27 Rosary Gardens, London
16 July 1970
"Is there a particular side of the bed you normally prefer?" Voldemort kept his voice formal and tight as he gestured to the wide, soft bed. Bellatrix looked right at him, surprisingly unembarrassed by all of this. She shrugged and said quietly,
"I'm normally somewhere in middle, I suppose. I've only just left Hogwarts last month, My Lord, and, as I'm sure you know, the beds are small enough that you just sort of..."
"Sprawl over the entire thing," Voldemort finished for her, smirking as she suppressed her own grin. She nodded and assured him,
"Whichever side suits you best is yours, Master."
He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip as he stared at her for a long moment. It didn't matter to him in the least what side of the bed he had, for he was a rare back sleeper. But he needed to maintain some semblance of authority here, so he moved confidently to the right side of the bed as if it had always been the side he'd preferred. He peeled back the blankets and climbed into the bed, rolling onto his back and staring resolutely at the ceiling.
Bellatrix moved more gingerly on the other side of the bed, seeming nervous about pushing the mattress down too firmly with her tiny weight. She climbed carefully beneath the blankets and then rolled onto her side, facing away from Voldemort with her knees tucked up to her chest. She was trying to make herself as small as possible, he could see. He frowned at her as she nudged her pillow toward the edge of the bed and curled her fingers up around the blankets.
"You're going to topple off the bed," he barked, his voice abrasive even to his own ears. Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder and gave him a reassuring look.
"I'm fine, My Lord. Honest. I don't want to crowd you."
"Hmph." He reached and hooked an arm around her waist, yanking her back toward him. She squealed with surprise, but she moved easily and wound up rolling a bit toward him. She laughed a little and reached, seemingly on instinct, for the shadow of scruff on his jaw. She started to pull her hand away, acting like she'd been shocked by touching him. She started to whisper an apology, but Voldemort covered her hand with his and leaned forward until his lips brushed against hers.
"Bella," he said, much too gently, her name feeling like silk on his breath. He pushed into her mind with nonverbal Legilimency, and after a moment, she whispered,
"There."
"Mmm-hmm." He was socked by a memory that flashed before him like a Muggle film. Bellatrix looked to be a fourth-year, perhaps a fifth-year, and she'd pranked Professor Slughorn by replacing one of his potions ingredients with some Erumpent horn shavings. His cauldron had exploding, unleashing chaos in the classroom, and Bellatrix had been very amused. Then he could see her rolling her eyes in Albus Dumbledore's face as he informed her that she'd lost Slytherin seventy-five points and earned herself five weeks' detention. Voldemort scoffed and pulled out of her mind, meeting her amused eyes as he demanded,
"Have you always been such an incendiary little provocateur, Miss Black?"
She shrugged, her cheekbones going pink as she admitted, "I'm not very good at following rules."
"You follow my rules just fine," he reminded her, and her smile vanished as she whispered,
"You're different, My Lord."
"So are you." He swallowed hard, remembering the thoughts that had been inside her mind earlier. She'd been on the kitchen counter and he'd been in her head, and she'd been thinking all manner of surprising things. She'd considered how her attraction toward him extended far beyond the physical. She was afraid he'd cast her aside in favour of a new toy, which would crush her because of how deeply she felt about him. Voldemort wrenched his eyes shut and finally mumbled,
"I like having you about, Bella. I... erm... I quite like you."
He opened his eyes and saw that hers had gone wet. He reached to tuck her black curls behind her ear, and for some reason, he didn't move his hand. Hers was still on his face, and her lips were parted just so, and Voldemort informed her,
"The way you're reacting to what I've just said is, in fact, part of what I like about you, Bellatrix. You... you seem to know the appropriate things to say to me, and when to say nothing at all, and... when to just let me rant like a fool and pretend my words are spun gold, so..."
"I'm not pretending, My Lord," she whispered, and as he shut his eyes again, he felt Bellatrix's hand tighten on his jaw. Her thumb was rubbing under his eye, and it felt so good that a small sound escaped him. Suddenly he could feel everything spiraling out of control. He needed to recover his position in all of this. Now.
He rolled onto his back, bringing her with him so that her face rested on his chest, and he pulled her left leg until she cast it across his hips. Then he shut his eyes and said quite firmly,
"I've an early meeting. Go to sleep."
