A/N — So, you may have noticed that this story is rated M. This chapter is the reason why. Be forewarned: Lemons ahead.

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Chapter 21

"I trust you implicitly, Ron — absolutely and positively," Hermione said, stroking his cheek before continuing in a firmer tone. "You are not — I repeat, are *not* — Aris Thayer, darling, and I am very clear on that. You needn't worry quite so much."

But it was in Ron's nature to worry, at least when it came to Hermione, and despite the fact that they were now lying in her bed, and they had both taken off several layers of clothes to the point where they were down to their skivvies, and the feel of her skin against his was setting the nerve endings over every millimeter of his body on fire, he couldn't help but hold himself back, concerned that any false move on his part might remind her of the violation that Aris Thayer engineered just the previous night. He didn't want to risk upsetting her no matter how much his mind, his heart and his cock pleaded for relief. He hadn't brought up Thayer — she had — but he reckoned she was brilliant enough to have sussed out that if he was in her bed and not attempting to touch and kiss every square inch of her within reach, something was on his mind, and it was most likely Thayer. And, of course, she figured it out before he had a chance to really sort out his feelings on the matter.

"Mione, believe me, I'm thrilled to hear that what Thayer tried isn't upsetting you so much that you can't get past it," he said, pulling back and lying on his side to face her. "It's just that, you know, talking is one thing. Doing is another. I would hate to, uh, move forward and then have you find that, in the heat of the moment, you felt like maybe you were in over your head, if you know what I mean. I want you to feel safe. I want that more than anything, love."

Hermione smiled and reached for his hand. "That's just it, Ronald," she murmured, "I do feel safe with you. Always. Even at times when we weren't really getting along, I've always trusted you with my life. I never once felt unsafe with you." She grinned guiltily. "I may have wanted to hex you sometimes, but I knew you'd never reciprocate, no matter how cross you might get with me."

"Ain't it the truth," Ron said through a laugh. "I still have nightmares about those canaries."

She grimaced in mock annoyance. "You deserved those, you know." Then she snuggled a bit closer to him and studied his face, her eyes darting over every feature. She loved that she was so free to look at him now, and he was so beautiful in the candlelight of her bedroom, the gold and copper tints of his hair sparkling, his eyes so bright. "The point is," she continued, sobering up a little, "Aris tried to take something that didn't belong to him. But you? I want to give you what Aris could never have, and there's just an enormous, gigantic world of difference. Does that make any sense?"

All Ron could do was nod and hope she was really as confident as she was trying to sound. He privately resolved that he would force himself to move as slowly and cautiously as possible, but he also decided to try to believe in her words.

"You're the only one I ever want to be with in this way," she added, reaching out to stroke the back of his hand, which was lying on the bed between them. "You're the only one I have ever wanted or ever will want. No one as feeble as Aris Thayer could ever change that."

Her words, coupled with the gentle motion of her fingers caressing his skin, slowly but surely sank in, and he felt himself warming from the inside-out. She loved him. Despite all the stupid rows about Scabbers and quidditch and homework and Krum and the Slug Club and rules and manners, despite the falling out during the Horcrux hunt, despite the hurt feelings and opportunities missed, she loved him. He had, through words expressed and deeds performed so long ago that he could barely remember them, somehow laid the foundation for the kind of trust that was durable enough to outlast the war and withstand the pangs of disappointed love. Could it have been as simple as his impulse to curse Malfoy all those years ago, when he wound up coughing up slugs for his trouble? He didn't know and doubted he ever would, though a shiver ran through him at the thought that a different decision that day might have led to a very different outcome. Not for the first time, he silently thanked his inner Second Year for having had such good instincts.

If he had been able to form words at that moment, he might have asked Hermione about that very thing, the slug-belching incident. The answer would have eased his mind, because she would have told him that it wasn't just one action, one decision, that stacked the deck in his favor so long ago. It was the entirety of him, everything he was, that caused her to trust him implicitly. His loyalty, his doggedness, his humility, his innate intelligence, even his tenderness, well-obscured as it sometimes was by his stubbornness and pride — all these elements of his personality made Ron who he was, and Hermione saw that man more clearly than he did himself.

"Mione," Ron whispered, "you're so precious to me." He was a little choked up and realized that his voice sounded raspy, but he didn't care. "I'll wait forever for you. As long as it takes, I don't care. Just as long as I can be near you, love, as long as I know you're mine. Nothing else matters."

