I land in the middle of the Alley and look around quickly. It usually takes another moment or two for the companion to arrive and I let my eyes scan absently over the people milling about, looking for sudden arrivals.

There she is. Her back is to me and she's about twenty paces away. I close the gap quickly, my heart racing.

I feel like an idiot schoolboy who should have a satchel of books banging against my hip, but I leap anyway.

"Hello, Granger."

She turns around and sees me. A slow, shy smile spreads across her face, and her eyes dart away quickly as her cheeks turn a little pink. It's not the overjoyed squeal she gave Potter, but it's the automatically self-conscious reaction to someone you fancy.

I think it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I'm not in control of anything anymore, it seems, and I step right up into her. She tilts her head back and I cup my hand at the back of her neck, fingers in her hair. Leaning in to kiss her, I'm astounded that she kisses me back. I'm astounded by everything.

Why did I pick the middle of the street? I want to pick her up and carry her somewhere private right now, so we can snog for an hour without being interrupted.

I know the crowd is simulated, but Granger doesn't. To this end, I kiss her deeply, open-mouthed. I want to taste every inch of her. I try to keep my hands to myself as much as I can but she finally breaks it off, looking around. Embarrassed.

"Come on," I say, tugging her hand.

She follows me obediently, if a little confused, and I force myself to make the adult decision and head for the ice cream shop - not the dimly lit alley to my right where I could snog her properly up against a wall for as long as she'd let me.

The little black cast iron tables and chairs are on the patio of Florean Fortescue's like always and I pull one out for her. She looks up at me, almost baffled. Does no one pull chairs out for her? What has Weasley been doing?

"What are we doing here?" Granger says finally, looking around. I think she's trying to see if she spots anybody she knows. She won't.

"I was hoping," I say, trying to sound suave, "I could buy you some ice cream, and then maybe we could go book shopping. What do you think?"

Granger's brown eyes are wide and still looking around. She looks back at me after a moment, no less puzzled, as if all of this is surreal. I suppose it is.

Well, she hasn't exactly said 'no,' so I ask, "What's your favourite ice cream, Granger?"

She looks back at me as if I've broken a reverie. "A… banana split."

Oh. Gross. I try not to pull a face and then don't bother. Let's have honest conversations. "That's got to be the worst selection in the history of ice cream, Granger. I'm embarrassed for you."

Her mouth drops open in offence and I keep going, gleeful at this development. "I mean, literally anything would be better. What's your second favourite?"

She crosses her arms over her chest defiantly. "If you're going to make me choose my second favourite ice cream instead of my favourite, I suppose you can make it a butterbeer float."

Marginally better, I guess. She eats like a child and it's hilarious. Fish and chips and banana splits. Butterbeer floats.

But I won't make her get her second favourite. I think for a banana split and a strawberry sundae, figuring at least we can get our fruit allotment in. A banana split, for Merlin's sake. Disgusting.

The requested dishes appear, the split in front of me by mistake. I cringe and push it towards her and she gives a soft laugh under her breath as she hands my sundae to me. But she's studying the ice cream now, as if it shouldn't be here.

"Is something wrong?" I ask casually, hoping fervently nothing is.

"How did you do that?" she asks me directly, intensely, holding my eye contact. No fuzziness or mystery here.

I swallow and ask innocently, "Do what?"

"The food just… appears. How do you do that?" Her simple phrasing tells me she's recalling this happening before today. Bollocks. The companions never notice anything odd about the food. It's one of those simple truths to their world that just is. Locations change, wands don't work. Food arrives.

I'm stumped. I fall back on the laziest catch-all I can come up with on short notice. "Magic?" I venture optimistically.

Before she can dive deeper into this, I quickly take a big bite of my sundae and point my spoon at hers. "Don't let that melt. It won't improve it any."

Granger shoots me another offended look and I smirk at her as she also gets to work.

I scoot my chair a little closer to her as we eat, wincing away from the horrible noise the cast iron legs make on the ground of the patio. Not very smooth. But she gives me a quick glance from the side of her eye and I see her cheeks turning a little pink again as she takes another bite.

"So with your dentist parents, Granger," I ask, "how many banana splits did you have growing up?"

