Everything was a blur.

The way Bellatrix was dragged into the suite by her master's grasping, long fingers. The way he nearly tore her dress from her before she helped him with the zip, the way she unclasped his outer robes. The way he finally Banished all of their clothes to a pile in the corner until they stood there, naked and panting and kissing one another as if they'd drown otherwise.

His tongue was so eager, so insistent in her mouth, and Bellatrix groaned with want as she tasted wine on him. He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth and shoved her roughly through the parlour of his suite, toward the bedroom. Bellatrix stumbled backward as Voldemort wrenched at the black velvet ribbon binding her straightened hair up into a ponytail. He let it flutter to the ground and paused to kiss her again, his hands going everywhere.

Up her ribcage, squeezing her breasts, around her back to the place where he held her when they danced, down her arms and then lacing her fingers through his. He kissed her through it all, running his fingers through her silky black hair and then growling,

"Shower. Shower, Bella, now."

He dragged her toward the bathroom, a slick black-tiled space in which a cavernous, luxurious shower awaited. He flicked his hand toward the shower, and his wandless magic sent hot water cascading from the broad head on the wall. It started to steam up in the bathroom, and Voldemort smirked down at Bellatrix as he touched her hair.

"It's going wavy," he informed her, and she whispered back,

"It's the steam."

"Good." He pressed her against the cold tile wall and knifed his hand between her thighs, his fingertips brushing over her damp folds. He kissed her so hard that her head slammed back against the tile, and then he was mumbling apologies against her mouth.

"Shower," she said, and he nodded. He looked more human now than ever, his eyes still dangerous but softened a little. His dark gaze was still aggressive, but now it seemed possessive in a way that made Bellatrix completely soaked between her legs. She followed him past the glass half wall and let him put her straight under the stream of hot water. It soaked her hair, and Bellatrix reached for the glass jar of hair cleanser on the inlaid shelf. She took a little of the cream, not minding its profoundly masculine aroma as she scrubbed at her scalp. She let Voldemort drag smoothing oil through her hair, and when his fingers snarled in her curls, she grinned at him and said in a sly tone,

"It'll be utterly mad when it dries. Curly and frizzy and -"

He cut her off with a kiss, using a bar of soap to scrub at her flesh and then his own. He put some of the soap onto her hands and broke away, encouraging her, to wrap her fingers around his cock. Bellatrix stared down at it, at the way it prodded her abdomen so eagerly. She moved her hands back and forth, utterly taken aback at the deep length, at the unconquerable girth. She found herself asking cautiously,

"Is it… did you take some sort of potion?"

He laughed at her then, and Bellatrix glared up at him with gall she didn't know she'd possessed. Voldemort shook his head and said rather snidely,

"I didn't even know it was particularly large until a fellow seventh-year Slytherin, a promiscuous girl called Myrandae, let me take her one time and then told the entirety of Hogwarts about just how big I was."

He seemed awfully proud of himself, and now it was Bellatrix's turn to laugh. She swirled her palm around his tip and made him hiss, and his right hand flew to the tile wall as Bellatrix said,

"I doubt you corrected her. Myrandae. I'll bet you let her go about bragging about this… didn't you, Master?"

"Are you taunting me, Bella?" He gave her a warning look, but she shook her head and let the warm water rinse off his enormous member.

"No, My Lord. I'm not taunting you. I just want to please you."

She sank down onto her knees, down onto the tile, and she stared up at Voldemort as the hot water sprayed against his chest. She stared at his cock, feeling a throbbing want between her legs and a coil of need in her lower belly. She opened her mouth and pushed the tip between her lips, quickly realising she wasn't going to be able to do much for him like this. She had to open her mouth as widely as possible just to get him inside, and she barely got beyond the tip before she was gagging. He still seemed to like it; he moaned quietly from above her. But the times Bellatrix had done this to Rodolphus, she'd used her tongue to caress him inside her mouth. She'd suckled on his length. She couldn't do that here, not with what the Dark Lord had. All she could do was let her eyes water as she tried and failed to do anything more than stuff her mouth and throat. She didn't even make it halfway down his shaft before she nearly vomited.

"Bellatrix."

The water was shut off then, and Voldemort was pulling her up, turning up half his mouth as he brushed his knuckles over her jaw. He bent to touch his lips to her wet cheekbone, and he whispered,

"I need to be inside of you."

She just nodded and let him dry them with wandless magic, his hands scanning around their forms as warm, dry air seemed to wash over them. He smiled a little and touched at Bellatrix's wild curls, and he nodded.

"Much better."

He walked out of the shower then, and Bellatrix just followed him into the bedroom as he snatched his wand from the ground and lit the wall sconces. He set his wand down beside the bed and jerked his chin up to the bed.

