A/N: Written for Tomione Smut Feat 2k18. The prompt I chose is affair. The title of this short is named for "Raging" by Kygo and featuring Kodaline. It's a song.
I.
Ronald who?
Every time she melts into him, she seems to forget everything else. Her morals, her relationships, her career. She has been married to Ron for seven years, dated for three before marriage, but she could not get enough of him.
II.
The first time. . .
It's at her own wedding reception. She's drinking like all of her bridesmaids and having the grandest time of her life. She's twenty-two with a budding career in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. One of her bridesmaids introduces him. Her face is a blur.
"Tom. His name is Tom." Then she spins away.
But Tom. She can remember every detail of him. The slight curl on his lips. The glint in his dark eyes. The careful placement of his hair. The prominent cheekbones. His classy wizard's dress robes. And of course. . .
"The woman of the evening. Hermione Granger." His voice is soft, just a purr. "You may not be considered the most beautiful woman in the room, but you radiate the brightest."
Despite the backhanded compliment, she is intrigued by his approach. "Radiate?"
"It's the way your magic shows. It shines."
"How can you see that?"
He reaches for her and grasps her hand. Her hand glows a warm light in a way she swears she has never seen before. "Now do you see that?"
"Hermione! Speech!"
She turns towards her mother. "I'll be right there!" But when she turns back to find Tom, he's not there anymore.
It is only in the lifts when she sees him again. The wedding guests are all staying at the same hotel. Alone except for him, she can hardly remember what he says to her. Except it is enough to make her bite back in a fierce retort. And his eyes darken with pleasure.
And he says something that made her follow him back to his room, despite the meek reservations she holds in the very back of her mind.
His fingertips brush by her cheeks, and his nails gently follow the path of her jaw, and she fucking lets out a soft sigh. He pulls her to his room and pulls at the zipper at her side. It starts right below her armpit and ends at her waist.
Unable to pull the zipper down, he growls, "Where did these come from?"
"It came with the dress," she answers, winking. Slurring. She does not know why interacting with him makes her world seem so much more liberating. As if he would not hold her back but instead revel in her choices.
"Whoever made this dress better run very far before I," he pauses, his finger hovering over the zipper, "curse them into a new form of oblivion." Then he drags his finger down her side, never actually touching her. The zipper slowly follows it.
Her mouth drops at his sensual display of wandless magic, and she, completely and undeniably, swoons. Ron has always been so. . . Unimaginative. Always the same moves, always complaining about Quidditch injuries, blah, blah, blah. It never stop him from flying on a broom and getting his head hit again.
Her strapless dress pools around her gold stiletto heels, and on his knees before her, he leans forward and barricades her to the wall. A teasing finger explores her thigh, and Tom presses the slowest, most mindtwisting kiss she has ever felt on her hip. Her nerves tighten in frustration.
III.
The sixteenth time. . .
On the morning of her first anniversary of her marriage to one Ronald Weasley, she pants as Tom holds her down with his knee wedged between her legs. She ruts herself against him, cooing as she feels him falter in his control. He can feel how wet she is for him. Always for him.
She is almost there. So damn close, but he likes to hold her off. Hold them both off. Make the senses know only pleasure and each other in the most intimate way possible.
She always likes that about him, you know. His control. She loves it when he completely snaps his infamous control.
For one thing, hotshot Auror Tom Marvolo Riddle is famous for never losing his cool in every situation. A thousand Dark wizards surrounding the Ministry of Magic building wouldn't make him sweat one drop. If only they can see him now.
If they can see the way his eyes furrowed in concentration, his lips thinned to hold her back, his hands tightened to hold her wrist—
If they could see this.
"You make me so—" he starts.
But she quickly twists out from under his body and climbs over him. He lands on his back with an oomph. Smirking wildly at him, she orders, "Relax, Tom. I got this."
"Hermione." Her name comes out with strangled gasp.
If only they could see the way she hold him in the palm of her hand.
IV.
The twenty-ninth time. . .
He is strangely gentle with her for the last five months she has spent knowingly pregnant. They are laying side by side in his bed, Tom nuzzling her neck from behind as his hand cradles her stomach. He moves in hypnotic circles over and over again, just settling her into the most comfortable state she has ever known.
Their unborn baby. She's six months along and showing heavily. Her heart dances at this thought. Tom, her, and the baby. The three of them. The three of them together.
"How's the Daddy doing?" Hermione purrs.
As if answering, his erection presses hard into her back. Greater energy in his movements, he lowers his voice to a purr similar to Hermione's on. "He's thinking of how crazy he is."
"Oh?" Hermione rolls around, shuffling to a more comfortable position. "How crazy?" Her hands snake out to his length, playing with its head. She knows the way he likes to be touch, and she knows the little spots, the place to lick, fucking everything about him—
"Starking mad," he replies. He leans in, capturing her mouth in an encompassing kiss. His hand tilts her jaw up. "Absolutely senile."
