Royal Highness by Tom Grennan
The meeting passes without much of note. Cassandra revises her initial offer down to 300,000 galleons based on the actual books. Bagman tries to argue but ends up accepting it, and she hands him the note to draw the funds from her Gringotts account. He is a not a bad man, nor a dull one, but his insistence on trying to use flattery to cover up his flimsy negotiating position has her grateful to see the back of him by the end of their negotiations.
She suspects Tom is grateful too, as he'd had his eyes narrowed since the start of the meeting and had pointedly moved his chair up in the middle of it, positioning himself very nearly in front of her as if he thought Bagman might try something at any second.
She smiles as she shakes his hand and waves him goodbye at the door, Tom sulking behind her. She turns to see him still glaring over her shoulder. He joins her on a walk around the floor. The casino has already been shut down for the weekend in anticipation of the deal.
"You are lucky I am so charming or that face surely would have scared him away long before we managed to reach an agreement," she quips.
He shrugs before answering, "I don't like when other men covet what is mine."
"He took one of the roulette tables out already. I should have deducted that too," she notes before addressing him with a scowl. "I am not yours - and I'm sure you wouldn't have minded if his attention was actually useful to you instead of just tedious."
Tom smirks, "I'm sure you wouldn't be so keen to argue with my statement if my cock was inside of you again, Cass."
She hides a blush as the events of the previous day come flashing into her mind before turning back to him and rolling her eyes as she says, "Merlin, I don't know what other women have been telling you, but your cock is not magically blessed. It does pretty much what every other man's does, Tom. Nobody is going to suddenly start worshipping you because of it, least of all me, so you can refrain from ever having the word mine come out of your smug mouth when referring to me again."
Tom's hands come up to her waist as he steps forward, pushing her back until she is pressed against the edge of one of the gambling tables. Her chest rises as she takes a deep breath in anticipation of their bodies meeting, but he stops just short of pressing against her. His fingers curl around her skin before he draws his hands away and places them against the table on either side of her. He leans forward, his lips coming to a rest just next to her cheek as he turns his head slightly toward her and whispers in her ear.
"It's not my cock that has that effect on them - on you, Cass. It's me. I could make you worship me even without it. I could make you come undone with just my smug mouth."
She forces herself to hold her breathing steady and keep from reacting, no matter how much her fingers itch to reach up and run along his chest. She wonders what he looks like under those formal robes he always wears. She wonders if his alabaster skin gets any warmer or softer closer to his heart or if he is all ice and sharp edges everywhere. She wonders what his eyes had looked like when he'd been fucking her, whether they had been black or red or steely grey, whether they'd been sharp or soft, whether they'd been closed or open.
She licks her lips before forcing a sarcastic response from them, "Right, since its worked so well at wooing me over the last year and change. I'm sure you'll finally convince me today, even though it sounds like you are the one begging right now."
"Let's test the theory with a little game then, Cass," he hisses, pulling away from her slightly only so that he can hold her gaze. "If I can make you orgasm with just my mouth, you will spend the rest of the evening with me. All of it, until the sun comes up again. If I can't help myself and end up doing it with my cock instead, I'll finish sorting the books for you and you can go enjoy your evening elsewhere."
She thinks about his offer for a second, weighing the benefits and risks. On one hand, the books will definitely take hours, if not days, to get through given the questionable accounting practices previously employed in this place. On the other, she has never been particularly turned on by what he is proposing. In her previous observations, men usually only did it briefly to pretend they cared about a women's desires before moving on to satisfy their own, if it all. And, even when they cared to try and it was actually enjoyable, they were rarely talented enough to finish the job. She should not make the mistake of assuming anything about Tom Riddle is normal, but she does.
She is still thinking as they walk on. She decides the best course is to hope something else draws his attention away and he forgets his offer rather than confronting it. There are plenty of more pressing matters to attend to, she remembers as they walk past a few side rooms still a mess from the last weekend's festivities and a dusty storage area crowded with extra furniture. They enter the casino's office, her eyes scanning over the outdated decor, plans to redecorate the whole place in a style more suitable for this century already swimming through her head. Macnair is waiting inside of it for his first orders in his new position as the casino's manager, having just dropped off the bottle of champagne and two glasses Tom had requested earlier.
