Fulfillment

danielerin

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 31/10/2004
Last Updated: 31/10/2004
Status: completed

PWP Smutlet - Harry's annual retreat. Is he being naughty?

Chapters

1. Fulfillment

1. Fulfillment

Author’s Note: This is pure smut. Plot? What Plot? If you don’t like smut, don’t read. If you do like smut, I hope you enjoy this. I wrote this as a challenge to myself — to see if I could write "erotica." It works for me (nudge nudge, wink wink). Hope you like.

I must thank my good friend, Cheering Charm, who beta’ed this story, as well as my first, "It’s All Relative" (and I forgot to mention that in that story). Her advice, not surprisingly, is invaluable.

Disclaimer: I don’t have any claim on these characters. If only….

As the train pulled into the station, his heart started beating a bit faster. He checked his watch and found that he was now a full hour behind schedule. He hoped she hadn’t been waiting too long for him. He didn’t like to start their time together on a sour note. This confounded rule they had about keeping their weekends "all-muggle" had sorely tested him as he waited more than half an hour in the cold rain for his train to arrive at Kings Cross this morning. But maybe the weather had delayed her as well. He never asked her how she arrived at their shared destination. They weren’t allowed to talk. Not until Sunday, anyway, when their time alone became limited.

He smiled to no one in particular as his mind began relaxing. Three blissful days alone with her. He waited patiently for this special weekend that they shared once every twelve months. When the pressures of his job or his home life began to get to him, he would calm himself with the thought of holding her…soft, warm, desirable, yielding, passionate, uninhibited, undemanding (except in a good way), silent, beautiful, wonderful her. His own personal goddess.

His smile widened as he tried to picture her waiting for him. What would she be wearing this year as she lay in wait for him? The possibilities were endless. As he pondered some of the more exotic ones, he somehow summoned enough fortitude and focus to signal for a cab. He gave the driver the address – he knew it by heart after all these years – and his heartbeat skipped once again.

Almost there.

Upon his arrival, the rain seemed to find renewed purpose. The torrential downpour had soaked him to the bone, but it couldn’t dampen his spirits. He paid the cab driver and sent him on his way. He turned toward the cottage, slung his overnight bag over his shoulder, and practically skipped in anticipation down the cobblestone walkway.

He found the key where she always left it. He wasn’t sure if the goofy grin on his face was new or just a permutation of the silly smile he’d sported all day, but she managed to make him happy already. The key was tucked away in a burgundy silk pouch, along with a note that said, "I hope you took your vitamin today." She had included a velvety soft silk stocking. He ran his hands through it, rubbed it almost reverently against his cheek, and put it in the pocket of the muggle overcoat he was wearing. That little souvenir was well worth saving.

He entered the small cottage and shook himself free of any loose water that had pooled on his person. He never used brollies. It was bad enough looking like a helpless muggle running from train to taxi; he wasn’t going to fight an umbrella in this wind only to come out the loser. He pinned his hopes for warmth and protection from the harsh elements on his enchanting mistress — the woman who stole him from his life once a year to renew his soul.

He would not feel guilty about this gift he gave himself each autumn. Yes, it may be selfish. Yes, it may require lies be told to avoid inflicting pain on innocents. Yes, they kept to the muggle world to avoid being caught. Yes, they were taking a risk each time they crossed this line. And yes, it was worth it. It was entirely worth it. Nothing in the world would ever change his mind about that.

He looked around the lounge in child-like anticipation. It was quiet and empty. He darted into the kitchen and dining area thinking that perhaps she’d be sitting at the table in a warm dressing gown sipping tea and reading a book. No such sight greeted him. His heart began to pound as the possibilities dwindled. He returned to the entryway and began ascending the stairs. His breathing became ragged at the thought of what awaited him at the top of the stairs. When he entered the bedroom — their room — his smile returned. He had still not spotted her, but her presence was palpable.

The room was spotless. The pillows had been fluffed. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn back, allowing the sheer panels underneath to diffuse what little light entered the room from the dreary day outside. At least two dozen candles were put to good use to light the dark room; the scent of lavender and vanilla permeated the air. Several arrangements of fresh flowers brought color to the otherwise staid décor. Rose petals were strewn about the floor and over the duvet. A fire was crackling in the small fireplace and soft music was playing in the background, although he couldn’t see the source and wondered briefly if she had betrayed the rules for once. The blankets on the four-poster bed were drawn back and looked extremely inviting.

