"Bella," the Dark Lord murmurs, voice silky and low, "you know I don't give favours unearned."

With these words, his hand closes on her shoulder, and her world narrows to his fingertips.

His first finger grazes her skin, the only one to do so, dragging idly back and forth. His second, third, and fourth close on the fabric of her dress, dots of pressure on the hollows of her collarbone, firm but not hard. His thumb caresses the back of her shoulder, coaxing wanting out of her, drawing her belly back towards her spine, her breasts forward in an arch, and pooling warmth between her thighs.

His body is close behind her, his breath warm and close near her ear. His free hand rests on her belly.

"No, my Lord," she says. There is a tremor in her voice. His…favours…can leave her weak at the knees.

The hand on her belly kneads her there, just a fraction. Just enough to summon hot-coloured images in her mind.

"And I know you don't work for free." The hand on her shoulder shifts, just a fraction, over the ball of her shoulder. She can imagine it moving lower, finding her breast, and she presses against him harder.

"One does not devalue one's labours, my Lord," she says breathlessly. "No matter how…" she swallows as the hand on her belly presses harder. "…how worthy the cause."

"An admirable sentiment," he says. She can feel his lips against her ear. "My best soldiers are the strong ones, the ones who know their worth. It is what we fight for, is it not? To make them know our worth?" He shifts a fraction behind her, hardness insinuating itself into the groove between her thighs through the silk of their clothes.

"Oh, yes, my Lord." Her body stretches, arse back into his cock, belly forward into his hand, shoulder back into his palm, breasts straining forward under the tension of the way her has her.

"And what are your terms for your labours, Bella?" he wonders. With a flick of his head, he summons a swirl of vapour before her, a mirror in which they are reflected. "Show me."

She shivers at the sight of them there, the way he holds her, taut and poised. The way his face is turned into her hair, insinuating silky, coaxing syllables into her ear. He is the devil on her shoulder, using her own desires to drive her exactly where he wants her to go.

Her gaze crawls avidly over the image, and slowly, she brings her desires to life before them.

In the vapour, still standing behind her, he teases down the center of her body with his wand, and the tiny buttons of her dress unfasten ahead of him. He touches her thighs with his wand, parting them, and then opens her nether lips with the V of his fingers. Her clit is hard, pushing forward, seeming to beg to be touched, and her lips are pink and wet. Her head falls back against his shoulder, and his free hand cradles her throat possessively.

Watching, Bella feels her nipples begin to ache. Her insides clench, drenching her knickers, her scent rising in the air.

His voice is low and even, but there is a ragged undertone that even he can't entirely hide. She doesn't think he really intends to. "You wish me to take you, then, Bella? Is that it?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"How?"

The scene changes before them, flickers and impressions. Kneeling before him, licking the tip of his cock, taking gleaming fluid and spreading it over him with her tongue. Him taking her, hard from behind. Laying her flat on her belly, her legs pressed tight together, as he fucks down into her cunt, stretching her every which way. Stretching her out before him on her back, easing his cock over her open pussy, teasing her clit with it until she strains forward, begging for him to just do it already. Him covering her, the full length of his body pressed to hers as he overwhelms her, thrusting into her with all his weight.

His hand on her belly clenches a little, dragging at her dress. It is a sudden, uncontrolled moment, and that, she thinks, was not calculated. She feels a delicious thrill at this small victory.

"You want me to fuck you, Bella?" he demands, low in her ear.

She can only manage a groan, but she nods.

"You want me to fuck you deep, and hard, in your swollen, pink, wet cunt? You want me to shove my cock into you as far as it will go?"

Damn him, she thinks; he knows just how to get her. Just how to bring her most of the way to the brink in a handful of words.

"I want you to plow me with it," she hisses. "I want you to fuck me raw."

He gives a small huff of amusement into her ear. She will struggle to fulfil his mission without finding a darkened corner to get herself off in first, and he knows it, damn him. That's half the fun of it for him, making her strain, making her ache. He loves that he has that power.

The image in the vapour changes before her.

"Your mission, Bella," he says, loosening his hands on her, drawing away, his voice now quite normal.

It is a simple one. "Yes, my Lord."

He leans in once more. His voice close to her ear, he says silkily:

"You see, I don't work for free either."