A/N: Chapter Twenty-Three!

"Then I'll have no choice but to assume you think about what happened between us every night and on occasion, about what it would feel like to have another go," he added, wearing the same indiscernible look from the night we went out to the pub. " — because lord knows I do."

It was all I could do to drown the feverish undercurrents in alcohol, using slurred speech and laboured laughter as a facade for the warmth that pooled over my chest. I forced a smile, drinking from our third bottle, aware that his eyes hadn't left mine and that our shoulders brushed up against one another, creating friction between us as we sat at the fountain, breathing the same air, thinking the same illicit thoughts. It was no secret to me that he was a sexual being. Some nights, in the quietude of our home, I could hear his tense, taut breaths — the rough, rigid groans — and the release that followed. I heard the mattress and the deep, lingering expulsions of air, wondering across the corridor, what could possibly drive him to such an unhinged, uninhibited state of abandon.

But never, in all those times, had I imagined the cause to be me.

I breathed out, realizing then that I had been holding my breath, and that the crisp, frigid winter breeze had been coaxing our bodies together for the past four…five…six…seven seconds. Our hands touched, causing the flame I had kindled for him to burn bright and without measure — after almost an entire decade of radio silence.

…eight…nine…ten seconds, and the distance was fleeting. I faced him, suspended in that same in-between place, caught in our dance of neither-here-nor-there, as his hand had brushed the skin of mine, dragging his fingertips to the inner curve of my neck, where my pulse quickened in response.

It was nothing, but everything — and penetrated the walls of my defence one second after another.

I leaned closer to him, aware that my bottom lip was quivering and that there was a hairline of moisture in both my lower lash-lines.

"It's okay," he whispered to me, accenting the motion of his lips with words, as he brushed the hair from my face, soothingly. "I'll never hurt you."

For some reason, those words hit me harder. I hadn't realized until then, the ache I had buried deep within my chest, building more and more as the years went on and as the trust I endowed to various men had been tested and tossed aside, without the slightest ounce of remorse.

But he was different…he'd always been different…

In the seconds that followed, the tension within me melted against him, against his warmth, against the magnetism that tethered us to one another from the start. Our bodies were compelled forward, closer and closer, until all that remained were the millimetres between us, but even those came to pass, as he combed through my hair, drawing me closer, kissing the moisture from my eyes one after the other, and then lower, dragging his lips down, where mine feathered apart…waiting for him…pining for him…hovering with him in that final moment…

"Do you want this?" he asked me, searching for my consent.

I breathed in, filling my lungs with crisp winter air, before answering him; not with words, but with a single, moving, heart-stopping motion.

Our lips curved together, paralleled by rousing efforts to be closer, as his hands ran down to my sides, and as mine moved through the obsidian waves that comprised his hair. I could taste my tears on his lips — salty mixed with the sweetness of his breath. It was strange, the manner in which my body responded to this and the manner in which his body responded to mine.

I trembled against him, against his firm muscles and against his lips, murmuring praise as his hands found the small of my back, massaging me. It started mild and moderate — tame compared to the emotions raging within us, as we oscillated between those conditions, drawing closer and closer to the latter.

But the longer we touched and the longer we tasted, the brighter and hotter our kiss became.

I kissed him harder, reminded of the broom closet and the feelings that enveloped me then, the manner in which he liberated me from my virtue, and brought me to climax with slow, sensual motions — motions that rippled through me for weeks, months, years afterwards.

"Oh…Theo…" I moaned, tilting my head backwards as he dragged his lips down the column of my neck and licked me there, feeling the vibrations with his tongue as I moaned again and again and again. "Oh my…Oh my gosh…"

It wasn't time to play it safe.

It was time for one thing and one thing only — to throw caution to the wind.

Somewhere between then and the next moment, he lifted me onto his lap, causing another flurry of emotions to surge through us, as whatever distance remained was ousted by the heat that transferred from his body to mine, and back again.

"Hermione…" he murmured, finding my lips again and again, curving both hands along my arse, as my hips began to rotate on his lap. "…Herm…Hermione, wait…w…"

I smiled against his lips, immersed in the flush that coloured his cheeks and neck, as I continued, feeling him harden beneath me. It was stiff and long, engorged in his trousers with each second I carried on. His fingers squeezed my arse, pulling me down on him harder and harder, responding to the rotation of my hips with a stir of movements that sent electric currents through my body, caught in this tango.

But the longer this lasted, the more I could see it in his eyes, that itch for release, and the simultaneous fight for control over his senses, his urges. I found myself in a similar predicament, as the feeling of him hard against me sucked the moisture from my lips and tongue, and placed it elsewhere.

"Her…Hermione…" he continued to say, squeezing my arse so hard that a small, pleasured whimper escaped my lips. "Herm…Hermione…Her…H…"

I relished the sound of my name on his tongue, almost as much as the look in his eyes as he realized what he had done to me.

It happened quick and without warning.

"Oh…Oh…Th…Theo…!"

I moaned into our kiss, feeling my chest bounce, as his member, although covered, stimulated me through our clothes and reduced me to a feverish, quivering mess, falling into his arms, sharing with him each individual tremor that pulsated through me.

He held me there, brushing our lips together, moistening mine with his tongue, and whispering things to me. Breathtaking. Beautiful. Sexy. His words consumed me, warmed me, aroused me. His arms were no different, wrapping around me, falling from my shoulders to my waist, securing me to him, tightening as the rotation of my hips returned.

I couldn't tell up from down, nor left from right. I could only see him, feel him. It should have embarrassed me that I orgasmed with our clothes still on and with the wind howling around us — but the surroundings only drove me closer and closer to him. I pressed my chest against him, knowing the shivers that ran up and down my spine had coaxed the points of my breasts to life, but I didn't care. I wanted him to see me, feel me, feel the way his body affected mine.

Within seconds, that look returned to his face, shrouded in thick, white hot desire, communicating to me the thoughts running through his mind. I had no objections. I continued to rotate and to grind and to kiss him as he had kissed me — down his neck, sucking and marking him, knowing my lips were swollen from all the contact.

But this only prompted me to continue.

I carried on and on, biting him as he squeezed me, feeling another climax rise close to the surface of my skin — close, so close — before he cried out.

"H — Hermione! Hermione, wait!"

In keeping with our rising rhythm, I didn't wait, realizing moments later that there was something strange about the manner in which his voice had risen.

"Wait! H — Hold on!" he exclaimed, compelling me out of my dazed state of mind, seconds before I faced him and noticed the incisive look in his eyes, telling me to brace myself, as he lost balance and as our bodies tumbled backwards — into the fountain.

A/N: So...yeah...LOL.

Cheers

xo.