Rodolphus Lestrange awoke in an unfamiliar room. The smell of roses lingered on the goose feather pillow and the deep purple sheets. He opened his eyes and saw a dim blue light pouring in from the sole window in the room; it was early morning. He felt movement beside him and turned to see Bellatrix Black arising from the bed, nude. He took in the splendor of her body and the events of the preceding night came rushing back to him.
She grabbed his hand in hers and dragged him up the stairs. She skillfully removed his clothing, while he fumbled trying to remove hers. He moved slowly, but drawing it out torturous for her and she pleaded with him to give her what she craved.
He silently watched as she dressed. Without a word she vanished out the door, leaving Rodolphus alone in her bedroom. He closed his eyes and sighed. He had hoped that sleeping with Bellatrix would mean something, would make her like him more, and maybe even love him as much as he loved her. The understanding of it crashed down on him. It had meant nothing to her, he was merely being used as her source of pleasure, doing it had not changed their relationship in the slightest.
He found his clothes and his wand neatly folded on the bedside table. He dressed and grabbed his wand and Apparated back to Lestrange Manor, knowing that Bellatrix would not take it personally—and would in fact prefer it—if he were to leave without saying goodbye.