His blood began to run hard and fast through his body in sweet anticipation.

Harry had lingered long enough in appreciation of his surroundings. That would be all he would notice of anything but her for the rest of the weekend. He removed his coat and threw it on the overstuffed chair nearest the bay window that looked out over the countryside. He loosened his tie and toed off his shoes. He turned his hungry gaze in the direction of the bathroom wondering if he would find her soaking in bubbles.

As he entered the bathroom, he felt her body press against his from behind and her small hands covered his eyes. In keeping with the rules, he did not utter a word of surprise but rather grabbed her wrists in appreciation of seeing her for the first time in what felt like forever. She deftly removed his glasses and replaced her hands with a silk sash to cover his eyes. She tied it tight enough to make sure he couldn’t peek, and led him back to that inviting bed.

She sat him down on the edge of it and leaned in for a kiss hello. After a small, chaste kiss on the lips, he grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to him, sealing her mouth with his and doing his best to inspect her tonsils with his tongue. He was so hungry for her, it didn’t bother him one bit that he was blindfolded. His eyes would have been closed anyway as he tasted her and inhaled her. Once he felt sure that he remembered fully the contours of her mouth, he moved his mouth to her jawline, then to her neck, tasting more and more of her and breathing her scent in.

He didn’t know where this need and longing came from each year. His wife, the woman he’d left behind, was beautiful…to him anyway. More than that, she was remarkable. She was all that he could ever want – ever dream of. Her compassion was unparalleled, and her love warmed his coldest nights. She chased away his nightmares and made him whole again after a childhood that left him bereft of affection and insight. He hadn’t thought to mourn the loss of his spirit when he never knew what it was to flourish. With his beloved wife, all things flourished. Every day was special. Every simple gesture was filled with meaning. She supported his choices and gave him his own space as well – to play, to work, to make mistakes and to deal with his past. She had gifted him with three amazing children…a true testament to her courage and her faith in him. He had never had a loving father he could remember, but she told him that his love was the purest she had ever known. She trusted him, she loved him, and she saved his life every single day. His ever-present guardian angel. There wasn’t a day that passed by without him thanking God or Merlin or whatever greater power the universe offered for the beautiful woman that had agreed to share his life.

But this woman – the woman he encountered for one glorious weekend each year in the Yorkshire countryside – she was different. She was exotic and mysterious. He looked at her with the eyes of a child, with wonder and unconditional love. He trusted his whole self to her as well. Unlike the woman he shared his bed with the rest of the year, this woman did not accept his self-deprecation or his insecurities. She demanded that he leave his past and present at home. He was not allowed to burden their time with his nightmares or the stress of his job or the worries of raising a family. She brooked no refusals. When first he had encountered her, he thought to deny her. How could he be with a woman with no compassion for his fears or his pain? Why did he need her when he had a fulfilling marriage? But his body had betrayed him and he caved to his desire. And when it had, he saw that she, too, offered compassion. Her healing came in the form of forgetting. It came in the form of blissful peace. She demanded silence and total concentration on each other and only each other. His stubborn righteousness was dissuaded and his life became all the richer for it.

His thoughts were no longer coherent as he felt the strain of his arousal against his trousers. She did this to him with little effort. Even at his age, he had no problem rising to the task when she did nothing more than make her presence known to him. His body had a good memory. This woman had tantalized and tormented him so deliciously over the years, he could not help but become the willing accomplice – or apprentice, truth be told. She taught him how to let go and lose himself, guilt-free, in his desire.

She ran her hand gently over his erection and stroked it with her fingers. A low groan escaped his lips and he could almost feel her impish grin forming. Quite the predator she was. His hands had begun exploring her body in the hopes of unwrapping her, revealing her beauty to all of his senses save his sight. He ran his hands up and down her arms, which were bare. He could feel the goose bumps rising on her arm as his hands tingled. She was placing small butterfly kisses along his neck and jaw while continuing to stroke him. He felt himself becoming too hard to keep his trousers on much longer. He squirmed.

