Disclaimer: Nothing but the plot is my own!
Written for the 2017 Romione Quickie Fest for Tumblr.
Releasing Control
The Burrow was filled the brim with family and friends celebrating the end of the Era of Terror. Neighbors came to pay their respects for the fallen and relatives reconnected for the first time in decades. While everyone sought out their savior, poor Harry was bounced from one person to the other, despite Ginny's attempts to rescue him.
Hermione was grateful that none inquired about her. She was quietly hidden away in the attic, attempting spell after spell to mask the shame that was carved into pale flesh. Her curls were still limp, lifeless, and a morose reminder of her previous glow.
The door budged open, the soft shuffle of feet behind brought her out of her haze. She turned to find intense blue eyes boring into her soul.
"Mione, what are you doing?" he asked.
"Allowing your family to mingle and socialize. I didn't quite fancy being around-"
His large hands roughly tossed her wand to the corner and held her wrists tightly. "You know what I mean!" he roared.
"Honestly, Ronald, I haven't the slightest-"
Her speech was interrupted by a sharp twisting of her body. She found herself firmly pressed against his front side, her bum brushing against his manhood, her wrists bared up to reveal the angry spell attempts. His lips low to her ear, a fair warning for what was to come.
"Nothing about this is your shame! Not your blood, family, nor anything that wretched bitch tried to brand you with. You are strong, resilient, gorgeous, and brilliant. Let control of this go! Release it or it will break you," he warned.
"Ron, I can't. I don't know how," she sobbed.
His hand moved to her neck, bending it to his will. "Then you must learn, Mione. Do you trust me?"
With a small nod, she watched as he traced the scar and tenderly trailed his fingers up her arm towards her neck once more. The move was so gentle…loving…that she felt herself grow wet with desire.
"Ron, teach me. Teach me to let go of it all," she whispered.
His fingers trailed over her once more, then stopped at her waist band. They had shared a few kisses, heated snogs, and two wonderful evenings in his bedroom. Those two private moments solidified everything in him: she was his and he would stop at nothing to make sure she never strayed. Slipping into her that first time was his personal homecoming… his therapy and addiction of choice. Now, she needed something different. She needed to be ordered around, be dominated. The roles were reversed.
The swift rip of buttons made her gasp, as her blouse now exposed her bra-clad breasts. He turned her to face him, his eyes on fire with emotion. With a quick flick, he locked and silenced the room.
"You are to be silent. No sounds, unless specifically given permission. You must trust that I will not hurt you. Give control to me," he urged.
With a silent agreement, he flipped her away from him once more, her delicious bum brushing him once more. He made sure her hands were planted on the desk, spread her legs apart, then flipped her skirt up. Making quick work of her knickers, he knelt down to nip at her sex. He saw her breath quicken and smirked. His tongue and teeth made quick work of her clitoris, his finger delving in occasionally to make sure she was ready. Once satisfied, he released himself from his restrictive trousers and lined himself up.
"You mustn't touch or make a sound. Nothing or it stops! Understand?"
Her nod was all he needed. His erection slammed into her mercilessly. One hand wrapped around her and toyed with her clit, while the other hand pressed her to him. His quick, hard thrusts had the witch biting her lip. The thrusts dove into the deepest parts of her soul, releasing the anxiety she felt over her arm. She felt his arms and intoxicating scent taking her over and surrendered to him. With a few more thrusts, she came quivering in his arms. She felt his pulsing member filling her with his seed.
"Thank you, Ron. I love you," she whispered.