Another prompt from dramionefanfictionwriters, this time for Vino Veritas. Please be aware of the following warnings: cheating/infidelity, some Dom/sub and BDSM elements, anal, choking - you know, all the good stuff. Enjoy!
At midnight, they love each other.
Their wedding bands, one gold and one silver, rest atop one another on the table beside the bed in the suite of his second house; the one he bought for her. He pours the wine as she ambles about the room, thin, tentative fingers glancing over the books that occupy the wall of shelves, each one specifically curated to her taste. A book for every stolen snog and longing look and tangled tryst. A book for every time he's had to leave, for every apology he's ever uttered. A book for every time she's shed a tear for him, for every time he's felt her scorn.
The fireplace crackles beside the matching chairs, alighting the scarf she'd left there last time. She continues on, passing by the large French doors that open to the snow covered balcony. She'd be able to see the lake if not for the blizzard just outside.
"Hermione."
She turns at the sound of her name and sees Draco holding her glass out. With soft footsteps, muted by the thick rug covering the mahogany floors, she steps forward and takes her wine by the stem. She sips and smiles, a slow, seductive spread of her lips; he only stocks her favorite. As he smirks in response, he lets her wander away from him again and watches as she marvels over all the things she's seen before: the crops and paddles that hang from the wall, the dresser that houses the toys and her lingerie, the adjoined bathroom with the tub he'd had fitted just for them.
She pauses at the closet, faltering before she finally decides to enter. The man has more suits than she wagers he'd ever need, but she delights in running her hands over every single one. Her side of the walk-in structure remains untouched, however. The dresses he's purchased for her, the formal business attire he's handpicked, the shoes for any occasion - she neglects them all. She denies him the satisfaction, because they both know he can't buy her affection, but they both know it's the only way he was taught how to earn it.
He approaches her carefully, mindful of how aloof she's been since they arrived, but winds an arm around her waist. He can feel the boning of the garter belt through her blouse and tightens his grip. She falls back against him with a soft hum and turns her gaze up. The crown of her head brushes his chin as he looks down. He's been waiting for this and she knows. She knows how long she's made him wait - not by choice, but by pure, unavoidable circumstance. He knows this, but it doesn't make it any easier; he's not used to pining and patience.
Hermione twists in his hold, her skirt gathering under his hand to reveal more of her stockings. Pushing up on her toes, her lips skim across his, the lightest touch and a shared breath. His fingers drop to her backside, kneading her through the thin lace. A soft squeak ekes out of her and he drops his head to chuckle in her ear. He bites her lobe and grinds against her.
"Don't keep me waiting."
At midnight, she is his.
Hermion runs a finger across the deep scarlet of her lips, filling the color in, as she leans over the sink and stares into the mirror. Like a pristine gift, she's wrapped in black lace and nylon stockings. The layer of mascara on her lashes and the thick paint on her lips is immaculate. She takes a step back and brushes her curls over her shoulder. She is ready to be ruined.
When she steps out of the bathroom, she's met with the expanse of his bare back, his broad shoulders tensing as he adjusts something on the bed. She stands behind him, waiting patiently for him to turn around. He does so slowly, revealing the array of tools for the evening with a lascivious haze in his stormy eyes. If she hadn't already known how eager he was, she'd have been able to guess from the assortment of what he'd picked out.
He steps closer, circling her, admiring her without touching her. She follows him attentively, watching until he comes to a stop in front of her. He warms her beneath his gaze, stoking the fire spreading through her. There is always a familiarity in their interactions, the intimacy of years spent in this careful, yet chaotic dance. But, there is also an uncertainty, a novel excitement borne from their own trepidations and fears, an anxiety that tells them: maybe this is the last time.
Draco takes her chin between his fingers, thumb tracing the swell of her bottom lip. He is careful not to disturb the precise lines of her makeup as he draws her close for a brief, belated kiss. Her lids flutter as he pulls away and he drops his hand to her errant curls. He allows himself a small smile as he tangles them around his fingers; she knows never to dress her hair up around him.
"On the bed," he whispers, voice dropping low as he throttles his need for her. Before he lets her go, he plays with the thin strap at her hip, "Down, but not off."