"You remember that they're dentists?" she asks, furrowing her brow slightly.

Of course I do. Does she remember us talking about it? "You told me, over a different meal. I remembered. So how often did you get to have one?"

Granger gives a little chuckle and rolls her eyes briefly. "Not often. Special occasions, mostly. Exclusively. I think I associate them now with -"

But now she turns far more than pink and she presses her lips tightly together, looking down into her split as if it can save her.

It can't. I have to know. "With what?" I prod her verbally, then gently nudge her with my elbow. "With what?"

She's determinedly looking straight across the street when she says, "- with something good that's happened," and I'm so glad I didn't make her go for the butterbeer float.

"Well," I say, taking the spoon from her hand so she looks at me, instead. "Maybe I'll have to start trying them myself, then."

I lean over to kiss her and I feel her smile against my lips. When I thread my fingers into her hair to kiss her more deeply, I taste the banana split and it's not so bad if she's a part of it.

I hold Granger's hand as we walk towards the bookshop. Assisting my date to step off a curb or over a puddle notwithstanding, I can't remember the last time I held a girl's hand. I'd have mocked Blaise endlessly if I'd seen him doing it with Ginny, just walking along, and now, here I am. I absently trace my finger up and down the back of her hand as we walk.

At the Flourish and Blotts entrance, I hold the door for her and she gives me another odd look. At least Weasley is making this easy. Stupid prat. What a waste.

It's my first true multi-location fic, and it works beautifully. Nothing at all seems out of the ordinary - as long as we don't try to go into any other shops, that is.

Now for a test. "What do you want to look for, today?" I ask neutrally, showing polite interest. I'm determined not to lead her.

"I want to browse the Occlumency section," she says at once, heading that way.

"You have several books on that already," I gently remind her. "Is there something specific you're looking for?"

She pauses and blinks a couple of times. "I'm - I'm not sure."

"How's the practise going, then?"

Granger hesitates. "It's hard. I don't feel like I make much progress."

She probably doesn't. She needs for the basics to become second nature, an unconscious defence. "It is hard," I encourage, "and it takes a lot of work. Meditation helps me. Why don't we look for a book on that?"

This seems reasonable enough, and she nods, following me.

I find a book that looks promising and select a comfortable reading chair near a corner of the shop that's unoccupied. There's only one and she gives me a quick look, but I sit and tug her down with me. Maybe this is forward, but I'm willing to risk it. I put one arm around her back and open the book in her lap so we can both see it.

She stops, though. Holding it in place with one hand so it doesn't fall, she twists her torso around to look at me.

"Why is Occlumency so important?"

This is a fair question and I should have expected it at some point. I weigh my words carefully, hoping I don't botch this up.

"Once you're capable of the foundation for it, it could help you… block off bad memories. Unwanted things. It could help you push those into a corner and wall them up, I think, so you never have to think about them."

"... you think?" Granger's rightfully tentative. I don't know. I'm taking Snape's word for it.

"I think," I confirm ironically, "I think it's similar to my own use of it, when I need to focus at work, for instance. If something is distracting me, I can wall it off until later. But I think there's a way to take it further, to make the wall… permanent, maybe. Not to come back to later, but to ignore it entirely. Maybe as if it didn't exist at all."

She's thinking now, deeply. I leave her to it and try to keep my hand around her back from playing with her hair.

Finally, she says, "You think that's important for me."

Careful, now. "Could it be?"

Her body stills on my leg. I see her throat move as she swallows hard. "I think so," she breathes, blinking a couple of times.

Moving instinctively towards a more comforting gesture, I let my hand stroke her back lightly, slowly. "What do you want to forget, Granger?"

Do I want to know? Yes and no. I need to know, though.

Giving her all the time she needs, I wait. I absolutely do not want to lead her with this. She needs to say things in her own words.

"I'm - I'm not sure, exactly. Sometimes I think I know. But mostly, it just feels like… like everything is awful, all the time. I think I meet new people and - and most of them are bad. Bad people."

I can hardly breathe and I make sure to keep my hand moving lightly up and down her back.

