NB - This chapter contains sexual themes and descriptions. If that's not for you, feel free to skip ahead to the last five lines so you can see where the story goes next.

Chapter 12: The Door

He thought he might die.

His lungs were bursting for air, and he didn't give a damn. Sirius Black was right where he wanted to be, even if was the death of him.

This amount of pure pleasure had to be lethal, didn't it? The gods won't let him get away with this, he thought, not in a million years. The powers-that-be would smite him any second now.

How else could he explain the all-consuming desire pounding through him as he plundered Hermione's mouth with his own, pushing her back into the mattress, sinking into her embrace?

How could it possibly be this good?

All his worries about doing the right thing where the young Miss Granger was concerned had fled the moment his lips had touched hers. They had vanished completely when she had wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back.

This, he mused, was the glory that happened when you tossed aside all rational thought and acted on pure instinct.

This was blinding.

This was bliss.

The clothes, however, were becoming a bit of a problem.

"Off!" she moaned against his mouth, tugging at his jacket with both hands. "Take it off!"

He grunted in agreement but found it terribly difficult to take anything off when he was also trying never to surrender her lips, and while she – the little minx – was pushing her pelvis up against his rock-hard cock. It was impossible not to rut back against her, grinding out their mutual pleasure as he kissed her over and over.

He tried to free himself again, but it was hopeless. "Iffreggnn–!"

There was no stopping her. Now she was licking at the hollow of his jaw and neck, finding that perfect spot of absolute sensation that sent shivers down his spine. She was driving him to the brink faster than he had thought possible.

"Wait," Sirius finally murmured, pulling back just enough to tug slightly at the layers covering his shoulders. "Wait… just, let me… hell—" He grabbed the wand on her bedside table. "Lumos." The light by her bed came on, but apart from casting a romantic glow, it did bugger all to divest him of anything important. "Mmm… can you just… If I do thi—"

Any words died away as she started kissing him again, sweeping her tongue against his, and then moving down to suck at the pressure points on his neck.

Bugger the jacket, he thought, sinking down into her again. It could wait.

Long minutes later, Sirius realised that Hermione wasn't wearing anything easy to deal with either. Sliding a hand beneath her back, he felt for the closure that he would then tear open to bare her to his touch.

Only it wasn't there.

He pulled back, thoroughly confused. "Where's the fucking zipper?"

"The side. It's on the… it's on the side," she panted. Sirius took an inordinate amount of pleasure in how much she was gasping. Smiling, he simply watched for a few seconds as she tried to get her breath back. She was amazing.

But he was still flummoxed when he finally saw the closure in question. "What the hell is that? It's too small."

"Hardly," she grimaced.

"If I can't zip it down to get you naked, it's pointless," he countered, taking the few seconds they were separated to fling off his coat. It hit the ground somewhere behind him.

Sighing, he then realised he still had many layers to go. Why on earth had he decided to wear the three-piece suit to dinner instead of jeans and a t-shirt? Cursing himself mentally, he began to undo his cravat in sharp, frustrated movements. With his body still throbbing for her, his fingers were all thumbs. By the time he had stripped off to just his dress shirt, he had no patience left whatsoever.

One loud tear filled the room as Sirius ripped his fine lawn shirt apart, the buttons flying in all directions. The ripped cloth hung off his shoulders, half-forgotten already as his eyes raked up and down her body, seeing her spread out beneath him.

Hermione stared at him lasciviously as she plucked one of his buttons off her collarbone and dropped it to the floor. If her pupils were blown, Sirius knew his own must be in a similar state. From the look on her face, he thought she might be a fan of his tattoos. One finger raised up as if to reach out and trace them as he half-knelt over her on the mattress, but then she balled her hands tightly, delaying the touch just a bit longer.

Hitching onto one side, Hermione unzipped the tiny few inches of dress material along her rib cage that gave him just the barest glimpse of the alabaster skin beneath.

