Ship: Pansy/Hermione. Sexual content, knife-play, slight blood.
Fingers dig into the flesh of her inner thigh. Warm lips skim the stretch of bare skin there, and Pansy's tongue darts out.
"You're fucking drenched." It was a soft utterance and she didn't have time to say anything before her knickers were pulled to the side, and Pansy licked a strip up her cunt.
Hermione swore. Her head tipped backward, but her legs tensed, nearly shaking.
Pansy whispered how pretty her cunt was as she parted her folds, leaning forward to flick her tongue over Hermione's clit as she trembled.
Glancing down, Hermione saw the knife turn on its side, and watched—enthralled—as her girlfriend slid it between the elastic of her knickers and her skin.
"That shouldn't be as hot as it is," Hermione rolled her hips forward and then—
"Oh, shit."
The source of the stinging was found on her right side where the knife had dipped a little too low, and there was a small cut.
Tiny, really.
"Parkinson!"
Dark hair fell onto Pansy's face, and it did nothing to hide the smirk that formed there. "It's not my fault. You're the one who pushed your cunt toward me like a needy, desperate little—"
"So, it's my fault? You cut me!"
"It could be worse." Pansy kissed the inside of one of her thighs. And then the other.
"You aren't the one bleeding."
"You'll live, stop whining." She rolled her eyes. "Fine, do you want to cut me to make it even?"
Hermione whispered, "I think you'd like that too much."