She squeals in delight as he descends once again on her.
V.
The thirty-fourth time. . .
"Why. Are. You. Still. With. Him?" Every word is spat out and accompanied with a hard thrust against that sweet spot in her. She sees stars in her eyes, darkness at the edge of her vision. She should have came probably ten minutes ago, but he holds a Dark curse, an obscure curse, which, damn it, shouldn't turn her on so much, over her body. And she can't find her climax, but she can feel her heat overpowering every other thought and forcing her to do everything he says in hopes he might let her release—
"Because!" she sobs, every touch feeling so damn good. So fucking overwhelming. He's so strong, holding her up against the wall. Imprisoned. Captured by the Auror.
"Not. Good. Enough." He captures her shoulder with his mouth and sucks hard enough to leave a bruise tomorrow. She can use the Healing Spell to erase every trace of the bitemark. She won't. Just as how he could heal her nail marks she left on his back. But he won't.
Those are the marks that tie them together.
"Politics." The single word is a whisper, but he hears it. Every since her daughter's birth, she knows in her heart that she is looking at Tom's daughter. Not her useless husband's. She wants everyone to know. The world to know who her father is and who Hermione truly belongs to. The newspapers to call her daughter Tom's, not her husband's. But it would mean the death of everything she wanted to do.
"You're mine. Say it."
"Yours!"
Her world turns black as she rises on the greatest high she has ever known, living on nothing but bliss.
And him.
VI.
She has lost count by now.
It's an affair, not an accident. She has deliberately called for him so many times now.
"Madam Director, what can I do for you today?" he inquires, his dark eyes locked on her shoes. He has not earned the privilege of looking upon her. He kneels before her, submissive. It's a flip to the game they usually play.
She smiles at him, not a single shred of clothing on his body. Now she really likes this celebration gift he has given her for her new promotion as Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
But even more amazing is his trust in her to do this. She knows that he would never do this for anyone else. Would never dare to bare his soul so cleanly. Now that has sent her shivering in awe to her bones.
She leans towards him, her index finger flicking in a come-hither motion. Her red lips purse in a small look of disapproval.
"Prove you can make Mommy feel better," she drawls, her eyes sharp on him. Her shoe deliberately brushes against his rigid cock, making him stand even straighter. A warning in her press, and she flashes her stiletto heel at him, making sure he sees. She vanishes her skirt and relaxes against her chair in her brand new office. "Come."
Tom's mouth isn't just good for talking.
VII.
"We couldn't have waited until—" Hermione's body jolts in shock as the modified vibrator hums into motion again. In the navigator seat, she tightens her fists and desperately glances around the crowded parking lot. But she loses even that much control as Tom pulls the car out of the parking space and turns up the speed to max with only a thought.
She comes screaming with her body shaking and just rubbing herself against the leather car seat to prolong her first orgasm. The seatbelt binds her to the seat, not letting her move more than an inch. Her stomach flips, and her insides pool with desire. They have never done this before. . .
She loves it. She completely loves this game.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear what you were saying, Mrs. Riddle," he innocently tells her, his hand moving over hand to make a turn. "You sound like you were in pain."
"And whose fault was that, Auror Riddle?"
A ghost of a smirk flits across his lips. He stops at the red traffic light, his dark eyes running over her disheveled appearance. He always likes ruining her court outfit, starting with ruffling up her blouse and then unbinding her tight bun. Maybe then vanish her underwear to oblivion where she'll never find it again. "Lift up your skirt to show me your pretty cunt."
She does what she's ordered to do, bunching up her skirt to her waist and presenting the crotchless panties holding the vibrator flat against the lips of her cunt. The hum is even louder now, obscenely so. Her eyes scan the intersection, hoping that no one fucking sees them as he inspects her slowly.
She quickly moves to shift her skirt back into its correct setting.
"I didn't say you can fix your skirt."
She groans and continues holding up the skirt.
"Do you like it?"
She refuses to answer that.
"Hmm, guess you'll need to wear it more to find out," he suggests, an evil smirk completely crossing his face now. The speed drops to the lowest setting.
"Watch your back, Mr. Riddle." Slowing her breathing, she narrows her eyes at him.
He sniggers, "I think you'll miss leaving your possessive marks on my back."
VIII.
"Fucking Merlin!" she shouts.
They are sticky in their bed, her hair spraying all over his face.
He climbs out of the bed, putting trousers back on and then his shirt. With semi-closed eyes, she watches him open the window with ease. He is not always a fan of post-coitus cuddling, but after that performance, she is certain he was going to fall asleep right afterwards.
"What are you doing, Tom?"
He gives her a little wave as he steps onto the fireplace. "Just like old times." Then he Disapparates with a shit-eating grin.
She huffs, sinking back to bed. A small smile crosses her lips. He always has to rub things into her face, doesn't he? Always do extra, that Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle.
IX.
She still can't get enough. But that's okay. He'll always be there.