Ch. 3 Impolite Litany
"OhFuckHermione!" was all he could manage through the explosion. She never failed to deliver on making him bellow in bliss. The first act was always the shortest, the most intense, but also necessary for the festivities to continue.
He wanted to watch, but the maelstrom of colors in his vision kept him from seeing his wife and how salacious she was. Blimey!
Hot breath on his chest belayed the weight on his hips. Short fingernails scoring his abs told him that she needed more from him. He opened his eyes, and watched as his wife moved on his lean form, settling on him with a hiss.
"So beautiful," he muttered while watching his wife take pleasure from him. He loved watching her hair flounce around her head, the way her eyes focused on his face while she ground her hips into his. Her hands stroked his chest, dragging those short nails down his sensitive skin and up hers.
"Need more," she moaned while bouncing on her heels. "Need you. Please!"
Callous tipped fingers dug into her hips, holding her while he began to move with her. "Love you. So beautiful. Ride me. Squeeze me – make me come."
He watched her tease her breasts, worrying her lips with her teeth.
Her begging turned coarse and salty. Only here, like this, completely vulnerable, would she say such things. Hair and tits bounced, driving him mad. Her hands were everywhere: on him, on her, on the bed, in his hair. Enthralled, she was like an octopus. His hands were on her hips, teasing her, squeezing her, making her beg for more.
Soft and gentle were not the norm for Ron and Hermione Weasley. They learned that the first summer as lovers and more. Calling her his girlfriend was shallow compared to what he felt for her. She was more than his girlfriend - more than his best friend - even calling her lover was shallow.
He's bruised her before, energetic without consideration. Passionate moments, whether slamming her body under his, or grasping her slowly growing curves while he pounded her into the nearest flat surface, made them both scream in ecstasy. He cherished those moments, when she pulled his hair, or bruising his arms while he shoved her hips into a wall. The rows on his back were fun too. If only his brothers knew how insatiable she was behind closed doors. Harry and Ginny knew – scary as that was from living with one another after the girls finished school. They never questioned when he came to dinner with a bruise on his neck or his arms. At least they didn't know about his back, or arse, hips, and shoulders.
She took his volatility and channeled it into passion for her. He took her desperate need to feel, whether love or lust, and gave it in spades. She demanded he give it all, never holding back like the years they did before that iconic day. The day that his brother was laid to rest was one of the worst he ever had – and also the best too – for that was the day that Hermione made love to him.
Looking back on that day, years later, he realized that it was nothing more than Hermione giving herself up in sacrifice. She stood in the breach, turning his anger into lust. It was only later that he saw the aftermath of what he did to her. It paled in comparison to everything else that had happened to her dimutive frame. The scar on her neck – the healing wound on her arm – the burn on her chest, hiding the old one from the Ministry fight – the furrows on her shoulders – each told a story that should have never happened. The bruises on her neck and on her hips were inconsequential to her – and profound to him.
She didn't complain when he was giving them to her. She never said a word when she saw them later. Her impolite litany was what she complained about most. Only he could compel her to say such raw words.
It never stopped her from doing it again.
"Need you," she begged while straddling him, "Harder. ChristPleaseHarder."
He rolled his hips, throwing her onto the other side of their king sized bed. She landed with oomph but quickly settled into the bedclothes. The lust shown in her eyes reflected his.
"No," he growled. He slid from the bed, standing at the foot, waiting for her.
"Really?" as she slithered down the bed to him. She watched him watching her. A snarky grin spread across her face. "Well, come on, get a wiggle on."
"Cheeky wench," as he pounced on her with abandon. "BlimeyBuggeringHell!"
"MerlinRonHarder!" She moved her legs, shifting them up under his arms. He took them, throwing her ankles around his neck while he put a knee on the bed for greater leverage. He pulled her tight to him, finding spots that made her squeal in delight. "Come for me," he said in a guttural growl.
She pushed back against him, grinding upwards. A shift of her hips was all it took. A shriek along with his name was her response.
While she was incoherent, he crawled back onto the bed, lifting his wife's shapely toned legs over his thighs and pulled her back to him once again. Soft touches and caresses, on her hips, her thighs, and her sensitive skin was all she needed. It wouldn't take long, but he wanted her with him the second time around.
She opened her eyes, watching his lust glazed ones from above her. He started again, plowing on yet slow enough for her to come back to her senses. The bed rattled under their movements, as erratic and frantic as they are. Auror grade silencing charms on the surfaces of their flat held well for them. "Hermione, come with me."