She nods obediently and pads over to the spacious bed against the wall. With slow, methodical movements, she crawls atop the plush duvet, its crimson cover crinkling under her hands. Hermione conceals a sly grin by ducking her head as she positions herself in front of him, arse raised to pull her panties down at an achingly sluggish pace. They stop at where the tops of her stockings meet the clips of her garter and he groans at the sight of her nearly exposed to him, the entrance of her cunt glistening in offering.
Without hesitation, he reaches for the first toy in his arsenal, a moderately thick plug shining with fresh lubricant. She closes her eyes as he inches closer, listening to the creak of his footsteps, feeling the pressure of his large hand as he grips her arse to hold her steady, smelling the scent of the recently laundered duvet she buries her nose in.
The cold press of the slick rubber nudges the tight ring of her opening and her instinct is to brace, but she takes a breath and hears him say,
"This is for later," the pitch of his voice borders on a growl, "You're going to take everything I give you tonight, Granger," she whimpers at his promise, knowing full well that he'll keep it. The head of the plug pushes in steadily and she moans, arching her hips toward him, "That's right," she keens for the little bit of praise he offers her, while he watches her gradually swallow the rubber toy, cunt clenching around nothing. He's barely begun and she's ready to beg, but she knows it's futile; he reserves that space solely for himself. And, even though she's desperate for it, she knows it's always worth the wait.
Finally, he fits the rest of the plug within her, giving her backside a harsh smack that has her yelping when he's done, and instructs her to stay in that position. With her eyes closed and her breathing heavy, she waits on hands and knees, listening as he moves behind her to grab something.
"Stay still," he whispers darkly, hooking a finger beneath one of the straps of the garter. He pulls it back and lets it go with a satisfying snap. A surprised murmur passes from her lips, but she manages to contain the tremble in her thighs. His praise is immediate, "Good girl."
She clings to that accolade as he swings his arm back and slaps a thick wooden paddle against her arse. A loud cry rips from her throat and her curled grip on the duvet cover clinches tighter. She feels the smack reverberate through the toy and straight to her core. Bracing herself against the next one, she feels her arousal trickle down her legs. He smacks her again and her muscles seize, clinging to the plug as she moans sharply. The tremors start and she clenches her thighs.
"Uncomfortable?"
She rubs her legs together in response and he smacks her arse again, so she goes still, albeit with a desperate whine. Satisfied, he resumes his task, striking her with the paddle twelve times on each side, until her skin matches the color of her lips. He tosses the paddle on the floor and reaches a hand between her thighs, petting her smooth opening and coating his fingers in her need. She remains still as he circles her clit softly, attending to the soft throb that had started in the midst of his punishing assault. He lets her have this moment of pleasure, a taste of what the night has in store for them, then he's pulling her panties back up and instructing her to face him. She complies, wriggling on the bed to kneel before him with as minimal a movement as possible. She raises her arse above her heels, mindful of her tender flesh, and awaits his next direction.
He approaches her steadily, playing with the set of clamps in his hand. She tries to conceal her glee as he reaches behind her to release the snaps of her bra.
"Take it off," he says, his zeal evident in his lustful gaze. She obeys, sliding the straps down her arms and freeing her breasts from the captivity of the wire and lace. Draco drops to his knees, coming level with her chest, and brushes his thumb against her nipple. She responds with a soft mewl, arching into the palm of his hand. "Perfect," he commends her, tongue darting out to draw the stiffened bud between his teeth. With his other hand, he circles the mouth of the clamp against her free nipple, the cold metal clashing with the heat of her skin. He pulls back only to fasten the first clamp on the nipple dampened and reddened by his attention, tightening its hold until she cries out.
"Good girl," he whispers into her skin as his mouth moves to her other breast. As his lips close around her, he flicks the clamp and she moans his name. Breath heavy and mind hazy, she relishes in the contrast of his tongue as it laves against her and the bite of the metal as it constrains her. She relishes in the way he can balance her pain and pleasure like it's a path he's walked all his life. She relishes in him.
His lips leave her with an ache, one that he is quick to address as he secures the second clamp on her nipple. Then, he comes to his feet, smirking and extending his hand out to her. She takes it gratefully and he leads her off the bed towards the armchairs by the fire. He's silent as he sits back in the plush leather, keeping his fingers twined with hers, and pulls her atop him. Deftly, she maneuvers herself in his lap so that her knees border his waist and her hips are raised, keeping the pressure off the toy wedged snugly inside of her. Grinning coyly, she cups the back of his neck and tilts his head to press her lips against his throat. A deep groan rumbles in his chest as she licks along his pulse, leaving a faint trail of red on his pale skin. Humming in her path, she moves down to his shoulder, grazing her teeth against him. His fingers twist in her hair, coiling to a painful tug as he eggs her into action. She latches onto the spot above his collarbone and bites down. He hisses as she sucks a colored blemish onto his skin, not stopping until he has to pull her off of him. Even then, she goes to work on the next one, painting his skin in purple and rouge.
