Prolific Author Series: Lulabelle72
She burst on to the scene with An Unreasonable Man and proceeded to fill the world of SSHG with all sorts of smutty goodness. She was awarded the Best New Author Award for Round 3 of the SSHG Awards. Yes, our Prolific Author Series proudly presents lulabelle72!
The bar for smut was raised to dizzying, glorious new heights by our Lula. However, she's not just an author to thrill you with PWP's. Her stories will pull you in, make you laugh, touch your heart and might even bring a tear to your eye. Then again, she may just scare the living daylights out of you! If you've never read her, where the hell have you been for the last year and a half?!?! This week's reading assignment is lulabelle72. Go. Read. Professor Snape will be checking your work!
This week's quiz was chosen by flittterkat, so you can thank her for your lovely smut-filled weekend reading list!
Do you want the chance to pick next week's quiz? Well, all you have to do is comment with the correct answers sometime before the Answers post goes up on Monday. Then your name will be in the drawing for the chance to choose next Friday's quiz!
Match the quote to the story title:
Winds of Change
An Unreasonable Man
Diary, Diary
Mausoleum
The Price of Leaving Early
Illumination
Where The Pug Is
The Gentleman’s Ticky Box
For Whom The Kettle Whistles
Jitters
The Doppelganger Elixir WIP
Not A Date
For One Night of the Year
Taking Shelter
1. "Although, maybe if you did date once in a while, it would alleviate some of the tension around here."
"What's that supposed to mean? Again, how long have you known me? I've always been this way."
"The better part of twenty years, and yes, you have. And you've never had a date. You know, you could get one. You could apologize to Taryn tomorrow, and then casually ask her if she'd like to have lunch with you." At his scoffing, she smiled. "Or perhaps Joan Culver, down the hall? I think she has a thing for you, too." He scoffed again.
"Hermione, you must see an optometrist. You are seeing things that do not exist."
"It's the voice. And probably the eyes." When he turned to fully face her, she was gazing up at him, leaning forward on her elbows. "Oh come on, as if you have no idea what your voice is capable of doing to some women. And that look, that one right there? Some women find it attractive. It's intense." She shrugged and began writing again.
"That's insane. You're completely off your rocker." He was still for several moments, and Hermione pretended not to notice that he was standing there, obviously processing the information he had just received.
2. In this new life, this new existence as a footnote, savior and saved, he had choices.
The very thin thread of decency that ran through him gave him to ask her, "Are you drunk, Granger?"
"No," she replied immediately. Her knee still touched his.
"Would you like to go to bed with me?" Decency only went so far in a man like him, no matter how changed his life was.
Trepidation instantly took its place, swirling in cold embers in his belly.
And was doused in seconds. A slow, soft smile grew across her face. The same from the street, he recollected. He didn't know what it meant, but suddenly, he had the fierce determination to spend as many hours, as many years, as it took to puzzle it out.
"Thought you'd never ask."
3. Autumn was still napping, letting summer's heat blanket it into submission, when Hermione returned two weeks later. As she raised her fist to knock, the door flew open.
"The door is unlocked. It is always unlocked. Why must you knock? You're never polite any other time. Save me the trouble and just come in."
She curtsied, pressing her lips together to stifle a giggle, and swept past him.
"And what if I caught you at a bad time? What if you were, I don't know, just getting out of the bath?" She turned, eyebrow raised. "What then? What if I caught you in your towel?"
"Oh, that would never happen."
"No? And why is that?"
"Because after my bath, I prefer to air dry."
There really wasn't anything to be said in reply to that. And in any case, the breath to speak had been struck from her.
4. She never heard him approach. He was as silent as the night sky, always. As though his boots never properly touched the earth at all.
"I was just heading back." She turned, trying and failing to restrain the small gasp at finding him directly behind her.
"Were you, now?" he asked, so softly it seemed he had barely spoken at all.
She met his eyes, the pools of black that she had grown accustomed to and did not flinch from any longer. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I was, Severus."
Her fur-edged hood fell back at a touch from his hand. She did not tear her gaze from his mouth, no matter that his finger was now drawing down her cheek and tracing under her jaw.
