He was not a man she loved. He was a man she needed.
Lily looked into his eyes as he hovered over her, their bodies meeting. Deep blue. A blue that reminded her of the ocean, where she spent many a summer with her best friend and secret love. The smell of the salty water pervaded her memory as she pictured him; tall, sallow, and oddly beautiful. His touch was gentle, caressing; his kiss delicate. She recalled hours upon hours of gazing into his deep, black eyes—regretting every moment she had never told him how deeply she really cared, how much she truly loved him, despite everything he stood for.
They switched positions, and Lily twisted the blanket in her hand, letting out a low moan. His hands grabbed her abdomen—they were strong, and her mind suddenly drifted to the Quidditch pitch. A rainy afternoon, after a legendary game, Lily had finally succumbed to the undying pursuit of her longest suitor. He was much rougher, but had the same passion (if not more)—she recalled every drop of mud he had smeared into her hair, and subsequently washed out in the showers. Her skin tingled at the memory of his kisses; warm, breathy, running down her spine.
She was shaken back to reality as the man above her slid out of her, spilling his seed onto her back and groaning. No, this was not one of the men she loved. But at the moment, he was exactly what she needed.