She laughed at his predicament and stood up, taking his hands and raising him to a standing position as well. She took his hands and placed them on her waist firmly, making it clear that they were to remain there until she granted him permission to move them. Then with deliberate laziness, she ran her fingers through his hair, over the features of his face, down his neck, over his tired shoulders, and down the planes of his chest where she slowed her progress and gave extra attention to his well-defined muscles. He was practically purring and finding it near impossible not to touch her everywhere. He wanted to devour her. Serve her up on a platter and have her for dinner. Maddening as it was, though, he knew enough to leave her to her mischief. He was sure to be satisfied by the end of the evening.

She began to unbutton his shirt in a deliberate manner. As each button came free, she would explore the exposed area of his chest and abdomen with her hands. When she got to the bottom of his shirt, she tugged it free of his trousers, finished with the buttons and opened the shirt wide, immediately moving to run her tongue from his navel to his chest and each hardened nipple in turn. She spent an agonizing amount of time licking first his left and then his right nipple, going at them as if they were her favorite sweets. He almost cried out in frustration. He was sure his trousers would burst any minute now and he’d be left with an awkward explanation to proffer at home. Finally, she had mercy on him and unbuttoned his trousers. She took her time lowering his zipper, moved her small hands beneath the material, and grabbed his arse with both hands. She squeezed a bit, eliciting another groan from Harry as the part of him that contained most of his body’s blood at this point came into close contact with her body. She lowered his trousers and he started to feel more confident that he would soon be put out of his misery.

She continued tormenting him, though, by running her skillful hands up his legs after sliding his chinos to the floor. She teased him by tickling the soft skin behind his knees, massaging his sensitive thigh muscles, and skipping her fingers lightly across the warm flesh of his inner thighs. His erection was so prominent that it would not be contained by his boxer shorts. She was on her knees now and hugged him around his waist, holding onto his adorable bum. It was a sign of her love and affection in the midst of the overwhelming lust. They did not allow themselves words to express their feelings and interrupt their peace until Sunday. It was important that their feelings were conveyed with actions. So he gripped her shoulders and ran his fingers through her hair, cradling her head with care.

She then removed the last barrier to their skin on skin encounter with caution. After she took his boxer shorts off, she removed his socks and he stood before her completely exposed and breathless in anticipation. But she wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily. She guided him onto the bed and pushed him into a prone position. Then she climbed on the bed next to him and once again ran her hands over him — every single inch of him. The most excruciating part, however, was that she followed the trails her fingers made with her tongue and her luscious lips. He was about to implode. He wanted nothing more than to grab her and impale her petite body on his rock hard cock. He was moaning and groaning and squirming and reaching for whatever part of her his hands could find. But she would not relent.

She straddled him and he could feel the warmth between her legs, along with a soft and decidedly wet patch of material, rubbing against the one part of him that mattered the most right now. She took his hands and placed meaningful kisses on each palm. She then guided his hands to her arse making sure he grabbed hold. She must have been wearing a thong or a g-string because he was feeling her bare bum, no doubt about it, and he pictured the perfect curves of it in his head even as he felt them. She moved his hands around a bit and he caught on to her intentions — she wanted him to feel her. Touch her and feel her in that agonizing way that she had just explored him. He was only too happy to oblige.

After a minute or two of appreciation centered on her lovely arse, he moved his hands over her hips, to her waist, and on to her slightly curved belly. With tenderness, he caressed her even though his baser instincts were telling him to ravish her. One hand ventured south and cupped her crotch as his fingers danced along the wet satin. He then moved his free hand up her right side and molded it over her breast. He knew her body by heart. Her breasts fit perfectly in his hands…as if they were made just for him. As his fingers ran across her hard nipple, a shock of arousal caused his body to jerk involuntarily and her response was a throaty chuckle. Her arousal was evident in the dampness of her knickers and the hum in her throat. Her body was squirming on top of him, which was driving him mad. He couldn’t stand it any longer.

