Make Like Strangers - Hermione's Secret

Make Like Strangers

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 31/08/2005
Last Updated: 01/09/2005
Status: completed

Harry discovers a secret that Hermione's been hiding from him. The question is...what's he going to do about it?

Chapters

1. Hermione's Secret

1. Hermione's Secret

First, the Dreaded A/N: Hello!! We're back! Sorry for the long delay in bringing you the next adventure of our beloved couple, but RL and a certain book that came out in July slowed us down…but just a bit! We can't promise you'll get updates as often as you were, but we want you to know we're still out here, alive and kicking, and working hard at bringing you the Harry/Hermione we've come to know and love in the world of Make Like Strangers.

Many of you were a part of our Yahoo MLS Group, which was recently disbanded. However, we are now proud to present to you, Harry and Hermione's Delusional Army (HHDA), our delusional, militant response to HBP and…other things. You're welcome to jump on in and discuss all things Harry Potter...and a little bit of whatever else might interest you. It is an “adult” message board forum for H/Hr shippers only, and you must sign up to become a member.

We're here to stay and HAVE NOT abandoned our beloved ship. Harry and Hermione have not been sunk, we're just not as far out into open waters as we'd like to be. We still have hope! We will continue to bring you stories of our favorite couple and despite all else, we will continue to sail on the HMS Harmony.

Thanks for your continued support. And now, without further ado, we bring you the next in a long line of MLS Harry/Hermione stories. Enjoy!!

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Make Like Strangers - Hermione's Secret

Priscilla moved slowly forward, her body moving of its own volition. She had seen him from a distance; the glint from the sun as it met the badge on his chest had sent a streak of light toward her, as though Cupid's arrow had taken on the form of light. She'd been unable to avert her eyes since.

His skin was a dark, beautiful bronze color, a testament to his many hours in the sun. His hair was long and dark, nearly black from what she could tell from a distance. His form fitting jeans accentuated his long, muscled legs. His cowboy hat, button down shirt, oversized belt buckle and old, worn boots completed his look of perfection. He was her cowboy fantasy come to life.

She had to meet him.

She continued her slow pace, her body moving as her mind drifted to satin sheets, champagne and strawberries, and the afterglow of white.hot.sex. She took a deep, intoxicating breath and caught the light, musky scent of what she imagined to be his aftershave. Her image of him changed with each step forward. She imagined the stubble from his five o'clock shadow tickling where he nuzzled her neck, and she giggled and visibly shook in delight.

Priscilla's head was tilted and her shoulders raised when her giggle reached Brock's ears and he looked up. She was less than fifteen feet away and it appeared as though she was staring right through him. He took advantage of her seemingly mindless state and raked his eyes over the length of her body. She was tall, her body long and lean in her tight jeans and white tank top. He noted her boots were high end, too classy to make her a real cowgirl. Her hat was a brilliant white with a short brown feather sticking up from the side. He couldn't withhold the laughter that escaped him at the sight of her. “City girls,” he muttered, shaking his head.

The sound of his laughter halted her footsteps and brought Priscilla abruptly from her reverie. She was surprised to find herself standing within a few feet of him, his eyes searching her face before an unmistakable mask of indifference fell over him. Her eyes quickly scanned the length of his body, down and back up, until green eyes met brown in an intense showdown. They seemed to stare at each other forever, neither relinquishing their hold on the other.

After what felt like an eternity, Brock moved first. “S'cuse me, miss,” he said, tipping his hat cordially as he attempted to walk past her.

“Where're you going?” Priscilla asked before she even realized she'd spoken.

“Pardon?” he inquired, turning around to face her fully.

Priscilla's breath hitched. “I said…” she shook her head, not remembering a word of her question. She narrowed her eyes and tried a different tactic. “Do I know you?”

“Not a lot of strangers `round these parts, but I reckon we come across a few now and again,” he replied evasively. He smiled at her now confused expression.

“So…” she said, continuing to stare at him openly, “I don't know you. I just…I thought….”

“You ever heard that thinkin' can lead to trouble, miss?” he asked, taking a step closer to her, his eyes now boring into hers.