"Yes, My Lord." Her voice was shaking so badly that for a moment he thought she might be crying. He laced his fingers through hers and sighed heavily, willing himself to give in to his fatigue.
It felt good, he thought, to lie here with her. It was exactly what he'd promised himself he wouldn't do, but, then, he hadn't intended on using the juvenile words 'I quite like you' with her, either. It didn't matter now. What mattered now was the smell of vanilla in her hair. What mattered was the feel of her snugly tucked against him, warm and soft and small. What mattered was that she was his in absolutely every sense of the word. Her body belonged to him. Her mind did, too. And some other maudlin part of her, her heart or her soul or whatever it was, had clearly given itself over to him, as well.
He didn't mind. He fell asleep with the scent and feel of her enveloping him, and his sleep was deep and dreamless.
When he woke in the grey light of the rainy morning, he just stared down at her for a while. She'd migrated a little during the night; her legs had moved to the side of the bed, but her head was on his abdomen and she was half-embracing him. Voldemort studied her face for a very long while, knowing that he needed to get up soon and shave and dress. He had a meeting with Avery and Nott to discuss their successful attack on some Muggles. They'd flipped a construction lorry with three workers, all of whom had died, whilst two hospitalised witnesses had seen 'men aiming sticks' at the lorry just before the crash. It had created a good, solid mess for the Ministry to clean up, and the Daily Prophet's headline the day before had read, 'CHAOS IN CHISHOLM LEAVES MINISTRY SCRAMBLING.' So Voldemort wanted to congratulate Avery and Nott and to send them off on another mission as soon as this one quieted down. But right now he took a solid minute to just look at Bellatrix, and he realised he'd chosen a very beautiful toy for himself.
Toy. That was the wrong word. Perhaps it had been precisely the right word that first night in his office, when he'd ordered her down onto her knees and shoved his cock into her throat. Now it felt all wrong. She was something else entirely, and it frightened him a little. Voldemort gulped and wondered if it was the worst thing to have a little companion through everything that was coming. There would be skirmishes and all-out battles, and he'd need her for those. There would be torture, interrogations, executions. There would be evasion, more hiding. There would be chaos and long, anguished periods of inaction. Would it be so bad, he wondered, to have a witch of his own through it all? She needn't be an object, nor a girlfriend. She could just be his.
"Bellatrix," he whispered, and when that wasn't enough to wake her, he stroked at her hair and murmured, "Bella."
She blinked her eyes open, and for a second it seemed like she was convinced she was dreaming. She hadn't registered that this was real yet. In that second, her dark eyes filled with emotion, with happiness, and there was a sharp tug in Voldemort's chest. He cleared his throat and said roughly,
"Get off me. I've a meeting to get ready for."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Master." She scrambled up and back, and Voldemort abruptly found himself regretting the way he'd spoken to her. He licked his bottom lip and said more gently,
"I slept well. Better than usual."
"It makes me very happy to hear that, My Lord," Bellatrix said, and he knew she was being honest. He found her eyes and stared at her for a moment, unsure of what the most intelligent thing to do was in that moment. He did what was probably a distinctly unintelligent thing; he reached for her face and stroked her cheek.
He remembered the kiss in the rain outside the Savoy, the way he'd torn himself off of her when it had felt too visceral. Now he swallowed the lump in his throat and said,
"I'd like you to go to dinner with me tonight. Not at the Savoy. Somewhere else; I'll figure out a good place."
Bellatrix curled her lips up and nodded. "Of course, My Lord. And, erm... I know it's not a -"
"Actually, it is." Voldemort stared at her with eyes that probably seemed awfully cold, and he knew there was a disconnect between his words and his tone as he informed her, "It is a date."
"Oh," she breathed, nodding. She wanted to giggle, to grin. He could tell. But she limited herself to a shy little smile and said quietly, "Just let me know the time and place, My Lord. So I can be prompt and dressed appropriately."
She was an expert at flirting with a man like him, and he found himself letting out a shaking breath. He thought through the quality Muggle establishments he knew, and he finally said,
"The Ritz. Piccadilly. Take a taxi there so someone doesn't accidentally see you Apparate. Seven o'clock. I'll meet you there."
He didn't wait for her reply. He rose from the bed and quickly made his way to the bathroom, knowing that if he lingered, things would deteriorate further than they'd already done.
