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He moved his fingers in and out of Voldemort's mouth, blood heating when the man began sucking on them. Loud, wet sucking. Harry's body liked it. So much. Too much. He yanked his hand away.
A bereft look passed over Voldemort's face and he moaned.
"Tell me."
Voldemort fisted his hands, muscles bulging as he held Harry's gaze,
"Hurt me."
The plea was desperate and wanton. Harry wanted to hear more like it.
"Please. Hurt me."
Voldemort swiped his tongue over the cut in his bottom lip, bliss in his eyes. Harry asked.
"What else? What else do you want?"
Voldemort spoke, clearly challenging
"You. I want you to love it, and I want you to show me that you love it."
It was insane, the picture the man made, eyes crazy wild, blood covering his teeth and gums and dripping down his chin to congeal on the front of his shirt. Insane was the thirst for pain in his eyes, the same need that held his body captive and no doubt fogged his brain. More insane was Harry's body's reaction to it. He felt compelled to give in, to give Voldemort what he craved so much, what he was so sure Harry could deliver. Without saying a word, Harry turned and walked back to his desk. Behind him, Voldemort made a sound of denial. Harry righted his chair and sat at his desk then buzzed his assistant,
"Yes, Mr. Potter?"
"Take the rest of the day off."
Braced against the door, Voldemort hadn't moved, and at Harry's words he appeared to stop breathing too.
"Mr. Potter, are— Are you sure?"
His assistant had the damned right to question his mind, didn't she? It wasn't even noon and not once in the three years she'd been working with him had he done what he was about to do,
"Yes, I'm very sure."
He looked up and met Voldemort's gaze, holding it as he said,
"You may go. Enjoy your day off."
"I— Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Potter."
Thank Lord Voldemort. Harry didn't know how to explain what it did to him, watching Voldemort watch him with that expression on his face. An expression that said he trusted Harry to give what he needed. He trusted Harry. That messed with him, so he cast it aside and cleared his throat,
"Take off your shirt and come to me."
Voldemort pulled off a satchel. Harry realized he hadn't noticed it before. Setting it down on the floor he began unbuttoning his shirt slowly, unveiling his tattooed torso by degrees. Harry licked his lips when Voldemort tossed the article of clothing to the side. He kept his gaze steady on Harry's face as he swaggered over to him in his black jeans and his well-polished shoes,
The sight of him made Harry's heart lurch in his chest and his body throbbed with need with every step that brought Voldemort closer.
He'd thought the tattoo on Voldemort's back was crazy, but his torso art was stunning. A coiled snake was tattooed across his chest, its tail dipping just below his naval. The colour and detail on it was beyond anything Harry had ever seen. He made out scars, some little, some not. Both arms had a snake tattooed that wound its way up Voldemort's shoulders and wrapped around his throat.
He was utter perfection.
If Harry wasn't mistaken. Things were changing. He felt it changing, his control disappearing like sand though his fingers. It panicked him, he'd relied on that control for so long. But it freed him too, in a way he didn't yet comprehend. He pointed to where he wanted Voldemort to stand,
"Up against the glass. Hug it."
Voldemort did, silently, pressing his body to the glass, arms stretched out on other side. An offering. Harry's mouth watered at the delectable sight. An offering he wanted to take, claim. Damn it. Voldemort spoke in a scratchy whisper,
"My satchel. First pocket."
Harry walked over and picked up the satchel. He unzipped it and reached inside, hand closing around thick leather. He pulled his prize out and held it up. His belt from the last time. Harry fisted it, head bowed. No going back. There'd be no going back. Voldemort's thready voice drifted to him from above.
"I slept with it last time. Placed it on my pillow."
Harry's body shuddered.
"Harry."
Damn. How could his name sound so good?
Dangerous. It was so damned dangerous,
"Remember your safe word."
He jumped to his feet and let the belt fly, catching Voldemort on his upper right shoulder,
Voldemort hissed.