“Reckon I have,” she replied vaguely, taking an unconscious step forward. She could feel her breaths grow shallow as they stepped toward each other, closing the distance between them. Her breasts heaved with an intensely unbridled desire.

He raised a hand to the side of her head and pulled her closer. His lips were mere inches from hers, his brown eyes locked with her green. Nearly imperceptibly she nodded her head as she licked her lips. Brock licked his own, then closed the minute distance between them.

She could feel the desire growing in the pit of her stomach. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before. His hands lightly brushed the flesh of her arms and prickles of white hot need coursed through her. She pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Their tongues pillaged each other's mouths, taking everything they could and leaving very little behind and unexplored.

Her body weakened from the intensity and she fell against him, the feel of his rock hard muscles against her firm, hard nipples elicited a deep, feral moan that caused him to pull back and look at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips slighted parted as though the effort to close them was far too great.

“What's your name, stranger?” he asked with a faint drawl. His body was flush against hers and he held her tight. His bulging manhood strained against his jeans, begging for release as it throbbed with the rhythm of his heart.

She cupped her hands around his ass and closed the infinitesimal space between them. “No time for names,” she breathed. “Just take me, take me now.”

“I'm home!” Hermione practically leapt off the couch, nearly dropping the book at the surprise interruption. She swallowed hard as she quickly dog-eared the page she was on and closed it.

“Dammit,” she mumbled as she hurried to hide it under the cushion of the sofa.

“Mione, are you…?” Harry came into the living room from the foyer and looked at her curiously as she jumped up and stood beside the couch looking unmistakably guilty.

"Harry," she said, jerking her knee back against the cushion to try and get it back into place. "You're home early." Her heart was pounding against her chest and she struggled to keep her voice light.

“You all right?” he asked skeptically.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” she said, brushing an annoying strand of hair from her face. “I'm fine. Sure I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?”

Harry's brow creased in question. As he walked towards her he noticed that her face was flushed. “You sure?”

“Yes, Harry. I'm fine,” she breathed. She was trying to sound casual, but Harry saw right through her. He always could.

He reached up and palmed her face, gently moving a thumb across her bottom lip. “You're a bad liar, Granger,” he whispered as he leaned closer, his warm breath sending shivers through her already quivering body.

“Harry, I….” his mouth enveloped hers in a kiss that instantly stole the breath from her body. She moaned contentedly into his mouth and brought her leg up to wrap around his hard thigh, crushing her pelvis against his. She wrapped her arms around him fiercely and clung to him as she attempted to swallow him whole.

Loving the reaction he was getting, yet still concerned, Harry pulled back and looked at her questioningly. Not that he minded this sort of welcome home, but she was acting a bit out of sorts. Wonder what's got her all hot and bothered. “So what's up?”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in his arms and he let go with a frown. She backed up a step and sat down on the couch, still trying to inconspicuously push the cushion back into place. “Nothing, really. Can't I just welcome you home?”

Harry sat down beside her, knowing full well that she was hiding something under the cushion. She nervously chewed on the corner of her bottom lip and averted her eyes. “Okay,” he said, sitting back and resting his head against the sofa.

Relieved that he seemed to have dropped the subject, Hermione shifted her position slightly, putting herself more firmly back on the couch, then crossing her legs. She glanced over at Harry who appeared to be sleeping, although she was sure he was just resting his eyes. “How was your day?” she asked casually.

Without opening his eyes, he replied, “I'll answer your question if you answer one for me.”

Hermione scowled. “Um, sure.”

Harry rolled his head to the side along the back of the couch and opened his eyes. “What are you hiding under the cushion?”

Feeling the color drain from her face, Hermione looked down. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

She looked up as she felt him leaning towards her, pressing her back into the couch. His lips were mere inches from hers; her eyes were glued to them. So kiss me already, dammit! She brought her knees up on either side of his hips as he moved closer. Her breaths quickened. “Harry,” she sighed, opening her mouth slightly as her eyes fluttered closed in anticipation of the contact of his sweet mouth against hers…except it never came.