He takes her head in his hands and forces her lips to his, sliding his tongue over hers and drawing a moan between them. He tastes like her favorite wine and his bittersweet desire, like the exhilaration of her greatest triumph and the agony of her deepest regret, like the first time she sees him again and every time she has to leave him.
He tastes like midnight.
They break off for a breath and he runs his thumb against what's left of her lipstick. With a callous growl, he sneers,
"The rest of that is going on my cock."
She bites her bottom lip and nods fervently, moving to the rug at his feet. She kneels in her panties, with the garter belt snug at her waist and the stockings covering her legs. Curving her back, she pushes her chest towards him as she leans forward, letting him enjoy the view of his handiwork. Careful not to obstruct his line of sight, she reaches for his belt, sliding it through the loops with avid hands. She drops it beside her and returns to the placket of his trousers to free his cock. The thick member throbs in her hands as she follows the path of a vein up his massive length. Her thumb swipes over the leaking head, spreading the fluid over his shaft. She circles her fingers at the base, tight, but unable to touch, and pumps him slowly. Draco settles back in his chair, gripping the arms in his fists while he watches her tongue dart out to flick against his sack.
With a groan, he resolves to let her have this moment of torturous fun and keeps his attentive gaze on her as she paves a wet path along the underside of his cock; she is nothing, if not thorough.
She wraps her lips over the stiff head and he pushes a strangled curse out in a heavy exhale. She draws back, letting the cool air hit his wetted nerves, and surges forward to capture him again. Flattening her tongue against his length, she slides her mouth down halfway. In her peripheral, she sees his fingers twitch and pulls off promptly. His elongated groan turns to a frustrated grunt and he glares down at her. Hermione simpers and gives him a few measured pumps, her touch fleeting.
They both know she could take him down her throat - after so many years of determined practice, it is a skill she has perfected - but they also know how immensely she enjoys turning the tables on him. So she twirls her tongue around his head and squeezes his sack softly, her alighted brown eyes carefully focused on him. She takes in every subtle tremor of his limbs, every gravelly sound from his mouth, and every sharp buck of his hips. She takes it in like a gluttonous beast - always desperate for more and never satisfied with enough.
Hermione removes herself briefly and hooks her fingers in the waistband of his briefs, pulling them and his trousers off. She casts them aside and runs her nails over the tensed muscles in his thighs. He shivers and his abdomen clenches the closer she gets to his groin. A demure smile graces her lips as she leans forward once more to lick up the span of his shaft.
"Don't test me, Granger," his voice drops to a throaty rumble and he chokes on a groan as she pushes him partway into the hot cavern of her mouth. Closing her lips around his cock, she slides him deeper and deeper, until she hears him bellow, "Fuck!"
He dislodges his fingers from the arms of his chair and shoves his hands in the thicket of her curls. He grips the back of her head, thumbs at the tips of her ears to keep her in place, and raises his hips to shove his cock the rest of the way in.
"Fuck, that's it," he groans appreciatively, gazing down at her with half-lidded eyes. Holding her there as her nostrils flare and tears gather on her lashes, he strokes the outer shell of her ear. She squirms in his hold; while she had taught herself to breathe for these occasions, she can only keep it up for so long. But that's what he's counting on. He likes to watch the mascara carve streaks down her freckled skin, likes to see the spit and lipstick smeared on the base of his shaft, likes to witness the moment she gives in to his control. The moment in which he ruins her for anyone else.
Slowly, he pulls her back, keeping a tight hold of her, but letting her sputter and gulp in breaths. Strings of spit cling to his head and her lips - he can clearly make out the trail she's left along his cock and it brings an arrogant smirk to his face. As her mascara begins to run, he brings her back to his member, her lips parting in obedience and anticipation.