"Macnair, can you please go inventory the bar supplies? It looks like your very gracious former employer decided to take most of the bottles on the floor home with him. Hopefully he did not raid the supply rooms as well or we will have another mess to deal with before reopening," she instructs with a polite smile toward him.
"You can treat yourself to a drink or two afterward until we find something else that needs doing," Tom adds. He does not wish to be interrupted by any actual work for the rest of the day - or to have her distracted by it as she is now.
"Yes, Ms. Malecrit. Thank you, my lord," Macnair rushes to answer before heading out.
Tom spells the door locked behind him. Cassandra has already taken her place behind the desk, leaning over it as she flips through the supplier list. Tom pops open the bottle and pours them each a glass before walking over to her and taking her hips in his hands. He twists her around to face him, her usual resistance lacking as she was too focused on the papers to see him coming.
"I was just - " she protests with a pout. Tom magics all the papers on the table into a single pile and the champagne glasses over to him. They float in the air, waiting to be grabbed.
"That can wait. Let us celebrate first," he admonishes. He hands her one glass and takes the other. He lifts her and places her on the desk. This will be a fitting way to christen it, he thinks. He pushes himself between her legs and leans forward to hiss, "To our partnership, Cass."
She raises an eyebrow at the term, "And what is my role in this partnership? You know, now that I have been officially inducted into it and all."
They both know she is not talking about the casino - her role there is already clear enough from their conversations. She is talking about the club, as she likes to call it. It is clear he is not going to let her be just any ordinary member, and she wants to have something to say to dispel people's assumptions. She wants him to ensure her people's assumptions aren't correct. That this is not all he wants from her, and everything else is not purely an excuse to get it - though she is sure it at least partially is.
The words drip from his lips like honey, his eyes locked on hers as he says them, "My counselor."
She scowls and looks away, "So they get to be knights and I get to be a pretty trophy on your arm. What's wrong Tom, you don't like women who can fight?"
"I very much like women who can fight, Cassandra," he says, a wicked smirk on his face conveying his meaning. "But people like us don't really have to do our own fighting - and while I still find your mind more valuable, I do need you to retain a body to hold it in. Not to mention I like that as well, for more personal reasons."
"As long as you don't flaunt those personal reasons in public, I accept the position," she says, raising her glass and tapping it against his. He takes only a sip, putting his own glass down immediately afterward while looking down at her and smirking as she finishes hers.
"Undress for me, Cassandra," he orders. "I don't want to give you an excuse to accuse me of cheating by touching you."
There is really no benefit in resisting him, she reminds herself. The more she does, the more he will feel compelled to act out. Better to get this out of their systems now so they can focus on business sooner, since it has become abundantly clear that he will not give up. She pushes down the thought that she does not really want him to anyway and just looks back at him imperiously while reaching below her skirt and rolling down her panties.
She smirks as she drops them to the floor, "That should do, I assume?"
He answers with a matching smirk. He makes a show of putting his hands behind his back before leaning over to kiss her. She is stiff at first, resisting the downward movement of his lips. When she does not cooperate, he just bites down on the hallow between her neck and shoulder, drawing a yelp from her.
"Give in, Cass, or I will draw blood next time," he threatens.
"Just try," she challenges. He can feel the thrill of her heartbeat under his lips.
He takes her up on it, bitting into her shoulder, guessing that - consciously or not - she chose an outfit that left them exposed for a reason. She jumps up into him as his teeth break the skin just a little. His tongue laps up the drops of blood that result, prompting her to throw her head back and whimper.
He draws away after a few more seconds to warn, "Play along, my little harpy, or I'll do that again and won't let you heal them before we go out to dinner."
She rolls her eyes at the fact that he's already assumed victory - even though she arches her neck back for him at the same time - and scolds, "You really need a lesson in humility, Tom."
"Humility is for mere mortals, not us," he hisses against her skin, continuing to move downward, stopping only to mutter a spell that rips her blouse in half.
"Cheating already," she teases with a small laugh.
"The spell came from my mouth, didn't it?" he responds. "Hitch up your skirt or I will tear it to shreds and you won't have anything to wear to dinner."
"Merlin, you are such a bas - "
"No jokes about that, Cassandra," he says seriously, looking up to meet her eyes.
