A/N: M-rating for this chapter.

Clarice is on fire.

Her whole body trembled with need and unabashed desire. Hannibal's face was pressed between her legs as his lips and tongue and small teeth tortured her with the most skilled pleasure she had ever experienced.

Far away, in the back of her mind, she recalled him mocking her about sticky fumblings in the back of a truck when the boys discovered that she was pretty. He had been right about that. Being fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, having a boy put his messy tongue in her mouth, tasting like chaw and having his hands with dirty fingernails up her shirt and down her pants, touching her just enough to get himself hard and then pull his dick out of his own pants and rut on top of her till he was done. She hadn't known any better at the time, and it hadn't always been unpleasant. She'd gotten better at things, knowing what she wanted and needed from sex. Men at UVA were a little more courteous, tried a little harder. Noble Pilcher had been particularly attentive, but not nearly strong enough for Clarice to want him for too long. Kindness and intelligence, without more, couldn't take a man too far.

This, though, this was more than she'd ever dreamed. In every part of Clarice's life, she was either belittled and pushed aside for being a woman or else she was called a bitch and thrown away for being too self-assured and demanding what she deserved. But not here. Not with Hannibal Lecter's tongue thrusting inside her.

Hannibal the Cannibal had tasted every part of the human body, she was fairly certain, out of curiosity and then out of enjoyment, surely. In her right mind, Clarice rolled her eyes at that eccentricity, but it was not a defining characteristic of him to her mind. But she could not help thinking of that fact of him right now. After all, he was tasting her body. Devouring her. And, if she could hear his groans of pleasure muffled in her skin, she was quite sure that he was savoring her flavor.

Rational thought fluttered out of her head, however, as her legs shook with muscle spasms caused by his efforts. She was right on the edge. The tension coiling through her core was overwhelming and she felt herself going crazy with her desperate need for release. She vaguely felt Hannibal's strong hands tighten on her thighs. His tongue made a shaking swipe over her and sent her tumbling into an orgasm. Some sound came from her mouth that she couldn't control. She could hardly breathe and her mouth was dry and her vision went black with the power of her climax.

Hannibal's efforts slowed. He surely sensed that she was overwhelmed and needed to rest. She fell back against the armchair in a boneless mess, twitching with aftershocks. Her eyes fluttered open to see Hannibal kneeling before her still.

His hands were resting on top of her thighs as he gazed up at her from his position, her ankles resting on his shoulders still. His maroon eyes were flashing in the firelight, dark and dangerous but he grinned gently at her. His mouth was glossy from his efforts, and Clarice might have blushed if she'd had any feeling of inhibition at that moment. He looked like a contented creature and she loved it.

"You are utterly magnificent, Clarice. More than I could have ever imagined," he said softly. His voice echoed in the room, gone silent after Clarice's panting subsided and the crackling of the fire momentarily found pause.

"And have you imagined, Doctor?" she asked, unable to stop herself from a little teasing. But she was interested. Had he imagined this? She had. But until this moment, she never would have admitted it. Not even to herself.

"Many times," he admitted without embarrassment. "I had been curious what sort of lover you might be. I have thus far enjoyed finding the answers to my curiosities in this regard."

"I think there's a lot more I can do as a lover," she replied, removing her legs from where they were propped up on him and settling herself into a better seated position.

"I certainly hope so," he agreed. "I am not nearly finished with you yet, my dear."

The slight growl in his voice struck Clarice as almost funny. She wasn't sure why. But she grinned at him. "And I'm not finished with you. Not even close."

And with that, Clarice leaned herself forward to kiss him once more, to taste herself on his lips and to lick him clean. Her lips moved over his and her tongue darted out over his chin and corners of his mouth. He groaned in arousal at her actions.

Before she knew it, his hands had found the edges of the slit up the side of her beautiful silk dress and he jerked it roughly so it tore. She pulled away in surprise, watching him rip the fabric off her body. He threw the shredded silk behind her. Clarice was completely naked before him.

"I liked that dress," she pouted.

"I'll buy you another," he growled, pulling her forward by her waist and leaning back so they tumbled to the floor together in front of the fireplace.

The touch of his hands on her bare skin reignited the fire within her, and she found herself aching to do the same to him. They kissed for a moment until Clarice pushed herself up on her knees, straddling his lap. The fine fabric of his pants felt nice on her thighs, as did the hardness pressing onto her center. She shifted her hips to rub against him, and his breath shook. She was pleased with her effect on him.

