"No objections," Hermione let out, voice hardly loud enough for even herself to hear.
"Oh, good," George commented, "because I would hate to stop now."
And for the first time, she could hear the satisfaction in his voice. She wondered belatedly what sort of enjoyment he got out of this. She could hardly judge him, as she was the one on the receiving end, and very much enjoying his efforts. She wondered all the same, however.
George laid the paddle down on the desk beside her, and smoothed his palms up over her backside, curling his fingertips over the elastic at her waist and peeling the fabric back slowly. At once, Hermione knew there must be pink patches on her skin, for the air seemed too cool against her and her core far too hot.
With bated breath, Hermione waited, paying particular attention to his touches, his moves, and his skin on hers. She stood stock still, waiting for a reaction or a comment or -
She felt his fingers on her flesh, handling her and spreading her open for a moment. George inhaled slowly and Hermione wanted to cheer in triumph at this little sign. He pulled her pants lower and lower, and then left the fabric bunched at her knees. She could feel the heat of her dripping, slippery and hot, and hoped upon hope that he would touch her again, directly where she craved most.
Though this was her hope, she was was hardly surprised when instead of going straight for the surefire route, George instead went back to skimming his fingers along her inner thighs, under the rounded bottom of her arse, and fluttering frustratingly close to what was hopefully the end goal at some point.
Hermione's fingers clenched in anticipation, and she cracked.
"Will you please get on with it?" she huffed, sure that this was not entirely the best route to take but not having any control to stop herself just then.
"Do you remember," George said, "when you tried to quash our pranking at school, and how every time you preached at us, we would just go work harder at disobeying you? I might remind you how successful we were."
Hermione opened her mouth but he continued.
"The more you ask, the longer I'll make you wait," he finished, and if she hadn't been bent over on his desk, she might have growled at him. His smug self-satisfaction at her resulting silence was palpable.
Again, she was struck with the notion that while she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about his… instructions, warnings, or orders, she was still there, front plastered to his desk and legs spread for him.
"Good. Once more, then," he chirruped and she nearly laughed. She might have if she hadn't been so frustrated and close to begging.
Would he like that?
It didn't matter; she wouldn't actually beg.
His hands left her skin completely, and he picked up the paddle once more. A few beats later, Hermione felt the the sharp snap come down once - she tried not to make a noise - and then twice. A split second later, George's fingers were against her and she sagged, groaning, before they disappeared as fast as they had come.
"Up," he ordered, and she bit her lips together to keep from whining at the loss. His hands were on her arms and he was bodily turning her to face him. Again, heat coursed through every capillary, vein, and artery. She was about to look him in the face when he had just had his fingers -
She swallowed thickly. George was concentrating more intently on her than she had ever recalled, eyes dark, cheeks flushed, hair rumpled. He gave her a slow, heated once over before bending again and lifting each foot in turn to remove her flats and leggings completely. They fell to the floor with a gentle thud and rustle, respectively.
Hermione felt exceptionally naked; more naked than she had ever felt in her life and she still had a sweater on, the hem of which had fallen back down, tickling the tops of her thighs. George noticed too, and very efficiently pulled it up over her head and discarded it much the same as the other garments.
George was so close, his front nearly touching hers but not quite. He gazed down at her, watching, boring into her eyes. He didn't move his gaze in the slightest as he slid his hand over her ribs, careful to only just barely skim the underside of her breast. Hermione was sensing a pattern in his behaviour.
Grasping her hips yet again, he bumped her back into the edge of the desk and lifted her slight frame with hardly a problem, setting her behind in the centre of the worktop.
"Lay back," he requested, lips twitching at her blown pupils.
Hermione started to, before she shot back up.
"What about the shop?!"
Her heart came to a crashing standstill when she realized anyone could walk in on them, a stranger, an adult, a kid.
"Don't worry, Hermione," George chuckled yet again. "I locked the door."
"Oh," she remarked, rather lamely. "Okay."
"Back," he reminded her with a pointed look, and she rolled her spine down against the hardwood. George pulled her knees up, and grasped her wrists one at a time, directing her palms to hold her shins. "Keep these there."
And suddenly, Hermione was resisting the urge to giggle hysterically. She felt her body shaking minutely, not in laughter, but cold nervousness. When his fingertips trailed yet again over her inner thighs, she startled.
George's hands were somewhere between smooth and rough, and he pressed down, prompting her to open her thighs wider.
"There," he said and sat back down, dragging the paddle off the desk as he did so.
Hermione's breathing was laboured and she tried to concentrate on it, to slow it, but her brain was not in the mood to cooperate.
There was a gentle tap on her leg, and another. And then another, slightly harder. George was moving the paddle around her inner thighs, tap tap tapping, pausing, a gentle rhythm interspersed with sharper snaps.
Hermione felt the blooming on her skin, slow and warm and just barely skimming the surface. The whole ordeal was both mortifying - he had a completely unobstructed view of her, every last fold of her - and intensely exciting, for she had never had a man take so much time with her before.
Well, she didn't know exactly how this was going to end and, somehow, in her haze of desire for more knowledge, more experience, she had forgot to plan for how things might turn out. For once, she'd run into the situation with no exit strategy and she couldn't even begin to care at the moment.
One thing was for certain, though.
She hadn't expected it to end with someone trying to bang down George's office door.
A/N: one more chapter left guys this has been a blast. Comments, questions, yelling, all are welcome in a review as well as on my tumblr, same name as my pen name here. Last chapter will be later tonight when I get home from work!