Confused, she opened her eyes and she saw that he was still there, exactly where he had been when she closed her eyes. But he was making no attempt to get any closer to her. “What's under the cushion?” he asked quietly, his lips brushing against hers. He could feel her quivering beneath him. Normally, he would have torn her clothes off and taken her right then and there, but he was beyond curious to know what she was hiding from him.

“Oh!” she huffed, pushing up on his chest. “Honestly!” She found herself pinned under his body…and he wasn't moving. “Get off me.” He just shook his head. “Harry, I swear I'll…”

“You'll what?” He said against her lips, he pulled back when she moved to lock her mouth with his.

“Damn you, Potter!” she groaned, turning her face away from him. She was about to explode and he was doing nothing to prevent it. Sometimes she hated his self-control.

Just then she gasped and closed her eyes as she felt his hand slowly slide up her thigh, over the swell of her hip, up her side and past her breast, then back down again to settle at her waist. He leaned forward and planted a feather-light kiss on her cheek, then her ear, then her neck. “What's…under…the…cushion…?” He mumbled between kisses.

“Nothing,” she gasped, her entire body going rigid as he found that particular spot just below her right ear that made her tremble.

“Nothing, uh?” he said, pulling back and looking down into her hazed-over eyes. “Well, okay. If you're sure.” She just nodded. Her thighs squeezed his hips between them and her arms wound tightly around his neck, as she tried to pull him down on top of her. He wasn't budging. “Fair enough. But don't say I didn't warn you.”

She looked at him questioningly and he smiled. Then without warning, his fingers found her waist and she shrieked as he started to tickle her. “Harry! Stop!” He knew all of her ticklish spots and he was relentless. “Harry, please!”

“Come on, give,” he said, getting to his knees between her legs and punishing her with torturous tickling. “What's under the cushion, Mione?” He was trying not to laugh, but to see her so desperately trying to get away from him when she knew she couldn't was beyond funny. Her arms were flailing about wildly and her legs had fallen weakly to either side of him.

“Harry, please!” She breathed hard as he stopped momentarily to let her catch her breath, “I can't…breathe.”

“Then you'd better tell me what's under the cushion, luv,” he said seriously, but with a smirk on his handsome face.

With her chest rising and falling quickly with her labored breaths, she looked up at him. “None of your business,” she said with finality.

Harry frowned. “I'm sorry you feel that way, Miss Granger.” He raised his hands in front of her face, laced his fingers together and pulled them backwards, cracking his knuckles. “I'm afraid, then, I'll just have to continue on with my torture methods.”

“Harry, no…” Their eyes remained locked…his full of curiosity and playfulness, hers wild with pleading and anticipation.

“Harry, yes,” he whispered as he leaned over her, his lips teasing hers again, then his fingers dove for her waist again, lightly teasing and poking until she was giggling and shrieking and laughing. She was laughing so hard tears leaked out of her shut eyes.

And just when she didn't think she could take anymore, the torture suddenly stopped, she felt something move beneath her, and Harry rolled off the couch, the book she'd been reading clutched triumphantly in his hands.

“Cowboy Fantasies: A Compilation. Because Every Girl has a Cowboy Itch to Scratch?” he said incredulously, reading the title of the book and the tag line aloud, before looking down at her. “Hermione Granger, I'm shocked.”

Hermione sat up, breathing hard, grasping at her sides. “It's a book, Harry,” she said, her voice raspy. “Why should you be shocked that I was reading a book?”

Harry looked down at it again. “Yeah, but one of these books? And Cowboy Fantasies to boot!” He chuckled as he leafed through it.

“Ginny recommended it,” she said petulantly.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, did she now? Well, let's just see what we've got here.” He opened the book to the page she had marked. She watched as his eyes widened. “The valley betwixt her heaving breasts?” he said, looking at her again and trying not to laugh. “You've got to be kidding me.”

“Will you stop? I haven't gotten that far yet,” she huffed.

“I can't believe you actually read this dribble.”