Sweet Circe, it would never be enough.

She bit her lip, a smile flirting along the corners of her mouth. "You'll have to pull down the rest."

"Thank fuck," he breathed. "I've wanted to do that all evening."

With one hand, he softly pushed her onto her back. Instinctively, she raised up on her shoulder blades, proffering her breasts to him. He took full advantage of her new position, curling both of his hands into the top of her dress and then pulling the bodice down in one deep, satisfying tug.

His hands were suddenly full of her breasts, and he was in heaven.

"Perfect," whispered Sirius, not even aware that he was actually speaking.

Moving his thumbs carefully over the pink tips of her nipples, he grinned wickedly as they pebbled in his wake. Slowly bending his head forward, he watched Hermione watching him, only closing his eyes when he took one rouched peak into his hot mouth. He could feel the risen edges of the nubbin against his tongue. With an aching thoroughness that tortured him just as much as he hoped it did her, he began to trace every inch of the satiny treasure.

He was hungry, and she was such an unbelievable feast.

She tasted so sweet, as if she had covered her entire body in cinnamon and sugar. He wanted to drink in her scent forever.

Pulling harder against her with his lips, he heard her groan somewhere above him and smirked through the deep kiss. Her writhing beneath him made his chest rumble with a deep growl. That seemed to set her off even more. Knowing without a doubt that this was making her wet, Sirius returned to his work, laving at one peak and then the other, moving back and forth, happily losing himself in the valley and rise and fall of Hermione's pert, glorious, perfect breasts.

Blindly, he pushed her dress further down her body, baring her entirely except for a piece of scant lace-trimmed satin. He felt her kick free of the heavy dress, just as his fingers danced over her covered core; he moaned loudly at the sheer heat coming from her core, the wetness already soaking through the gusset. He had to taste her, needed to scour every pa—

Suddenly, he was on his back and she was soaring above him, her legs free and wrapped around his hips, grinding herself down onto his stiff cock. She was some divine creature sent to torment him and he relished every instant of her deliberate, drawn-out torture. Her hair was a cloud around her face, all bed-mussed curls and sexy tendrils. The warm glow of the lamplight made her a wanton siren, calling to him, leading him right over the edge.

If he had to go now, Sirius Black was going to die a very happy man.

He bit down on his lips, straining to remain Hermione's prisoner; the urge to flip her over and just thrust mindlessly was swiftly becoming something he could barely control. It was even more difficult when he saw the blatant desire written across her face.

Pushing back the torn halves of his shirt in one sure movement, she bared his smooth, inked chest to the night air. Now it was his turn to writhe, driving up against her, even as she rose just enough to leave him wanting, his hips snapping against empty air instead of her satin-covered centre.

She couldn't look away from his chest. Her fingers played with him, sweeping up and down, tracing, teasing, mapping his ink as her hips rubbed against him with a devilish grace. He was unbelievably hard.

Sirius also knew he was still trapped by the damnable fabric of his trousers.

Being separated from her for even another second was beyond endurance.

Hermione's nails dug in on one downward pass, making him hiss and arch wildly beneath her. She did nothing but smile, and then smoothed her fingers up the planes of his chest, intent on doing it again.

Then Sirius reached up, needing her, cupping the back of her neck to bring her down to his mouth once more. He could never get enough of her, he thought, as the kiss deepened to become a sexy, slow battle between them.

Hermione won that round, triumphantly pinning his arms back as she squirmed on top of him.

Losing had never felt so good.

Kissing every inch of skin in front of her, she made her way down from his collarbone and its sensitive hollows to his chest and tight nipples. She kissed one and he groaned; she mouthed at the other and he inhaled sharply, as if he was worried she was about to uncover a secret that would make him completely undone, forever.

"Gods, 'Mione. What are you doing to me?" he groaned.

Her sexy laughter echoed in his ears, a soft, rolling sound that filled the room.