He lunged forward, sitting up as much as possible, and attacked her left breast with his mouth. The satin and lace of her bra were enticing but he wanted more of her skin – all of her skin. With the speed of a world-class seeker and the skill of an experienced lover, his hands unlatched her bra. He tore it off her and threw it across the room. She was laughing now, in a delirious "I’ve got you right where I want you" sort of way. His mouth went back to work. He licked all around her nipples as she arched her back to encourage him and gripped him with strength beyond belief. He wanted to torture her the way she’d been torturing him. He kissed her breasts and licked her areolas not yet touching the firm pebbles in the middle. One arm curled around her small waist holding her in place, while his free hand securely held whichever breast he was tasting at the time. Finally, finally he ran his tongue over each nipple in turn and smiled as he heard her cry out in satisfaction and pleasure. Then he started suckling with the ardor of a hungry newborn. Her hands were knotting in his hair and the pain of it seemed to increase his gratification. His tongue and lips continued to work at her and each tit in turn would be sore after he was through. He couldn’t stop himself. He wanted more than just the best shag of his life. He did this, he attended to her pleasure so enthusiastically, because causing her to shatter was almost more satisfying than his own release. Knowing that he had the power to crush her – to set her off into the atmosphere and bring her crashing down to Earth – that was an aphrodisiac unlike any other.

He could tell by her sounds and her movements that she was nearing the edge. She could no longer keep her cool despite her years of practice. She used the hands knotted in his hair to turn his head to her face and she attached herself to his mouth. Their tongues wrestled as she rolled her hips back and forth over his erection. In one swift movement, she moved the slight material aside, positioned him at her entrance and fell down on him so hard that she could feel his invasion of her resonate throughout her body. The thrill of being completely inside of her caused his eyes to flutter shut beneath the blindfold and his throat to let out a slow groan.

He knew this wasn’t going to last long so he took a moment to absorb the bliss of being settled inside of her, where he always wanted to be. She held onto him like he was a lifeline, the moment meaning as much to her as it did to him. She raised herself until he was almost free of her, then she slowly lowered herself again. After two or three repetitions of this, neither one could refrain from the all out banging that their bodies craved. She began to slam into him so hard that he thought he would lose his mind. His hips moved in rhythm with hers, thrusting as hard as he could to hit her sex with all of his might. His hands were fastened to her hips, making sure that she was moving as fast as possible. Somewhere in his mind, which was robbed of the blood needed to function properly, he could hear her scream as she lost all control and he felt her muscles tighten around him. This gave him all the incentive he needed to let go. After a few more thrusts, he was crying out as he shot his load into her. He felt like he’d released a dam. Lights exploded behind his closed eyelids and his body convulsed.

As he came down from that high, he felt her lips on his again, but this time in a slow wet kiss. He loved kissing her just after she came. Her mouth was so incredibly soft and yielding. They continued to express their feelings in their kisses and hold each other for dear life. After several minutes, she released his blindfold and tossed it on the floor. He looked at her and his heart was full to bursting. Her face was flush and sweaty, her chest was heaving with her ragged breathing, and she wore the world’s sweetest smile. He noticed a tear running down her cheek and he kissed it away. He then brought her down with him and pulled the blankets over them. These were the moments he wished they hadn’t made those sodding rules. He wanted so badly to say it. He wanted to hear her say it. But it didn’t matter. He had her in his arms, warm and soft and sated, and all was right with the world.

*****

The music had stopped. The fire was dying. Many of the candles had burned out and the sky outside was now pitch dark. He opened his eyes to check the clock, but when he realized that his partner was no longer in bed with him, the time was of no consequence. He felt compelled to investigate her absence, no matter how reluctant his tired body.

After their first encounter, they had rested for an hour or so, sliding in and out of consciousness while caressing each other and holding each other. As the daylight faded, they came together again, making love in a slow and sensual manner. They savored each intoxicating moment with very few kisses, choosing instead to stare into each other’s eyes, foreheads touching, as her warmth encircled him and he came inside her. The look on her face when she felt him spill his seed into her took his breath away. He collapsed on top of her and slid to the side to relieve the pressure of his weight on her petite frame. They then succumbed to blissful sleep as she held him to her breast.

It was now at least four hours later, and he found her exactly where he suspected she would be – the kitchen. She was notorious for her ravenous appetite for a midnight snack after their ardent nighttime trysts. And their first night was always like this. The freedom each felt in turning over themselves completely to the other – no outside interference – well, it made their first encounters on this annual sojourn memorable to say the least. And after those memorable encounters, she would always find her way to the kitchen to create a snack the size of a meal.