These words — and his expression as he said them, so clear-eyed, so innocent — quite literally warmed Hermione's heart. She even laughed to herself as the sensation hit her, realizing for the first time in her life that this old saying is related to an actual, physical sensation, because she felt it, actually felt it: a surge of mild heat that emanated from her chest and rolled over her entire body. She knew she had many barriers of modesty and self-doubt still to conquer, but how could she fail to break through them when her reward was to get even closer to Ronald Weasley? She felt such a jolt of energy at the idea that suddenly she was brave enough to sit up in bed, looking down at him with a smile, and slowly pull the silky camisole that she'd been wearing up and over her head, her knickers then the only item of clothing still on her body. She shivered slightly, not at the temperature but at the feeling of being so exposed to him, and yet, when she finally lifted her eyes from the bed to his eyes as he laid next to her there, she realized she had nothing to fear. He was looking at her with such adoration, a slightly open-mouthed grin on his face, that she felt she might know something of what it was like to be part-Veela.

Ron, for his part, was quite certain he'd never seen anything in his entire life as beautiful as Hermione in that moment. He knew he was openly staring at her — gaping, really — and he was dimly aware that it wasn't entirely polite to do so, but it couldn't be helped. His eyes roved over her hungrily. After years of trying desperately to picture what she might look like in just such a state, here she was in the flesh, and he realized that his imagination hadn't done the real thing justice. She was so petite and delicate, so demure and yet there was that slightly mischievous glint in her eye, and the little smile that came over her lips finally awoke him from his thoughts and inspired him to reach out and touch — first, the back of her hand, then her forearm, and then, thrillingly and deliciously, her breast, and as he ran the pads of his fingers over her nipple and then cupped her flesh in his palm, his brow crinkled in wonderment, and he found himself looking up into her face for a moment as if to say, Is this all right?

Her silent nod was all the encouragement he needed. He sat up slowly so their eyes were level with one another and leaned in to kiss her lightly on the lips. "I know I keep on saying it, but it's true," he whispered against her lips. "I love you. I just love you so much."

She snickered and kissed him back lightly. "You don't think I'm tired of hearing it, do you?"

He shrugged. "I just wish there were other ways of saying it," he replied.

"Well, you're in luck," she said, looping her arms around his neck. "There are." She laid back then, pulling him down with her until she was spread out on the mattress beneath him, and he leaned over her, propped up on one elbow, and lowered his lips first to her neck, then downward toward her breast, which he was still caressing gently.

"Mione," he whispered as she threaded her fingers into his hair and arched her back to lift her breasts closer to his mouth. "Merlin bless me, you're so sweet. So sweet."

She hummed appreciatively as he returned his lips to her skin, sucking at her nipple gently at first, but then deeper. He seemed to know how to vary the pace and intensity of his kisses just so, and it occurred to her with a pang that it was probably because he'd done this before with Lavender — though she quickly chased that notion away. She didn't want to think of Lavender, not right now. Ron was with *her* now, she reminded herself, and that's the way things would remain as long as she had something to say about it. So instead of fretting further, she gave in to the feelings overtaking her as Ron continued to kiss her neck, her chin, her shoulders and her chest with tender, almost reverent kisses. There was nothing frenzied about his movements. In fact, he was moving with caution, with care, so gently, it was as if his movements were repeating his earlier words: You're so precious to me.

She couldn't stop whispering his name, breathing "yes" and "I love you," and the sound of it all thrilled Ron to the core. She loved him. Gods, he still couldn't believe his good fortune — and the fact that she was sharing herself with him so openly — it all made his heart beat harder in his chest.

His hands, meanwhile, roved from her breast down to her bum and back again, until he looped his arm around the small of her back and pulled her waist closer to him, swinging his leg over her hip. She was then pinned rather tightly to him and loving the sensation. Her hands were still playing about his hair, his face and his neck, but, after a few minutes, he reached up and took one of them, kissed her fingertips, and then gently lowered it to his boxers. He laid her hand on his cock and then covered the back of her hand with his, and whispered in her ear, "Do you feel what you do to me, love?" He breathed sharply through his teeth, then added, "You're capable of very powerful magic, Hermione. You and only you."

She could hardly believe what she was feeling, actually. She had perceived his hardness against her leg and against her middle at various times over the past day as they laid in one another's arms, but she had willed herself not to call attention to the fact that she'd felt it — it was just too *much* somehow, something that caused her face to heat up in a furious blush. And yet, at this moment, the way he had so carefully brought her fingers into contact with his manhood, the way he had told her that his excitement was magic that she had done, made her feel terribly powerful all of a sudden. She planted her lips on his and opened her mouth to him. She sucked first on his lip, then on his tongue, actions that caused him to grip her hand tighter to his cock, though he was too distracted to know he was doing it. All he knew was that the girl of his dreams was touching him where he'd always fantasized she might someday, and that she was kissing him as if her life depended on it, and his head was in the clouds. This, he thought, is joy. This is what it is.