The Ritz, Piccadilly
17 July 1970
Avery and Nott had been driven to ecstasy by their Master's praise. His words of approval had nearly driven the grown wizards to tears. So Voldemort had found himself in rather a good mood, and he'd wound up just cleaning himself up and changing his jacket and tie by Transfiguration for dinner.
Now he stood outside the Ritz Restaurant, and suddenly his palms felt a bit sweaty. He'd told her this was real, that this was a date in a way the other times hadn't been. He tried to reassure himself that the only difference was the setting. They were at the Ritz instead of the Savoy. That was all. He'd prepaid for a four-course prix fixe meal with a bottle of wine, and he'd requested a quiet table near the windows that looked out over Green Park. Still, he felt like he might vomit.
She was in a plum-coloured gown when she came round the corridor. She was clad in a column dress that hugged her curves and was strategically see-through lace around her bodice. Her curls tumbled around her shoulders, and her dramatic makeup accentuated her prettiest features. Voldemort felt his chin drop a bit, and he rubbed his hands on his trousers desperately to rid himself of the nervous sensation.
"Evening," he said as Bellatrix stepped up to him. She flashed him a little smile, and he flicked his eyes up and down her form as he told her, "You look... pretty."
Her cheeks coloured and she whispered simply, "Thank you."
He put his hand to the small of her back and led her into the restaurant, where the Muggle maitre d' nodded and said,
"Just this way, Mr Riddle. Good evening, madam."
Madam. Riddle. It was all wrong, the words were all wrong. It didn't matter, not really. There was a violinist playing on the far side of the restaurant, and as the Muggle man led Voldemort to his table, he thought that this restaurant was a perfectly suitable place for a proper date. He pulled out Bellatrix's chair for her, all chivalry as he pushed her back in and put his napkin on his lap.
"The waiter will have your first course out in a moment," said the maitre d', and Bellatrix looked a little confused. Once the Muggle had walked away, Voldemort informed her,
"I've pre-ordered the fixed menu for tonight."
He didn't ask for her permission or approval. He just told her what was going to happen. Still, she looked elated and said quietly,
"That sounds magnificent, Master."
The restaurant was loud enough that no one could hear her say that last bit. He knew, in fact, that their conversation was private enough for him to ask her,
"Have you seen the Prophet?"
She smiled contentedly and nodded. "This morning, they said it took sixteen Obliviators and Aurors all day and night to work on the memories of those who had witnessed the event. And they had to coerce Muggle newspapers into covering the event such that the witnesses looked like they were either mad or attention-seeking. It's a mess for the Ministry."
"And as soon as this mess is cleaned up, we'll give them a fresh one," Voldemort informed her crisply. "We'll continue to paint me, my cause, as the way out of chaos. What a wonderful Britain it would be if only we had the steady rule of Lord Voldemort. That's the message we'll continue to convey."
"What a wonderful Britain it would be, indeed, My Lord." Bellatrix looked and sounded sincere at that, but before he could answer, the Muggle sommelier arrived and poured them each a sample of a dry red Bandol wine. He started blathering on about small pebbles in the soil where the grapes were grown, but Voldemort just nodded his head and said quite sharply,
"It's fine."
The sommelier stopped mid-sentence and noddd politely, pouring out full glasses and leaving the napkin-wrapped bottle of wine on the table. Bellatrix picked up her glass and stared into the wine once the sommelier was gone, she said in a very soft tone,
"To a dinner that may or may not be a date."
"It is," Voldemort responded. "I told you it is."
She raised her eyes to him, and suddenly he wanted to snatch her hand and Disapparate back to Rosary Gardens and fuck her into the sheets. But, no. That wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to kiss her. Instead he just drank from his wine and watched as the waiter stepped up and put small plates before each of them. Each plate had two raw oysters and a lemon wedge. Bellatrix studied the oysters, and once the Muggle waiter had gone, she admitted,
"I've never eaten them raw before, My Lord."
"Live a little," he taunted her, picking one up and tipping it back into his mouth. It was perfectly slimy with just the right flavour, and he cocked up an eyebrow at Bellatrix as she picked up an oyster. It was rather adorable, if he was honest, when she squeezed her eyes shut and quickly slurped the oyster from its shell. She winced and looked a little horrified for a brief moment, but then she grinned and said,
"It's good."
She quickly ate the other oyster, and Voldemort took his time with his second one. He set down the empty shell, studying the mother of pearl on the inside, and he drummed his fingers on the table.