"Sorry," she mutters, a slight blush on her cheeks at the mistake. She swears there is a touch of hurt in his eyes, and she finds it more than a little off-putting. All she has ever seen in them before is anger and amusement. She takes his face in her hands and guides it up to kiss him before her hands move down to follow his instruction.
"Show me you're sorry, Cass. Open those lovely legs for me," he whispers against her mouth. If she is going to pity him, he might as well take advantage of it to get what he wants. He kisses her again, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. She whimpers into his mouth and fulfills his request. "Wider, my little harpy - and do try to keep them that way."
She watches as he lowers himself to his knees between them. The second she feels his breath on her, her eyes widen and she nearly bucks her hips. He chuckles at her reaction and takes a second to take her in, his expression so intense it only heightens her embarrassment even more. Fuck, the things he does to her. How had she apparently temporarily forgotten about his ability to make her sopping wet with just his words when she had been stupid enough not to outright refuse to play his little game?
Finally, she feels his tongue traverse her and cannot hold back a moan, no matter how smug he looks about it. Before she knows it, she has lost herself in it, and all of her focus is on his head between her legs. She feels like she is losing her mind as every rational thought she has dies in her head before it can even form. She feels like she is floating free of her body as her muscles shiver and quake against her will. She feels entirely overwhelmed and out of control. She wouldn't have been able to help closing her legs a long time ago if it wasn't for her certainty that if she defied his order, he would just respond by tying her in this position for the rest of the evening. No one has been able to do this to her before, not even… well, she rarely thinks about him these days.
Tom seems to sense her mind is dangerously close to drifting elsewhere, because he pulls away only to bite at the inside of her thigh. He commands, "Focus on me, my little harpy."
Her eyes drift back down to meet his. He hisses, "Do you like this, Cass?"
Her cheeks are flushed and her breathing heavy, giving the answer away already, so she admits, "Yes."
Tom kisses the spot he just marked, the gentle motions of his lips and the sweep of his cold tongue against it soothing the throbbing pain he had caused but only increasing the throbbing inside of her. He hisses again, "Do you like me?"
An image of the snake on her skin flashes in her mind and she answers reflexively, "No."
She nearly yelps when he stands suddenly. She probably would have if the breath wasn't knocked out of her by a magical force pushing her chest back against the table. She tries to struggle, quickly mouthing half a dozen counter curses that should be able to release her before realizing that this is no spell.
It's just him, just raw might pulsing out from him intuitively, pure magic thick enough to suffocate her if she keeps struggling against it - especially since her own magic is refusing to cooperate to push herself free from it, and she knows exactly why. She does not want to be free. She wants him to make her feel things she never has before. She wants to make him feel things he never has before. He is the most powerful wizard she has ever met and she wants to make him shatter above her like a supernova.
She manages to release her arms, using the right one to reach out and grab his tie. She pulls him down against her, her left hand tangling into his hair and bringing his lips to hers. Her fingers work through the knot in the silk, pulling it loose and out of the way before they trail down the center of his shirt, magic pulsing through them causing the buttons to pop completely free and clink against the desk. If he is going to make a habit of stealing or destroying her clothes, she's going to mar at least one of his immaculately white dress shirts in return.
He pulls his lips away from hers to groan as her hand meets bare skin. The warmth of her touch seems to make the blood in his veins feel more noticeable, especially the fact that it is all rushing toward one specific part of him which is already painfully hard. His eyes slip close as he grimaces. She scans his expression before moving her eyes down his body. Merlin, it's nice to see him looking disheveled for once.
His heart is just as cold as the rest of him, she discovers. Her fingers trail over a series of criss-crossed scars on top of it, her eyes flashing back up to his, eyebrows furled in confusion. He just leans down and kisses her again, his tongue darting into her mouth, the taste of her blood and her arousal mixing with the taste of her that he constantly craves. Keeping his hands behind his back is a struggle when he wants so badly to taste, touch, and memorize every inch of her.
She tugs on his hair to pull him back up so she can look into his eyes and whisper against his mouth, "I want your cock, Tom."
He smirks, "You have known me long enough to know I will not give up so easily, Cass."
