special thanks to rattlesnakedefender for inspiring a short bit of this long, long lemon (F*CK BUTTONS!). 17 hundred words of a passionate night. It took me all day! UGH!

As always, thanks for reading!


Esmeralda made her first mistake believing Claude was at her mercy. Through the heavy thrumming of hearts and the pants between their lips, she wasn't expecting him to take control so suddenly. In an instant, she felt his arms wrap tightly around her waist, crushing her against him as their lips tangled. They were strong and probing, parting just enough to allow his tongue to dart in and explore. Against her mouth, he tasted of wine and she could smell the spice of his cologne radiating from his body. Its fragrance brought images of thick groves and old books. The urge to pull him against her almost overwhelmed Esmeralda. Her body was responding almost rabidly. She arched her back, pressing her bosom into his neck as they kissed.

She drank from him, tangling her fingers into his soft graying hair as he pawed feverishly at her body. His hands scoured her, gripping and exploring the depths of her breasts beneath her clothes and knotting into her thick hair. Oh, how much she wanted this! Not even consuming his very soul would be enough for her!

Her nails clawed at his blouse, fumbling for the buttons. Claude moved his hands in an effort to unbutton the blouse on his own, but out of frustration, he fisted the material and yanked. The buttons exploded out, shooting about the settee and bouncing upon the cushion where they necked. Her hands continued to explore, pushing the blouse back and brushing his smooth torso.

Esmeralda broke away from the kiss to scour his frame. He exuded a wintry skin tone, softly threaded with muscle like a braided rope. He was sinewy, accented by the dancing shadows derived from the fire. As she explored, caressing the plains of his skin, it prickled beneath her and a shuddering breath escaped him. She looked up, meeting his eyes and the mussed hair that fell in white tendrils about his hairline. The sight of this eloquent man now enraptured by the throes of passion excited her.

Their complexions were milk and caramel against each other, but warm all the same. Esmeralda met his mouth again, suckling upon his bottom lip. Her tongue ran across it and her teeth sank with delighted intent. She it tugged gently as Claude snaked a hand up her dress, slipping beneath her bra. He cupped her carefully and when his actions were met with a throaty moan, he retracted his hand and began fumbling the hem of her dress.

"Take this blasted drab off. I wish to see you." he demanded, the inflection of his deep voice scratching with need. He was just as nervous as she, but she obliged him by loosening the scarf about her neck and tossing it aside. Under the fire's light, his formidable mien became heightened. His stormy eyes were dark and malicious. A shadow danced along his hooked nose and followed the crevice of his mouth. A mouth that tasted succulent and sweet according to her.

The heat between her legs intensified, reminding her there was still plenty to be had. She peeled her dress away and immediately discarded her bra. The air bristled her skin, budding her nipples. Claude met them with his hands, kneading gently at first, but as Esmeralda arched into his touch, they grew confidently and he pressed fervently, pinching the dark pearls between his fingers. He then leaned forward and captured one into his wet mouth. Esmeralda clutched his head, pushing his face into her soft mound. The pleasure was unbearable, almost entirely too much to withstand. She issued a steam of sounds: whimpers, moan, gasps met with Claude's imploring tongue and firm lips.

She was necking with her professor and soon this heavy petting would lead to far more intimate matters. It was shocking to believe he was writhing beneath her with palpable need. Her professor. Her instructor. A man with sharp intellect and a position as her superior. His velvety voice was no longer siting the religions across the globe, but panting from kisses and desire, enticed by her. The same body that prowled the innards of the auditorium with calculating eyes, now grind a hard length between her legs. Hands once used to manipulate marker against board, cupped and kneaded her breasts firmly and yet, still gentle.

Esmeralda realized her surmounting lerchery, and the longer she withstood it, the more unbearable it became. Her hands came down and began working the buckle about his waist, freeing the constraint. And in a single yank, the leather was whipped free and tossed aside. The slack's button was loosened and she snaked her hand into the crotch of his trousers. Claude stilled beneath her with a muted gasped as her hand explored until finally...she groped him.

Her eyes widened in surprise as Claude shut his in pleasure, his head dropped back in a moan.

She held his sex, thick and heavy in her hand, ready to be slick from her own arousal. Her core quivered, hungry to be filled. Unable to endure the throbbing of her own heat, the cotton of her panties were pushed aside and she sank down. She felt his tip pushing at her entrance, a glistening oasis among a scorching desert. She brought her hands to his bare shoulders and allowed gravity to do the rest. There was a slight resistance, and finally he pushed into her, filling her to the brim and stealing the air from her lungs.

