The Serpent Chapter 10
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This work of fiction/art was created entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: This is the full version of chapter 10 of my story The Serpent. Enjoy!
The Serpent
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Chapter 10
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Expert hands fondled Hermione's aching breasts, tweaking and pinching her taut nipples as she helplessly writhed on the enormous bed. The cool, satin sheets under her naked form caressed her feverish body, arousing her need.
A quick check and she found her wrists and ankles were tied to the bed posts with silken ties. Her body was spread wide for her tormentor's wandering fingers and-
Dear Lord, was that his tongue? Oooh, yes, it most certainly was!
Hermione keened when her mystery lover's soft, moist tongue gently, reverently parted her soaked labia and licked.
"Fuck, you taste so good, my princess. So sweet, like honey," he huskily murmured, teeth carefully nibbling her lower lips.
She cried out in protest when he stopped fondling one of her breasts, but sighed in pleasure a moment later when he used a single finger from that hand to trail down her quivering stomach, to circle her navel, and eventually to tickle the top of her wet slit.
Merlin, he hadn't even really touched her yet and she felt ready to burst at the seams.
"Do you like what I'm doing to you, Granger? Do you?" His voice was a sexy, deep purr breathing hot air against her moist folds.
Hermione moaned, desperate for him to touch more, to be bolder with his lips and fingers. Her lower body lifted off the soft mattress in a silent plea for his attention. She wished he'd remove the blindfold so she could see him, too, but she feared if she asked such a boon, he'd stop... just like last time she'd had this dream.
A wicked laugh was her only warning before his thumb pressed against her sensitive clit and began rubbing it in an intense circular motion. His mouth descended on her hot centre, branding it, lashing it... owning it.
Hermione screamed, her body arching almost impossibly as incoherent words of encouragement and praise fell from her lips as he lapped and suckled at her most sensitive, vulnerable places. "Yes, yes, don't stop! Please, God, don't stop!" she cried out, sobbing from the pleasure, arms and legs straining as she fought her restraints. She wanted to feel his body over hers, in hers... to pull him closer until they were one being, straining for completion.
Fortunately, her lover was both insightful and generous. He gave her what she needed, not just what she wanted.
His worship of her pussy continued, despite her whimpers for him to get it over with and just fuck her already. His mouth was relentless in its love making, both in terms of technical skill and in its praise of her beauty, her delicious scent, her luscious flavour...
"So lickable," he sighed with pleasure, rimming her slick, pink opening. "I could do this forever to you."
"I wouldn't object," she admitted, then gave a joyful gasp when one of his fingers pressed into her, entering her slowly.
She was so close to climax she was trembling from head to toe. The erotic feelings coursing through her were unlike any she'd experienced before... and this was only the foreplay part of the sex! What would it be like when they-
Her lover's devilish finger slowly pulled out of her body and pushed back in. It curled at the knuckle, caressing the upper lip inside...
"DRACO!"
Hermione woke up with a gasp, breath coming in short pants. Her knickers uncomfortably stuck to her lower lips, which were soaked with her arousal. Cursing, she shoved the blankets off in an attempt to cool down.
What the fuck was that? It felt so real!
She groaned into her pillow as she turned onto her belly, trying to ignore her body's screaming needs. Merlin, her breasts were achy and her nipples were hard points under her thin sleep shirt! Her clit throbbed, too, sending shards of tingling pleasure through her womb whenever her knickers pressed against her a little too roughly. Her inner thighs were wet with sweat.
Grudgingly, she flipped back over and trailed a hand down her body, following the same path his hand had followed in her dream. Tracing her slit through the cotton of her panties made her shiver; her inner muscles clenched in anticipation.
Knowing resistance was futile, and tortured by her burning body, Hermione shoved her hand inside her underwear and immediately found her hard nub. It only took a minute of stroking over it before she exploded in climax.
For the last several weeks, ever since that day she had caught Malfoy fucking his assistant against the wall, her co-worker had haunted her dreams and tormented her senses. This latest sleep-jaunt had actually been rather tame compared to some of the others she'd had.
Although she always thoroughly enjoyed herself in her night time fantasies, the morning after was a completely different matter - shame consumed her then.
Lately, her day life was also being consumed with imaginations of him. They invaded her consciousness whenever she caught sight of his platinum hair or when someone mentioned his name.