She got up and reached for the book but he held it above his head where she couldn't get at it. “It's not dribble,” she said very seriously. “They're very informative actually.”

Harry laughed. “I'm sure,” he said, leafing through the pages. “Ginny tell you what she learned from it?” Without waiting for a reply he found another passage. He cleared his throat for dramatic effect and began to read aloud.

“But I shall fuck you my love, hard and fast, or soft and sweet. However your body requires it, I shall duly provide,” Harry read, barely finishing the sentence before a strangled chuckle escaped him.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, very funny,” she said, reaching for the book again. Harry kept it out of her reach, holding it high above his head and tilting his eyes upwards to continue.

“Oh, yes, Jacques! Maria exclaimed,” Harry read in a high-pitched whiney voice that was chock full of drama. “Take me now! Please! Before they find us!”

“Harry….” Hermione was getting agitated. The blush in her cheeks hadn't dissipated in the slightest.

He reached his free hand out and pushed lightly against her chest to keep her away while he continued. “Oh, sweet Maria, free my pulsing rod from its bondage and I shall surely take thee!” At this Harry broke out in laughter. “He did not say that!” he bellowed, nearly doubling over in laughter.

Hermione was finally able to grab the book from him and she clutched it to her chest. “Now, if you're quite finished….”

Harry stood up as the last few remaining chuckles escaped him. “I cannot believe you read that…that stuff.”

She shook her head and whirled away from him, but he had other ideas. He grabbed her around the waist from behind and pulled her back against him, giving his hips a little thrust against her bottom. The groan escaped her throat before she even realized it was there. “Harry….” she breathed.

“Do you want it hard and fast, or soft and sweet?” he whispered against her ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth.

“Oh, shit, Harry….”she moaned. Closing her eyes, she reached back, book still in hand, to wrap her arms around his head. Her back arched, enticing him, daring him to explore. Keeping one hand firmly against her abdomen to hold her in place, the other began its slow journey north up her side, brushing against the side of her breast where he left it, not touching, not moving…just resting.

“You're a right bastard,” she fumed, turning on him. Throwing her book down on the couch, she stormed into the kitchen leaving Harry standing there, semi aroused and now with apparently no avenue for release.

“Well,” he said quietly, “that didn't work out quite the way I planned it.” Looking down at the book, he picked it up, glanced towards the kitchen, then headed for the den where he had a report to finish for Remus.

Forty-five minutes later, he was still sitting behind his desk, quill in hand, staring at the half-filled page of parchment. His eyes kept drifting to Hermione's book that was resting just off to the side. He shook his head and smiled, then began to write some more.

Who knew this job would entail so much paperwork?

It's the `get to catch bad guys' thing that you're there for, remember? Who cares about the paperwork?

Yeah. It's still a bloody pain though.

“Dinner's ready,” Hermione said from the doorway. He glanced up at her and grinned.

“Be there in a second,” he said pleasantly. He watched as she came further into the room and picked up her book. Glancing at him, she left before he could speak. Seeing that the hostility was gone from her gaze, Harry grinned and he shook his head amusedly. He scribbled a few more lines, then set down the quill and stood to join her for dinner.

Dinner was quiet. Just a few casual comments were made about their day, the weather, and the upcoming family reunion at the Burrow. They snuck glances at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking. On one such occasion Harry had caught her staring at him, and she blushed furiously, quickly looking down at her plate, then picking up her goblet of pumpkin juice and draining it.

After dinner, Harry went back into the den to finish working on the report while Hermione cleaned up the kitchen. When she was done, she started a roaring fire and curled up with her book again. Not having to worry about Harry catching her reading it, she was much more relaxed.

Brock's lips enveloped hers in a fiery, passionate kiss that left her breathless and weak kneed. Holding tightly to her, Brock guided her toward a nearby haystack. A red and white checkered blanket lay folded on the corner of one bale. He released her only long enough to open the blanket and spread it out across the hay. He grabbed her and held her to him, his lips exploring the exposed skin of her neck, chest, and shoulders. His lips found a sensitive spot on her neck and she wriggled in his arms. He reveled in the feel of the power he had over her. The mewling sounds he elicited from her caused his cock to strain harder against his jeans. He scooped her up into his arms, then laid her gently down upon the blanket; his lips continuing to ravish every inch of bared, ivory skin.