Her tongue trailed along his tattoos, merging different lines together. "More," she panted. "More."

Then her fingers were spreading out across the hairless skin on his chest, sensitising every nerve in his body to yet another, higher degree.

"Fucking hell," said Sirius, reaching out for anything he could hold on to. The metal bars along her headboard seemed like a good idea.

"Yes?" asked Hermione, running her hands in formless patterns again. "Like that?"

His only answer was a soul-deep moan… and then a sudden giggle that had him wriggling beneath her.

Hermione leaned back. "What is it?"

He mumbled something, refusing to look at her.

"What did you say?"

He tried to frown at her, wanting to look forbidding. "That. Tickles."

"I'm sorry?"

"What you just did. It tickles!"

Giving him a lazy smile, Hermione rubbed her hips on top of him again. "I know," she teased. "Poor you."

Sirius' jaw fell open at the cruel gleam in her eye.

"Evil witch. Gods!"

He grabbed more tightly to the metal bars.

Licking at the skin between his ribs, Hermione caught his eye, and he knew immediately where she was heading – what she was going to do. His lower half was still covered, but already Sirius was groaning at the mere thought of her mouth on him.

Hermione rose up on her elbows, cradling his hips with her forearms. There was nothing in her face but want as she opened his trousers and pulled them down his legs. Her hands briefly played with the hair on his calves before she swept back up again, her fingers reaching for the elastic of his boxers. His rigid cock was tenting the material right in front of her face. Sirius found himself almost wanting to apologise for being so blatantly aroused, so brazenly carnal. Half a second later, he stopped himself, knowing that she was the one who had made him this way: hard, male, and ready.

The boxers came off just as smoothly as his trousers had done. At first, all she did was stare, biting her lip, her eyes widening at the sight of him. There was no fear in Hermione's face, no disgust or worry – only wickedness. Looking at her, he thanked Merlin that this witch – this goddess – was more than woman enough to handle him.

"Oh my," she sighed, licking her lips unconsciously. Sirius felt something in his chest shift and shatter and then flood his entire body with sheer need.

As her mouth closed over his hard length, his head hit the pillow. He was desperate to watch, but somehow his eyes simply failed to work, leaving him in the most glorious darkness as he felt rather than saw her begin to devour him.

"Gods," he groaned.

"Ssshhh…" she whispered, before holding him still with one hand and licking one long line from the base to his tip before pulling him back into her mouth.

Hermione worked him slowly, driving him crazy with her constantly moving tongue, coating him with the velvety heat of her precious, scorching mouth.

Forcing himself to see, he finally made it up onto his elbows. He saw his bare chest and waist and then Hermione, lying prone between his legs with her lips wrapped around his massive erection as it appeared and disappeared, appeared and disappeared… "Gaaaaahh!" he moaned, tipping his head back again, caught between a smile and something more tortured.

It was too good.

She was too good.

Had he honestly thought this witch was a virgin only an hour ago? He needed to have his head examined.

That thought rang through him, stumbling over all the other images that he wanted to have flitting through his mind. The one thing Sirius did not want to do right now was think.

Filing the niggling thought away for later perusal, he let his hands drift up to brush along her shoulders. He so wanted to cup her head, to push himself deeper in her sexy mouth, but he also didn't know if he could control the rise and fall of his hips if he did that, especially if she kept doing the unexpected, like right then when she sucked him in so deeply, her lips brushed his pubic hair.

"Holy furies," he prayed.

Hermione chuckled, her pleased joy echoing along his sensitive skin, vibrating against his tip, pulling him that much closer to an ending he couldn't control. He didn't want that.

Priorities.

But, maybe just a little bit longer, he thought, as her mouth picked up the pace, the intensity of her strokes rising in time with the naughty teasing of her tongue.

He groaned. He panted. He felt his hips roll against her bare skin, her small hands making sure the sweet tightness of her went all the way down, just as she'd said earlier.