This obsession she was nurturing for Malfoy was becoming ridiculous. She was tired of waking up on the edge of a blinding orgasm and with lingering memories of the way his imagined tongue felt between her thighs. She was sick of having to endure their work-related meetings with damp knickers. She spent as much time now attempting to maintain her composure around him as she did working on 'The Serpent's' case at his side.
Mostly, she hated the deep disappointment in her chest knowing that none of it was real or reciprocated.
Why, oh why, couldn't she have a strong, fiery desire for Theodore Nott? He was good-looking, genuinely nice (he did have his Slytherin moments, though), and most importantly, he was interested in her. If her dirty mind had fixated on him, she wouldn't be suffering, for it was obvious that Theo was physically attracted to her, so getting him in bed wouldn't be a difficult challenge.
But no, she had to go and develop a sexual obsession with the least suitable wizard in the universe - the man she had to work in close proximity with on the biggest case of her career. Witch Weekly's Number One Sexy Smiler.
Groaning in disgust, Hermione refused to resign herself to eternally unsatisfied lust. Tonight was Fiona Zabini's dinner party, and if she played her cards right, she wouldn't return home alone. Maybe a night of hot, freaky circus sex with her dark-haired date would help her to get over her attraction for her co-worker.
Maybe after tonight, she'd stop picturing Malfoy naked, and wonder what he really sounded like when he came...
Shower, I need a shower. Pronto. Before I Floo to his place and shag him senseless.
*.*.*.*.*
After a cold shower, Hermione called Ginny for some girl-bonding time (and to come help her with her make-up and hair, as Beauty Charms were not her forte, and Gin was fabulous at fashion advice).
Her BFF arrived after lunch, carrying a large canvas bag filled with beauty potions and products, and proceeded to give Hermione a total make-over. Unfortunately, her insecurities reared their ugly head and she internally balked at putting on the gorgeous dress Ginny had picked out the other day (and sneakily bought for her after Hermione had left).
Her girlfriend reminded her that she was dressing to impress Theo tonight, and wisely advised her to concentrate on that and to forget all about Malfoy. So, Hermione put her best foot forward, repeating the mantra in her head that she intended on knocking Theodore Nott for a six tonight.
Hermione's confidence rose when her date appeared at her door. As his appreciative eyes trailed her figure from head to toe, they darkened to a deep ocean blue, especially when he saw her sexy black peep-toe ankle boots Narcissa had picked out for her the other day and had the store deliver them to her door the same night.
Theo was a foot man, apparently.
Her lips twitched when she turned her back to him to grab her coat and heard his sharp intake of breath. The elegant up-do Ginny had twisted her hair into left the daring cut of the dress backing completely exposed, but Hermione didn't feel embarrassed when she felt Theo's eyes following the curve of her spine as she walked to her hall closet. No, for the first time all week, what she felt was immense satisfaction.
On their ride to the impressive Zabini estate just outside of London, the conversation was somewhat stilted as her date answered her questions with one word answers, clearly unable to form coherent sentences. If it wasn't for the fact that his jaw was tight and his hands were gripping his cushiony seat with white-knuckled force, Hermione might have feared he was either indifferent to her charms or seeking a quick escape from the magical carriage. However, his expression was of a man ravenous to have at her, and so her doubts were dispelled.
To have a gorgeous, desirable man like Theodore Nott lusting after her was flattering, and Hermione felt confident that tonight she wouldn't be alone in her bed. Her womb fluttered in response to such naughty deliberations, and her mind immediately conjured up images that would have made her blush on any other occasion.
Sitting across from her, and as if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Theo shifted. He crossed his legs and pulled his coat closed in an obvious attempt to hide his erection from her.
Hermione inwardly smirked.
"So, tell me, who else is going to be there?" she asked, smiling coyly as his reflection in the door glass.
"Oh, you know," he began, clearing his throat and attempting a casual, unaffected facade. "The usual busy-bodies: Blaise, of course, with his girlfriend, Daphne Greengrass. Hyacinth Parkinson and her delightful daughter, Pansy, will be there as well. Perhaps a few family friends of Mrs. Zabini - members of her elite social circle, I'm sure."
Hermione mentally noted every guest would probably be a pure-blood, then. Would she be the only Muggle-born in attendance?