He was reminded of their first time – their first weekend of debauchery some fifteen years earlier that had started the tradition he now lived for. She had surprised him with her ferocity. Her appetite seemed unquenchable and he was starting to get worried about his ability to keep up. When he found her gorging on several poached eggs on toast at half one in the morning, he almost laughed out loud in relief. She was re-fueling and he joined in. Every year since, the scene was repeated. And inevitably, their trip to the kitchen would lead to a new venue in which to explore each other.

This year was no different. As he stood at the door to the quaint cottage kitchen watching her, she sucked on a peach in a way that told him she wasn’t just hungry for fruit. She stared right back at him, daring him to turn away. The sight of her was intoxicating. She sat on the countertop wearing only his discarded shirt, and she hadn’t bothered with most of the buttons. Her legs were not crossed, but instead swung back and forth like a child’s would. He could see a hint of what was hidden beneath the tails of his shirt. The lump in his throat could not rival the growing bump below his waist.

When she finished the peach, she took the pit in her mouth and sucked on it. Once, twice, three times. Then the pit emerged from her mouth clean as a whistle. She tossed it into the sink and turned her heated glare on Harry. Noticing his discomfort, the corners of her mouth curled upward and she used her hands to spread her legs apart, as if opening a present for him. His jaw dropped. He was lucky not to start salivating right then and there. She then unbuttoned the shirt she nicked from him and pushed it to the side so that it draped off her shoulders. Pink, hardened nipples stood out from her soft round breasts and he felt himself swallow. She was now laid bare to him, in the light of the kitchen with no blankets to cover her or darkness to disguise her. Her pale skin was flush all over and her glorious center was pink and smooth, cleared of any and all hair with a well-placed charm the previous day. Harry wet his lips and imagined himself plunging into her, but fought to maintain his composure in order to see where she would take this.

Smug as hell in the knowledge that she was tormenting him, her next move seemed designed to bring about his end. She leaned back on her left hand, arching her back and thrusting her breasts outward. She put the middle finger of her right hand in her mouth, sucking it all in and moving it back and forth, in and out of her mouth, letting her tongue linger at the tip. Then she began to touch herself. He nearly fell over. He wasn’t meant to endure this standing up, that’s for sure, as his knees were unable to hold him. He moved inside the doorway to the wall and slid down until he hit the floor. His right hand betrayed him by covering his painful erection and he stroked himself through the material of his pyjamas.

His temptress had enjoyed his inability to control himself and threw her head back in pleasure. She closed her eyes and continued to run her fingers up and down her smooth slit, dipping in her fingertips now and again for affect. She ran several fingers over her clitoris and her body began to squirm involuntarily at the gratification. When she had worked herself up enough to near the brink, she moved her hand downward again and buried her middle finger inside her, thrusting it back and forth at a swift pace.

She was panting heavily now, as was her voyeur. Harry had released his cock by lowering the waist of his pyjama bottoms but he was desperate not to wank himself, knowing that he wouldn’t last long. He held it in one hand while the other cupped his nuts. When she removed her finger and then sucked it into her mouth, tasting every bit of her wetness, he thought he was going to lose it without ever jerking off. She sucked and licked and looked for all the world like she had just tasted the greatest treat the world had to offer. He wasn’t unfamiliar with this expression — after all, he saw it on her face whenever she took his cock in her mouth and ate his seed. But seeing her react this way to her own excitement, spread wide and savoring her own juices … well, it took on a whole new meaning for him, to say the least. He couldn’t take it any more.

He stood with purpose and moved to the counter where she lay back, presenting herself as a feast to him. But this time he wanted to torture her. Instead of plunging himself into her as she expected, he grabbed her: he curled his arms under her thighs and grasped her hips with his hands. He then pulled her up to him and attacked her apex with his mouth. She was so fucking wet. He could hear squelching sounds from the efforts of his tongue and lips, along with increased moaning and groaning from the woman who held him captive. She had grabbed his head with her hands and pulled his face into her. Breathing was becoming an issue for him and his face was covered in her sweat and her sweet moistness. He plunged his tongue into her over and over. Then, he ran his tongue all over her clit, lapping at it like an animal dying of thirst. Just as he thought he may have to relent, she threw her hands back on the counter to support herself as her body jerked uncontrollably and she screamed out in pleasure. He felt the wetness increase tenfold, as she came.