Then she moved her hand — Ron thought perhaps she didn't want to be touching him there anymore, so he promptly unclasped his hand from hers. He was pleasantly surprised, however, when instead of pulling away, she reached inside the waistband of his boxers and touched him, skin-on-skin, and it took every bit of control he could muster to keep from coming on the spot. Her fingers were so warm, so soft.

"Oh gods, Mione," he mumbled in her ear as she touched the tip of his cock uncertainly, then dragged a finger down the underside before wrapping her hand around his shaft and gripping him gently. "Yes, love … oh, Merlin … oh, please." She had no idea that her touch could turn his skeleton to jelly, but it did, and soon he had flopped onto his back, dumbstruck as Hermione continued to stroke him up and then down.

"I don't really know what I'm doing," she said before biting her lip and giving him a sweet smile. He opened his eyes and grinned at her. "You're … you don't have to do anything, you know. Just the feel of your skin … gods," he said, pressing his eyes shut tightly and forcing his fingers into his hair as he inhaled sharply again.

"But, I want to," she whispered. "I want to … to make you feel good." She removed her hand from his erection for just a moment, and he opened his eyes to see that she had reached for the waistband of his pants and was now tugging them down.

Sweet mother of Merlin — this was a sight Ron never thought he'd live to see: Hermione Granger, in nothing but a pair of petite pink knickers, kneeling demurely next to him in bed as she pulled off his boxers and turned her attention to his cock, her skin glowing in the warm candlelight, her hair falling loosely about her shoulders and just grazing the tops of her bare breasts.

"You're so goddamned beautiful, Hermione," he said. "You don't have to do a thing but let me look at you. I could look at you just like that for hours."

She smiled and leaned on one hand, looking him over. "I could say the same for you, Ron, honestly." And she meant it. He was quite a sight, stretched out there before her on the bed. She was quite certain he was unaware of what Auror training had done to his body, but the changes hadn't gone unnoticed by her. He'd always been lean and lanky — traits she liked quite a lot — but the constant physical work, and his new habit of hitting the gym before and after shifts, had chiseled his previously slender form into something much more sculpted and powerful. His shoulders had broadened noticeably. His chest and abdomen were more defined, his arms, legs and neck more sinewy. And his skin, sprayed as it was with freckles, was so clear and remarkably soft. She had expected him to be hairier and was surprised to find, now that he was completely nude before her, that he wasn't. His cheeks and lips were as pink and inviting as always. And nowadays he favored wearing his hair shorter, after letting it grow long and shaggy during the war, though he kept his fringe long, in a way that reminded her very much of the way the Beatles wore their hair when they first hit the scene in the early '60s, though when she joked once about it months ago, he had no idea what he was talking about, never really having heard of the Beatles.

But obviously, the aspect of his anatomy that most called out for her attention at the moment was his erection — something she had fantasized about so constantly, for years. And yet, even in all the times she'd tried to picture what it might look like, what it might feel like, she had no idea how, well, impressive it was. His cock was, quite simply, large. Tremendously large. And surprisingly warm to the touch. And surprisingly firm, though the skin was surprisingly soft and silky. They key word here, she smiled to herself, was surprise — everything about his cock was surprising. It stood erect, at an angle slanting above his navel. It seemed to move of its own volition. When she had touched it earlier, she could have sworn she felt his pulse within it, and , judging by Ron's reaction, it was clear that even the slightest brush of her fingertips against its surface was pure ecstasy to him.

She couldn't help but grin at the thought. All this was hers. Hers. She could hardly believe this was her life — that the one boy she had wanted all her life was now stretched out in her bed and nearly desperate for her touch.

And then she realized that she was equally as desperate to touch him again. And so she reached out and placed her index finger on the tip of his cock, slightly shocked at the moistness she found there. She trailed her finger around and around the tip in circles, grinning as Ron clenched his eyes shut and buried his head in the pillows, moaning her name.

"Show me how to please you," she whispered, amazed that the words had slipped out as quickly as she'd thought them, before she'd had a chance to censor herself. She was gratified, however, to see Ron grin widely in response, his eyes still clamped shut. "Show me," she repeated, and he answered by reaching down to take her hand, adjusting her grip and guiding her as she stroked his shaft in a languid up-and-down motion. He breathed deeply through his nostrils as she picked up the pace, watching the expressions on his face shift as his body began to move in time with the rhythm of her hand movements. "I so want to make you feel good, Ronald," she whispered, and he moaned in such a deep, gravelly way that she could have sworn she felt it between her legs. She positively throbbed at the sound of his moans. She couldn't say where this particular bit of inspiration came from, but at one point she decided to experiment and bent over to place her lips at the tip of his cock, and he let out a long and low groan at the feeling of her warm tongue, her moist lips, encasing his head, even as her hand continued its mesmerizing motion.