"When there are battles, you'll fight for me," he said. He looked up to see Bellatrix looking almost serene in her bliss, and she murmured,
"I'd slay a thousand enemies in one night with my wand if it would help your victory, Master."
That was erotic. Those words were like the most delicious poison to him, and he swallowed hard, feeling like he'd egged himself on by drawing her into this conversation. It didn't matter. He pulled his thumb around the sharp edge of the oyster shell on his plate and asked Bellatrix,
"Would you hesitate, Bella? Even for a moment?"
"Hesitate with what, Master?" She sounded a little breathless, and he flicked his gaze up to her.
"With killing."
"No." She shook her head resolutely. "I wouldn't hesitate, not even for a moment."
The waiter came then and quickly cleared away the oyster plates onto his cart. He used a crumb scraper on the tablecloth, even though there were no crumbs, and then he set out plates of asparagus with sautéed mushrooms. Once he'd gone, Voldemort ate in silence, finding that the odd flirtation had been almost too much for him to bear. Finally he heard Bellatrix say,
"Master, my mother asked me earlier today where I'd been."
"And what did you tell her?" Voldemort set his knife and fork down, having availed himself of all the mushrooms and asparagus he wanted. He sipped from his wine again, and Bellatrix said carefully,
"I told her I was working, that I had a place of my own, and that the details weren't exactly anyone else's business. Andromeda suggested that maybe I was working as an Unspeakable and couldn't talk about it. Seeing as how she's liable to run off with that Mudblood boyfriend of hers any day now, I can't say as I've been grateful to Andromeda for much in recent years. But that suggestion seemed to stick, and I didn't argue it."
Voldemort smirked. He thought perhaps that was the longest consecutive comment he'd heard Bellatrix make since meeting her, and he liked it. He nodded.
"That'll do. Don't concern yourself with the opinions of others, especially those who could never be capable of..."
He stopped then, for the Muggle waiter had come back to clear their plates. They were replaced with lamb and mint sauce, and the waiter poured more wine into both of the almost-empty glasses. Bellatrix huffed when the waiter had gone, and she told Voldemort,
"These formal dinners are very fun, but very filling, Master."
"Just take a few bites," he suggested. He stabbed a roast potato with his own fork and then tucked into the lamb, and after awhile, he took a few sips from his wine and told Bellatrix,
"I enjoy my time with you."
It was a simple statement, and yet it was more loaded than just about anything he'd ever said. He was not ignorant in the least to that fact. He chewed his lip hard and sipped more wine, and Bellatrix asked quietly,
"Have you eaten here before, My Lord?"
"Once," he said. "A long time ago. In a different life."
He'd been twenty-three years of age and anxious for a luxurious experience when he'd come here last. Twenty years had passed since then. Precisely everything in his life had changed. Something compelled him to say quietly,
"The name. Riddle. It didn't come out of nowhere."
He gave her a very steady look then, and he watched the realisation come over her. That had been his name. That had been who he'd been, once upon a time. She was no idiot; she knew that there had been a man before Lord Voldemort. Riddle. That was all he would give her, at least for now. She just nodded and glanced around, and as usual, she said exactly the right thing.
"It's a fine restaurant, especially given that it's Muggle-run. They do a fine job cooking with such primitive means."
"Indeed," Voldemort nodded. Right on cue, the waiter arrived to clear their plates of lamb. Voldemort frowned, for Bellatrix had hardly touched hers, but she signaled to the waiter that she was finished. The waiter cleared out extraneous plates and flatware and put a cheese plate down. It was the dessert Voldemort had selected, for he new that Bellatrix would prefer something light and not too sweet. She seemed pleased as the cheese board was lowered between them. Two china plates went down, and the waiter said,
"On the cheese platter tonight, we have an aged cheddar, a Camembert, a Brie, a Parmaggiano-Reggiano, and a Stilton. To accompany the cheeses, we have honey, grained mustard, and olive tapenade. You will find baguette and wheat crackers, as well as crisp buttered toast."
Voldemort murmured to the waiter that they didn't need anything else and that they were paid through. The waiter nodded and wished them a pleasant evening. Bellatrix eyed the cheese platter, finally looking hungry, and Voldemort told her,
"You first."