Her head dropped back, mouth slack for a throaty moan but the pleasure was too surmounting to make a sound. With her mouth parted and brow furrowed, she rocked her hips, taking his length entirely. Her body made a slight protest at his girth but the more she moved against him, stroking his length within her, the further her clenching walls began to yield.

A throaty moan rumbled within Claude's chest. He snaked an arm around her waist while the other cupped her cheek gently, forcing their eyes and thus, their souls, to regard each other through this incandescent intimacy. His dark eyes bore into her with a pleading countenance that weighed heavily upon her heart. He was falling, she realized. With every push and pull of his length, slick and engorged, this callous man was melting as if Esmeralda was born of fire herself. She stroked him with her warm center until his breaths came out choppy and shallow.

Were they having sex or making love? Esmeralda wondered. No, certainly not. He was a grown man, capable of reigning in his emotions when the physical threshold collapsed. This was all it was, meeting that physical hunger they both starved for from one another.

No strings attached, Esmeralda told herself.

Claude's hold along her body grew firmly and his breathing became erratic. One hand grasped a breast firmly while the other anchored at her hip. He urged her motion along, pushing and pulling at her rump, eagerly.

Biting his lip as she rode him, Claude lowered his head and gripped her thighs, slowing her progress.

"Slow down," he choked out, "I cannot last much longer."

Esmeralda grinned, and reached for his hand. She guided it between her legs, and pressed the pad of his thumb against her swollen nub. He swallowed, eyeing her with large curious pools of grey. Had he ever touched a woman there? Was she his first?

"Right there," she gasped at the immediate pressure being applied. "Like that," she moaned.

His thumbed worked slow circles as Esmeralda rocked her hips. Her sex was tightening around him, a pressure building rapidly within.

"Keep going," she begged, no longer able to maintain a controlled motion of her hips. She swayed and rocked, taking him deeply and withdrawing while his thumb continued in tight orbits around her nub.

"Esmeralda," Claude gasped, his other hand squeezing at her hip with a vise hold. He was losing the fight, the struggle to withstand the pressing orgasm was becoming vain.

She could hear him, as well as feel him inside her, engorging, stiffening with each quick stroke she brought upon him, but he had not stopped. He still rubbed against her, making her breaths shallow and fast. The pressure was climbing, filling her from her core into her chest and spilling out of her mouth with a sharp cry. The climax shattered her whimpering disposition.

Claude bucked, gasping and lifting his hips from the settee as her core clenched and flexed. Another warmth blossomed within her and Claude found he couldn't hold back his tongue. A staggering moan punched passed his lips as his hands pulled her down, grinding her against him. He held her tight as his own zenith racked his frame.

Esmeralda rode the climax to its end, clenching his quivering shaft within her while pleasure resonated through her body like waves. A hand came up, brushing her cheek and luring her to his mouth. She came to him with depth of desire she was unaware of possessing. Her senses were at a pinnacle. She could hear his labor of his breathing, sated and spent. The smell of sex, a sweet and musty heat with traces of sweat, filled the air. He kissed her with enough passion to thrill her already rapid heart, tracing his lips down her jawline and following her neck. He pulled her close, still twitching inside her, and nuzzled the thickness of her dark hair, still reeling from the orgasm, still moaning, and trembling beneath her.

For a moment, Esmeralda loved him, her soul loved him. But the thought was unwarranted and she quickly discarded it singularly on her body's satiation. She went to move, lifting up from his lap, but Claude protested and quickly seized her, pulling her back against him. She laughed as she wrapped her arms around his neck loosely, pressing him into her bare breasts. It both scared and excited Esmeralda how much she desired from a man she knew so little about. She wanted his words and his touch, to harvest his warmth and use it to feed her heart that panged on the vibrations of his voice and the weight of his gaze. How did she become such a savage when it came to Claude Frollo? What differed between him and the rest of the men that attempted courting her? And what would be of them afterwards? Was this a one night stand for him? For her, even?

Later, she told herself, coddling closer as they recuperated from their sated passion.

Later when the wine's effect waned and the concision of her thoughts returned, Esmerala would wonder. For now, Claude turned her about his lap and stood, one arm supported her back while the other hooked at the bend of her knees. He carried like bride to his bedroom where they made love a second time and fell asleep within each others' arms.