AN: I'm never sure as about OCs in fan fiction, but I think to just substitute the OC name here for one of the original characters from the HP world would be as good as lying to you, which is not a good way to start.
My lips go dry as liquid desire slips out between my swollen folds. A man leans down over me, kissing me with more need than passion. I lift my hands to run my fingers through his hair, stark in the darkness, and pull him gently away from the kiss. He breaks the contact reluctantly. I turn my head, exposing the length of my neck to him. He takes the hint greedily with a growl that spoke of frustration and desire, bending to lick, suck and mark me on my tender flesh.
I feel rough, but deft fingers grab me on the inside of my right thigh, forcing my bare legs apart. I didn't realize I had my legs pressed together, desperately seeking release. I spread my legs willingly, pushing myself on to tip toes. His fingers go straight to stroking my clit and pussy lips, just a bit more pressure than I am used to. I cry out in response, surrendering my precious control. My dress, torn and shapeless, gathers around my waist, pushed down from my torso and up away from my lower half. Oh, fuck me.
"Incarcerous," the man pants, and strips of silk wrap around my wrists, pulling my hands away from his head and abruptly up above my head. My back arches instinctively, thrusting my chest out, nipples taut and begging. I barely notice the silk around my ankles, too. I test my bindings - the give is non-existent. For the first time this evening I feel vulnerable. Satisfied, he backs several paces away from me, snaps his fingers and the room bursts with light.
In my intensely aroused state the brightness blinds me for almost a full minute. When I regain my sight, I see him standing quietly before me, still clothed. Fuck, how is it that I am practically naked while he still has dignity? His platinum blond hair is well and truly mussed up. I smirk. Some, not all, of his dignity, then.
"Fuck you, Emi."
"Why don't you? You know I'm ready," I purr brazenly, my excitement coursing through my vines. I know from past experiences that my Death Mark is in slow, steady motion, writhing on my arm. It would throw lesser wizards and witches off, but not him. Not another of the Lord's precious pets, like we are. I know he is seething under his composed stare, that I should have gotten him into this situation again.
That I am not her.
I know, so I soften my tone. "Come on, let's just finish this."
A long heartbeat of silence, then he strides towards me with a roar of anger as he whips his belt off, and undoes his pants' clasp and zipper. He keeps his long sleeved white shirt on, which I quickly forget about as he impales me in one familiar stroke. I moan some gibberish, forgetting where I am, who I am with, and the world outside of this moment. To hell with the Lord and his orders - it's not like he can give me a real fucking like this.
In the back of my head, a clear thought that I am well and truly in over my head makes itself known. I will never admit this.
He looks like he is almost weeping as he claws at my body, digging his nails into my supple flesh to bring us closer than it should be possible. His dark eyebrows are drawn close together, forehead furrowed in desperate concentration, jaw tight with clenched teeth. His cock is unrelentingly hard in my body, and the word 'jackhammer' comes to mind as I feel him repeat the simple motions of having intercourse, until at least he gives it up with a cry of anguish. I feel a flood of warmth that takes me over the sharp cliff of my own orgasm, and I scream his name.
Not his first name. Just his family name. After all, I am in his ancestral home, and respect must be shown.
He pulls out of me as soon as he is able, staggers to his bed and sits down with a heavy thump. I remain where I am for a moment, bound and stretched, his seed snaking down my thighs. It makes a silver rivulet on my skin, lit by the moon. He buries his face in his hands. I vanish my bindings with a thought, repair my dress and clean myself with a Reparo-Scourgify combination. His belt lies forgotten on the carpet, and I leave it there. In the heavy silence I pull my boots back on next to him, then reach over to smooth his fine hair back to respectability. This is only gesture of comfort I allow us.
He does not like being reminded of our intimacy, so I leave his room, closing the door quietly behind me. I Disapparate, heading for the pub, knowing that his load is sitting in me like the secret that it is, and wanting nothing more than to forget about it.