Probably.
Did she care?
Not one iota. She knew how to hold her own against pure-blood prejudice.
*.*.*.*.*
It was truly amazing what power and fame did to influence people's attitudes and behaviour, especially towards someone they'd previously treated as not better than a filthy animal.
Hermione was the centre of attention at Mrs. Zabini’s party from the minute she walked into the woman’s opulent drawing room (with its ancient oak doors carved with a series of bas-reliefs and its Baroque-style furniture and art a throw-back to the by-gone Renaissance era, when the aristocracy thrived). The hostess was entertaining her guests in the grand room off the dining area with apéritif-cocktails until the meal was announced ready, and Hermione and Theo were the last to arrive.
‘Perhaps a few family friends’ were in actuality more than a dozen pure-bloods, some she knew personally as they had frequent business with the Ministry. Some she had even recently interviewed for ‘The Serpent's’ case, in fact. Most of the gathering was completely unfamiliar to her, however, and that made her a bit nervous.
She might not know the small throng of guests, but apparently they knew of her, and as a group, wasted no time in stepping forward to make her acquaintance.
It was obvious from the get-go (from the exaggerated fawning) that these people were hoping to earn her political favour. It seemed they’d all read Skeeter’s article and had noted her near-future positioning within the DMLE. They were also clearly aware of her friendship with Harry and the Minister. With hidden, internal amusement, she watched and listened as they vied for her attention with extravagant flattery and a heaping of hearty congratulations on her appointment, all of the ‘unknowns’ clamouring over each other to make a good first impression upon her.
What hypocrites, she privately thought, smiling in appreciation when Theo offered her a flute of champagne. One minute they wish me dead, and the next they are kissing my arse. To her mind, the lot were as manipulative as she’d come to expect from pure-blood socialites.
One or two guests, however, didn’t participate in the ridiculous spectacle. There was no missing the sneer on Pansy Parkinson’s face when her date for the evening, a Mr. Donahue, bowed low over the back of Hermione’s hand in greeting and complimented her on her stylish dress.
Thankfully, that confrontation was cut short when dinner was abruptly announced.
As she turned to go into the dining room on Theo’s arm, she noted from her peripheral vision that her host, Fiona Zabini, was directing a venomous glare her way. The older, attractive woman was holding her Champagne flute so tightly Hermione half expected it to shatter into pieces in her hand.
Theo's reminder of the woman's attempts to seduce him again made her laugh. Apparently, Fiona didn't appreciate the object of her current fascination showing up with a date, especially one lauded by her friends as being beautiful and talented.
Hermione leaned into Theo and whispered a quick warning that Mrs. Zabini might not sell him the painting simply out of spite for his bringing her to the dinner tonight.
Her date shrugged. "If she expects me to fall into bed with her for the bloody thing, she's clearly delusional. I'm no gigolo."
That was the last they spoke on the issue as Theo escorted them to their assigned seats around the table.
That didn’t mean it was over, though.
During dinner, Hermione was seated to the right of the hostess, in a place of honour at the head of the table. As the meal progressed, she began to understand just how Mrs. Zabini planned to make Theo pay for his trespass of bringing another woman to her soiree: by embarrassing his date.
The witch shamelessly flirted with Theo all through dinner, her words and actions veiled with sexual innuendo. Theo had no choice but to answer the woman’s every inquiry, but did so by keeping a level head and a weary, watchful eye on Hermione’s reactions, she noted.
For her part, Hermione smiled politely and focussed on her dinner; she didn't pay much attention to what she was consuming, but every course was done perfectly and tasted heavenly.
A nudge of her foot under the table caused her to almost spill a spoonful of lobster bisque into her lap. She glanced across at her date, who had been seated opposite her per the rules of society dining. Clearly, he’d been culprit of the game of footsy as a way of getting her attention.
Currently, Theo was giving a tight, polite smile to Fiona, who was leaning so close to him she might as well crawl into his lap. Her breasts provocatively spilled over the top of her bodice, and her answering smile aggressively sexual.
Realising he needed her help, Hermione focussed on his quiet conversation with the lady of the house, tuning out the rest of the background noise. What she heard astounded her.
"My apologies Mrs. Zabini-"
"How many times must I ask you to call me Fiona, my darling Theo? There’s no need for formalities between good friends."