"Oh. Hmm..." She made a little sound of delight as she sliced off some brie onto a cracker and drizzled honey onto it. When she brought it to her mouth and hummed, Voldemort suddenly felt himself go a little hard in his trousers. He shut his eyes and concentrated on the sound of the soft rain out the windows, the rain that had let up this morning but seemed to have started up again. When he opened his eyes, Bellatrix was swiping honey from her lip with a delicate sweep of her thumb, and it was too much.
"Bellatrix," he whispered desperately, and when she gave him a worried look, he shook his head helplessly, and then he could tell she understood.
"I need you," she said softly. "Master. Please."
"Come." He rose, deciding that he didn't need any cheese and he didn't care if anyone saw his erection. He pulled Bellatrix's chair back and put his hand between her shoulders when she stood. He guided her quickly out of the restaurant and down the corridor to a secluded spot near a window. He put his hands on her shoulders and stared down at her wide eyes, at her full lips, and he told her,
"Take one last look at this dress, Bella, because the instant we get to the flat, it'll be Vanished right off your skin. You understand me?"
"Yes, My Lord," she whispered. He bent to kiss her, crushing her mouth and listening to the rain outside, and then he Disapparated, taking her with him.
27 Rosary Gardens, London
17 July 1970
"Evanesco."
Bellatrix gasped as her plum-coloured gown was Vanished straight off of her body. Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow at her and reminded her,
"I warned you."
He bent down to kiss her, and he tasted like the dry wine they'd shared. His hand dragged from her hip up over her waist and to her breast, where he squeezed gently and pulled his thumb over her firm nipple. Bellatrix gasped as his lips moved from hers to the skin beneath her neck. That felt good, so very good, and she arched her back against his hand and his mouth.
"Why are you so damned short?" Voldemort demanded in a growl, and Bellatrix laughed a little. He seemed like he was only kidding a little bit, actually, as though it really irritated him that she didn't even reach his shoulder. Finally he stood up and snarled, "No matter."
He swept his right hand beneath Bellatrix's thighs and caught her back in his left arm. He had her snugly in his arms before Bellatrix knew what was happening. She stared up at him with wide eyes, shock going through her as her arms snaked up around his shoulders. His eyes stayed straight ahead, his gaze cold and detached. He carried Bellatrix into the bedroom and set her down on the bed, standing beside it as she arranged herself more carefully on the pillows. She started to slide her knickers down over her hips, and when he didn't protest, she tossed the underwear away.
He started methodically undressing, taking off his suit jacket and tie and then Banishing each item of clothing to the wardrobe. He got all the way down to his black, rather tight-fitting underwear, and Bellatrix couldn't help but stare. He was so achingly handsome, his face chiseled and sharp and his eyes piercing. His arms and chest were toned just so, and the bulge in his underwear made her throb and go utterly wet between her legs.
"Enjoying the view?" Voldemort asked in a hard tone, pulling his underwear down and off and Banishing it with the rest of his clothes,
"Yes, Master," Bellatrix said honestly. He turned to face her then, and for a moment he looked so angry that she was utterly terrified of him. She felt a little buzz of fear and whispered, "There."
"Push me out, Bella," Voldemort ordered her. She almost couldn't believe that he was doing this right now, when they were both naked, but she shut her eyes and concentrated hard on the idea of shoving him away. She couldn't get him out. She tried to build a wall up between them, but he managed to view the previous night from her perspective - the feel of being curled up against him, of his warm skin and his steady breath beneath her as she drifted off to sleep. Bellatrix yanked and pulled and pushed, and finally she felt him extract himself from her mind. She opened her eyes, and he tipped his head as he shrugged,
"Not a terrible first try. You'll go again tomorrow, and the day after, until you can shove me out."
"All right," she whispered. He started to climb up onto the bed, and as his fingers went between her legs, he mumbled,
"Fifty Galleons says... mm-hmm. Drenched. As per usual."
"I don't walk around like this," Bellatrix giggled quietly, trying to catch her breath as he twisted two fingers into her and started to work his thumb on her clit.
"No?" His voice hummed against her skin as he kissed the top of her breast. "Then why do I always find you like this?"
He was mocking her, she knew, but she played his game anyway. She held the sides of his head as he planted harsh kisses all over her chest, and she rolled her hips against his hand as she admitted,
"I can't help but be wet around you, My Lord. You're a very arousing wizard."
He lifted his gaze to her and smirked, and she felt him pull his hand from her and spread her legs. His fingers were replaced by his cock, and he started to pump his hips. He sat up and back a little on his knees, seizing her waist. His face twisted a bit, looking almost as if he were in pain, and he admitted,
"It's not going to last long."