"They hurt me sometimes, I think. But then I'm never hurt when I look at myself. I don't know why I don't know. I don't understand. Maybe nothing happens and I'm going mad instead."

She hitches slightly and I realise she's crying. "I just feel afraid, and confused, and - and sad, all the time. And I don't know why."

She starts crying in earnest and I have no idea what to do. Finally I put a little pressure on her shoulder with my hand and she melts into me, crying. I wrap her up against my chest and she sobs into my neck.

Fucking hell. It's worse than I thought. There's no way I can let her into another fic. But how?

When I come out, Snape is waiting for me. He sees the look on my face and says, "This conversation might be well-timed."

"What are you on about?" I say in irritation, completely forgetting that he wanted to talk to me.

He leads me to his office in silence, and my thoughts are spinning.

"Block Granger out entirely," I say as soon as the door is shut. "I'll pay for the hours she'd have been available. She's remembering, Severus. It's not working on her anymore."

"Well, that is what I wanted to suggest," he replies snidely. "You can't keep restricting her access without suspicion."

"I'll supply the loss of revenue myself. I'm already shifting my investment into my trust a little at a time. It frees back up that portion of my salary. I don't care what we tell clients who want her. She's booked up."

Snape looks thoughtful. "The simulated captives are nearly ready. We could offer her simulation for short fics only. It would reduce the opportunity of the participant spotting anything glitchy."

"Do it," I order. "I'll supplement whatever is left over."

"We'll have to charge less for her simulation, remember. It won't be an equivalent amount."

"I don't care. I'm not sending her back in. And I'd rather stop Obliviating her after my fics, too."

"Draco, that's dangerous," Snape warns me. "If she gains too much awareness, she'll begin to understand the nature of her captivity. What are your plans for that?"

That stops me short. "I don't - have one. I don't know what to do about that."

He gives me a pointed look, as if I'm twelve and I've disappointed my professor. My temper flares.

"For fuck's sake, Severus, I haven't had time to think about any of this yet."

He slams a coffee mug down on his desk and stares at me. "She's been your captive all along. You've never had a plan for addressing that. You haven't minded. Well, it seems as if now is the time, doesn't it? Better late than never, wouldn't you say?"

His dismissive sarcasm almost puts me over the edge and I storm out before I can say or do something I'll regret.

"Stop acting like a child," he yells after me in disgust and I slam his door behind me.

Like a child having a tantrum. It feels good.

"Hello, Granger."

I brought her to the empty Quidditch pitch, the big one - not the Hogwarts school version. I wanted somewhere else neutral, and she should be outside more.

She looks over and sees me, and that same slow, beautiful smile spreads across her face. Her eyes are sparkling. She looks happy.

I take her in my arms and kiss her, loving her response to me. She wants me here. It's intoxicating.

I'm determined not to bring up Occlumency or anything else potentially risky today. I tell myself it's because if most of her overall awareness right now is misery and confusion, I want to impart as many good memories as I can.

But I also want the good memories. Last time was awful.

Granger kisses me, her hands splayed against my stomach and I want to shiver every time one of her fingers moves. My own hands are in her hair, where I love them, but I also want to feel her arse and I can't make up my mind.

My brain short-circuits a lot around Granger, and I find my hands gripping her arse right now. Eventually, she pulls back to breathe and looks around.

"This looks like… the World Cup. Is that where we are?"

Ah, right. She'd gone to that with Potter and Weasley back before fourth year. But I'm sure she's never seen a regular professional Quidditch match, so it's her only frame of reference.

"Not quite," I say honestly. "It's just a regular pro Quidditch pitch."

She seems to take this in stride and I'm glad. I hadn't really thought about what I would tell her if she asked why here, of all places. At least she recognises Diagon Alley.

We're right in the centre of it and she turns a slow circle, looking at all the empty grandstands. I think for a blanket and sit down on the grass, reaching over to tug her pants leg to get her attention. She glances down and, smiling again, makes herself comfortable next to me.

I lean over and take her face in my hands to kiss her again, long and slow.

Being much closer to the same height sitting gives Granger new things to do with her hands, and any thoughts I have die on the vine as she runs her fingers through my hair for a change. Her nails are just long enough to scrape lightly across my scalp and it sends chills up my spine.