She spoke with a girlish purr in her voice, as might to a young lover.
Theo's hand tightened on his fork. "As I was saying," he continued, clearly ignoring her attempt to seduce him, "I cannot join you for dinner tomorrow night. I have business to attend in my gallery. We are hosting an exhibition soon, and my manager is new. If you wish to discuss my monetary offer for the painting, you should drop by my solicitor’s office next Monday. He deals with all of my financial matters and, as he has a writ of attorney’s privilege regarding my estate, can negotiate the sales terms and a bank transfer with you."
Fiona placed a hand on Theo's sleeve, her fingers running over the fine, woollen material of his formal dining jacket. "Oh, but I detest solicitors! They are so cold and impersonal! If tomorrow you're not available, my darling, then perhaps we should discuss the formalities of the sale tonight… say, after my guests leave?"
If that was not the world’s most blatant invitation for sex, I don't know what would be, Hermione thought with dry amusement.
“I’m sure we could find a carriage to take your… date… back to her hovel,” Mrs. Zabini continued with a negligent wave of her hand in Hermione’s direction, oblivious to the fact her conversation was being eavesdropped upon by said date. “You needn’t concern yourself with the woman’s safety, if that’s the only deterrent to us making this… sale.” Her steely emphasis on the last word made the implication clear: if Theo didn’t ditch Hermione and spend the night with the woman, there would be no deal between them.
Theo looked pale and a bit distressed by the witch’s threat, so Hermione decided it was time to put the old, rotten skag in her place.
"I'm afraid that's quite out of the question, Mrs. Zabini,” she stated in a polite tone while lifting her water glass. “You see, Theo promised to take me home tonight. We have a…special christening… to attend to back at my home.”
A total lie, but worth the small bruise to her reputation with the appearance of Fiona Zabini’s disapproving frown.
“I see.”
“Indeed. I have a long, exciting night planned for us after the party.” She glanced across the table and gave Theo a sultry smile. “No rest for the wicked, yes, my love?”
Theo played along, lifting his glass of wine in a toast to her. “I will endeavour to greet the sunrise at your side, my sweet.”
Fiona's eyes spat fire and her smile was all teeth. "How nice for you both. Although, I dare say, I hadn’t read any posted banns about your forthcoming marriage."
She was, of course, implying that sex before matrimony was a serious social faux pas.
Hermione tittered in the way of a simpering socialite. "Oh, well, Theo and I don’t hold to such old fashioned customs," she said, stressing the word ‘old’ to remind Mrs. Zabini of her hatred of the concept. “When we marry, we’ve both agreed to elope. A destination wedding is all the rage with the younger generations, you know. And, of course, I plan to continue working after. I’m far too young to retire.” Rub, rub, rub. She leaned towards Mrs. Zabini as if to impart a secret. “I realise it may be a bit too progressive in some circles, but I actually enjoy working for my own money rather than acquiring it via… other means.”
Like offing rich husbands.
An anger crease wrinkled Mrs. Zabini’s brow. Hermione took extreme delight in that.
Theo's expression never faltered at her lies where he was concerned. Instead, he cheekily blew her a kiss across the table. "Where you lead, I will follow, love." He winked at her.
Hermione sighed in exaggerated happiness. "He's so perfect, isn't he, Mrs. Zabini? I’m the luckiest woman in the world!"
*.*.*.*.*
If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under, Hermione thought with a snicker as she washed her hands in the loo’s sink.
Before coffee, she’d excused herself to visit the bathroom (which had proved to be bigger than her entire bedroom - and it was only a guest bathroom). By then, she’d felt she’d made her point to Fiona Zabini, who had seemed to retreat in a sulky huff, and had assumed Theo would be safe enough to be left unchaperoned for a bit.
She hoped.
If she returned and found the witch perched on Theo’s knee, she’d have to bring out the big guns for dealing with her. Never mind the fact she really didn’t have deeper feelings for Theo; it had become a point of pride at this point.
Drying her hands, Hermione checked her appearance in the vanity mirror over the sink. Her make-up was still perfectly applied but some wisps of her hair had escaped their confines and framed her face. She fixed them, reapplied her lipstick, and checked the back of her dress for appropriateness before going out to face the rabid bitch in heat that was determinedly after her date.