A long minute later, he felt one finger begin to trace his balls, and he had to pull her off him. Her mouth was still open as she looked at him, more than a bit surprised; as he expected, that worry line between her brows made an appearance.

"You're a goddess," said Sirius reassuringly, his breath still catching in his chest from just how close he'd been to his release.

"Then why—?"

"Fair's fair," he teased just before flipping their positions so that she, once again, was lying beneath him. The difference now was that he was naked – and he needed her to be, too.

Hell, he'd needed her naked months ago.

All that stood between Sirius and the promised land was a tiny scrap of soft fabric. Tsking loudly, he felt her wetness again as his fingers skimmed the outside of her knickers. "You bad, bad witch," he deadpanned. "What are you doing being this wet already?"

Smiling, she shrugged one shoulder. "You tell me."

"Minx," he winked. Gods, he could actually wink at her now and know that she would know exactly what he was thinking. That was heady stuff to contemplate.

Later. Thoughts later, he reminded himself.

Resuming his stern façade, he ran a lone finger just inside the elastic near her bum cheek. "Bad witches need to be punished. I shall have to punish you."

In response, she let her legs fall open a little bit more.

"Wise," he purred before grabbing the flimsy material and dragging it down her legs in a flash. His hand itched to cup her to feel that essence for himself, but he held back. The role play was rather enjoyable.

"Now, what to do with you? Naughty witches who know how to suck a man's cock like that need a particular kind of discipline."

Hermione's breath hitched and her pupils dilated even further. "Do they?" she asked, one foot beginning to play with the hair on his thigh.

"Stop that," he warned her. "No distracting the teacher."

A thought assailed through him. Is this what being a professor was like? Because, if it was, he might have to rethink turning Hogwarts down the next time they had a faculty opening.

It was as if Hermione was reading his mind, like a seductive legilimens. Maybe she really was one.

"What are you going to do to me… Professor Black?"

Grinning wolfishly, he leaned over to kiss her deeply, gripping her arms and rolling his hips against hers.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"


She was dying and wanting to burst apart at the same time.

Sirius Black – Prisoner of Azkaban, original member of the Order of Phoenix, legendary Gryffindor, founder of the Marauders, godfather of the Chosen One, traitorous pureblood, last scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, notorious womanizer, resurrected mystery, art collector, gentleman-at-ease, scandalous flirt, and owner of the sexiest wink in the Wizarding World – currently had his head between her thighs, groaning as if he had never tasted anything better in his entire life.

All the times that Hermione had imagined this moment – and she had imagined it many, many times – paled in comparison to the real thing.

He was real.

He was Sirius.

He was, in fact, a very naked Sirius, kneeling at the foot of her bed, her legs draped over his shoulders – "Best view in the entire world, love," he'd murmured against her bare thigh – and rumbling against her. She had heard Sirius sigh throatily after drinking a particularly good vintage of firewhisky; that was the only comparison she could think of as he moved his tongue in a new pattern and a fresh wave of feeling arched up her spine, lifting her centre to his mouth.

This wasn't an act with Sirius. This was art. He was a poet, and this was poetry whispered against the most sensitive parts of her body.

Flattening his hands along the tops of her spread thighs, he opened her up even more. The pressure from his mouth increased exponentially as he sucked and laved at her, somehow able to do both things at the same time.

"Touch yourself," he whispered, moving slightly back.

"What?" She was in a daze, amazed she could still speak.

"Touch yourself," repeated Sirius.

"Why?"

"So I can do this."

As soon as her fingers had drifted down to make tight circles, he tipped her hips up even further and started attacking her with his tongue. It felt so lascivious, she could barely take in any air. Her muscles were melting away even as the blood boiled in her veins.