She nips gently at my lower lip and my mind goes blank. How can a witch be this perfect?

I could do this for hours. I slowly snake my fingers beneath the hem of her shirt, but I behave myself. I rest my hand against her side, letting my fingers stretch across the small of her back, but I stay there.

Her skin is silky and smooth, both cool and hot at once.

I'm so distracted by the feeling of her bare skin under my fingers I don't even notice that she's scooting closer to me until my hand moves with her.

If she was anyone else, I'd lean into her gradually until she was laying down on the blanket. I'd maybe take my chances up the front half of her shirt next, starting with the smooth skin of her stomach.

But in more rational moments - and I've had a couple since she first let me snog her in the library, usually after I've been able to wank out my more irrational urges - I've considered how I need to avoid situations that might trigger some sort of instinctive panic. Being on top of her is probably one of those possibilities, especially given our size discrepancy.

I have no idea what Blaise did with her and I don't want to know. I don't know what she was comfortable with there, with Weasley, and I will never, ever ask Blaise for details. But it does beg another question, one I do want to ask.

Ordinarily, this wouldn't be an issue. And these circumstances are beyond abnormal anyway, but wouldn't I like to think this is real? Don't I want to believe she might really fancy me, might want to be here with me, right now, snogging on a blanket in the grass on a sunny afternoon?

And if I allow that to be true, if this were a girl I was with any other time - that I really liked - I would ask. I'm an idiot. But I'm nobody's second choice, so I ask.

I pull back just enough and take my hand out from under her shirt to brush her hair back, saving one stray curl for my index finger. "What about Weasley, Granger?"

Her eyes immediately go down to the blanket, an automatic gesture of shame, and she swallows hard. "It's… hard to explain."

Fair enough, and I'm certainly not going to castigate her for it. Even so, my intention isn't to make her feel bad about things. "Granger, sometimes things don't work out. That's just how it is."

She sighs and looks off at the red and yellow flags whipping in the breeze. I wonder in brief amazement about the details in these fics. The weather is perfect.

"It feels like we grew apart, really," she says finally. "Sometimes it felt as if I hadn't seen him in ages and ages."

Well, that's not Weasley's fault.

Oh well. I'm not going to castigate myself for that.

"Then…" Granger trails off and wrinkles her face in a slightly confused expression. "Well, whenever it was. But the last time I did see him, he left… abruptly, like something was wrong. Wrong with me, wrong with us. I don't know. But we were together, and suddenly he just - left me there."

My eyes widen involuntarily. She's describing her fic with Blaise. She must be. He definitely said that he let things progress to a certain point and then he asked to be brought out before it went any further.

Her hurt feelings are also not Weasley's fault but I don't give a fuck about Weasley. I do give a fuck about Granger, though.

"I don't know what's wrong with Weasley," I say quietly, "but there's nothing wrong with you."

She gives me a small, grateful smile and I kiss her again. "I guess I was in the right place at the right time, then," I say, pressing another kiss on the side of her jaw near her ear. She smiles a little and I love the pull of her cheek against my lips.

"Well…" she starts, and trails off. She looks down again, turning a little pink, and tries almost successfully to smother a little chuckle to herself.

Well, this I have to explore. "Well, what?" I prop myself up on one elbow, stretching out my legs and crossing them at the ankles.

She's blushing properly now and while I have no intention of leading her memories when it comes to her captivity, I have absolutely no problem teasing her about the past. "Did you fancy me, Granger?" I let my slow smile bleed into my tone. I can't help it.

"You did, didn't you?" I press in unrestrained glee when she doesn't answer. I put my hand on her cheek to feel the heat there, and it makes a rush of heat surge to my stomach.

"Shut up, you tosser," she says with as much dignity as she could muster. "It wasn't exactly… appropriate."

That's one way to put it, I think ruefully, briefly picturing my ten years of repressed attraction all coming out in my bedroom in the past couple of weeks. I'm glad I've been doing that now, though, because it's allowing me two brain cells to rub together in her presence.

Most of the time, anyway. "So you had inappropriate thoughts about me, Granger? Do tell."

