Leigh!fic | Wicked and Divine (Your Innocence Is Mine) (1/1) | Blaise Zabini/Dominique Weasley
Title: Wicked and Divine (Your Innocence Is Mine) (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Blaise Zabini/Dominique Weasley
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,180
Summary: "I own you."
Author’s Notes: Written as a gift for tamlane as part of my Summer 2014 Drabble Meme. Tam, I hope you enjoy!
But certainly, the talk of the Quidditch world is Dominique Weasley. The middle daughter of war heroes Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour, the twenty-one year old has taken the sport by storm. In her rookie season with the Kenmare Kestrals, she has already scored fifteen goals in her first five matches, vaulting the Kestrals from last season's position of eighth to a respectable third place standing thus far. Off the pitch, it seems the young Miss Weasley is just as hot a commodity. Sources report seeing her in the company of Duff Wood, eldest son of famed Puddlemere keeper Oliver Wood, leaving a London nightclub.
We think it's certainly safe to say we haven't seen the last of this hot young rising star.
Blaise set the newspaper down on his desk and leaned back in his chair, the gleaming leather creaking as he steepled his fingers together in thought. Duff Wood. That was who she was seeing. He wasn't jealous of the young man -- far from it. But Dominique had been remarkably tight lipped about who she'd be spending her time with the previous Thursday. Now he knew.
A knock sounded on the door, and his secretary poked her head in. "Miss Weasley's here, sir."
"Send her in."
The door opened, and the object of his thoughts stepped inside the room. His secretary discreetly withdrew and shut the door behind her, the soft noise echoing in the space between the room's two occupants. It was silent as they sized one another up.
Dominique, for her part, was filthy. Fresh from the practice pitch, wisps of blonde hair that had escaped her severe ponytail framed her face. Her pale skin was pink with exertion, and there was a smattering of freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks; freckles he knew also littered her skin in other, more intimate places. Leather trousers hugged trim legs and framed an arse her training jumper couldn't quite hide from his eyes.
She was sweaty and disheveled. Blaise wanted nothing more than to bend her over his desk and fuck her senseless.
"Mr. Zabini." A sarcastic curl to her lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I feel as if I'm been summoned to the headmaster's office."
Blaise arched a brow at her. "Am I so intimidating, Miss Weasley?" For any other member of the Kestrals squad, he imagined a summons to the owner's office would be a matter of concern. Dominique knew better. She was toying with him. Despite her freckles, she was much more Delacour than Weasley. He remembered all too well how her aunt could play a man with no more than a look. He'd bedded her, too.
Perhaps it was the Veela blood. It was a potent thing, despite it's dilution through the generations.
"Not at all, sir." Stepping closer to his desk, she didn't bother with the open chairs. Instead, she perched herself on the side of the polished oak desk, crossing her legs at the knee and leaning back on her hands. His gaze responded as she'd planned, dark eyes taking in the way her breasts strained against her jumper, travelling the length of her body to her thighs. Tease.
When he glanced up at her face, her blue eyes were bright with amusement. "What can I do for you? You're usually more discreet than this."
"I don't have to be discreet if I chose not. I own you." It was a subtle reminder of who in the room really held the power. She could thrust her breasts out at him, sit on his desk and spread her legs, but he was the person in charge in their relationship -- convoluted as it was. He owned the Kenmare Kestrals, and through the team, her.
"You own my contract," Dominique replied sharply, arching one fine blonde brow at him. "You do not own me. I'm not your pet, I'm your employee."
Blaise's lips curled. Unable to help himself, he ran a hand over her thigh. The contrast of his dark skin against her worn, white trousers was aesthetically pleasing, he noted in an off-handed fashion. "I don't own you?" His fingers curled, digging into her flesh. "I could sell your contract to the Cannons. I could force you to trade your Firebolt contract for a a Cleansweep Eleven. You have the lifestyle you want because of me." His hand slid up her thigh to cup the warm spot between her legs. "Don't forget it."