"Back to your office? Tell me, before you leave, what exactly it is you do all locked safely in your tower. I often wonder, is she writing a letter to the parents of a wayward student? Is she... sipping her tea? And if she is, is it the Darjeeling tonight?" The tips of his fingers, cold against her pulse, ran down her throat. His eyes followed their path, lingering there, just there. "Is she thinking of me? Tell me, Hermione, do you ever think of me when you are in your bed, warm, tucked in?" The point of his nose touched her neck, traveling up behind her ear and inhaling her scent as if she was a bouquet. "I know you do," he whispered.
5. How dare she flaunt herself, whole and beautiful, in front of him? She tempted him to violence with only a smile. She never knew how close she came to being thrown down there, in the orchard, when she had approached him in August with her face glowing. His mask as perfect as ever, she did not see his overwhelming desire to push her down into the tall grass, to fist the front of her dress and tear it from her. As her voice grew louder, her enthusiasm bubbling over, he could only see her wet pink lips open in a moan as he drove into her. Reaching into her satchel, she drew forth the papers, and they fluttered in the wind that was a constant on this island so that she had to stop to hold them differently, more firmly, and her hair flew in front of her face.
She looked up from her momentary disorganization to find him close, inches away, mouth open and eyes fixed on her. One paper loosed itself into the maelstrom of wind and heat.
His hand snagged it from the air, brought it slowly down, and pressed the paper onto the rest that she held. It was with every ounce of strength he possessed that he did not close the distance between them with surely more roughness than she had ever known in her life. He felt unbelievably powerful, and corrupt, and more than capable of hurting her.
And not because she deserved it.
But because he deserved to do it.
6. He spun her out into the crowd, and she held onto his shoulder with one arm while she downed the kiri with her other. In a wide, sweeping circle, he led her in a wild dance. Several times they nearly collided with another couple, but everyone was in such high humor that no one minded. Indeed, after one such bump, the gentleman from the opposing couple accepted her apologies by reaching over and tweaking her bum. She squeaked and laughed and was swept away again.
She felt so beautiful in her dress. How she hadn't wanted to come to such a "debacle," as she had called it in its earliest planning stages. Then, while out shopping with Ginny one afternoon for their costumes, she had come across a gown that stopped her in mid-complaint. Gleaming gold with a square neckline that dipped so low she had been forced to use a magical charm to keep her nipples safely hidden, it fit her figure like the black satin gloves covered her arms. It had black lace panels just under the bodice, and in the back, black satin corset lacings kept her pulled in tight and pushed her breasts up high. Narrow black stripes sliced down the gown's skirt. Underneath, in a final, daring, touch, she wore black stockings with garter and shoes with a kitten heel. She hadn't wished to be taller than any of her partners, and she wanted to be able to stand or dance all night.
Well, perhaps not all night.
7. Severus jerked to his feet, knocking Hermione off balance.
“Ow!” The corner of the porcelain sink had caught her hip. He stood by the doorway, eyes wide and nostrils flared like a wild animal. Every inch of his black-clad body seemed alight with nerves, as though he was about to turn and bolt from the house.
“Severus,” she chastised, rubbing the sore hip.
He drew himself up with ragged imperiousness. “I am not the car mechanic, and you are not apple-and-blackberry pie.”
Hermione blinked, not understanding this sudden descent into the metaphor of the mentally unbalanced, and looked around for the source of his sudden insanity. The bathroom, in all its mundane, yellow-tiled sameness, offered nothing.
“Of course not. If I were going to be a baked good, I would think it would be spiced apple cake. Excuse me, but what are you talking about?”
“Payment for services rendered. Isn’t that what this is about? I did not save your life so that you would be beholden to have rewarding sex with me.” His glare was black and tremulous, hardly his best effort.
“I didn’t suppose that you did. And I’m glad that you think it would be rewarding.”
“You know what I meant.”
8. A candle flared to life behind her.
“Still here? You are a Gryffindor, aren’t you?” The candle extinguished again, but she could see him in the dark, slim body showing more of its heat as each piece of clothing was removed. Jumper removed, shirt unbuttoned, belt unbuckled, trousers dropped… With each piece, Hermione found it more difficult to breathe.