"Shit!," the word rumbles through his chest as his tip hits the back of her throat. He winds the soft tendrils of her hair around his fingers, his grip bruising as he holds her still and fucks into her. His hips move of their own volition, rough and determined, sinking his cock into her waiting mouth. The unforgiving pace he sets has her gasping and choking for air, spit streaming down her chin that is smacked by his sack with every intrusion. She feels the burn in her eyes as the mascara stains her skin and the pain of the clamps as his vigorous movements shake her, but all that matters is his praise. All that matters is his encouragement, his insistence that she is perfect, that she is responsible for making him feel like this, that no one can compare to her.
He plunges in to the base, holding her there as he jerks his hips in time with every spurt of his cum down her throat. His waning groans and sharp huffs of air taper off with the remnants of his orgasm. Gently, he releases her, but she takes her time, sucking out every last drop that she can before pulling out his softening cock and swallowing everything he's given her.
At midnight, they are free.
Hermione moans as he flicks the clamps on her nipples simultaneously, shifting atop the cushioned duvet. Her throat is raw, her clit is throbbing, and he's secured her hands to the wrought iron bedpost with his belt. Amidst the smell of the fire and the spice of the candle he's lit, she can smell the leather binding her wrists. It's an intoxicating combination and one that she's come to associate with these moments.
She peers up at him tentatively, knowing that her ruddy cheeks are stained by tears and make up and that her swollen lips are sloppily smeared with lipstick, but he looks down at her like he's never seen such an arresting sight. Ducking his head, he brushes her hair to the side and chastely kisses her jaw, then her neck. He moves lower, trailing his mouth over her clavicle, between the valley of her breasts, over her quivering navel, and down to her hips. Reaching beneath her, he teases the plug through the fabric of her panties, twisting it round to remind her its there, but he knows she hasn't forgotten.
"Please," she begs for the first, but not last, time that night, "Please, Draco. I want to come so badly."
He grips the insides of her thighs and spreads them apart with a sly smile. One by one, he goes about unhooking the clips of the garter so that he can pull the barrier of lace between him and her drenched cunt away. She shivers as his breath fans over her and, instinctively, she tries to reach for him. He chuckles when he hears the iron rattle.
"Not so fast, Granger," he slips his arms under her legs, throwing them over his shoulders, to nip at her tender flesh, "I owe you," he sucks a mark onto her thigh and she moans, "For ten months of waiting," he passes over her aching cunt and bites into the skin of her hip as she twists and cries in his grasp.
With a devilish flick of his tongue, he bats her clit twice and she arches off the bed in response, but his large hands spread over her hips to hold her down. Her nerves are tensed for a near immediate release, if only he would give it to her.
She feels his tongue again and raises her head to look down at him. His eyes are trained on her, churning with lustful intent, as he gives a long, precise swipe over her entrance. She buries her face in her arm, teeth scraping against her skin, and moans. Hermione mutters an incessant plea into her shoulder, but it makes no difference. He is adamant about the pace he sets, the infrequent assault of her clit providing a torturous build.
"Touch me, please," she whispers breathlessly, "I need you to touch me."
As she begs, his fingers move up to her breasts. He kneads them softly, prompting a pained moan from her, and circles her swollen nub with his tongue. It's the most constant pressure he's given her so far and she clings to it, bucking her hips in her dire need for a shred of friction. She works to get herself off on his tongue, grinding against his mouth, as he plays with the tension of the clamps on her nipples.
He lets her build herself up, her cresting cries and shaking form alerting him of her impending climax, and chooses that moment to tear himself away. She wails when his tongue leaves her and he lowers her legs back to the bed. She nearly breaks down when he loosens the clamps, removing them swiftly, and pinches her sensitized nipples, the rosy buds pert and attentive to him despite his punishment.
"Please," she sobs, almost drowned out by the blood rushing in her ears. He strokes her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn't felt escape. With a nod, he grabs her by the waist and flips her around. Her wrists rub against his belt painfully, but the emptiness of her cunt and the ache of her clit is a worse torment. Her only consolation as he situates her on her knees, arse raised and chest pressing into the duvet, is the overwhelming sensation of her stiff nipples agains the soft fabric. The slightest brush has her trembling, but he's holding her steady at the hips, so she does it again. She moans into the pillow and feels him tracing the rim of the plug.
"Enjoying yourself?" He asks with a huff.
"Mm," she responds meekly, biting into her lip. She repeats the motion, the modest touch feeling like a thousand flares lighting her up at once, "Mhm."
"Good," he says darkly, "Stay just like that."
