t been still either, making their own way south, as she let her hands wander freely over his chest and his stomach and then down, her fingers tracing down his thigh and then up again. Her wrist brushed lightly against his rampant arousal and he moaned, his hips jerking a little, and she gave in to the wordless begging of his body by circling her fingers around him delicately at first. He gave another strangled groan and she closed her hand around him with more firmness and stroked.
“Hermione!” he choked out, her name roughened, blurred into something rather less than three syllables. His hips stirred and his hand clutched convulsively at the sheets.
She touched him with more boldness, her hand stroking along his length, exploring the velvet hardness of him. She felt something like exultation rushing through her veins, glorying in this, in knowing she was pleasuring him like this. She wanted to give him pleasure, wanted to give him everything.
He cried out and then he grabbed her wrist in his hand, pulling her away from him.
“Stop. Please,” he gasped, his breath coming shallow and fast.
His arms pulled her in and up, his lips finding hers as he kissed her more forcefully than he had before.
She pressed herself against him. She could not get close enough; she felt as if even crawling inside his body wouldn’t be close enough for her. She wanted to be even closer, wanted more, and without thought, acting purely on instinct and desire, she slid one leg over his. His thigh slipped between hers, coming dangerously close to the core of her, and she broke off the kiss to gasp at the heat and the friction.
And then, with a boldness that surprised her when she remembered it later but didn’t occur to her then, too preoccupied with wanting to touch him more, taste him, she shifted to straddle him fully.
He sucked in his breath sharply and she looked up to meet his wide eyes, looking almost black with desire.
“Hermione, you-” he almost croaked.
Something about the way he was staring at her-as if she was the most beautiful, amazing thing he’d ever seen, as if she was a goddess, a siren-filled her with an odd confidence, an odd sort of knowledge. As if her body, in timeless instinct, knew what to do even as she really didn’t. His hands had fallen to her hips, holding her, as she rose up and then slid down over him, around him. She let out a soft hiss of breath at a twinge of not-quite-pain, more a little discomfort, as her body adjusted again to this invasion, the muscles in her thighs stretching to this new position.
But then his fingers tightened a little convulsively on her hips, his hips rising beneath her, and she gasped, any discomfort forgotten in the fresh tingle of sensation at the feeling of him inside her.
And her body took over, rocking above him in a mindless, instinctive rhythm, as his hips thrust up to meet hers. The world narrowed, faded around her, until all that existed was the harsh sounds of their breathing, of the sensation of his body inside her, the wonderful, thrilling heat and friction of their joined bodies.
She felt the pressure-the pleasure-building, building, inside her until it finally burst, sheer sensation roaring through her body as if a starburst of pure physical pleasure had exploded inside her. She was vaguely aware of his hands clutching her with sudden convulsive force, his hips thrusting one last time, and then there was a flood of warmth inside her as a hoarse cry ripped from his throat.
She slumped on top of him, her suddenly boneless body draping over his, as the burst of tingling sensation slowly faded.
...
A slight frown creased her brow as she turned her head away, resisting the tug of consciousness, only to find her nose half squashed against something hard. And she awoke, her eyes opening.
Oh…
Her nose was pressed against Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s bare shoulder.
She felt what was probably a rather dreamy smile curve her lips as the memory of the night before returned to her mind in a rush.
Harry was asleep. Moving cautiously so as not to disturb him, she shifted a little away from him, curling one arm beneath her head to get a better view of his face.
As always in the few times she’d seen him sleeping, she was struck by how different he looked in sleep. He looked younger in sleep but even so, he didn’t look young. It made her newly conscious of just how much the stresses of the past couple years had aged his face beyond his years, even in sleep but especially so when he was awake. She couldn’t help thinking that the lines around his eyes, the way his skin looked stretched tight across his cheekbones, were evidence of the price he had paid for these years of becoming so familiar with the darkest aspects of magic and humanity in defiance of his true nature.
He stirred slightly in his sleep, his head turning fractionally away from her as a sighing breath soughed from his parted lips.