She gathered his shirt into her hands and ripped it open. The sound of the snap buttons being torn apart caused her hips to rise against him and a flame of wanton desire to burn its way through her. She pushed his shirt as far as she could down his muscled arms, exposing the beauty of what lie beneath. She gasped at his perfection and ran her hands chaotically over and around his stomach, back, and chest. He moaned when her fingers grazed his nipples, and she smiled with the realization of her own power.

He pulled the tank top from her jeans and pushed it over her head, knocking his hand against her cowboy hat, which fell to the ground. She pushed at his shirt and he lifted first one arm and then the other so she could remove it completely. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled her onto her side, with a quick flick of his nimble fingers, her bra was unhooked. He laid her down, his fingers running the length of her arms as he slowly slid the bra down her shoulders and off her body.

He pinched her nipple and her hips rose again. “You like that?” he asked heavily, gazing directly into her eyes.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Taste it. Pull it into your mouth, tease it with your tongue, bite it with your teeth. Torture me…it feels so good.” The last three words passed through her lips slowly as the burning sensation in the pit of her stomach seared a path downward, deliciously warming her, preparing her to be taken.

Her hands seemed to lose themselves in his long, dark hair. It was silky smooth and fell softly against her stomach, tickling her with its feather light touch.

“I want you,” he whispered hoarsely, kissing his way up from the valley betwixt her heaving breasts. His eyes met hers and he searched for any sign of doubt.

She wrapped her arms around his torso and pulled him until he was flush against her. She wrapped her jeans-clad legs around his waist and pressed up against his bulging erection. “I can feel it,” she said breathily, staring longingly into his eyes. “Can't you feel how much I want you too? Take me, my cowboy stranger. Make me yours.”

Between the warmth of the fire and the heat of the book, Hermione began to feel lightheaded and sleepy. She settled back into the couch, intending to close her eyes for just a moment.

About an hour after he entered the den, Harry stood up and stretched. He was parched and decided a nice cold bottle of butterbeer was just what he needed. On his way to the kitchen, he noticed that Hermione had fallen asleep on the couch. Smiling at seeing the book resting on her chest, he carefully took it from her and set it on the table. Reaching towards the back of the couch for his Gryffindor wool blanket, he gently spread it over her sleeping form and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well,” he whispered. He got the butterbeer from the kitchen then disappeared again into the den to finish that blasted report once and for all.

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Hermione looked around. She was standing in front of the old Sheriff's Office, dirt roads as far as the eye could see. A lone tumbleweed blew across the road in front of her. “It's like an old western movie,” she said quietly to herself. She looked down at the soft yellow sundress she was wearing. “This sure as heck isn't an old western outfit. Thank Merlin it's not a corset,” she muttered.

She looked up as something large suddenly threw her into shadow. She blinked her eyes and the image of a man on a horse filled her vision. The sun was behind him, preventing her from seeing him clearly. She moved to the left and squinted up at him. He was smiling down on her.

“Afternoon, little lady,” he said, tipping his hat cordially. Hermione was sure his western accent was fake and she shook her head in disbelief. An Englishman with an American cowboy accent? Something just not right about that, she thought, barely managing to control her laughter.

“Afternoon,” she shot back. “Somethin' I can help you with?”

“Reckon you could direct me to the Sheriff's Office?”

“You read much, cowboy?”

He laughed. “Yep. Not much, mind. Why d'ya ask?”

“Might want to take a gander at that sign, is all,” she said, pointing behind her. “You're darn near inside the Sheriff's Office already.”

He looked up and chuckled ironically. “Huh? Reckon ya got a point there. Well all right, then. Thank ya kindly.”

Hermione laughed. “Got a name, stranger?”

“Harry.”

Hermione laughed harder. “Harry,” she repeated thoughtfully. “Don't reckon it sounds much like a cowboy name.”

