1951
Hermione woke with Tom curled around her like a snail in her shell. She felt torn open, soft-bodied. She was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Tom was always a furnace, his body burning hot.
He groaned and stirred, his voice a low rumble, pulling her closer with large hands splayed across her stomach.
"What are you doing?" Hermione mumbled, her face tangled in her hair and her pillow. He must've snuck in some time after she'd fallen asleep.
"Hush" His voice was a low, rich baritone in her ear. "It's still early."
She squirmed. His grip on her was a prison, caging her in. Finally, he groaned and flipped her over. He propped himself up on his hands, his nose centimetres from hers.
"Will you cease your squirming?" His eyes flashed. He took one of her hands and placed it between his legs. He was hard already, the long length of him covered in black silk pyjamas.
She blushed. He hadn't touched her properly since the day she'd come home. It had been an exquisite torture, months of it. It was what he'd promised her. Now she was going away today. Tom Riddle was a patient man. She was not.
She leant up and kissed him chastely on the lips. It was not enough for him, as terrible as he was, he seized the back of her head and pulled her close, his mouth covering hers with a frenzied passion.
He groaned deeply into her mouth, dropping down to his elbow. He licked every inch of her mouth and she whined with need. Her hands thrown over his shoulders and tangled in his hair.
"My Tom." She groaned, "Don't ever stop."
"Never." He replied, panting.
"I hate you." She cried as he entered her. She was so full, speared on him and overly full. It was obscene.
"I hate you too." He mumbled, his voice gravelly with need.
"I hate you so much." She whispered, her eyes filling with tears. She didn't know whether she was crying from pain or pleasure. It was overwhelming. His thrusts got faster and she rolled her hips to meet him.
"My Hermione. My flower." His voice was strained, a rich darkness to it that only surfaced in times like this. He came with a shout. She shuddered under him, her mind hazy with pleasure.
"I love you." He said, hollow-cheeked with despair, barely a whisper in the afterglow. He kissed her neck. "Don't leave me."
Tears dripped down her cheeks, his spend cooling inside of her. He slumped on top of her, catching his breath. She had never loathed herself so much.
Tom Riddle loves her.