Ron, meanwhile, was transported, captivated by the feeling of Hermione's hands and lips lovingly caressing his cock. Every now and then, he'd peer through his squinting eyelids to take in the dazzling sight of Hermione stroking him, sucking him … but mostly he kept his eyes closed and savored the sensations, all the while moaning and whispering nonsensical phrases of encouragement — "yes, love" … "oh, that's so good" … "you drive me wild, Mione." Before too long, the pleasure built to a point where he couldn't hold himself back any longer, and the release that shook his body as his orgasm overtook him was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. He had only had a moment to warn Hermione, croaking "yes, that's right … don't stop … I'm going to come, love," in a raspy voice, and he had expected that she would pull her lips away — but, instead, she pressed her mouth even more firmly to him and swallowed deeply, a feeling that quite literally took his breath away.

Panting vigorously, his body humming with pleasure, he slowly came down from his high with Hermione in his arms. She had collapsed next to him and curled up against his chest, and he had instinctively wrapped his arms around her tightly and pulled her to him so that her face was now buried in the crook between his chin and his shoulder.

"Holy Merlin," Ron breathed. "Hermione … my Mione … there's no way you could know … I'm sure you have no idea how many times I've dreamed of this."

She laughed and kissed his neck. "I think I have *some* idea."

He squeezed her shoulders. "OK, maybe you do. But, oh gods, even though you have starred in each and every wanking session, each and every wet dream … it was never this good. Never."

She was a bit shocked to hear this admission — that she, not Lavender, not Fleur, not Madam Rosmerta, just she — had been the subject of his sexual fantasies, but she decided she'd ask him about that later. For now … she preferred to press her ear to his chest, to listen to the thumping of his heart and the rhythm of his breathing as he came back down to earth.

After a few minutes, he lifted her chin and met her eye. "I love you, you know," he said. "So, so much." And he planted a kiss on her lips, sinking the fingers that he'd used to tip her chin upwards deep into her long, curly hair.

They snogged just so for several minutes, Ron slowly gaining the upper hand as he regained his strength, and soon Hermione was pinned beneath him, enjoying the feeling of his weight upon her, a sensation that she already knew was always going to be a favorite.

Ron had been running his hands up and down her back, but then he pulled one hand forward and reached down between her legs, stroking her there rather firmly. The feeling of his fingers against her warm and throbbing core was exquisite, but …

"Wait," she said without thinking, placing her hand over his and stilling his movements.

He pulled his hand away from her as if he'd been scalded. What she didn't know — at least at first — was that he was kicking himself for getting carried away. He had crossed a line, somehow, and he berated himself for breaking his own vow to himself to remain in control, to keep from doing anything that would make her uncomfortable.

She instantly regretted having stopped him so abruptly, and sat up to look him in the eye. "I'm sorry, Ron, I didn't mean—"

"No, no, I'm the one who's sorry, Hermione, really," he said, cutting her off.

"No, please listen, Ron," she said firmly. Her tone surprised him, and his eyes were drawn to hers immediately.

"Please listen," she continued in a more soothing tone. "I shouldn't have done that. I know you were just trying to make me feel … the way I made you feel … and I appreciate that, darling, I really do. You didn't do anything wrong."

Ron shook his head, his brow wrinkled with confusion. "So why did you stop me, then?"

She thought about it. Why *did* she stop him? As she pondered the question, she absent-mindedly traced the muscles of his arm with her fingertips. Then the answer came to her — very slowly, but it came.

"I think I need a little more time before I can, um, let go … before I can let go in that way with you," she said. "I know you'll think it's mad, but I'm not sure I'm ready to let you see me that way yet. It's hard to explain."

He stilled her hand with his, then lifted it to his lips and kissed her palm. "You don't have to explain. It's OK. I think I get it. And even if I didn't — it's your body, Hermione. You get to say what happens to it. You and no one else. All right?"

She choked back a sob and nodded, throwing herself back against his chest and clinging to him tightly as he wrapped his arms back around her. "I love you so much, Ronald Weasley," she said as he kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheek and the top of her head.

"I love you too, Hermione," he answered. "Let's get ready to sleep now, eh?"

She laughed against his neck. "That's probably a good idea. If we're going to endure everyone's scrutiny at the Burrow tomorrow, we could probably use all the rest we can get tonight."

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A/N — OK, this wasn't quite as lemony as certain chapters of "All In," but it was close. I just felt I ought to warn you before going there, since the previous 20 chapters have been pretty tame.

Anyway, please review! I'd love to know what you think, especially since this story just took a fairly M-rated turn.

Cheers,

Holly.