Chapter 3: The Kiss

Severus's body jerked when he heard her plea. Severus, please…please. It held echoes of another plea—not as dire, please Merlin, it can't possibly be as dire as before! He looked up and into his wife's face, and this time she met his gaze. He saw such a need written within that he immediately straightened his back and took her face in his hands and kissed her—one, two, three, four, five, six kisses, soft and firm and on her beautiful red lips, and then on the seventh kiss he pulled even closer, opening his mouth to claim hers, deepening his kiss, allowing his passion and love to bleed through. Fuck waiting. His tongue met hers with surety, hers more tentative, but he persisted, his torso now between her legs, his arms encircled her back, powerfully clutching her to him. A little whimper rose from Hermione's throat, and she threaded her arms around his neck, clinging to him fiercely. He responded by reaching into her hair and grasping her bejeweled combs. He barely broke contact with her lips to mutter, "May I?" She answered with something like a sob.

The combs were pulled from her hair and fell from his hand to rest in the plush ivory carpet. Rich chestnut curls tumbled down around her face. Severus could smell roses and cocoanut and a hint of parchment and the pure, sweet scent of Hermione's skin, and instantly he was hard and ravenous. He pulled her closer. She whimpered, and her legs wrapped around his back. He lifted her off of the chest and laid her onto the carpet. "Hermione," he breathed. "Hermione. Hermione. Hermione. My sweet, little wife. My love..."

"Severus, please!" she said again, tears glittering in her deep brown eyes.

"Hermione…"

And then he knew.