Her hands went to clothes, first pulling the ascot away from his neck and then undoing each of the buttons on his obviously very expensive shirt. She tried to concentrate on what she was doing, but he was watching her face with an expression that she found very distracting. Until this evening, until this incredible encounter, Clarice had never seen Hannibal Lecter with a look of unabashed lust ever before. She might have assumed that he would school his features better than that. She was glad he didn't.

When Clarice reached the bottom of the buttons that she could reach, she moved to his belt. That was the moment he stopped her. He took both of her hands in one of his, pulling her off him. With his other hand, he reached up to tangle in her hair and lead her back to his kiss. He was hungry. Clarice felt feverish. She enjoyed kissing him. She enjoyed it very much. But she also wanted to do such a lot more.

Hannibal must have had similar ideas. He rolled her over onto her back and came to rest between her parted legs. But he escaped their kiss to sit back and remove the rest of his clothes. Clarice watched him tear his jacket off his shoulders and fumble momentarily with his cufflinks which clinked on the floor as he discarded them carelessly. The ascot and shirt followed.

Her eyes widened to see his chest bared to her for the first time. He was a man of his age, she knew, but she knew also that he was uncharacteristically strong. His chest was broad and his shoulders muscular in a manner she wouldn't have anticipated. He was not chiseled or bulky, not like most of the men she saw at Quantico. Nor was he soft or pudgy like the scientists and professional men she'd dated in the past. No, Hannibal Lecter was built sleek and solid. Powerful. She watched him in awe and reached out to trail her fingers down his chest, finding a light dusting of gray hairs there that felt pleasing to her touch.

At that, Hannibal shuddered and leaned in to kiss her again. Clarice clung to him, feeling his strong arms and shoulders and back beneath her hands, delighting in the press of the solid plane of his chest against her breasts. She couldn't help how her hips bucked against him as she searched for more, more, more.

Clarice moved her hands down his torso, feeling the muscles rippling under her fingers. Her hands snuck under the waistband of his trousers to find even more muscle, and she massaged the hard flesh of his ass, pressing her against her even more.

Hannibal thankfully did not deny her any longer. He pulled back just once more, this time removing the last remaining vestiges of his elegant suit. She watched him, feeling a tingle of hunger move through her, eager to feel him move inside her body, wanting him so much she wanted to scream. Her eyes sought the yet unseen part of him, the part she was focused on for now. She'd felt him hard against her, but the fabric had separated them. Somehow, his cock was sleek and elegant and powerful like the rest of him. And she wanted him.

"Please," she gasped, reaching out for him.

His eyes sparkled red and black as they roamed her body, flushed and heaving with desire. He settled back between her legs, holding himself on one elbow propped beside her head. His free hand landed on her breast, squeezing it once before skimming down her belly to her hip and outer thigh, hitching her leg up over his own hip. He leaned in to kiss her and trailed his teeth down her neck. Every touch was electric, slaking her desire and increasing it a hundred-fold. "You want me, Clarice," he whispered. It wasn't a question.

"God, yeah," she groaned. She had one hand on the back of his head and the other slipped between their bodies to find his hardness.

He twitched in her grasp as she squeezed him. He allowed her to guide him to her entrance. The head of his cock pressed against her, and with one sharp snap of his hips, he thrust fully inside her.

Clarice felt as though the air had been forced out of her body as she gasped at the feeling but oh was it good! Her hips shifted to accommodate him deeper. And then he began to move. It was a steady rhythm, hard and strong. Her body was so ready for him, so desperate for him to fill her up, that she could feel herself already teetering on the edge once again.

Words came from her mouth, but she wasn't really sure what they were. Moans of want, gasps, encouragements of "Yes!" and "Oh God!"

He did not speak. This, as with all things, he measured his words and used them only when they had purpose. But his breath was hot on her neck and coming in quicker and quicker pants.

Clarice whimpered as she got closer, moving against him to spur him on. She pulled him into a kiss as she came, the clenching pleasure rolling over her and making her moan into his mouth. Her release made his thrusts falter, and he moved faster. He finished in a fierce frenzy before Clarice's climax had concluded.

Then, at last, they stilled. The only sound was the hissing of the fire, now dying in the hearth.