Author's Note: I've taken a bit of a hiatus, dealing with familial matters, job matters and such. But after many kind words from my readers as well as a delectable one-shot from one of my favorite Bellamione authors, I decided what the hell. This has been sitting in my computer for months and I'm finally publishing it. Inspired by the seven deadly sins, this is a one-shot in seven parts. Updates on my WIPs will be coming as soon as I can write them, but while you're all waiting, hopefully this will sooth the burn. Enjoy ^_^
Sinful
Lust
"I could have every single inch of your body pressed tightly against mine and I would still say, 'pull me closer...'"
"Yes," she whimpers as full crimson lips ravage her pulse point, "God yes."
Skilled hands map a route they have taken a thousand times before, gripping, grasping. Pulling the quivering, swooning body closer to her own. Relishing in the desire, smug at the evident submission. So close twin hearts pound in unison. So close breath co-mingles. So close that she might be able to count each individual strand of fluttering eyelashes.
A throaty purr rumbles from a pale throat and fingers clench tighter, nearly hard enough to bruise soft, yielding sides. "Let me hear you, pet. Let me hear how good I make you feel."
"Bella," the word is uttered on a gasp for air, desperate and needy. Wanting and completely shameless. With a note of exasperation. Almost a beg, but not quite. No, her lioness isn't so quick to concede. She will need a little more coaxing. "Don't tease."
"Don't tease," Bellatrix mimics, her voice pitched high and cutting, a dark chuckle following in its wake as she frees a hand from its vise-grip elsewhere and brushes a damp chestnut lock of hair from a flushed peaches and cream face. Her tone changes as if a switch has been flipped, going from mocking to sultry and lustful. A lethal growl. "You have no idea of what I am going to do to you. Hermione."
The threat, for it is uttered in a way that cannot be received as anything but, coupled with the rarely used first name evokes a full body shudder in the brunette she holds in her arms. Verily, if her hold wasn't so all encompassing, the younger witch might have melted into a puddle right at her feet. And that would have suited the dark witch just fine. She would have pieced her back together and still proceeded with the merciless torture she planned to dish out.
Screams of pain were almost indiscernible from screams of pleasure. And Bellatrix wants to hear screams. With her fingers, she is the maestro and she will not rest until she conducts a discordant symphony of screams.
"I want you," she murmurs, her lips tracing the shell of Hermione's ear as she whispers, "I want you so badly, it hurts." It is true. The desire she feels for the younger witch is like an ache. A burn. It consumes, it spreads monstrously through her like a prowling beast, throbbing between her legs. And she wants nothing more than to reciprocate the feeling.
"Then take me," Hermione mewls, pressing herself even closer to the dark witch, threading her fingers expertly though a mess of thick, tangled curls, "Take me, Bella. I'm yours." Because she is hers. In every sense of the word. Has been for years and would always be. So long as time continues to be kind. As royally fucked up as it is, considering their past, the dark witch has her mind, body, and soul. But surely that is the foolish Gryffindor heart within in her. Beating bravely until the end. And Bellatrix could have ended her, a thousand times over. She has looked death in the eye more times than she can count and for Merlin's sake, is still living to tell the tale. Even if now, at this very moment, she is sure she might die if the pressure at the apex of her thighs isn't released somehow in someway. Preferably at the former Death Eater's hand.
Bellatrix's nostrils flare, a sharp inhale drawn in as if taking in the very essence of the witch in her arms, breathing in her wanton arousal and using it to fuel her lust. "Oh I will," she hums, the words a drawl of nonchalance that might have been believed if not for the ardent fingers and sharp nails embedding themselves into supple flesh, drawing gasping moans that are absorbed by a sinful mouth, "I'm going to take and take until you've nothing left to give, pet. That I promise."
And for as deadly, as dangerous, and as dastardly a witch the wizarding world has made her out to be, she has never been in the habit of making promises she did not intend to keep.