Her eyes flutter closed as she focuses on the satisfaction of her self-inflicted stimulation, but then she feels him nudge the plug. Suddenly, she's hyperaware of the slow burn as he pulls it free and she's gripping the iron in front of her, rubbing her chest against the cover beneath her.
"Yes," she murmurs, knowing what's coming, "Yes, Draco, please."
Once he removes the bulb of the toy, her body relaxes forward, flinching only when she feels the cold trickle of the lube entering her. She hears the slick squelch as he coats his cock and soon feels the blunt head prodding her recently stretched opening. He keeps one hand on her arse and another between her legs, fondling her sensitized clit. Suddenly, her mind is awash with the buzz of her arousal, unable to focus on any one piece of it. Her entire body quaking, she tries to push back, to at least accommodate the first few inches of him, but he holds her still. He spreads her tight ring slowly, sinks into her at his leisure. His fingers dance across her clit to a relaxed rhythm. The only control she holds in that moment is the attention paid to her sore nipples, but she finds their sensitivity dulled by the pleasure below her waist.
"Slowly, Granger," he leans forward to whisper in her ear, "That's the only way to do this."
"I need," she gasps as she swallows another inch, "I need to come!"
"I know," he coos and tightens the circles over her nub, "You've been so good for me," she moans as his chest presses against her, his lips caressing the back of her neck, "And I'm not nearly done with you."
He pushes the rest of his length into her tight arse, cursing and groaning in tandem with her as he takes a moment to collect himself. His fingers slow, but don't stop as she adjusts to the thick shaft filling her up. No amount of time could make her forget, but no amount of time could ever prepare her for the feel of him inside her again.
He removes his hand from her hip, sliding it up her back to twist in her hair.
"You've been so good," he reminds her, drawing his hips back to push forward, testing the resistance of her entrance and finding none, "I'm going to make you come."
Her gratitude is cut off by a sharp shove of his cock, contorting her appreciative words into a radiant moan. He presses against her clit, affording her the pressure she needs, and swirls his fingers around her nerves. He knows exactly where to touch, when to thrust, what to say, to drive her back to the edge she's spent most of the night teetering on.
"This is only the first one," he whispers gruffly, his hips pounding into her. She twists against the belt restraining her, an unintelligible mess spilling from her lips. Despite the vicious smack of their skin, he cradles her against him, "There will be plenty more tonight."
He pinches her clit and Hermione comes, belting his name until if fills the space around them. She seizes, arse tightening around his cock, but her cunt clenching around nothing. Behind her eyelids, the light seems to explode into black, stealing from her not only her vision, but every smell and sound and feeling that had once enveloped her.
"Hermione," his voice trickles in, reminding her of where she is, who she's with, what they're doing. Then she feels it again. She feels him again. His cock is like a piston as he thrusts into her, forcing everything else out, until all she knows is him.
His words grow short, devolving only into a reverent chant of her name. His hands are back at her arse, pulling her into every snap of his hips. She knows he's about to come and she eggs him on.
"Please, Draco," she implores him, "I want your come."
He utters a stiff groan.
"Please," she begs again, "Give it to me!"
His hips stutter and his body shudders as his release wipes through him. She listens to the sound of his completion as she feels him spurt inside of her and revels in the afterglow of them having thoroughly fucked one another. With a limp hand, his cock still twitching inside of her, Draco reaches for the buckle of his belt and releases her. With reddened and imprinted wrists, she lifts her arms to wind behind his neck, curling her fingers into the damp strands of his hair.
At midnight, he is hers.
"I felt myself," he struggles for the word, shaking his head. She listens to his heartbeat race in his chest as she lays against him in the sprawling tub. The water is hot, steam rising from the surface, soothing the fresh aches in their muscles and limbs. He's wiped the makeup from her face and she's cleaned the lipstick off his skin, but there's no erasing what they've done. His arms tighten around her and, finally, he says, "Dying."
She opens her eyes.
"I thought I'd be scared," he shakes his head again, "But I wasn't it - It wasn't scarier than him. Nothing was," his chest rose with a heavy exhale, "Nothing ever will be."
"Harry would never have done that to you if he'd know the purpose of that spell," she whispers and reaches a hand out to trace the faded mark of the Death Eaters.
"Doesn't matter," he shrugs, but she can feel him tensing beneath her, "I'd have been dead either way, if not for Snape."