She swats my shoulder indignantly. I'm delighted. "My feelings were inappropriate, you arsehole. We all hated each other."

"Yes, I thought I hated you, too," I muse. "Until quite recently, in fact."

"What tipped you off, then?" Granger lays down on her back, her ankles also crossed, looking up at the sky. I look down and love her like this, her hair everywhere around her, eyes clear. There's no war, there's no park, there's no one else. Can't this be all there is?

"My best friend did, if you'll believe it. Zabini said it was obvious, at least since fourth year."

She looks over at me sharply, still propped up on one elbow facing her, and I pull a face. "I know, I shouldn't have admitted that. Fourth year was a long time ago."

"No," she says slowly. "Zabini. Blaise."

My heart goes still. "What about him?"

"He…" she looks off again and I don't know if I can be this patient.

What about Zabini?

"He - fancied Ginny back then, didn't he?"

I could melt into a puddle of relief right now.

Zabini has nothing at all to do with this conversation, really; she's just recognising another type of echo. Only this time, it's one I tried deliberately to plant in Ginny, and she must have said something about it in their dorm to Granger.

Distantly I register that this is good, I can continue on with the Ginny project, but in the meantime, I lay down next to her so our shoulders are touching. I turn my head to look over at her and she's already looking at me.

"Yes, he did," I say, barely remembering to confirm her question. "He did all along. I always thought he was quite obvious about it, but then, he thought I was quite obvious about you, so -" I give a little half shrug, the best I can do lying down.

"It wasn't obvious to me," she whispers.

"If it had been, would you have done anything about it?" This is a stupid, risky question. This puts me out on a limb in a way I don't like, but I'm learning that I'm often stupid around this witch.

Granger turns pink again, and I almost backtrack to save us both the embarrassment when she says, "I never did anything about anything. Sometimes I think I wasted a lot of time being shy, or - or insecure, or -"

Of course she didn't, and she wouldn't have, anyway - no matter how much self confidence she had. Like she said before, we all hated each other.

The war was mounting, rapidly. Nothing back then could have worked, no matter what we acknowledged or when.

"Don't worry, Granger. What I felt then wasn't obvious to me, either. I think we're both safely off the hook."

I've never held eye contact with her this long without winding her up to yell at me. But impossible to ignore is this horrible knowledge that the war is over. Her side lost.

She's trapped here and there's nothing I can do about it except give her something good to remember when I can carve out enough time to fit her in. And then hope she remembers enough of it to even matter later.

None of this can be real, can ever be real.

Maybe she can feel my melancholy because she rolls onto her side, one arm folded beneath her head like a pillow. "I'm glad you're here now," she says softly. "And I'm here now, and -"

She stops, and before her mind can start doubling over and asking when, and where, and how, I roll onto my side, too and kiss her again. She has to lift up off her arm to kiss me properly, and I cup her face with my hand, pulling on her gently.

I roll onto my back so she's leaning over me and now I have both hands free. Brilliant.

It's slightly unfortunate that Granger's are occupied with supporting her weight, but her hair is falling all over the place and that's marvellous. It seems to annoy her and I can't understand why. It's glorious. Glorious hair.

I'm happily trying to keep it out of her way. What a wonderful job. It's keeping my fingers quite busy, which is probably good so I don't get too handsy with her.

But now that she's on top, I feel much better about things. She can pull off me at any time, so if she stays, she must feel comfortable about it.

I haven't snogged like this since I was a teenager. I'd forgotten how completely erotic it could be, this feeling of 'this and no further, so enjoy it, you useless wanker.'

I'm enjoying it. I think Granger is too, by the soft little noises she's making, and I transfer her mass of hair largely into one hand to keep it from getting between our mouths. That's the only place it can't be, I think.

With my free hand, I can't help slipping back under her shirt and my self control is brutally tested on contact when I feel her bare skin again. My eyes finally think to flick downward.

Her shirt isn't low cut but the neckline is just dangling there now as she leans over me. I see the midline of cleavage between two perfect tits in a dark-coloured bra and my brain short-circuits again.

My cock gives a hard jerk in my pants and I almost yelp against her lips. How much of this can I handle before I risk embarrassing myself?