She should change back now. Definitely. Change back and… What? Run? Run from a naked Snape? Confused and tense, she waited.
He reached carefully around on the bed until he found her, then wove his fingers around her and moved her with him as he navigated the bedclothes until they were both covered and warm.
Very warm. For he was holding her close to his chest, and she shivered at the feel of smooth skin against her scales.
He murmured to her softly. “Pretty little thing, and clever, and demanding. You’ve been so much trouble for me of late.” He brought her closer to his mouth. In a low voice, he said, “I should just bite your little head off right now.”
But instead, he kissed it.
And then he whispered to a paralyzed Hermione, “Please change back now.”
9. I'm just worried, that's all."
"I know." He drew her in, hoping the pressure of his arms around her conveyed his sincerity. He knew full well how his wife worried over just about everything, and all he wanted was to take some of that burden from her. Slowly, he felt her begin to relax, and her arms wrapped around his waist until they were squeezing him as hard as she could.
"I love you," she whispered against his black wool-covered chest.
"I love you, too," he whispered back, suddenly aware of his growing hardness. He made no attempt to hide it, but neither did grind himself wantonly against her. After all, they were on a public street.
Hermione, however, was a bit less inhibited. She pressed her hips to his, holding them there as she looked up, grinning.
"Will you be able to make it to the bakery?" she asked.
He snorted. "If every time a man got an erection, he was rendered unable to walk, you'd see half the male population crawling at any given time. Come on." He took her hand and tugged her with him, but not before surreptitiously adjusting his jacket. Thank goodness he preferred long coats.
10. “I am going to finish this wine.”
The hand crept higher. I kept silent.
“You will leave now.”
“Now? I have no intentions of leaving--”
The hand moved between my legs and pressed over my balls.
“Outside the forest, there are two abandoned gameskeeper’s cottages. Enter the one with the rabbit on the door.” Her hand expertly stroked my cock, which was growing beneath her ministrations. “You will strip off all of your clothes. Then, choose a beam overhead. Make sure it is sturdy.” Her fingers found the head of my cock and squeezed. “Lash yourself to the beam so that you are standing with your arms overhead. Is that understood?”
The bar for smut was raised to dizzying, glorious new heights by our Lula. However, she's not just an author to thrill you with PWP's. Her stories will pull you in, make you laugh, touch your heart and might even bring a tear to your eye. Then again, she may just scare the living daylights out of you! If you've never read her, where the hell have you been for the last year and a half?!?! This week's reading assignment is lulabelle72. Go. Read. Professor Snape will be checking your work!
This week's quiz was chosen by flittterkat, so you can thank her for your lovely smut-filled weekend reading list!
Do you want the chance to pick next week's quiz? Well, all you have to do is comment with the correct answers sometime before the Answers post goes up on Monday. Then your name will be in the drawing for the chance to choose next Friday's quiz!
Match the quote to the story title:
Winds of Change
An Unreasonable Man
Diary, Diary
Mausoleum
The Price of Leaving Early
Illumination
Where The Pug Is
The Gentleman’s Ticky Box
For Whom The Kettle Whistles
Jitters
The Doppelganger Elixir WIP
Not A Date
For One Night of the Year
Taking Shelter
1. "Although, maybe if you did date once in a while, it would alleviate some of the tension around here."
"What's that supposed to mean? Again, how long have you known me? I've always been this way."
"The better part of twenty years, and yes, you have. And you've never had a date. You know, you could get one. You could apologize to Taryn tomorrow, and then casually ask her if she'd like to have lunch with you." At his scoffing, she smiled. "Or perhaps Joan Culver, down the hall? I think she has a thing for you, too." He scoffed again.
"Hermione, you must see an optometrist. You are seeing things that do not exist."
"It's the voice. And probably the eyes." When he turned to fully face her, she was gazing up at him, leaning forward on her elbows. "Oh come on, as if you have no idea what your voice is capable of doing to some women. And that look, that one right there? Some women find it attractive. It's intense." She shrugged and began writing again.
