WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING
At twelve o'clock Ginny returned to the room. She'd got into her bed but hadn't been able to sleep. How could she sleep when Harry might...
Be dying...
"Don't be silly," she muttered as she closed the door softly behind her. "There's no way a chill was going to kill Harry Potter. The man was almost indestructible.
Almost...
She charmed the fire to roar to life, then crossed to the bed. The room was warm now, but would cool during the night. She closed the side bed curtains but left those at the foot, directly opposite the fire, open; she hoped the heat would come in, then remain, trapped by the curtains.
She lifted the quilt and slipped one hand in, close to his body. No warmth met her fingers. When she touched his chest, his skin was still cold.
"Damn! I wish I had some pepper-up potion."
She stood and looked down at Harry's large body sprawled on his stomach under the quilt. He was far to cold.
"What more can I do?"
He was coming home. She couldn't let him die on the way.
She didn't let herself think. She stripped off her robe, flung it to the foot of the bed, then lifted the quilt and climbed in beside him. She was wearing a long flannel nightgown---safe enough, surely. He would be used to silk--he'd probably think she was a lumpy pillow.
Turning on her side, her back to him, she curled and snuggled back, pressing against his side.
"Hmmm."
She froze.
Behind her, Harry shifted, then his body curled around hers. His hand found her hip, then traced lazily upward, over her waist, up to her breasts, then confidently slipped between, long fingers curling about one soft mound.
Ginny bit her lip and held her breath. An instant of still silence ensued.
She could feel the tension fall away from his body. He sank into the bed behind her and she heard the soft huff of his breath.
She listened to his breathing, then her eyes closed. He was sleeping. She was so relieved he was unaware she was sharing his bed. Misty-eyed, she ran her palm over the muscled arm around her, then ran her foot up and down his leg. His body felt like a cold compress down her back. His skin was still cold.
When she was sure he was thawing and it wasn't wishful thinking, she relaxed.
Pulling the covers tight around them, she snuggled down and pressed herself even more firmly against him. His arm tightened, then relaxed. Reciting a mental reminder to wake up before dawn and get back to her own bed, Ginny closed her eyes...and slept.
And dreamed. It was the most wonderful dream---her favorite dream. This time it was sharper, more involving. Infinitely more sensually gratifying. In the dream, she purred and stretched under the hands that so artfully roamed. Hands that knew her, knew how to caress her so her skin flushed and heated, so her breasts filled and swelled and the peaks grew so tight they ached.
The fingers knew her too---knew to pluck lightly at her nipples to send the ache spreading, then slide away, tracing, teasing, gently taunting as they skated over her skin. They found her stomach, then slid lower to brush the curls between her thighs.
She sighed and smiled and parted her thighs- a hand helped her, lifting one knew, sliding that calf back over a hard thigh.
It was then that she realized what was different about this dream---her lover was behind her. It was his chest behind her, warm and comforting, not a sun-warmed rock.
Then his fingers found her and the discovery slid away into the mists of her mind. Passion rose---she welcomed it, let it take her, fill her, drive her. In her dreams, she could be who she really was, who she longed to be.
Dreams had no limits, no harsh realities.
Those wicked fingers played, teased, and her fever grew. When they were wet they left her. The hands gripped her hips, turning her to the bed, pushed her raised knee outward, upward.
The fingers returned, slipping between her thighs from behind. They found her entrance, slick with her desire; they spread her folds and opened her. She felt the hot, heavy bluntness of him slide between her thighs, guided by his fingers, then she felt the pressure and the heat as he pressed himself into her.
She relaxed as he had taught her, letting him in, allowing her body to adjust to his invasion. Slowly, steadily, he filled her until she was full. One large hand splayed over her stomach and tilted her hips back; his other hand slid beneath her, then closed about her breast.
He pressed deeper and she caught her breath. Then he eased back, just a little, then pressed deep again. With her bottom tucked against him, he repeated the movement, rocking her, the most pleasurable rocking imaginable.
Every thrust shifted her beneath him. Each repetitive movement heightened her sensitivity.
He surrounded her, his hard body flexing about hers, limbs like warm steel holding her safe, holding her to him. He gave to her as he always did, and she let herself flow with the tide, let her body flower for him, enclose him, love him.
Heat enveloped her. Just when she thought she would melt he drew back, almost all the way. He held her there, poised on the crest of fulfillment, then he filled her with one long, powerful thrust--and she fractured.
Delight and sharp pieces of sensation flew through her, piercing her. She woke with a start---her eyes flew wide. She just managed to chock back her gasp. Choke back the name that hovered on her lips.
Harry.
Closing her eyes, she let the reality roll through her. This was no dream. He was here, loving her again. Making her body come alive again, as only he could. Biting her lower lip, she held back her gasps, and let her body take him, let herself revel in the glow.
He was in no hurry. She could barely believe it when she realized he was driving her up to that peak of sensation again.
He did, and she tumbled over, and it was even more glorious. It was all she could do to keep from crying out.
This time she felt she'd died, that she could not move a muscle to save her life. He seemed to sense it; his thrusts lengthened, quickened, then he joined her in ecstasy. For one long moment he lay wrapped about her, buried inside her, then he nuzzled her nape, his lips found her ear and traced, then dipped to press warmly at the base of her throat. Then he lifted from her and slumped behind her, his body heavy in the bed. She felt his seed warm within her and she couldn't find it in her to be sad.
Couldn't regret it, any more than she had the first time. Lying with Harry, loving with Harry, had always felt right.
She waited, silent and still, as his breathing slowed and he slid back to sleep. Without a single word, without realizing. It was not yet dawn. He had shared a bed with so many women, she was just another to him. Another faceless female body, willing and wanton in the heated dark.
Heat. She could feel it all around, feel it radiating from him. He was well again; there was no sign of chill remaining in his body.
She lay beside him and drew in the memories, stored them up against the years ahead. Her flannel nightgown was pushed up to her shoulders; she had to leave it there until, with the first glimmer of daylight, she eased from his side.
She left him fully recovered, and deeply asleep.