"And I can do this," he breathed, starting to switch between his tongue and his fingers. Maybe he used both together – she couldn't tell because all of the sensations in her body were beginning to fall into each other. Hermione quickly lost any idea of what part of him was thrilling her and where – she just drifted blissfully on a rising crest of Sirius, hoping she would never crash.

Then something about his pace changed – he suddenly seemed more driven, as if he was chasing a pulse in her body that only he could hear. She matched his speed with her fingers, half afraid she might accidentally hit his nose. Everything was so close together in the space between her legs, but the feeling was infinite.

She felt as though she was climbing a tall staircase, knowing the top was nearer with every step. A fire built and burned within her, an inescapable crescendo of tension and passion and heat, all focused on that tiny area Sirius had conquered, bringing her total pleasure.

Molten lava swirled within and around her. She teetered on the brink, trusting him completely, feeling her climax approaching like lightning striking sharply into an already storm-tossed sea.

Hermione moaned, pushing her hips up even more, shocking herself at how much she wanted to feel his touch.

"Gods… I can't… I…" she panted.

"Are you going to come for me?" he asked smugly. "Are you?"

She gazed at him, barely able to open her eyes because of the deep build taking over her entire being. Sirius' sexy smile right at that moment from between her legs was just another thing to make her quiver. Then he touched her again, hitting just the right spot for the stars to start shooting past her eyes.

Hermione felt everything and nothing, all sensations merging and pulsing and entirely focused on him, on what he was doing to her… and then the fall hit her, and she was lost. Lost on a tidal wave of feeling and flow and pure energy that lit her up, making her cant her hips again and again – seeking, wanting, needing all of him.

She needed him filling her. She ached for it.

Sirius quickly covered her with his mouth – her hand had fallen away during the final burst of finishing – sucking and teasing, holding her up to his mouth to sip at her as she slowly, regrettably, came back to earth.

Then the sensations he was creating became too much; Hermione started to squirm away. But Sirius held her there for one moment longer, and she knew she was lost all over again. She jerked against his lips, but he found her each time, never letting her go until he, too, was finally finished riding out every pulse her body had to give.

"Gods, you are the most fuckable creature I have ever seen," swore Sirius, his breath coming in long pants.

She blushed. "Me?"

"Yes."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He rose, crawling up her entire body, covering her naked skin with his own, letting her taste herself on his lips as he kissed her deeply.

"Yes, you do," he whispered.

"What now?" asked Hermione breathlessly.

All he did was grin.


Somewhere, somehow, Hermione knew that this should be more awkward.

Isn't that how it worked? That the first time in bed with someone, there was always bound to be a bit of fumbling, a bit of embarrassment – even if the other person couldn't see it? Or, alternatively, a feeling of going through the motions that were mostly selfish in orientation, chasing your own climax and feeling, at best, pleased if the other person achieved the same?

Wasn't that how it had been for her before?

Now, with Sirius Black in her bed, everything was different.

He knew her.

There was no hesitation in his movements, no fumbling or selfish intent: just absolute care and trust and, good goddess, so much heat and want and lo—

Hermione's mind veered sharply away from wherever that thought had been leading, focusing instead on Sirius' mouth sampling the side of her neck, reclaiming that patch of sensitive skin that now could never belong to anyone else. It was his, and his alone.

But now, aware that he was on the cusp of truly knowing her, Hermione couldn't help but wonder, for just one more second, why this felt so impossibly right.

This was the same feeling that had sent her scouring after the Veil spell all those months ago when he had returned, and all the time since. She couldn't understand how this raw, certain knowing of Sirius had come to her so quickly after they had wordlessly stared at each other across the kitchen. How could that kind of awareness have happened without her knowing how he had come back to them – back to her? If she knew the incantation that had found him, if she had lived through saying the words and felt that power for herself shooting through her core, then this kind of bone-deep knowledge, this rewriting of her body to crave only him, this rewiring of her mind to want only his eyes shining at her, only his voice in her ear, only his touch on her skin, only his wit duelling with hers – all of that would make a bit more sense. Maybe not to anyone else in the world, but it would to her.

