She is so beautiful, sitting there in the fire light in her nightgown. Her hair is reflecting the gorgeous reds and golds of the dying flames. Her nose is of course, buried in a book. She is curled up in the corner of the couch, leaning against the arm with her feet tucked beneath her, her eyes dancing quickly across the page as she absorbs every word that is printed there. The gentle frown that I adore is creasing her forehead as she focuses intently on the information. She has no idea that I am watching her. Her concentration blocks almost everything in the room.
It's not often that I can just stand here and watch her like this. Her hearing is so closely attuned to my very breath that she always knows when I am in the room. It takes my silent tread and held breath, and her utter focus on her book, for me to see her like this. This is why I fell in love with her. For these unguarded moments and stolen seconds that dance in my memory. For the gentle way her hair falls down her back and touches at her waist. I would move heaven to stay by her side, and stand before the gates of hell to keep her safe. And yet I know she would do the same.
As I predicted, the moment I let go of my hidden breath, she looks up at me. A smile cracks her face as she closes her book and places it on the table next to her. Her incredibly long legs unfold as she gracefully rises from the couch. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of the pale skin that is revealed by her short nightgown. She is wearing my favorite. Short, emerald green, a color to match her eyes which glow in the light from the fireplace.
She holds her hand out to me, and my eyes catch the glint from her wedding band. 7 years ago we married. I step forward and place my hand in hers. She raises it to her lips; our eyes never look away, as her warm mouth touches my knuckles. My hand is flipped over and she repeats the gesture on my wrist. Her heart is beating rapidly in her chest. As is mine. I can hear both as they beat in tandem with each other. She pulls me close and spins me around so that my back is flush against her chest. She kept a firm hold on my hand as she moved me into this position. Now her arm is wrapped around me and her hand is grasping at my hip, bunching the material there. Her mouth grazes the skin just below my ear, and my breathing starts coming faster than normal and my head falls back onto her strong shoulder. My free hand moves back and lands on her thigh. My fingernails leave angry red marks there. I hear her hiss in my ear and my exploring hand is caught, her fingers lacing with mine.
The hand on my hip begins to travel dragging my red, satin negligee along with it. I try gasp when the hand slips slowly beneath the material to grasp my breast, but it is caught in my throat when her mouth latches onto my neck. The hand that was mingled with my own has moved across my waist and holds me closer. Her hold tightens as she sinks to her knees, dragging me down with her. The cool, soft rug beneath my knees is a stark contrast to the hot fingers toying with my nipple and tracing mindless patterns across my stomach. I shiver at the contact then turn in her arms, and look up at her. My own hands move to her shoulders and very slowly move the thin straps down her arms and watch as the fabric pools around her knees. Reverently, I worship the skin that is revealed with my fingers.
I listen carefully to every breath, and gasp, and watch every shiver. I take my cues from her body, taking the time to re-learn every curve, freckle, mole, and scar. I know them all by heart and could find them without looking but I won't turn away this opportunity. My mouth traces the same pattern as my hands, from the scar on her collarbone from the first war with Voldemort, to the four scars on her chest. I love this woman more than my next breath, and as I press her back into the rug in front of the fire, I intend to show her just how much.