Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
Author's Note: Hi Lauren. It's 9:56. Boo-yah.
Cotton Candy (and Other Distractions)
Sex with Ginny was like cotton candy. It was sticky and light and so fucking sweet it made you choke. Her red hair was twisted around her neck, clung to her pale skin by the heavy sheen of sweat that saturated her. Her eyes were open. They were always open, and they watched Hermione intently and with unbridled lust as she traced her tongue down Ginny's stomach, around her navel and lower, sucking gently on her inner thigh.
Hermione could remember exactly when she'd first gotten in bed with Ginny, exactly the way it felt to slide her fingers into her friend, and exactly how Ginny had cried when she'd done it. But that fell away. Every time they did this, it was like the first time.
A furtive smile crept upon Ginny's expression as Hermione flicked her tongue further towards the center. She could smell Ginny, smell the wet and musty scent of sex, and it made her heart beat faster and her hips grind impulsively into Ginny's leg. Pinpricks of heat found every inch of her skin and she moved back to Ginny's mouth, kissing her greedily and with the sultry air of promise.
Kissing Ginny. This took her back.
Hermione would always remember Venice. She would always remember the canals and the piazzas and the lights of the boats reflecting on the water. Mostly, she remembered Venice at night, the sweet note of the clarinet and the wine. They'd had so much wine, so much that they'd taken the wrong vaporetti to the wrong island.
They'd looked at each other with amusement upon realizing this. It was already established: they liked each other. But nothing had been done about it, and now they had until dawn to do something.
Hermione had pushed Ginny against the clear, plexi-glass wall of the vaporetti station. She was drunk. And she was horny. Ginny had laughed, a charming, bell-like laugh, and Hermione thought she had never felt so drawn to anyone before. Grinning wickedly, she slid her hand up her skirt and felt the fluids there. Ginny watched her, her eyes large. Hermione licked her wet fingers, her gaze never parting from the red-heads, and then kissed her, allowing Ginny to taste Hermione on her own frantic mouth.
Now Ginny trembled beneath her. Soft. Her cheeks were flushed with pink and Hermione kissed them, her hands already moving down to where Ginny throbbed the most. She lingered there, not moving roughly but only slightly tickling the area, earning a longing sigh from Ginny, whose body arched into hers. Her nipples were hard and they brushed Hermione's own. God, her breasts. Hermione nearly came just thinking about them. Her mouth dove down and encompassed one, and her free hand set about massaging the other.
Ginny's thrusts grew more fervent, more violent, and she came, biting down on Hermione's shoulder. Feeling Ginny hold her tightly as the spasms of her orgasm shook her, as Hermione's insistent hand lured every last tremor from her, well, that was better than cotton candy. It was better than Venice. It was the best fucking lay she'd ever given.