Harry hit him again and again until Voldemort wailed, until he cried and jerked with each blow. Until his skin grew red and redder still. Until his arm grew sore. Harry beat him and Voldemort took it, body bathed in sweat, shining, making the tattoos glow. He put everything he had, all his force into each strike of the belt.
Harry reveled in the sounds of the leather connecting with Voldemort's back. The pained, arousing cries Voldemort made, the sound of his fingers skidding across the glass as he fought to hold on, hold his position. Harry spoke sternly.
"No coming. If you come, I stop."
Voldemort sobbed.
"Please. Oh, please."
Harry didn't let up, even when he felt like exploding himself. The front of his pants was soaked with pre-cum. He'd never been this turned on. He didn't want to call an end to it, but he allowed himself another few blows, stopping only when Voldemort's knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor. The man curled in on himself, sobbing, body jerking, cheek flat on the floor. Harry dropped the belt onto his desk and sank back into his chair. He wasn't finished, not yet, not by a long shot. He issued the command in the coolest voice he could muster,
"Get up. Crawl to me."
He did. Voldemort crawled to him, face flushed and wet with tears, fresh blood dripping from the cut in his lip. Harry held his breath, letting it out when the man settled between his thighs and looked at him with such helpless want in his pain-filled eyes. Harry pinched Voldemort's wet cheeks between his fingers.
"I thought you were gorgeous before. Like this, you're beautiful. Too damn beautiful.
Voldemort's eyes widened, but Harry didn't let him speak. He picked up the belt and looped it around the man's neck, buckling it at his throat so the silver buckle rested right on his Adam's apple. Voldemort trembled against the desk, making the piece of furniture vibrate. He'd read Voldemort's file. The one he had submitted in the club that night. He knew what the other man wanted, and Harry would give it to him. Harry spoke harshly,
"You don't do this unless I'm there with you. Non-negotiable."
He pulled on the belt watching Voldemort's beautiful brown eyes get blown, watching his face turning red.
Slowly, Harry got to his feet, the end of the belt wrapped around his fist as he constricted it, cutting off the man's air. Voldemort gasped, fingers digging into Harry's thigh. He held Voldemort's gaze, even when his lashes fluttered, when his grip on Harry's thigh loosened. Then Harry relaxed his hold, allowing some leeway and giving Voldemort the opportunity to gulp air into his lungs again. The man gagged and gasped, crying when Harry pulled on the belt again.
The sight of him made Harry tremble too, as he controlled the very air Voldemort breathed. On his knees, Voldemort clawed at him while gazing up at Harry, untamed and beautiful in his submission.
Voldemort coughed and choked, body writhing as Harry brought him to the brink over and over, a steady tug on the belt to get it taut then the relaxation of his grasp to allow him the illusion of freedom, of breath. Finally, he tightened it with a grimace, watched Voldemort's face contort as he grabbed at the leather around his neck, yanking, gulping, tears sliding down his cheeks,
"Come. Come for me."
He eased up his grip, and Voldemort arched, crying out, body jerking, spasming. Harry dropped to his knees next to him, removing the belt with shaking hands. His balls ached, orgasm churned. The man cried, and Harry couldn't hold back, couldn't hold off. It was too much. The sight, smells and sounds of Voldemort. He tore at his pants, unzipping himself and fisting his cock. He didn't get the chance to pull free of his pants. He came, a hoarse curse falling from his lips. Harry's head bowed, sharp white light pinging behind his closed eyelids,
"Damn…Damn it…. Oh"
Harry's felt Voldemort touch him and his eyes flew open. He stared into those brown eyes as the other man caressed his cheek and rasped out,
"You're beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous."
It was nasty, it was messy, and it was the first time Harry had lost control in a whole lot of years. Harry murmured brokenly
"You don't know. You don't know anything."
Voldemort grinned, looking drunk, tears wetting his cheek. Harry stared at him, unblinking. Everything had changed. Every damn thing. What did he do now?
Check out my other fanfic named "Ensnared". It's actually a Harry Potter Version of "The Beauty and the Beast" Let me know what you guys think. Just follow the link below or visit my profile. Looking forward your feedback
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