Harry laughed in return. “Don't reckon I'm much of a cowboy either, miss. But the ladies seem to like it.”

“How so?”

“How so the ladies seem to like it? Or how so I ain't much of a cowboy?”

“Both.”

“All righty, cowboy first. Want I should list all the reasons or just the main ones?”

“Let's start with the main and work our way up, shall we?” she suggested, laughing lightly.

“All right, but ya best remember that ya asked for it.”

“Duly noted,” she drawled.

“Well, let's work our way down from the top, shall we? The hat's too…” he paused when he heard her laugh. “I ain't got started yet. Whatcha laughing at already?”

“Just wondering how much I'm going to regret this if you're actually having to work your way down from the top,” she laughed.

“You gonna let me finish? Ya might just be regrettin' it more if'n it takes me longer than it ought to.”

“One request?” she asked, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

“How's that?”

“Drop that stupid accent. Can you do that?”

Harry laughed. “I can do that. How'd you know, er, um…” he scratched his head. “What's yer name again?”

“There is no again, I didn't tell you my name. And an Englishman trying to talk with an accent from some old American western movie?” she shook her head, “Well that's just wrong.”

“Okay, you got me. I'm no cowboy, I have a lousy accent, although I have been working on it,” he added quickly. “I have to be some woman's cowboy fantasy, don't I? You reckon there's a woman desperate enough to fantasize about a cowboy like me?”

“I'm sure,” she said, smiling softly. “Tell me how you're not much of a cowboy. Start from the top and work your way down.”

Harry laughed. “Well, as I was saying…the hat's too tight, the snaps on the shirt hurt my fingers when I snap them together, this stupid leather strap tie thingy looks, well, stupid,” he said, lifting it up and shrugging his shoulders as he showed it to her. “The belt buckle's sharp and leaves an indention on my stomach, can't breathe in these jeans, they're so damn tight,” he looked down at her and grinned, “but if you want, I can show you how good my arse looks in `em.”

“Maybe later,” she laughed. “Go on.”

“Well, the boots hurt my feet, the spurs make me feel sorry for the horse, and the horse has to practically be drugged so he'll go slow enough for me to stay on.” He stopped talking and seemed to concentrate for a minute. “Oh, and this hay,” he pulled a piece of hay Hermione hadn't noticed before from between his lips, “it tastes like…” he scrunched his lips and shrugged again, “hay,” he said, putting it back into his mouth.

Hermione laughed. “That's it?”

Harry looked thoughtful for moment before nodding his head. “I reckon so, yeah.”

“You are a lousy cowboy, aren't you?”

Harry cocked his head, raised an eyebrow, and smirked. “Told you that, didn't I?”

Hermione nodded, “Yes you did. You also told me that the ladies like it. Care to explain how that one's possible?”

Harry looked sheepish. He crawled down off his horse and cried out as he felt the cramping in his thighs. “Hang on,” he told her. He attempted to bend at the knees to stretch out his calves and thighs. “Whoa! Who knew sitting on a horse could hurt so much?”

Hermione bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud again. She turned around and let loose a couple of silent chuckles before clearing her throat and turning to face him once more. He was bending over, stretching his legs, his arse sticking straight up in the air right in front of her. She gasped and while she expected her body to move backward she discovered, to her dismay, that she was instead propelled forward. Her hand landed smack on the left cheek of his arse when she reached out to prevent herself from falling. Not having anywhere else to put her other hand, she placed it on his right cheek and pushed herself backward and into a standing position, forcing him to fall forward until he landed in a heap on the porch outside the Sheriff's Office.

Hermione covered her mouth to stifle her giggle. “I.am.so.sorry.” she said carefully, fighting with all her might not to burst out laughing.

Harry rolled over and sat on his arse. “Great!” he exclaimed. He looked up at her and cleared his throat as he tried not to laugh at her effort not to laugh. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get up in this getup?”

Hermione's nose began to flare behind the hands that were clamped tightly over her mouth. “Get up in that getup?” she somehow managed to choke out. Her body was shaking with silent laughter. Tears were forming in her eyes and her stomach was beginning to hurt from holding it all in.