She lay back on the countertop, unable to move a muscle, and she looked up at him with a cheshire grin on her darling face. His burgeoning smile revealed his smugness. He loved that he had this effect on her. That he could make her boneless and happy. She beckoned for him to help her out of the awkward position she found herself in on the countertop. He took her hands and lifted her to her feet, but she stumbled, not yet having the proper blood flow in her legs to keep her upright. She did the only sensible thing and dropped to her knees.

His erection had not softened a whole lot in his pursuit of her but he didn’t mind this added attention. She grasped his length and lightly teased him with her tongue. She licked his balls and ran her tongue up his shaft. When she reached the head, she swirled her tongue around it several times before taking it in her mouth. She teased him by submerging only the head in her mouth for a while, flicking at it with her tongue and tasting his pre-cum. Finally, she took his entire rock-hard cock in her mouth and held him deep in her throat for several prolonged moments. He dropped his head back and ran his hands through her disheveled hair. His eyes rolled back into his head and his mouth hung open. Then she began to move on him, building up speed with every pass.

Her ministrations were heavenly. He felt like he’d never been harder in his life, although he was coherent enough to realize that she always made him feel like this. Like he would explode if she went any further.

Uniquely possessed of the talent to read him, she knew when she had sucked him to the brink. She stood and gave him a deep, tongue-twisting kiss. He tasted himself on her. He tasted her on her. And she tasted herself on him. It was intoxicating. Unable to take any more games, he sat her back on the counter, spread her legs as wide as he could, and buried his penis deep within her. He didn’t know which of them gasped and which let out the small scream. Either way, they were both happy to be joined in this way. He then held her thighs still and fucked her within an inch of her life. Their orgasms struck at the same moment, a rare occurrence. It was fortuitous, though, considering neither would have the strength to continue once they had each spent themselves.

When he had regained enough strength, he picked up her limp body in his arms and cradled her close to him. He kissed her forehead and smiled down at her. Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled almost shyly back at him. They shared a soft kiss of thanks.

He somehow made it back up the stairs to their hideaway with his treasure secure in his arms. Sated and utterly spent, they fell onto the bed together, crawled under the blankets, and climbed into each other’s embrace. Sleep came quickly.

*****

Saturday passed in much the same way. The day began with a lazy love-making session in bed. A good morning shag, as it were. He took her from behind while she lay on her side, and they both snoozed another hour or so after they were done. When they arose from bed at last, it was close to noon. They took a shower together, washing each other with tenderness and allowing their bodies time to recover from their fervent activities. Their hands roamed unchecked, but they did not go any further.

As was their custom, they dressed and headed for the kitchen to prepare a picnic lunch. They then explored the surrounding countryside and found, once again, the perfect spot to enjoy their picnic and each other, ending up naked and tangled up together wrapped in warm fleece blankets. They fed each other from the basket they had carried outside. They shared wine and fruit and small bites of sandwiches between long and involved snogging sessions that had once landed her in Harry’s lap, moving up and down on his rigid cock, gasping for breath and trying to stop her desire to scream out his name, in deference to the rules she herself had set years ago. As the afternoon drifted away from them, they dressed each other, in no rush to cover each other up despite the cold temperature urging them to move faster. They wandered back to the cottage with goofy, life-doesn’t-get-any-better-than-this grins on both their faces.

That night, when he thought he could shag no more, she had revived his strength with an outfit that could only be described as unforgettable. He woke from his evening kip to the sight of his insatiable mistress dressed to kill. He drank in the sight of her and vowed to commit the image to memory some time before he tore each and every piece of lingerie from her body.

Her feet looked so delicate in the black patent leather stiletto-healed shoes. Her sleek silk stockings rose to mid-thigh on her delicious legs where they were held in place by suspenders attached to a very tight red corset. She wore no knickers this night, the sight of her naked smooth sex alone causing his cock to twitch. The corset cinched her waist tightly, accentuating the round curves of her hips and enhancing the curves of her breasts, which looked at least a size larger in this get-up. There was a red and black lace collar around her neck and long silk black gloves that ended above her elbows. She had her hands on her hips and wore an almost impatient, carnivorous expression on her face. Her hair was piled on top of her head in loose curls, some of it dripping down around her face, and it was apparent that she had spent extra time applying makeup and perfuming her scent. She looked like a bitch in heat. And she clearly meant to make him succumb to her every whim.