His lips start to descend down her body again, softly gliding over her neck. Her hands slip to his shoulders instead, shoving the fabric of his shirt aside to grip the hard flesh underneath before sliding along his back. Another set of scars awaits her there, older and half-faded, sunken in to the slender muscles, more distributed. She senses him tense and pulls back, resting her arms on the desk again and letting him retake control.
His mouth finds her breasts, teeth tugging harshly on them before he looks up to meet her eyes again and admonishes, "You do like me. Don't lie again, Cass."
She does not protest his statement for fear he will only prolong this torturous waiting if she does. He can think whatever he wants, she knows how she feels.
His lips return to her skin, leaving marks all over her breasts until she is a whimpering mess underneath him, nearly crying at every touch. When he can smell her desperation in the air, he lifts his mouth to kiss her again.
"Tom," she mumbles. "I can't wait anymore."
"Tell me what you want, Cassandra," he hisses.
"Your cock," she tries, tone as seductive as she can make it.
"My cock?" he asks, an eyebrow raised.
"Yes."
"That's not what I want to hear, Cass."
"For Merlin's sake, just fuck me," she whines, reaching down to run a hand over the bulge in his pants. He presses against it instinctively, his lips parting to let a slithering sound escape. Before she can proceed further, he pulls away and drops down again, licking up the new wetness between her legs. She cries out. She draws in a shaky breath and sits up again. Her hands grip the edge of the table as he keeps going, knuckles white from trying to hold back.
"Fuck… Tom… please," she whimpers, hoping he will be so tempted he will give in first.
"Come for me, my little harpy. Unless you'd rather we keep at this all night."
She does not know how much time has passed, but it feels like he's already been at this for hours, and his stamina does not seem to have suffered in the slightest. In fact, he seems determined not to stop until she gives in or literally passes out. She feels close to it. The world is spinning and her head is light, the sensations running through her so overwhelming that she can no longer separate them in her mind, the only things registering in her thoughts his touch, his smell, his voice.
"I want you, Tom," she gasps, giving him what she knows he has really wanted all along in hopes of breaking his resolve and rescuing her chances of winning this game. She thinks these are the magic words he is waiting for, the permission he needs to give in to his own desires.
Her efforts are futile. Tom Riddle does not lose, especially not when he sets up the rules of the game. His lips just descend on her again, his tongue lapping in the perfect motion to make her drop her head and lean back against her arms, a series of whimpers and pleas flowing from her lips. He ignores them and heightens his assault until he draws a scream from her as he pushes her over the edge and sucks her up. He has never tasted anything so perfectly sweet before.
He smirks and stands up, pulling her chin forward to get her to look at him now that he can use his hands again, "I know, my little harpy."
She narrows her eyes and mutters, "You are evil."
"And you are having dinner with me," he says, pulling her down from the desk. "Why don't you write a letter to let him know while I finish up?"
She knows he is not really giving her a choice, just gloating. She wonders briefly how he knew she had plans with Cain tonight, but figures she should not be surprised. It seems like he knows everything. He pulls the parchment and a quill in front of her before turning her around.
His right hand grips her hips, pulling her back and angling them as his other hand undoes his belt buckle and zipper. He lines himself up with her, tensing himself and resisting the urge to finish as soon as he brushes against her. She looks back at him expectantly, an eyebrow raised to signal her impatience. He just leans forward and captures her lips, a bruising kiss that leaves their lips swollen and their lungs short of breath.
"You're mine," he hisses in her ear as he sinks into her, filing her completely. His arm wraps around her, molding her body back against his. His other hand comes up against the side of the desk to provide him with leverage. He stays there for a moment, feeling her grip around him tighten, before starting to rock his hips back and forth. He orders breathlessly, "Write."
She lifts the quill. Her hand shakes and she keeps the note short.
Have business matters to attend to. Can't make dinner. Will see you later.
She drops the quill again, hands pressing against the table to try to steady herself, to try to push back against him in hopes of getting more than he is giving her right now. He is so close, but he resists the urge to go any faster for fear of tipping over the edge too early.
Tom peaks over her shoulder at the paper before letting his head sink down against it, lips peppering tiny bites across the only as-yet unmarred flesh easily accessible to them at the moment. He is determined to mark every part of her as his - even though he knows she will just spell it all away before anyone else can see. Maybe if he leaves enough she will forget one. Maybe he can leave a mark deep enough that it cannot be magicked away.