“Get up in this…?” The ridiculousness of his statement hit him and Harry burst out laughing. Hermione let loose and burst out laughing with him. She grabbed hold of the railing to steady herself as she cast her gaze upon him and a new wave of laughter burst forth.

She tried to take a few deep breaths to calm herself but she made the mistake of looking at him while he was attempting to stand up. He struggled against his too-tight jeans and his boots slipped on the dusty porch, causing him to fall time and again. Hermione forced herself to calm down and she reluctantly let go of the railing with one hand. “Come on, let me help you,” she said, offering him her free hand.

Harry had to scoot forward to reach it. “Gonna get a splinter in my arse,” he muttered, “I just know it.” When he was finally able to reach her hand, she tried with all her one-armed might to pull him up. Instead of pulling him up, her shoes slipped on the dust and she fell down on top of him with an, “oomph.”

She dropped her head to his chest and let the laughter wrack her body once more. “Do they call you the unlucky cowboy or some other witty name?”

“Not yet,” he replied dryly, raising his head slightly. “Never been a cowboy before. Don't think I'll try again after this, I don't mind saying.”

Hermione raised her head to look at him. “Giving up so easy? But you're good at it.”

Harry chuckled and dropped his head back down. “Good at what? This cowboy thing ain't for me, I can tell you that right now.”

“Not the cowboy thing,” she replied, her voice soft and unlike any sound he'd ever heard. She slithered up his body until her mouth was only inches from his. “I'm talking about the-ladies-liking-it thing.” Her mouth covered his in a slow, sensual kiss that left them both breathless. “And I don't mind saying, your arse does look mighty fine in them jeans.” She smiled and looked down at his lips. He shifted beneath her and raised his chin, urging her to kiss him again as his hands began to explore.

The kiss was slow, sweet, and fantasy worthy. “Oh, Harry,” she moaned.

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Coming back from the kitchen, Harry peeked in the living room to check on Hermione and what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. As he moved closer to the couch, he saw that her small body was writhing a bit and her hands were roaming her body. The blanket had been kicked to the floor. “What the bloody hell….”

“Oh, Harry, yes. Do that again,” she said so quietly Harry was sure that he hadn't heard it. Only her movements suggested otherwise.

Smirking, Harry got down on his knees beside the couch and leaned over her, slowly dragging his tongue along the column of her exposed throat. “Mmmmm, Harry,” he heard from above him and he smiled.

This could be fun.

Pulling back, he watched her face soften and her mouth curl into a slight grin. Whatever she was dreaming about was making her very happy.

And she's obviously dreaming about me…

Watch the ego there, mate.

What? I don't have an ego…

No, but your woman having erotic dreams about you could sure get one started, don't you think?

Harry smiled. Slowly unbuttoning her shirt, he ran the tips of his fingers lightly over her flat stomach, making it twitch. He grimaced as he slowly undid the front clasp of her bra and pulled it aside, exposing the beautiful mounds of supple flesh. Her nipples were already rock hard and his mouth began to water.

Bending over her, he took one peak into his mouth and suckled it tenderly while one hand softly caressed the other, the pad of his thumb moving slowly across the crown of her breast. Even in her sleep, Hermione arched her back. “Harry….” she mumbled breathlessly.

Pulling back from fear that he might have awoken her, Harry was relieved when he saw she was still asleep. He bent to suckle her other breast while his hand began moving down her tummy again until his fingers came in contact with the waistband of the sweatpants she was wearing.

Excellent. No buttons.

You prat! Going to take her like this, when she's asleep! You go, man!

Would you please leave? I don't really want to be having a conversation with you while I'm trying to make love to my woman.

I'm outta here…but I want a play by play later!

Still suckling her breast, Harry moved his hand carefully beneath the waistband of her sweats and slowly slid it down her abdomen, through her nest of downy curls, until he finally came to rest at her already moist center.

Moaning deep in his throat, Harry pulled away from her breast and watched her face as he slowly slid his longest finger along her folds and finally inside her.