"That's insane. You're completely off your rocker." He was still for several moments, and Hermione pretended not to notice that he was standing there, obviously processing the information he had just received.
2. In this new life, this new existence as a footnote, savior and saved, he had choices.
The very thin thread of decency that ran through him gave him to ask her, "Are you drunk, Granger?"
"No," she replied immediately. Her knee still touched his.
"Would you like to go to bed with me?" Decency only went so far in a man like him, no matter how changed his life was.
Trepidation instantly took its place, swirling in cold embers in his belly.
And was doused in seconds. A slow, soft smile grew across her face. The same from the street, he recollected. He didn't know what it meant, but suddenly, he had the fierce determination to spend as many hours, as many years, as it took to puzzle it out.
"Thought you'd never ask."
3. Autumn was still napping, letting summer's heat blanket it into submission, when Hermione returned two weeks later. As she raised her fist to knock, the door flew open.
"The door is unlocked. It is always unlocked. Why must you knock? You're never polite any other time. Save me the trouble and just come in."
She curtsied, pressing her lips together to stifle a giggle, and swept past him.
"And what if I caught you at a bad time? What if you were, I don't know, just getting out of the bath?" She turned, eyebrow raised. "What then? What if I caught you in your towel?"
"Oh, that would never happen."
"No? And why is that?"
"Because after my bath, I prefer to air dry."
There really wasn't anything to be said in reply to that. And in any case, the breath to speak had been struck from her.
4. She never heard him approach. He was as silent as the night sky, always. As though his boots never properly touched the earth at all.
"I was just heading back." She turned, trying and failing to restrain the small gasp at finding him directly behind her.
"Were you, now?" he asked, so softly it seemed he had barely spoken at all.
She met his eyes, the pools of black that she had grown accustomed to and did not flinch from any longer. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I was, Severus."
Her fur-edged hood fell back at a touch from his hand. She did not tear her gaze from his mouth, no matter that his finger was now drawing down her cheek and tracing under her jaw.
"Back to your office? Tell me, before you leave, what exactly it is you do all locked safely in your tower. I often wonder, is she writing a letter to the parents of a wayward student? Is she... sipping her tea? And if she is, is it the Darjeeling tonight?" The tips of his fingers, cold against her pulse, ran down her throat. His eyes followed their path, lingering there, just there. "Is she thinking of me? Tell me, Hermione, do you ever think of me when you are in your bed, warm, tucked in?" The point of his nose touched her neck, traveling up behind her ear and inhaling her scent as if she was a bouquet. "I know you do," he whispered.
5. How dare she flaunt herself, whole and beautiful, in front of him? She tempted him to violence with only a smile. She never knew how close she came to being thrown down there, in the orchard, when she had approached him in August with her face glowing. His mask as perfect as ever, she did not see his overwhelming desire to push her down into the tall grass, to fist the front of her dress and tear it from her. As her voice grew louder, her enthusiasm bubbling over, he could only see her wet pink lips open in a moan as he drove into her. Reaching into her satchel, she drew forth the papers, and they fluttered in the wind that was a constant on this island so that she had to stop to hold them differently, more firmly, and her hair flew in front of her face.
She looked up from her momentary disorganization to find him close, inches away, mouth open and eyes fixed on her. One paper loosed itself into the maelstrom of wind and heat.
His hand snagged it from the air, brought it slowly down, and pressed the paper onto the rest that she held. It was with every ounce of strength he possessed that he did not close the distance between them with surely more roughness than she had ever known in her life. He felt unbelievably powerful, and corrupt, and more than capable of hurting her.
And not because she deserved it.
But because he deserved to do it.
6. He spun her out into the crowd, and she held onto his shoulder with one arm while she downed the kiri with her other. In a wide, sweeping circle, he led her in a wild dance. Several times they nearly collided with another couple, but everyone was in such high humor that no one minded. Indeed, after one such bump, the gentleman from the opposing couple accepted her apologies by reaching over and tweaking her bum. She squeaked and laughed and was swept away again.