She closed her eyes again, fighting the sensory overload he was giving her. Be strong, she thought to herself. The wait is almost over.
Hermione was pushed further up the bed, her head slowly sliding along the expensive sheets. The new wave of buildup was intensifying, arching her back from the bed. His hands helped lift her even higher, pulling her to him. The only thing left on the bed was her feet and shoulders. The rest was all Ron.
Her name dripped from his lips, embedded with a chorus of colorful epithets, half muttered deprecations and other salty language. She wasn't much better, her comments making no sense except for the two of them.
His hands gripped her hips tighter, using his thumbs for extra incentive. Her hands fell to her chest, finding the points that demanded attention as well. One drifted further, caressing his hand on top of her hip before moving even lower.
His ministrations lost rhythm, impulsive and unrefined, watching her hand. One touch was all she needed, delicate yet determined.
"OhG_dRonald!" was the only thing decipherable while she keened. Her grip on him was enough, and he groaned in reply. Her name dropped from his lips in enthusiastic yet broken chant.
They collapsed onto the bed, his weight impressing her body in the crumpled bedclothes. She enjoyed his weight, finding it pleasant and comforting. Only when his erratic breathing returned to normal did she shove him off, throwing his overheated and sweaty body into the next pillow.
"I think that will suffice for the moment."
Ron lifted his head from the pillow, finding the smirk on his wife's face endearing.
"But I'm sure that I'll want more in the morning."
"Greedy little wench."
"Only for you."
She slipped out of the bed, putting on her robe. "Where you going?"
"Pumpkin juice for you, and water for me."
A stop in the loo was first before going to the kitchen.
She glanced in the mirror and smiled. A bite on her neck was a given. She lived with that one place marked – even if no one else saw it. Only Ron and her Healer at St. Mungos knew about his oral fixation – or her own for that matter.
Contusions on her hips, a bite in Ron's favorite place, and a pleasant soreness from being ravished like she wanted: that was a wonderful way to start the evening. She smirked when the thought of a second round tickled her fancy.
She left the loo and quietly padded to the kitchen. No matter what, since their days at school, Ron's appetite was prodigious if not mythic. Lanky still, he complained if he didn't have three large meals a day, along with an additional three snacks, including one at midnight. His body needed nourishment to keep up with his punishing training schedule. Hermione barely kept him fed, so the snacks and treats and meals at his Mum's house helped considerably.
She poured him a huge glass of pumpkin juice while she drank a glass of water. She spied the chocolate torte on the table, courtesy of Molly, and thought a slab of dessert would be a perfect midnight snack. Hermione cut a sizeable piece to go along with his beverage.
She discarded the robe, intending to seduce once he was finished with his snack, and plated the items on a tray for his delight. A fleeting thought about chocolate icing as a temptation put a grin on her face.
She took the tray back to their bedroom, watching him wiggle his arse on top of the bedclothes. Biteable.
"What'd you do? Get lost going to Liverpool?" He rolled over from the pillow and saw his wife's nice surprises. "Chocolate, juice and starkers? Blimey. That musta been award winning."
"Always." Hermione handed over the plate with the snacks. "My husband needs his nourishment if he's to make me scream again."
Ron tipped the glass back, finishing his juice with a gulp. "Again? You think I'm a machine?"
Hermione crawled back onto the bed while Ron was shoving a large bite of torte in his mouth. "No, certainly not a machine," as she traced the outline of his body through the sheets, "but a desire to satiate all of his appetites. Can I help that I missed you this week?"
She continued to trace her short nails through the sheet covering his naked body. He watched her use her fingers to trace the freckles on his chest, down his abdomen, over the sheet, and back up again. Hermione looked serious, like she was recommitting his body to memory.
"Cheeky wench," as Ron was hastily shoved the last of the torte into his mouth. "Let me finish this, and we'll see about round two."
Hermione watched as Ron devoured the last bite of cake, leaving a smear on his lips. He knew how turned on she would be kissing the chocolate off his lips. "I was waiting for you to say that. You still have to make me beg for mercy."
"We'll see about mercy!" as he rolled over the top of his wife, kissing her with chocolate stained lips.
My thanks to my beta N - you make my writing so much better. This goes out to writergirl8, who gave me the prompt - the song Unforgettable - and to iwanttobeaweasley for giving me the anonymous prompts that are in the story. I hope they made your day too.
This story will have more in it, as vignettes and other R/Hr loving stories - where they won't fit elsewhere. It might not be immediate - but more are coming.
Regards,
D.G.