“Oh!” she gasped, her eyes still tightly closed. Her back arched more rigidly, thrusting her pert breasts inches from his face. He bent his head to quickly lap at one of her nipples as he slowly slid his finger back out, then thrust it back inside her with a little more force.

She opened her eyes and found herself face to face with Harry. “What…” The ecstasy assaulted her all at once. She had been dreaming about it, but this wasn't a dream. “Harry, what are you…?” Words escaped her and her eyes fluttered shut as he began to fuck her again with his finger, this time his thumb coming to rest on the hidden bundle of nerves that were pulsing for release.

She reached up and lost her hands in his hair, pulling his head down to her breast where he greedily took it in his mouth and sucked hard. Hermione squirmed beneath his ministrations, knowing for sure the top of her head was coming loose and was about to explode.

“Oh, shit, Harry,” she breathed, her head thrashing from side to side as his fingers worked their magic on her. He had two fingers inside her now, and his thumb continued to press against her clit. Harry lifted his head and looked at her beautiful, flushed face and smiled as he worked her a little harder. “You like that?” he asked quietly.

“Ye…yes,” she panted, her legs falling as far open as the restrictive pants she was wearing would allow. “Yes, yes, yes…” She was delirious with passion and felt herself rising to her peak far sooner than she wanted to.

“What were you dreaming about?” Harry asked, his lips just barely brushing against hers.

“You…you…oh God…oh…” She bit down on her bottom lip and willed the orgasm to ebb; she wasn't ready yet. But it was a folly attempt. Without a chance to collect herself first, wave after wave of the glorious pain thrashed over her, every muscle in her body clenching, her mouth wide open as if to scream though no sound came forth. Her back arched and her hands gripped Harry's shoulders so tightly, he could feel her nails breaking the skin beneath his shirt.

Harry was content to ride out the storm with her, but the very second he felt her coming down, he pulled away from her and stood back on his knees, causing her to whimper. Quickly undoing his belt and trousers, he pushed them and his boxers down around his hips, then reached forward and yanked her sweatpants and saturated knickers down, pulling them off of one leg.

And in one quick movement, he had brought her bum to the edge of the couch, her legs wide on either side of his hips, and he impaled her on his throbbing erection, groaning as he pushed as far into her as he could go.

He pulled her up against him as he thrust into her, her head against his shoulder. With what little strength she had left, she put her arms around him and held on tightly, tiny cries and whimpers escaping her throat each time he pushed into her, their pelvises clashing against each other. She was like a rag doll in his arms, her legs hanging listlessly around his hips, her arms barely holding on around him.

Frustrated that he couldn't make it last longer but unable to stop it, Harry closed his eyes and threw his head back after one final hard thrust into her, holding himself there and quivering as his orgasm came crashing down over him. His body jerked against hers, his erection pulsing inside her as his body emptied itself into her depths.

Harry collapsed against her, wrapping her in his arms and holding on to her tightly. He rested his head against hers as he fought to regain control of his breathing. He slowly moved his hands up and down her back, just then realizing that she still had her shirt on. He pulled back and bit and pulled the offending fabric from her shoulder, giving the exposed flesh a lazy kiss.

Feeling himself calming, he relaxed. He opened his eyes in surprise when he felt her reaching down and gripping his arse tightly, giving it a hard squeeze. “Mione?”

"Harry? You ever thought about being a cowboy?" she asked quietly, her voice raspy and filled with passion.

"Not particularly, no. Why? You have a cowboy fantasy you want fulfilled?"

Hermione laughed as she pulled away to look at him. The image of Harry's arse and him falling on it entered her mind. "No, not anymore, luv. Although, I think we should do a little shopping tomorrow. I'd venture to say your arse would look mighty fine in a tight pair of Wranglers." She kissed the tip of his nose. "Just make sure you can stand up in 'em, you know, in case you ever fall down."

Harry eyed her cautiously. “Yee haw!” he exclaimed in a sarcastic drawl. He chuckled, suddenly caught up in the exuberant sounds of her laughter.

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