As she’d feared, Fiona hadn't pouted about her loss for long. Instead of being deterred by the fact that Theo had a woman he was (supposedly) head over arse for, she seemed to have taken his (exaggerated) off-the-market status as a challenge and had doubled her efforts to steal him away. A clever minx, however, she’d made sure to keep up the pretence of a business conversation, artfully dropping double entendres throughout pudding, and even (according to Theo later) going as far as to caress his calf with her bare foot, having slipped off her shoe to inch her icky toes up his trouser leg. Throughout it all, she’d maintained a coy smile on her lips, watching for Theo’s reaction through heavy-lidded eyes.
Merlin, the woman was truly shameless!
Nothing Hermione said or did after that had an impact on Mrs. Zabini’s hounding of Theo. The woman seemed resolved to get him into her bed, whether he wanted to be there or not.
When she glanced down the table towards the opposite end, she caught Blaise Zabini's eye. To her surprise, he didn't look appalled by his mother's blatant and inappropriate display of lust, rather he appeared resigned -and a little amused at his friend's expense, too.
Disgusted by Slytherin politics, Hermione spent the rest of the dessert course attempting to distract Mrs. Zabini with chatter about the (garish, vulgar, out-moded) décor around them. The more she tossed out veiled insults, however, the more aggressive Fiona’s interest in Theo became, as if she were resolved to winning the game she was playing.
By the time they were withdrawing to the game room to enjoy port and cigars, and perhaps a few parlour games, Hermione needed to go some place quiet to calm her anger. She chose the women’s again, and headed into the loo, while the others headed towards the library down the hall.
A Cooling Charm and a place to regain perspective did wonders to help her regain her centre. Ten minutes was all it took before she was ready to throw herself back into the fight.
She exited the bathroom… and stopped on a Sickle, instantly aware that the layout of the house had changed. Instead of exiting onto the side hall, where she’d come in, she was in a completely different wing of the house. She knew it was still the Zabini Manor by the hideous ornamentation all around, but it was clear she had gone in one door and come out another.
As there was no clear indication by the vastness of the hallway stretching to either side of her, and no sounds of the party carried to where she was, she believed she might even be on a separate floor from the others.
When she called for the Zabini house-elf who had originally shown her the loo the first time, he didn’t reappear. Further, a Point Me spell proved useless, as her wand did nothing but spin around in a circle in her hand.
Clearly the mistress of the house was using Slytherin tricks to keep Hermione from her date, believing her chances of winning Theo's attentions would be improved if she kept Hermione away for an extended period of time. By default, Hermione would also look like a fool if she were to summon someone to help her back.
Gritting her teeth at the woman's inventiveness, she tried asking a nearby portrait for help.
"The formal dining room? What are you doing here, then?” an elderly, olive-skinned man asked. He was wearing an Italian Renaissance doublet that had gone out of style in the sixteenth century. “You’re on the third floor of the house, near the old wet nurse’s quarters."
She’d been let out on at the servant’s hall - right where, she was sure, Fiona Zabini thought she belonged.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. What an absolute bitch her hostess was. She couldn’t wait for this infernal party to be over. "I just came out of the bathroom. I'm not familiar with the house.”
The man rubbed his bushy chin. "Hmm, seems Mistress Fiona is up to her usual tricks again. Have you done something to anger her, milady?"
"If coming here as the date of a man she wishes to bed counts, then that would be a definite ‘yes’."
"Ah, jealously! An ugly emotion." He sagely nodded. A twinkle of amusement appeared in his dark eyes. "Fiona is not used to vying for any man's attentions, and if your lad ignored her for you, you have most certainly earned her ire."
"She has no one to blame but herself for his loathing of her. She’s an absolutely horrid woman," she stated.
"I agree. However, the fact is Mistress Fiona will never accept that any man doesn’t desire her. She's an incredibly vain and foolish woman - but also extremely clever and vicious. Beware of her, milady." He clapped his hands together and rubbed them, getting down to business. "Now to return from whence you came, follow this hall down to the end, turn left, climb down the first flight of stairs you'll find, go right, and you'll find yourself in the dining room once more."
"Thank you, sir. You’ve been most charitable."
"You’re quite welcome, milady. Buona Fortuna!"
As she made her way down the hall, a soft ‘thud’ came from somewhere ahead, behind one of the closed doors. She paused, visually verifying that she was alone in the corridor.