She found herself focusing on his lips, a flush of heat spreading through her entire body. She wanted him. She was a little amazed at how much she wanted him, the ferocity of the lust she felt. She’d known, of course, that she was physically attracted to Harry, but she was still accustomed to thinking of Harry in terms of her emotional attachment to him, so used to thinking of him as the best friend she cared for so much and less used to thinking of him as a physical, sensual being. Now, though, after last night, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to look at him or think of him again without remembering the way he’d kissed her, remembering the feel of his lips and his hands on her skin…
Almost of its own volition, one hand stretched out, wanting to touch his face, trace his familiar features with her fingers-but then she stopped, her hand hovering little more than an inch above his face.
No, she couldn’t touch him now. She knew what a light sleeper he was and how little sleep he tended to get these days. And she knew if she touched him, he would wake up and she couldn’t-she wouldn’t-cut short his sleep now.
She drew her hand back. No, she wouldn’t wake him up.
Besides, she thought with an inward smile, she could touch him all she wanted once he woke up. She didn’t have to try to hide her physical reaction to Harry anymore. She hugged that knowledge to herself, savored it. And savored even more the fact that amazingly-thrillingly-Harry wanted her too.
She had been so convinced for so long that Harry would never see her as being a girl, never view her in anything other than a purely platonic light. So convinced that even after he’d kissed her, she still couldn’t believe he’d really wanted to do it rather than it just being a thoughtless impulse for friendship or comfort or whatever-the mistake of a moment and immediately regretted. She didn’t think-no, she knew Harry wouldn’t deliberately lead her on to think he cared more than he did or that he might use her for purely physical purposes-but for all that, she also knew Harry’s impulsive streak. She knew the way Harry sometimes acted on the impulse of a split second, out of pure instinct, without stopping to think, and how that tendency led him into trouble. And when Harry had broken off their kiss so quickly-just after she’d realized that Harry was kissing her-and started babbling an apology, it had seemed so… inevitable that the kiss might have been a meaningless, instantly regretted impulse.
But then… to learn that, after all, while it might have been an impulse, it hadn’t been meaningless at all, had been, if anything, all too meaningful…
At that moment, in the surge of joy she’d felt, she really could not have done anything else except kiss him-finally-the way she’d wanted to kiss him for months. And for all the times she’d thought about kissing Harry, touching Harry, nothing could have prepared her for the reality of it. The reality of his lips and his hands and his body…
She felt herself flush at the thought, her body melting, tingling, with remembered pleasure…
And then, as if tugged out of sleep by the force of her wanting him, he woke up. Startled awake, really.
It was a little shocking-and a little saddening-the way he jerked awake, going from sleep to complete alertness in the space of an instant, the immediate return of tension to his body as if he was, in that split second, completely battle-ready.
He turned his head sharply and saw her-and relaxed with almost as much suddenness as he had awoken. “Oh.” The word escaped him in something of a sigh.
She met his eyes, seeing the way the shadows in his eyes retreated, faded, as his eyes became clearer and softer than she could ever remember seeing before, a change all the more noticeable now, without the usual barrier of his glasses.
She felt herself blushing hotly under his gaze, suddenly feeling a little shy, self-conscious, at the new softness in his expression. “Hi,” she finally whispered, inanely, needing to break the silence.
“You’re here,” he breathed in response and there was something like wonder in his tone.
He shifted, turning onto his side to face her more fully, and then lifted one hand to touch his fingers to her cheek in a fleeting, feather-light caress. And there was something like wonder in his touch too.
Her breath and her heart seemed to flutter a little at his touch.
“You slept,” she said softly after another long moment of silence stretched out between them.
“I did.”
She felt her heart pinch a little at the thread of surprise in his tone. And on the swell of tenderness, she reached out her hand to touch him the way she’d wanted to since she’d woken up. The way she’d wanted to touch him for years, really.