She felt so beautiful in her dress. How she hadn't wanted to come to such a "debacle," as she had called it in its earliest planning stages. Then, while out shopping with Ginny one afternoon for their costumes, she had come across a gown that stopped her in mid-complaint. Gleaming gold with a square neckline that dipped so low she had been forced to use a magical charm to keep her nipples safely hidden, it fit her figure like the black satin gloves covered her arms. It had black lace panels just under the bodice, and in the back, black satin corset lacings kept her pulled in tight and pushed her breasts up high. Narrow black stripes sliced down the gown's skirt. Underneath, in a final, daring, touch, she wore black stockings with garter and shoes with a kitten heel. She hadn't wished to be taller than any of her partners, and she wanted to be able to stand or dance all night.
Well, perhaps not all night.
7. Severus jerked to his feet, knocking Hermione off balance.
“Ow!” The corner of the porcelain sink had caught her hip. He stood by the doorway, eyes wide and nostrils flared like a wild animal. Every inch of his black-clad body seemed alight with nerves, as though he was about to turn and bolt from the house.
“Severus,” she chastised, rubbing the sore hip.
He drew himself up with ragged imperiousness. “I am not the car mechanic, and you are not apple-and-blackberry pie.”
Hermione blinked, not understanding this sudden descent into the metaphor of the mentally unbalanced, and looked around for the source of his sudden insanity. The bathroom, in all its mundane, yellow-tiled sameness, offered nothing.
“Of course not. If I were going to be a baked good, I would think it would be spiced apple cake. Excuse me, but what are you talking about?”
“Payment for services rendered. Isn’t that what this is about? I did not save your life so that you would be beholden to have rewarding sex with me.” His glare was black and tremulous, hardly his best effort.
“I didn’t suppose that you did. And I’m glad that you think it would be rewarding.”
“You know what I meant.”
8. A candle flared to life behind her.
“Still here? You are a Gryffindor, aren’t you?” The candle extinguished again, but she could see him in the dark, slim body showing more of its heat as each piece of clothing was removed. Jumper removed, shirt unbuttoned, belt unbuckled, trousers dropped… With each piece, Hermione found it more difficult to breathe.
She should change back now. Definitely. Change back and… What? Run? Run from a naked Snape? Confused and tense, she waited.
He reached carefully around on the bed until he found her, then wove his fingers around her and moved her with him as he navigated the bedclothes until they were both covered and warm.
Very warm. For he was holding her close to his chest, and she shivered at the feel of smooth skin against her scales.
He murmured to her softly. “Pretty little thing, and clever, and demanding. You’ve been so much trouble for me of late.” He brought her closer to his mouth. In a low voice, he said, “I should just bite your little head off right now.”
But instead, he kissed it.
And then he whispered to a paralyzed Hermione, “Please change back now.”
9. I'm just worried, that's all."
"I know." He drew her in, hoping the pressure of his arms around her conveyed his sincerity. He knew full well how his wife worried over just about everything, and all he wanted was to take some of that burden from her. Slowly, he felt her begin to relax, and her arms wrapped around his waist until they were squeezing him as hard as she could.
"I love you," she whispered against his black wool-covered chest.
"I love you, too," he whispered back, suddenly aware of his growing hardness. He made no attempt to hide it, but neither did grind himself wantonly against her. After all, they were on a public street.
Hermione, however, was a bit less inhibited. She pressed her hips to his, holding them there as she looked up, grinning.
"Will you be able to make it to the bakery?" she asked.
He snorted. "If every time a man got an erection, he was rendered unable to walk, you'd see half the male population crawling at any given time. Come on." He took her hand and tugged her with him, but not before surreptitiously adjusting his jacket. Thank goodness he preferred long coats.
10. “I am going to finish this wine.”
The hand crept higher. I kept silent.
“You will leave now.”
“Now? I have no intentions of leaving--”
The hand moved between my legs and pressed over my balls.
“Outside the forest, there are two abandoned gameskeeper’s cottages. Enter the one with the rabbit on the door.” Her hand expertly stroked my cock, which was growing beneath her ministrations. “You will strip off all of your clothes. Then, choose a beam overhead. Make sure it is sturdy.” Her fingers found the head of my cock and squeezed. “Lash yourself to the beam so that you are standing with your arms overhead. Is that understood?”