She would know – she would understand – and then she could learn to live with this all-powerful need for one other person, even if he never looked at her the same way.

But he had looked and, gods help her, she had looked back.

Now here they were, and there was only one way this night could end.

Sirius groaned in her ear and her attention swiftly came back to him in this moment, to how his sure touch was making her rise to him again.

"I can't wait any longer, love," he said, his voice almost pained. "I need you."

"Sirius."

"Yes?"

"Now."

"Gods, yes," he growled, moving over to lie at last in the full cradle of her hips.

Hermione couldn't believe how much she wanted this. Wanted him.

She watched his face as he gazed down the length of their bodies. Then their eyes met.

Had she ever seen that precise look on his face before? That particular depth to his eyes? His mouth parted, as if he was going to say something, but instead he pushed forward, holding her eyes for every precious moment of his slow onslaught.

The first thing Hermione thought was that she had never been with a man as big before – as if she needed even more proof that her previous lovers paled in comparison to Sirius Black. She hissed as he stretched her, her channel still swollen and hot from the power of her orgasm. Sirius paused briefly, letting her grow used to his size, then drew back his hips slowly only to return, sinking in even further, and then again. Her legs instinctively pulled him closer until, finally, he was sheathed to the hilt.

But it was his eyes – those quick-silver mercury-scorched eyes mirroring back every gasp and shudder she made – that told her, beyond a doubt, that this was something new for both of them.

Rocking his hips against her, he began that timeless dance of bodies and breath and want. She knew the steps, but she had never had a man move with her like this before, as if he was needing to pull her inside of him even as he fucked her into the mattress.

She had needed him and, by the gods, now she had him – and, somehow, Hermione knew it would never be enough. Because, at some point, he would have to leave her body – not soon, please Merlin, not too soon – but they would inevitably have to part, and then she would never be the same again. She would be hollowed out: bereft. Because Sirius had been the one to take her like this; to want her this way; to lo—

Damnit, she'd done it again.

Biting her lip, she strained against the divine pressure he was building inside of her and her own disruptive thoughts. Then he dipped his head and took her mouth for his own, and she forgot everything else. The entire world faded away except for Sirius, grinding against her, pulling her leg up over his hip to change the angle and drive deeper within her depths, his beautiful fingers sweeping down to make her tighten around him even more.

Gods, it was so good. So unbelievably good.

"I think so, too, sweetheart," he whispered haltingly – and Hermione realised that she had said that out loud. She gripped his arms as he continued to thrust, letting her fingers move up against the back of his shoulders, down the long column of his neck, along his sides, and back up again as she lost herself in his rhythm – in their rhythm.

"Next time," he murmured against her throat, "next time I want you above me. I want you taking me. Yes?"

She nodded, almost beyond speech at this point. Honestly, it was baffling that he was able to string enough syllables together to talk, let alone be so coherent, or so erotic, or do it all without missing a stroke.

And yet, he was Sirius, so he could do it – and more.

"But right now," he said, whispering above her, "right now I need you here. I need you writhing beneath me, just like that. Gods, yes, just like that."

Moving faster, he brought her one leg up even more, pushing it back so that his pelvic bone began the most delicious tease against her. The force of him now was so different from when he had used his mouth on her earlier, or when she had played with him: this fire between them could burn down everything. It was searing and steamy. He seemed to be paying attention to every sigh, every small sound she was making, chasing down anything that seemed to please her, building her pleasure up until there was nothing left to her at all except the parts that had been sated by him.

Hermione loved having her breasts rub against his smooth, hairless chest, having her back arch as the rocking never stopped.

But, then it did.

In a moment, he was gone. Hermione clenched her inner muscles at the sudden emptiness.

"What—?"

"Turn around," said Sirius softly, somehow already up on his knees. "That's it, on your side. Now, look over there."