His eyes closed at her touch as her fingers gently brushed a lock of his unruly hair away from his eyes then traced his eyebrow before skating down his temple. Funny, how even now, when she knew she could touch him so much more intimately, it was being able to touch him like this-simple, barely-more-than-platonic touches-that meant so much to her. Her thumb lightly stroked the bridge of his nose and then down to touch the dent just above his upper lip. He reached up and caught her hand in his, pressing a kiss to her palm, and she caught her breath at the sensation, the way sparks of desire tingled up her entire arm. She’d never known her palm could be such an erogenous spot but she suspected she’d never forget it again.
He opened his eyes and his expression abruptly changed, his eyes darkening. She followed his gaze to realize, belatedly, that the movement of her arm had caused the blanket to slide down and that, with her arm still extended, he now had a clear view of her bare breasts.
She felt herself blushing even hotter than she had before, her entire body burning with an odd mixture of self-consciousness, arousal, and the beginnings of embarrassment. It had been so much easier to be uninhibited, to invite his touch so openly, in the darkness. Now in the light of the morning…
She could have retrieved her arm, Harry’s grip on her hand having slackened in his distraction, and shielded herself from his gaze. She could have-but she didn’t. In spite of her self-consciousness, in spite of her sudden, uncharacteristic shyness, she didn’t cover herself. Because whatever else, she wanted to be with Harry like this, wanted it enough that it easily over-rode her instinctive modesty.
“God, Hermione,” he finally rasped with a sort of reverent enthusiasm. “I told you you’re lovely.”
She felt his words as if it were a touch, felt her nipples tightening, her insides seeming to liquefy with desire. And she couldn’t help the soft moan of arousal that escaped her lips.
His eyes darkened and flared at the sound and then he reached for her, his fingertips lightly resting on her breast and then tracing a delicate circle, his touch oddly hesitant, as if this was the first time he’d touched her so intimately and he wasn’t sure she would let him. Little tendrils of fire seemed to streak out along her every nerve ending at his touch. He brushed his fingers across her peaked nipples once, twice, until she gasped, a fresh shiver of want streaking through her and pooling between her thighs.
It was stunning, how her entire body reacted to his touch and to his expression, the look of totally focused intensity on his face as he stared at her, as if memorizing the way her body looked and learning the reactions of her body to his touch were the only things in the entire world that mattered to him.
Oh, the way he looked at her… She felt… beautiful. More than that, she felt desirable. Sexy. For the first time in her life. And in some small corner of her, she dimly realized that she’d wanted to feel beautiful, perhaps all her life. And now, she did. Because of Harry. And it was thrilling and, somehow, arousing too.
Only Harry, she thought fuzzily. Only Harry could arouse her so much with just looking at her… In some small corner of her mind that still retained some coherence, she knew that lust was universal and arousal a natural thing-and yet, at that moment, she was somehow sure, too, that this-this unfurling of warmth and knee-weakening desire inside her from his touch and his look-this was unique to them. This was about him and her and somehow, irrationally, she couldn’t help but feel that she was meant to be with him like this. Meant to have him touch her like this, his hands exploring, learning, the curves of her breasts, the hardened peaks of her nipples, the soft skin of her stomach…
He was learning her body the way he already knew her personality and her thoughts… And something about the thought made her suddenly desperate to learn him too.
Her hand had fallen to rest on his bare shoulder but now she moved it, sliding down his arm in a long caress that also served to push the blanket further down, baring them both to the other’s gaze.
And just as he had watched her, studied her, it was her turn now to study him, letting her gaze roam over his chest and then down his flat stomach to his jutting arousal. Harry wanted her. And somehow, even though after the night before and all that had happened this morning, she had already known that he wanted her, even as much as she wanted him, seeing the proof of his desire amazed her all over again.
Oh Lord… It was… him, she thought inanely, any ability to think coherently leaving her brain completely. She was seeing all of him now and he was… He was… She couldn’t think of a word. All she knew was that she burned with wanting to touch him all over.