She had, of course, achieved her goal. He was astounded that his body could react at all after the afternoon’s play time, but here he was, completely at her mercy and itching to be sheathed inside of her once again. His body was ready. Ready for the exquisite torture that she would make him endure in order to get the taste of her he longed for. He could never be bored with this vixen around. He could never tire of her. It just wasn’t possible. Somewhere in the dim recesses of his mind, he worried for his future. How would he ever survive this in his latter years. Bloody hell, how would he live to see forty? But the brain he was currently using to make all his decisions told the dim recesses of his mind to shut it. Live for today. There’s a temptress to ravish a few feet away from you, so stop thinking and get ravishing, Potter.

And ravish her he did. By the time they were through, some indeterminate amount of time later, he had begged for mercy, used his tongue on every inch of her, used his hands to hold her still more than once, cried out in pain as she tortured him with her wicked mouth and nimble fingers, proven himself capable of pure animalistic tendencies, and fucked her like a madman. They had both climaxed a couple of times. Her whorish outfit was strewn about the room in tatters. It would have to be binned in the morning. Perhaps he could salvage a scrap as a souvenir – a pleasant memory for the long train ride home.

That last thought brought him back down to earth with a thud. He tried hard not to think of the end of their weekend until the end arrived, but he was only human after all. As he held her sleeping body close to him and listened to the gentle sounds of her breathing, he contemplated his life once again. Yes, another year’s slice of heaven was coming closer to an end, but he didn’t regret it. He had long ago learned to balance his needs and his wants. He needed this refresher every year — he had come to rely on it. But he needed the rest of his life, as well…the rest of the year. He was a lucky man, indeed.

He finally fell asleep – a satisfied smile on his face.

******

The sun peeked through the curtains as if to gently remind them that their annual retreat was coming to an end. The ban on speaking lifted, he opened his eyes at the behest of the most beautiful woman in the world.

"Harry?" Her voice was sweet and smooth. His body responded to it instinctively. He held her tighter and buried his head deeper in the crook of her neck. "Happy anniversary, darling. Eighteen years…and each one better than the last." She hugged him with all her strength to emphasize her words. He drew back to look his exotic mistress in the eye and this time saw clearly his wife of eighteen years and his best friend of nine years more than that. He kept her close and ran his eyes over every feature of her blessedly familiar face.

"Happy anniversary, love." He sealed his wish with a soft, tender, slow kiss. "You are my favorite mistress. Do you know that, you wicked little witch?"

"I’d better be your only mistress, you randy wizard."

"I cannot believe there is another woman in the world who could do to me what you do to me."

"She’d find herself hexed into oblivion if she even tried. You’re mine, Harry. Whether we’re those responsible people that live at home or the people we allow ourselves to be here, I would do anything for you."

"My Hermione…who comes to me once a year with reckless abandon and unfettered imagination. You never cease to amaze me."

"I’m more than happy to put my superior research skills and hard working nature to good use. I only hope I can still surprise you after all these years."

"Surprise me? You come damn close to killing me every year. I may be getting too old to keep you satisfied. You won’t chuck me in favor of a twenty year old quidditch stud, will you? I’m not above begging, you know."

"Hmmm…I may be able to work that into my plans for next year," she said with a sly grin. "But I promise, love, I’ll use my powers for good. I may stretch your, er, skills a bit, but I’ll never turn you out in favor of a younger model. I’m partial to men with jagged scars, world-renown guilt complexes, and a CV that includes the vanquishing of psychotic wizards who tried to take over the world."

He chuckled and studied her facial features. "Lucky for me."

His smile faded and he felt the need to make her understand. All these years. It was all worth it. The Dursleys. Voldemort. The prophecy. The war. If that’s what he had to go through to be granted this life, with this witch, it was all worth it.

"I’m so grateful for this time each year, Hermione. To be able to take stock away from the world that demands so much from us and see you for what you truly are. A woman first and foremost and unlike any other. My alpha and omega. My everything." He choked on the last word.

With a gentle touch, he then wiped the welling tears from her eyes using the pads of his thumbs. She smiled a smile that touched his soul as she caressed his face with her two hands. The lump in her throat notwithstanding, she managed a quiet statement, filled with conviction.

"I love you beyond reason, you beautiful man."

Then she gave herself to him yet again. Body, mind, heart, and soul.