"That's all right," Bellatrix whispered, absorbing the feel of his deep, slow thrusts and struggling to keep her eyes open. "I just want to make you happy, My Lord."
"You do, Bella." He quickened his hips a little and met her eyes as he panted, "This feels good, doesn't it?"
He didn't just mean the sex, she knew. He didn't just mean right now, right this instant, with his cock sheathed within her. He meant this, all of this, whatever odd dynamic had developed between them that led to a shared bed and dinners that were most definitely dates. She just nodded and whispered,
"Yes, Master. It feels very good."
He wrenched his eyes shut then, and she could tell by his face and the choked sound he made that he was finishing. He was right; he had hardly lasted at all compared to previous encounters. And he was a man in his forties. Something had pushed him over the phantom edge more quickly than usual tonight, and though she couldn't pin it down, she could feel it right along with him. She shut her eyes and felt his lips touch hers, and he murmured against her mouth,
"You're pretty. I like to look at you."
That was his way of reciprocating her reply to his biting question about enjoying the view. She could tell he was trying to even things out just a tiny bit, though there was no debate in anyone's mind about who was in charge.
He pulled out of her body and let his seed trickle between them onto the sheets. Bellatrix reached for her wand and surreptitiously cleaned them both up, and then very suddenly she found herself curled up against him like she'd been the night before. She took a deep, shaking breath, pressing her lips to the bare skin covering his ribs, and she informed him,
"I don't like people, generally speaking."
"Neither do I," he replied matter-of-factly. Bellatrix raised her eyes to him and added,
"But I like you very much, My Lord."
He just nodded silently, his throat bobbing. If there was something he wanted to say, he didn't do it, but Bellatrix could read the hint of uncertainty in his eyes, and that was enough for her. She kissed at his chest more firmly and whispered,
"I only hope that I do my job well enough, Master. That I bring you pleasure. Some measure of happiness."
"You do your job very well, Bellatrix," he said. "That's why I want you to come with me tomorrow."
"Tomorrow." She sat up a little and shoved her curls from her eyes. "What's tomorrow?"
"A new attack on some Muggles," he told her. "Just you and I. Leeds. Make a big stir, give the Ministry a splitting headache. How's that for a raise?"
"Oh, My Lord." Bellatrix suddenly felt like she'd been handed an invaluable gift and was afraid of destroying it. She shook a little as she nodded and promised him, "I won't let you down. I'll be careful but unforgiving, Master."
"I know." He tucked her curls behind her ear and leaned forward to kiss her again. Bellatrix felt his hands trail down her sides, and she shivered as he brought her over to straddle his lap. He was soft beneath her, but it didn't matter. He was propped up on the pillows and she was perched with her chest on his, and when he took her face and kissed her, it felt more intimate than usual.
She felt a buzz in her head and knew he'd come inside. She grunted a little to signal to him that she'd sensed his entry, but he kissed her harder than ever. She struggled as though she were drowning, like his presence was the water around her. She mentally kicked and fought, constructing mighty fortresses and walls in an instant. She shoved hard at his presence, and even as he reached for an image, she smacked the face of his invasion with all she had. Suddenly he pulled her face off of his, and he stared up at her in awe as his breath quickened.
"Did I do it?" Bellatrix asked, and he just nodded once.
"Good girl," he whispered, and Bellatrix felt a surge of pride go through her. His thumb dragged beneath her eye as he admitted, "I don't think I've given you enough credit, Miss Black. I look forward to seeing you help me melt some row houses in Leeds tomorrow."
Her eyes must have glinted at that, and she felt a crooked smile come across her face, for Voldemort laughed a little and shook his head.
"Where'd you come from?" His voice was a little unsteady, and Bellatrix frowned at the question.
"The House of Black," she said simply, and he scoffed, a little amused sound. He shook his head and marveled,
"Cruel. Beautiful. Amusing. Intelligent. Skilled. Malicious. An almost unfathomable combination, Bella. How did I manage to have you come crawling into my office begging to serve me?"
"You earned my humble service the same way you've earned everything else," she informed him, shifting her hips a little as she felt him start to go hard again beneath her. "By being the Dark Lord himself." She cycled her hips a little and gave him a questioning look. He nodded and told her, not for the first time,
"I find I do rather like you, Miss Bellatrix Black."