There was definitely no one else around.
Her Auror training kicked in, and her senses snapped to full alert. Keeping her back to the wall, she stealthily moved down the hall, keeping her ears and eyes open.
There... Another soft ‘thud’ sounded from a room down the hall, as if a heavy object had fallen onto thick carpeting. Hesitating, Hermione tightened her grip on her wand. If it was an intruder, she would truss them up like a Christmas turkey and leave them for Mrs. Zabini to handle.
It's probably nothing, she reassured herself. Old, creepy, tastelessly-decorated houses made noises all the time.
She gripped the cold, gilded doorknob and slowly began turning it. It made a loud ‘click’ and Hermione flinched. Hell. Why hadn’t she remembered to use a Muffling Charm on the door in advance?
Too late now to worry about it.
Pushing open the door, she ducked behind the jamb and peeked around it into the room. It was an office, but it looked like it hadn't an occupant for a long time. The desk was devoid of any object, the chair carefully placed behind it. French doors led to a balcony opposite her, and the heavy curtain was drawn across it. Slivers of moonlight managed to sneak through the cracks, though, and dimly illuminate the dark room.
Bookshelves lined the walls behind the desk, and her keen eyes found a thick tome lying face down nearby on the room’s Persian carpet.
Sighing softly, she shook her head. A book! She had been ready to bring down the lightning for a silly book! Annoyed, she crossed the room, bent over and picked up the book. As she straightened herself, she also straightened the book’s cover.
Blast it all, but she was going to give Fiona Zabini a piece of her mind for causing her all this trouble!
She felt the magical shifts in energy around her as a spell being cast. Before she saw the blue light from her peripheral vision, she tensed to dive to the side. Too late, she was caught by its power. The book tumbled from her hands as her arms and legs snapped in tight to her body, and she toppled over, unable to prevent her fall.
A Petrify spell.
In her head, Hermione was swearing up a storm.
Face pressed into the plush carpet (at least the spell prevented any damage from the fall… she might have broken her nose otherwise!), she heard her assailant approach, his steps muted, but unmistakably coming closer.
Fear clawed at her heart. How long had she been gone? Surely, Theo had noticed her absence by now? Surely, he’d know to call the cavalry, given their hostess had made it clear that she’d had it in for his date? Surely, he wouldn’t be so foolish as to allow himself to be distracted by that repulsive hag?
It really wouldn’t matter a flip if someone didn’t come to save her within the next ten seconds anyway, as her attacker was surely raising his wand now to cast the killing curse. And she could do nothing aside from lay there and wait for her death… with her indecent dress bunched up around her hips and flashing most, if not all, of her naked bum to the world.
She could really kick herself now for ignoring Mad-Eye Moody’s number one rule. The man had definitely been onto something there with that whole, ‘constant vigilance!’ thing.
Hermione felt her eyes burn, but so long as she was Petrified, she wouldn’t be able to cry away her mortification.
Gloved hands grasped her arms with far more gentleness than she’d anticipated, and the next thing she knew, she was turned over onto her back.
Face frozen into what was, she was sure, a ridiculous, wide-eyed expression, she found herself staring up into a pair of amused light-coloured eyes (were they blue or grey or a pale green? It was hard to tell in this light).
‘The Serpent’ matched his description perfectly, though: face mostly covered by a black mask that stretched over his head, hiding his hair away as well, and wearing tight black clothing from head to toe. Pale, pink, very kissable-looking lips stretched into a teasing smile.
“Well, well, look what the Kneazle dragged in,” he whispered in a husky, deep voice. “A pretty kitty for me to play with.”
He ran a single, leather-clad finger down the side of her face, gently tracing the contours of her jawline.
“A very pretty kitty, indeed. Must be my lucky night.”
An electric shiver shot down her spine as he moved his finger along the side of her throat, teasing her pulse point, and Hermione was horrified to realise her sex-starved body was reacting to his touch.
Merlin, Mrs. Avery had been right, hadn’t she? This perp moved and breathed sexiness.
A war was going on in her head just then. To shag or not to shag, that was the question.
"My Lioness," her thief murmured. His tone was possessive and filled with heat, and there was no question that he was declaring her his. "Finally we meet. Did you like your present?"
Oh, yes. Definitely to shag.