She let her hand sweep across his chest, brushing her fingers over his flat nipples as he had done to her, and he made a sound like a strangled moan. Her hand wandered further, down his stomach, feeling his muscles contracting automatically at her touch.
He had lost weight, she realized, rather inconsequentially. She knew she had lost weight in the last year but she hadn’t known that he had too. It hadn’t been apparent when he was clothed but now, she could see that it was true. It was evident in the hollows above his slim hips, in the way she could feel his ribs so easily in running her hand down his stomach.
Her heart pinched a little and in the surge of tenderness, she reached for him, sliding closer so she could kiss him, softly at first, and then with more passion, as she felt his arm tightening around her.
She broke off the kiss only to drag her lips down his chin and then further, scattering soft kisses along the line of his jaw and then sliding further down to kiss his throat, her lips parting so she could touch her tongue lightly to the delicate skin just below his Adam’s apple. She felt it bob as he swallowed, a half-strangled groan issuing from his throat, and she smiled slightly against his skin, thrilling at this power to arouse him.
Her hands hadn’t been still either, making their own way south, as she let her hands wander freely over his chest and his stomach and then down, her fingers tracing down his thigh and then up again. Her wrist brushed lightly against his rampant arousal and he moaned, his hips jerking a little, and she gave in to the wordless begging of his body by circling her fingers around him delicately at first. He gave another strangled groan and she closed her hand around him with more firmness and stroked.
“Hermione!” he choked out, her name roughened, blurred into something rather less than three syllables. His hips stirred and his hand clutched convulsively at the sheets.
She touched him with more boldness, her hand stroking along his length, exploring the velvet hardness of him. She felt something like exultation rushing through her veins, glorying in this, in knowing she was pleasuring him like this. She wanted to give him pleasure, wanted to give him everything.
He cried out and then he grabbed her wrist in his hand, pulling her away from him.
“Stop. Please,” he gasped, his breath coming shallow and fast.
His arms pulled her in and up, his lips finding hers as he kissed her more forcefully than he had before.
She pressed herself against him. She could not get close enough; she felt as if even crawling inside his body wouldn’t be close enough for her. She wanted to be even closer, wanted more, and without thought, acting purely on instinct and desire, she slid one leg over his. His thigh slipped between hers, coming dangerously close to the core of her, and she broke off the kiss to gasp at the heat and the friction.
And then, with a boldness that surprised her when she remembered it later but didn’t occur to her then, too preoccupied with wanting to touch him more, taste him, she shifted to straddle him fully.
He sucked in his breath sharply and she looked up to meet his wide eyes, looking almost black with desire.
“Hermione, you-” he almost croaked.
Something about the way he was staring at her-as if she was the most beautiful, amazing thing he’d ever seen, as if she was a goddess, a siren-filled her with an odd confidence, an odd sort of knowledge. As if her body, in timeless instinct, knew what to do even as she really didn’t. His hands had fallen to her hips, holding her, as she rose up and then slid down over him, around him. She let out a soft hiss of breath at a twinge of not-quite-pain, more a little discomfort, as her body adjusted again to this invasion, the muscles in her thighs stretching to this new position.
But then his fingers tightened a little convulsively on her hips, his hips rising beneath her, and she gasped, any discomfort forgotten in the fresh tingle of sensation at the feeling of him inside her.
And her body took over, rocking above him in a mindless, instinctive rhythm, as his hips thrust up to meet hers. The world narrowed, faded around her, until all that existed was the harsh sounds of their breathing, of the sensation of his body inside her, the wonderful, thrilling heat and friction of their joined bodies.
She felt the pressure-the pleasure-building, building, inside her until it finally burst, sheer sensation roaring through her body as if a starburst of pure physical pleasure had exploded inside her. She was vaguely aware of his hands clutching her with sudden convulsive force, his hips thrusting one last time, and then there was a flood of warmth inside her as a hoarse cry ripped from his throat.
She slumped on top of him, her suddenly boneless body draping over his, as the burst of tingling sensation slowly faded.
...