He moved behind her and she felt his hardness firmly pushing against her again. Squirming backwards, she heard him hiss sharply, and then he was lifting her leg, repositioning them so that he was taking her from behind – just as she had suggested earlier that very night.

Gods, he felt even bigger this way. How was that possible?

"Sweet Circe," she breathed.

One of his hands came around her breasts, softly teasing her firm nipples, and then drifting down across her stomach while he continued to plunge even more deeply into her body. His grip finally rested on her hip, guiding them both.

This was somehow less rough than what she had pictured, less dominating – with both of them on their sides, they could ride out each other's pleasure, giving and taking as they moved together in an exquisitely intimate rhythm.

"Touch yourself," he said.

Then the breath caught in her throat because he had just started to attack his favourite spot from a completely new angle. The combination of his scruff and his lips on her neck and the sweet, hot pressure of him filling her up was finally too much.

It only took a few brief strokes with her own fingers to have Hermione reach the very limits of what she could handle.

"Sirius!" she cried. "I'm… I'm…"

"Yes, love, that's it. Come for me. Let me feel you come around me while I'm fucking you. Oh, gods…"

Eyes shut, she saw colours begin to dance and then streak into white. For a moment, she was within the sun, all of her muscles tightening past the point of comprehension as her release took her to the brink and then flung her into the unknown.

Except Sirius was there with her.

She felt him stiffen, trying to hold back his own cry and groaning despite himself, the power of his soul-deep moan arching behind her as his hips snapped into hers once, twice, again…

The powerful waves of his climax pushed Hermione into a second. All she could see was white light, her eyes screwed shut as the most amazing pleasure of her life flooded her body, her muscles clamping down on him so that he could never leave.

She had no idea how long they stayed that way, clenched together, unwilling to have it end.

Sirius cradled her back against his chest as they both struggled to find the strength to breathe.

Twisting slowly, she stared at his face. "I don't… I don't know what to say," she admitted between deep breaths.

He smiled, his own chest rising and falling sharply. His fingers traced the side of her face before bringing their foreheads together. "Neither do I."

"Stay."

Silently, he nodded, flexing his hips one last time within her tight centre before kissing her temple and leaving her. She had been right: she felt hollow without him inside her. But then he pulled her more snugly against him and she ceased to worry.

Hermione had never fallen asleep after sex. The afterglow had always been short-lived at best, and hardly conducive to relaxation. But, wrapped in Sirius' arms, fully sated, she drifted away without even realising it.


Sirius awoke with his nose lost in the tangles of her hair. He breathed in the heady scent of hibiscus and coconut that had been haunting him for months; he also got a terrible itch in one nostril for good measure. Trying to quell it by only wriggling his nose, he eventually had to give in and move his hand in order to scratch.

Hermione shifted in his arms, sighing softly as she snuggled deeper against his chest.

Smirking, Sirius let his own eyes drift closed again as the past few hours played over in his mind.

Suffering Circe, but she was amazing.

He couldn't get over the differences between her moods – her delectable shifts from seductress to sexy wanton to total innocent to someone just as driven as he was to possess and tease and surrender.

His morning hard-on was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore as his body kept pace with his thoughts.

Totally lost in his own mind, it took him a few moments to realise that he was being watched.

"You're a beast," said Hermione softly. Then she stretched fully out against him, combining an early morning long pull of muscles with the most lascivious rolling of her hips.

"I'd say I'm sorry," he replied, swallowing deeply, "but I wouldn't mean it in the slightest."

She nodded. "I know."

"Sometimes," said Sirius wryly, "I think you know me too well."

"Or not at all."

His eyebrows flickered up in surprise before he wrapped his arms around her again.

"I had to, you know."

"Had to what?"

"I had to taste you. I couldn't let you go, not knowing. I just didn't intend to start tasting all of you."

Hermione looked him straight in the eye. "You haven't tasted all of me yet. In fact, you missed quite a few places – if we're keeping score."

