Chapter 32

When Hermione woke the next morning, she stretched lazily, feeling a comfortable ache throughout her body. The man beside her was sleeping on his stomach, the sheet barely covering his buttocks. Little scabbed half-moons decorated his back where she'd held him tightly and her nails had dug into him in ecstasy. Such a beautiful curve of skin, running from his shoulders, dipping down to his lower back, swelling again to form the mound of his butt. She wanted to trace that curve of skin with lips and tongue and wake him up again, pull him close, feel his body against hers again. He was exhausted, though. The thought brought a small smirk to her face. She'd worn him out.

Of course, she was worn out as well. She was aching from the hours of lovemaking all though the night and her body felt stiff. A hot shower would loosen her muscles; besides, she was covered in sweat and tears and other things.

She brushed a kiss against his stubbly jaw, gently so she didn't wake him up, and slipped quietly out of bed. She snatched his robe off of the closet door to put on when she got out.

She turned on the shower, filling the cool bathroom with steam, and tapped a bar of soap and a washcloth with her wand. She felt ultra-feminine this morning, very much alive and very much a woman. She wanted something soft and girly to shower with.

Taking her freshly transfigured body wash and shower pouf with her, she stepped into the hot spray. She couldn't think of anywhere else she'd rather be. Being in Izbor, being with Viktor, made her feel real again, whole again. For years, something had been missing, and now Hermione knew that it was him.

The shower curtain moved, surprising her. Dark eyes peeked in at her, followed by an easy, adoring smile. "May I join you?"

She smiled back at him, nodding and moving back to give him room. He stepped inside, and her eyes traced the long, muscled length of his body. She could feel his moving over her body, too. She realized with a jolt that she'd never made love in a shower before. Ron had never been experimental at all. She closed her eyes, feeling heat rush through her at the thought of Viktor holding her against the wall of the shower, possessing her again. With arms like those, she knew he could do it easily.

When his hand slid down her arm, covered in goosebumps despite the steam rolling around them, she stepped closer, moving her body against his, raising her face for his kisses. Soon, her hands were exploring him again, and his were on her. To her surprise, he leaned his head back and groaned.

"Svetlina," he said, "it has only been about two hours since you voke me last." His eyes twinkled at her, filled with a very pleased, very satisfied, and altogether masculine look. "I am old, cannot recover so quickly."

"You're not old," she laughed. "You aren't even thirty yet!"

"Am older than you. Vhere is the soap?"
"Right here," she answered, handing him the bottle of shower gel. He looked at it for a moment, confused.

"This is soap? Vhat did you do vith mine? This vill make me smell like a girl."

She smirked. "I transfigured your soap into that."

He rolled his eyes. "Vomen. Giff them ride of their life, and they think they can take over all your stuff."

"Can't I?" she asked, still smiling.

"Of course you can. That is beside the point."

She dropped her gaze. "You don't have much of a point right now."

He laughed, a deep belly laugh. "Vas not expecting that. Vhy don't I vash your back for you?"

She handed him the blue pouf she'd made, and he held it up by the string, gazing at it. "Vomen are vierd. This is vashcloth?"

"It's a poofy."

"It looks like a giant tampon that exploded."

She laughed as he lifted her hair off her neck and soaped her back slowly, massaging. She was falling more in love with each loving caress, with each teasing word. These exchanges made her feel so at home with him.

After a long, lazy back scrubbing that left Hermione feeling like a limp noodle, she took the pouf from Viktor and returned the favor. She loved the little satisfied noises he made as she rubbed his back. But then, those intense eyes caught her gaze, and he asked a question that set her heart pounding again. "Vould you like me to vash your front, now?"

An hour later—thank goodness for hot-water charms—when Viktor slid her back down onto her feet and they held each other up, panting, she knew she'd been right. Viktor wasn't old at all, and his recovery time was damned fantastic.