"Hands and knees," he said crisply. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot, but she obeyed him. No matter what came to pass, she would always obey him. She shut her eyes and nibbled her lip anxiously as she let her hands sprawl on the blankets, feeling the rough brocade beneath her knees. The mattress warped and shifted as Voldemort climbed up behind her. His fingers brushed back and forth along Bellatrix's wet folds, and she couldn't stay quiet. She let her head drop, let her curls fall around her face, and she huffed out a little sound.

"Do you want me, Bella?" His voice was lethal and silken at once, and Bellatrix just nodded and hummed frantically,

"Mmm-hmm."

"Tell me," he commanded her. Bellatrix forced herself to look over her head, and she mumbled,

"Oh, My Lord. I want you more than… more than air."

He chuckled. "You need air," he teased, his fingers still caressing her. "You don't need me. You just want me."

"No," Bellatrix argued boldly. "No, Master. I need you."

His eyes flashed, and suddenly he'd lined his tip up with her entrance. Bellatrix wrenched her eyes shut as he started to push in. She cried out loudly as he inched into her, the stretching and burning far more intense than what she'd experienced as a virgin on her wedding night. She collapsed down onto her elbows and buried her face into one of the pillows. He pushed in more deeply, and Bellatrix cinched her fingers around the down pillow. He thrust in harder, and she screamed. The pillow muffled it, but it was a scream just the same.

Big. No. Enormous. So big she could hardly take him. Back and forth, in and out, shallow at first, tentative, careful. He let her stretch, let her body get used to him, and then he started to speed up his shallow thrusts. They grew deeper, and at this angle, it was so intense Bellatrix knew she'd fall off the cliff any moment. Deeper and deeper, faster and faster, until he was pounding her, he sped up his hips and held fast to her little waist. Bellatrix was drowning then, barely able to breathe as she drooled and sobbed against the pillow. She wondered distantly if it would always be this intense with him, if she'd ever grow accustomed to the feel of this. She didn't want to get used to it. She liked it like this - rough and jagged, dancing the line between pleasure and pain.

The pleasure won that argument. She came after a long while of the thrusting, her body snapping tightly around his shaft as Voldemort grunted in acknowledgement of what he'd made her do. His hands tightened on her waist, and suddenly he was so deep inside of Bellatrix that she shrieked again. She turned her head from the pillow, desperate for air, gasping and crying as he buried himself until she thought he'd tear her apart.

"Bella," she heard him mumble. "Bella, Bella, Bella… oh. Bellatrix. I… Bella…"

He was rambling as he came, his seed jetting into her and then squeezing out in an obscene leak down the back of her thigh. When he pulled himself out, it was like a massive part of Bellatrix had been abruptly and surgically removed. She'd been so filled by him, and now she felt so empty. She stayed kneeling as Voldemort cleaned them both up, his wand brushing carefully up her thigh and around her womanhood. He cast another nonverbal spell, something that soothed the searing ache he'd inflicted on her.

Bellatrix blinked through her sudden fatigue, and she slowly rolled to lie on her side, onto the pillow that had mercifully absorbed her voice during it all. She lay there panting, her heart still thrumming, and then Voldemort appeared beside her. He encouraged her to move beneath the blankets, which he pulled up around the both of them.

He just stared at her, the same way he'd stared at the Malfoy Christmas Party, the way that had awakened in Bellatrix a newfound craving for her master. His hand stroked at her hair, at her cheek, and he said in a strict sort of murmur,

"I was a fool to think I could somehow go without you. I… require your presence. Not just as a soldier. I require your presence as my companion, you understand?"

Bellatrix nodded silently. She covered his hand on her cheek and whispered,

"I felt like I was dying."

"What do you mean?" he demanded, and Bellatrix squeezed at his fingers a little.

"Master, after you… after we'd already been together, after we'd kissed and danced and you'd taken me in your office… after all that, when I thought you'd sent me away for good, I felt like I was dying. Every night I'd wake with pain in my gut and head. I cried like a child. I dissolved a little more every day."

"Well," Voldemort said quite firmly, "you're here now. And you're staying the night."

Bellatrix nodded against his hand, wondering distantly if her husband was still off with Edwina Fawley. It didn't matter. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore. Bellatrix's eyelids felt very heavy then, and she said,

"Goodnight, Master."

He pulled her against him, letting her put her head on his chest and curl her leg across his thighs, and he brushed his lips against her wild curls.

"Goodnight, Bellatrix."

Author's Note: Oh, dear. So these two are getting more than a little intimate, and Rodolphus may or may not be finding comfort elsewhere. Implications…? Thank you so much for reading. Next update won't be until late tomorrow, so if you get a chance to review, I'd greatly appreciate it.