"We could have protected you," Hermione protests, "If you'd defected."
She doesn't miss the humor in his voice as he asks,
"Where could you possibly have hid me from him?"
"We had our ways," she shrugs, "Maybe things could have been different. Maybe we could have saved more people."
"Or gotten more people killed trying to protect me."
She falls quiet and her fingers still, resting above the Dark Mark. For a moment, it's only their evened breaths filling the room, and then she turns in his arms, raising her gaze to his. He watches her curiously.
"Do you ever think about that?" She asks.
"What?"
"Do you ever think about what things could have been like if you'd only been on the right side of that war?"
"Hermione," he narrows his eyes at her blunt words, but after a taut second, admits softly, "Of course I do."
She is relieved, but it's a small comfort.
"Me, too," she says forlornly, settling against him once more.
"Come on," he jostles her, "Enough of this, you're turning to a prune."
She laughs lightly as he reaches for the stopper and yanks it out. He helps her out of the tub and dresses her in a bathrobe before doing the same himself. They linger beside each other, fingers glancing, then entwining together. He offers her that familiar, arrogant smirk and she responds with a roll of her eyes, so he tugs her close and presses his lips against hers. She melts into him, entreating him with a flick of her tongue and exploring when he gives her permission. He nudges her back against the sinks, the ones he had built side by side for her convenience, and grinds against her. She feels him hardening and remembers his promise.
"Bed," she breaks off briefly to say, before surging forward for another kiss. Tangled together and unwilling to be pulled apart, they stumble their way out of the bathroom and into the suite. The fire is still burning, but the candle is slowly dying.
Hermione pushes him back on the bed, lips following his as he lands with a soft thump on the duvet. As he scoots back, she climbs onto his lap, her legs straddling his waist. Only then do they break apart, gulping down air and hastily untying their robes. She's just come, had a downright earth-shattering orgasm, but she needs more. The robe slides off her shoulders as she grips the base of his cock and it pools at her hips. Raising her arse, she positions herself above him and lowers down in a single motion.
There is a reason he reserves the sanctity of her cunt for himself alone.
And this is why - so he can watch the dilation of her pupils, listen to the hitch in her breathing, feel the clench from his intrusion. He relishes in the arch of her back, the grasping of her fingers at anything within reach, the pinch of her lips between her teeth. He finds a unique pleasure in the surprise her body displays after the drought of his absence. He savors the moment he enters her again and feels whole.
She moves her hips furiously, biting her lip as a pitiful string of noises ekes out of her. Her fingers dig into his pectorals and wrap around his throat. With her thumb and forefinger on each side of his neck, she squeezes slightly and watches him struggle for a breath as she bounces on his cock. His groan is caught, strangled by the hold she has on him, but his eyes are fixed on her, pupils blown wide at the sight above him. With a tight grip on her thighs, he surrenders himself to her mercy.
This is when she owns him. This is when she ruins him. The next time she comes, there will be new books to fill the shelves. She will have new clothes to neglect and new shoes to collect dust. He will have more bottles of her favorite wine and more toys for them to play with.
And the fire will still burn.
"Draco!" Her voice is a cry of desperation and need. He responds with the placement of his thumb over her clit, so she releases his throat, allowing him to breathe, allowing him to touch her. He pressures her nerves with tight concentric movements, coaxing her into a slower build, but then the force at his neck returns and his head grows heavy. Wordlessly, she tells him that she doesn't want to go gently, she wants to be taken.
His breath is short, his rhythm is erratic, his heart is pounding, his cock is caught in the wet vice of her grip, and he thinks he might pass out if he comes.
"Right there!" She demands, "Don't stop!"
He doesn't, he can't. He needs this as much as she does. Her fingers slacken and his breathing sharpens. Draco pressures the stiff bundle of nerves as she rides him towards oblivion. He can see the end, black prickling at the edges of his vision. Hermione clenches around him, her walls spasming as he guides her to completion. She screams his name and he echoes her pleasure, falling into the abyss after her.
At midnight, they love each other.
The robes have been discarded. The plugs and beads and paddles and flogs litter the floor and the room is silent. They stare at each other, lit solely by the undying glow of the fire. It is only when he's brought her to release with his mouth, cock, and fingers, when every inch of her has tasted him, it's only when he's spent and has nothing left to give her, it's only when the candle burns out, that he finally tells her.