Dominique tossed her head back and laughed. She laughed.
He was momentarily taken aback when she swung herself around on the desk to face him, planting her feet on either side of him so he was leaning forward between her legs. Scooting closer, her hips canted against his hand, and she hummed in pleasure. "Then do it."
He blinked in surprise. "Beg pardon?"
"I said, do it." Moving closer to him, Dominique slid off the desk and into his lap, her legs straddling his waist. Blaise's hand fell to the wayside when she pressed against him, her breasts straining against his chest and her deft fingers clutching his crisp Oxford shirt. "Sell my contract to the Cannons. Persuade Firebolt to drop my endorsement deal. Reduce my salary. Do what it is you have to do to think you control me. But I am who I am because of me. You don't have a thing to do with my talent. I don't barter my body with you."
She rolled her hips against his, and Blaise felt himself grow hard inside his trousers. Biting back a groan, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her fluttering pulse point, teeth raking over her skin. Little blonde minx was right -- not that he'd admit it.
And then, she was off his lap and striding toward the door. "Always fun having these little chats, bossman. Maybe we'll do it again tomorrow night."
He would not chase after her. Blaise Zabini did not chase anyone. She could have the upper hand -- for now. Tomorrow night, she'd be naked in his bed, and he'd make her beg for release. He might even give it to her, after she went to her knees for him. In the meantime, he could control himself and ignore his erection. He was forty-five, not fourteen. His cock didn't control him.
"Miss Weasley?"
Dominique paused, and glanced over his shoulder. "Mr. Zabini?"
Blaise paused, letting his gaze linger on her shapely arse for a moment. Reaching out for his copy of the Prophet, he held up the paper. "Duff Wood?"
She was quiet, and then she shrugged. "He makes me laugh. And he doesn't pretend to control me."
His lips twitched in a smirk. "You like it when I control you."
"Do I?" Her lips puckered, and she blew him a kiss before slipping out of the office and shutting the door behind her.
"Oh, Miss Weasley." Her name fell quietly from his lips in the empty room, and despite himself, his smirk curled into a full smile. "You have so much to learn."
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Blaise Zabini/Dominique Weasley
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,180
Summary: "I own you."
Author’s Notes: Written as a gift for tamlane as part of my Summer 2014 Drabble Meme. Tam, I hope you enjoy!
But certainly, the talk of the Quidditch world is Dominique Weasley. The middle daughter of war heroes Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour, the twenty-one year old has taken the sport by storm. In her rookie season with the Kenmare Kestrals, she has already scored fifteen goals in her first five matches, vaulting the Kestrals from last season's position of eighth to a respectable third place standing thus far. Off the pitch, it seems the young Miss Weasley is just as hot a commodity. Sources report seeing her in the company of Duff Wood, eldest son of famed Puddlemere keeper Oliver Wood, leaving a London nightclub.
We think it's certainly safe to say we haven't seen the last of this hot young rising star.
Blaise set the newspaper down on his desk and leaned back in his chair, the gleaming leather creaking as he steepled his fingers together in thought. Duff Wood. That was who she was seeing. He wasn't jealous of the young man -- far from it. But Dominique had been remarkably tight lipped about who she'd be spending her time with the previous Thursday. Now he knew.
A knock sounded on the door, and his secretary poked her head in. "Miss Weasley's here, sir."
"Send her in."
The door opened, and the object of his thoughts stepped inside the room. His secretary discreetly withdrew and shut the door behind her, the soft noise echoing in the space between the room's two occupants. It was silent as they sized one another up.
Dominique, for her part, was filthy. Fresh from the practice pitch, wisps of blonde hair that had escaped her severe ponytail framed her face. Her pale skin was pink with exertion, and there was a smattering of freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks; freckles he knew also littered her skin in other, more intimate places. Leather trousers hugged trim legs and framed an arse her training jumper couldn't quite hide from his eyes.
She was sweaty and disheveled. Blaise wanted nothing more than to bend her over his desk and fuck her senseless.