"Cross off the last part," Tom orders while keeping a steady pace inside of her. She shakes her head. He speeds up, drawing a whimper from her before saying, "Do you want me to stop?"
She picks up the quill and scribbles the last sentence out before snarling, "Satisfied?"
He lifts his head from her shoulder to whisper in her ear, "Almost. Good girl."
She bites her lip. He licks his as he feels her clench around him at the words. He chuckles and teases, "Do you like being my good girl, Cassandra?"
"I am not yours," she growls.
"Tell me, Cass, who do you think about when you are alone? When you lie in bed? When you dream? It's me, isn't it? You could never be satisfied by someone like him."
"Shut the fuck up and fuck me," she growls, trying to push her hips back against his more quickly, more deeply, more forcefully.
He chuckles again. His grip on her tightens, preventing her from taking control. His other hand comes up to grab her chin, pulling her face to the side so she has to look at him, "Admit it."
She surprises him by leaning forward to kiss him. Her hand reaches back to grip his thigh, pulling her into him. Her other comes up to meet his hand wrapped around her and intwine their fingers together, pushing her back at the same time. The sudden immersion causes him to lose control, twitching inside of her. A series of quick, shallow thrusts sends them both over the edge, quivering around each other as he deepens their kiss.
She pulls away first, nearly panting as she leans back against the table in front of her and tries to pull forward away from him. He resists, his fingers squeezing hers together to keep hold of her hand. He does not want this to end so soon. He wants this to last forever. Instead, he settles for just a minute more before he pulls free of her and moves to clean himself up.
She spells her blouse back together and fixes the rest of her outfit before moving to walk to the mirror above the fireplace along the back wall so she can see the damage he has done and spell it away. He pulls her back onto his lap in the chair before she can take more than a single step. Of course she should have known better than to think Tom Riddle would ever be satisfied.
"Call Macnair in and have him deliver it."
"Are you actually insane? He's going to tell -"
"No, he won't. Not unless I tell him to, Cass," he says. When she just pulls away from him, he teases, "What's wrong? You don't want them to know how close you are to their lord?"
"I already told you what would happen if you told," she warns.
Tom just rolls his eyes before shouting out, "Macnair."
She snatches the letter from the table and quickly folds it while rushing for the door. Tom's arm flits out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back into his lap. His nimble fingers slip the letter out of her hand and into his as the other arm snakes around her, holding her down.
When he comes in a minute later, Macnair stops awkwardly at the door for a few seconds, eyes wide as he takes in the scene, before bowing and saying, "My lord."
Tom holds out the letter, "Take this to Rosier. Make sure you give it to him in person."
She sees Macnair's eyes lingering on her as he moves closer to pick it up, no doubt noting the marks on her skin. He just nods and says, "Yes, my lord."
They both wait until the door closes behind him to spring into action again. She moves to free herself. He pulls her hair to bring the back of her neck to his lips while his other hand slides between her legs. She grinds into it, still hot and bothered from their earlier activities.
Despite her obvious enjoyment, she sneers, "You are insufferable."
He chuckles, "It isn't as if he didn't already hear you yelling my name. I want to watch you orgasm for me at least twice more and then take you again before dinner, my little harpy."
She is already so sensitive that it nearly hurts - though his fingers are also just cold enough to feel soothing, a dichotomy her brain cannot grapple with. She shakes her head as she bites her lip, holding back another whimper, "Too much."
He has always been too much for her. And yet, it never seems to be enough. She really is just as impossible to satisfy as Tom is.
"It's not. I know what you are capable of, Cassandra."
Tom thinks he has won. He has everything he needs to move to the next stage of his plans, and everything he wants. The casino. Her. This weekend is going to be a celebration. A chance to relax. A chance to enjoy this.
A/N: Sorry for the delay in my usual posting schedule! Had a mini-break from technology this weekend and was having a super hard time finalizing what direction to take this chapter in... actually, I just ended up splitting it in half since it was getting long anyway so now I just have to struggle over the next chapter instead. It is already written so I should still be able to post it on Sunday as usual, just deciding whether to cut some parts or not right now.
That said, your review of this chapter, specifically what you think of the Tom/Cass relationship now and how those two characters are feeling, would be really helpful in my finishing the next chapter so please do leave one :)