A/N: Apologies once again for the wait...if many of you actually were getting antsy, which I doubt! Dedicated to 'my most faithful' reviewer, (lol!) Ella Rosier, whose wonderful reviews are one of the few reasons I've continued this story (follow her example, people!) Since I wasn't overly thrilled with the last chapter, I give you some Bellamort sexy-time...*grins* I don't personally think the chapter calls for a change in rating, but let me know if you disagree.
Disclaimer: I still don't own HP, obviously.
"Are you ready for your next reward, Bella?"
"My Lord," she says teasingly. "Surely you know by now that I am always ready," she purrs.
He raises a nonexistent eyebrow at her remark, a gleam entering his scarlet eyes. Before she even registers his movement, he is upon her, pinning her to the ground with his body, his long, white fingers moving slowly up and down her thigh. Her breasts heave against his body as she grows increasingly excited, and the merest flicker of a smile crosses Voldemort's snake-like features.
"Well, Bella," he hisses, vanishing both of their clothing with a wave of his hand, positioning himself at her entrance. "Let's see how ready you are, hmm?"
Rodolphus Lestrange is not a stupid man, contrary to what his wife may think. He is all too aware of her effect on men, and the toys she enjoys playing with...only to break them when it suits her. At one point, he had almost managed to convince himself that he didn't necessarily mind her bed-hopping behaviour-after all, she always returns to him and their bed, doesn't she? Surely that has to count for something? But there are some toys that even Rodolphus cannot ignore, and so when rumours of his wife and the Dark Lord had reached his ears, an all consuming, fiery snake of jealousy had wound its way around his organs.
Just thinking about Bellatrix and the Dark Lord now ignites a flame in the pit of his stomach. After all, how can he ever compete with the Dark Lord for her affections? Night after night he finds himself staring at her curled form, wondering if the Dark Lord will always be the third invisible person in their bed. Will they ever have sex again without either of them thinking of their Master? Some nights, the frustration and feelings of inadequacy are all just too much and he ends up pounding a pale skinned, dark haired, Knockturn Alley whore into a wall, pretending with all his might that the legs around his waist are those of his wife, that the pleasurable moans in his ear are those of Bellatrix. These days, all Rodolphus can do is pretend.
Truth be told, Rodolphus just doesn't understand. He knows that their marriage is one of many arranged unions, but he is, after all, relatively handsome, wealthy, deadly with a wand-so why is Bellatrix so dissatisfied with their marriage? Why can't she ever look at him the way she does their Master? Lust, adoration, seduction-all mixed into her black eyes; desire seeping from every pore of her skin. Were his jealousy for any other man, Rodolphus would simply take his wand and duel him in an instant. But, he muses, swirling his Firewhiskey around in the glass, the Dark Lord is no mere man...and Bella, no mere wife, he thinks regretfully. Eyeing his usual whore, Rodolphus downs the rest of his drink, savouring the burning sensation as it travels down his throat. As his Bellatrix look-alike winks at him lasciviously, he stands, bracing himself inwardly. It is time to pretend.
"My LORD!"
Bellatrix's climax announces itself with a typically loud scream of appreciation and a seemingly unnatural arching of the back. As she lies beneath him, a mass of shaking limbs and sweat, Voldemort thrusts for the final time, spending himself within her with an almost earth-shattering intensity, a feral roar escaping his lips. Struggling to breathe properly, she smirks up at him, her black eyes glittering in the candlelight. "I told you I was ready," she pants.
He can't help but laugh then, his mind somewhat slightly hazed by his previous ecstasy and the entirely bewitching body that he is still a part of.
"I won't doubt you again, Bella," he chuckles, claiming her lips as his own once more.
"Take out your wand," Voldemort hisses.
Fast approaching her nirvana, Bellatrix doesn't fully register her Master's words, continuing to grind herself against his muscular form. It is only when he stops moving altogether that she comes back to Earth, more confused than satisfied, it must be said.
"My Lord?" she asks tentatively.
"Your wand, Bella. Take out your wand. Now." His eyes gleam angrily for a moment as he looks at her. "You'd do well to pay attention to my words," he hisses.
"Forgive me, My Lord!" she says hurriedly. "I was...preoccupied," she says grinning, as she takes hold of her wand.
As soon as her fingers close round her wand, her Master resumes his previous movements, thrusting into her body once more. She bits back a moan at the pleasurable sensation, trying to form a coherent sentence. Why does she need her wand?
"Because," her Lord says silkily, examining her mind, "as your second reward, you're going to cast the Crucio..." He speeds up his movements as her excitement grows at the mention of her favourite incantation.
"On whom, Master?" she manages, bucking her hips wildly. She is almost there; heat swirling in the pit of her belly.
He waits for the faintest hint of her impending orgasm before he answers. "On me, Bella," he smirks, her body dissolving violently around him once more.
A/N: review? :)