"Mr. Zabini." A sarcastic curl to her lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I feel as if I'm been summoned to the headmaster's office."
Blaise arched a brow at her. "Am I so intimidating, Miss Weasley?" For any other member of the Kestrals squad, he imagined a summons to the owner's office would be a matter of concern. Dominique knew better. She was toying with him. Despite her freckles, she was much more Delacour than Weasley. He remembered all too well how her aunt could play a man with no more than a look. He'd bedded her, too.
Perhaps it was the Veela blood. It was a potent thing, despite it's dilution through the generations.
"Not at all, sir." Stepping closer to his desk, she didn't bother with the open chairs. Instead, she perched herself on the side of the polished oak desk, crossing her legs at the knee and leaning back on her hands. His gaze responded as she'd planned, dark eyes taking in the way her breasts strained against her jumper, travelling the length of her body to her thighs. Tease.
When he glanced up at her face, her blue eyes were bright with amusement. "What can I do for you? You're usually more discreet than this."
"I don't have to be discreet if I chose not. I own you." It was a subtle reminder of who in the room really held the power. She could thrust her breasts out at him, sit on his desk and spread her legs, but he was the person in charge in their relationship -- convoluted as it was. He owned the Kenmare Kestrals, and through the team, her.
"You own my contract," Dominique replied sharply, arching one fine blonde brow at him. "You do not own me. I'm not your pet, I'm your employee."
Blaise's lips curled. Unable to help himself, he ran a hand over her thigh. The contrast of his dark skin against her worn, white trousers was aesthetically pleasing, he noted in an off-handed fashion. "I don't own you?" His fingers curled, digging into her flesh. "I could sell your contract to the Cannons. I could force you to trade your Firebolt contract for a a Cleansweep Eleven. You have the lifestyle you want because of me." His hand slid up her thigh to cup the warm spot between her legs. "Don't forget it."
Dominique tossed her head back and laughed. She laughed.
He was momentarily taken aback when she swung herself around on the desk to face him, planting her feet on either side of him so he was leaning forward between her legs. Scooting closer, her hips canted against his hand, and she hummed in pleasure. "Then do it."
He blinked in surprise. "Beg pardon?"
"I said, do it." Moving closer to him, Dominique slid off the desk and into his lap, her legs straddling his waist. Blaise's hand fell to the wayside when she pressed against him, her breasts straining against his chest and her deft fingers clutching his crisp Oxford shirt. "Sell my contract to the Cannons. Persuade Firebolt to drop my endorsement deal. Reduce my salary. Do what it is you have to do to think you control me. But I am who I am because of me. You don't have a thing to do with my talent. I don't barter my body with you."
She rolled her hips against his, and Blaise felt himself grow hard inside his trousers. Biting back a groan, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her fluttering pulse point, teeth raking over her skin. Little blonde minx was right -- not that he'd admit it.
And then, she was off his lap and striding toward the door. "Always fun having these little chats, bossman. Maybe we'll do it again tomorrow night."
He would not chase after her. Blaise Zabini did not chase anyone. She could have the upper hand -- for now. Tomorrow night, she'd be naked in his bed, and he'd make her beg for release. He might even give it to her, after she went to her knees for him. In the meantime, he could control himself and ignore his erection. He was forty-five, not fourteen. His cock didn't control him.
"Miss Weasley?"
Dominique paused, and glanced over his shoulder. "Mr. Zabini?"
Blaise paused, letting his gaze linger on her shapely arse for a moment. Reaching out for his copy of the Prophet, he held up the paper. "Duff Wood?"
She was quiet, and then she shrugged. "He makes me laugh. And he doesn't pretend to control me."
His lips twitched in a smirk. "You like it when I control you."
"Do I?" Her lips puckered, and she blew him a kiss before slipping out of the office and shutting the door behind her.
"Oh, Miss Weasley." Her name fell quietly from his lips in the empty room, and despite himself, his smirk curled into a full smile. "You have so much to learn."