Gulping, Sirius' eyes widened. What kind of a vixen had he woken up to?

The teasing glint died in her eyes. "You're still going to let me go?" she asked.

He sighed, grabbing onto her more tightly and turning his head to look at the early morning light slowly creeping into the corners of the room. "Gods, woman – I don't know. I can't think properly when I'm with you like this. When you… look like that."

His slow perusal of her naked form took several detours, but eventually he made it all the way down to her toes. They flexed as if in welcome, and then he realised that she was stretching again, letting him see all of her beauty in one complete, tight, elongated package.

There was no chance now of his morning erection disappearing.

"You're an evil witch."

"You said that last night."

"I meant it."

"Out of the two of us, who do you think most people would agree was the evil one?" she asked, the gleam slightly reappearing.

"They'd say it was me, but we both know better, don't we?"

"I need… hard evidence of that." The corners of Hermione's mouth raised up slightly as she looked down below his waist.

"I repeat," Sirius sighed dramatically, "evil witch."

"I like being evil with you," she said.

"Love, you have no idea where those kinds of thoughts can lead. There is so much more."

She grinned. "That's becoming my favourite word."

"Mine, too."

Hermione leant over and began to kiss his lips.

Within seconds, they were entwined again, rolling back and forth across her mattress, neither willing to give up the chance to be the first one to conquer the other at the start of a new day.

In the end, Sirius had no choice but to lift her up bodily from the bed. Hermione squealed, raining pretend fists and kicks down on him until he had crossed the room to her desk and perched her on its wide surface by the window. The morning light hit her naked skin, dazzling him.

"What was it you said to me last night? Be the Sirius Black you always heard about, yes?"

Hermione's eyes grew very wide. "Wh—what? Yes… yes."

He knelt in front of her, looking only at her face despite the painful temptation to take in all of her: her legs pointing towards the floor, her arms braced behind her on the desk so that her breasts thrust out, her sex-strewn curls falling over her shoulders. He ignored it all, keeping his gaze fixed only on those amber eyes.

"Be the Sirius Black who would prop you on your desk and kneel in front of you, just so he could devour you?"

Her head fell back. "Ohhhhh…"

That wasn't enough of an answer. "Hermione… yes?"

Licking her lips, she stared back at him, the fire starting deep within. Her eyes fluttered shut as his hands began to work their way up from her feet to her calves to her knees and thighs and then that glorious apex at the centre of her legs.

"Please," she begged. "Mmm-hmm… yes."

It still wasn't enough.

"Yes, what?"

"You want me to say it?" Her voice was low, belying the innocence of her question.

Sirius smirked. "I want you to say a lot of things. Open your legs."

"Like this?" she asked.

"More," he smiled.

He moved closer, letting one of her legs dangle across his back while the other balanced on the edge of the windowsill. Entranced by her natural sexiness, Sirius took a moment to simply enjoy her. Then he leaned in, still grinning, until his mouth found a better occupation.

Timeless minutes later, he could feel her getting close, tightening deliciously on the two fingers he was thrusting into her sweet channel as his lips suckled her sensitive bundle of nerves. Soon he'd be fucking her with more than just his fingers; his cock twitched in happy answer.

Any moment now, he knew she'd be screaming his name, which was why Sirius couldn't understand it when Hermione suddenly tightened in all the wrong ways.

"Holy Jesus."

Not able to place where the words came from or the voice that said them, Sirius looked up at her. Hermione was like stone, her eyes fixed on a point beyond him. Slowly he looked over his shoulder at the open door to her room.

His first thought was, why in the blazing fuck was it open? He'd kicked it shut last night when he'd carried Hermione to the bed. At least, he thought he had kicked it.

Obviously, it hadn't closed.

The door was wide open – and his godson was standing in it, frozen in shock, his mouth hanging open at the scene in front of him.