I'm sure not going to leave her in the middle of things like Blaise did. Hell, I very nearly did that in the library the first time we snogged, completely ignorant to the similarities. At least then I told her I didn't want to leave, but I had to.

I don't want to hurt her feelings. I absolutely want to be here. So… I go as far as she wants to go. Right?

Keep it together, I force myself to think. I'm snogging and I caught a glimpse. I'm ages away from sex.

Granger senses my hesitation and might misread it. I can't tell. But she pulls my mouth back to hers and I eagerly oblige. Don't want to give her the wrong impression, after all.

I leave her hair to whatever nature and the breeze of this fic intend and slip both hands under her shirt.

Her stomach is smooth and taut, helping keep her stable above me. I can feel the muscles in it shift slightly as she moves, snogging me, and with a thrill I realise she's moving one leg between mine.

The number of fantasies I've had of her straddling me - I feel another hard throb in my pants and try to stay on track. She's only moved one leg, that's all. One leg is there, the other on the outside of my leg and now she's leaning her weight down into me.

She's giving me friction, pressing herself against me.

Fuck.

I try to ignore what's happening below my waist, which is nearly impossible until my fingers reach the very underside of her bra.

I stop at once, not realising I'd crept up that far, and adjust. I leave my thumbs on the lower band of it and stretch my fingers around her ribs towards her back again, helping her move against me as her mouth explores mine.

I know she can feel me twitch against her leg. She keeps moving slowly as she kisses me, a gentle rhythm with the friction, and I close my eyes. I can't let her keep doing this.

Whatever I'm doing is doing nothing for her, not really. If I let it go, in about twenty seconds I could come in my pants, and she'll have gotten a good snog and I might as well move to France.

I don't even know if she'll let me do anything for her.

"Granger," I croak, gently pressing my hands against her ribs until she lifts up an inch. She looks at me quizzically.

"If you keep doing that…" I shake my head miserably. "Don't keep doing that."

My thumbs are still moving of their own accord, barely stroking the lower band of her bra beneath her breasts. I can't help it. I can feel the weight of them beneath my thumbs and I roll them slowly in a circular motion, as if I was going to massage her shoulders.

"Why?" she asks, and her innocent tone makes my eyes snap to hers. There's a mischievous glint in them and I know I'm ruined.

"Because," I manage, barely. I deserve a medal for this, I really do. "I don't want you to do something you'll regret. I don't want to push things too far."

"I'm not regretting it," Granger says, her eyes still wide and chaste. "Are you regretting it?"

I couldn't possibly regret this unless she does, unless we take this to a place where she never wants to lay eyes on me again. But I try to say something coherent.

"I want you to get as much out of things as I do, that's all," I say lamely and I consider moving to France anyway. I try to cover a bit with, "What can I do for you? What do you like?"

Granger blushes and looks down, and I curse internally. Okay, this exchange was a lot more flirtatious than I'd anticipated - and I'm going to have loads of fun with that later - but openly voicing what she likes and wants is probably still too direct for her comfort level and experience.

So I chicken out. I'm worried that I've derailed things. No, I don't want to shoot in my pants but I also don't want to stop snogging her, so I remove my hands from her shirt to bring her face back to mine.

Fuck it. I won't stop again unless she wants to. I'm coming out of this like a blithering idiot so far, and I can't have that.

I wrap my hands in her hair again, stroking her cheeks with my thumbs in a motion reminiscent of what I was just doing under her shirt, but I don't even realise it.

She sighs and nips my lower lip again, and after another moment she shifts her weight until her knees are on either side of my hips.

I almost freeze again. She's actually straddling me, and my brain flies into a stuttering overdrive of malfunction. I try to get focused; no direct friction right now. As long as I can ignore my overactive imagination and excruciatingly vivid fantasies, this is physically less demanding.

In a desperate rush, I try to take those fantasies and box them up somewhere in my mind. Go away. I can't handle them interfering, tantalising me with what could happen. I've never tried this before; never had to. I make a hasty wall in a corner and shove everything in. Maybe it'll help.

The real Granger is leaning over me, her shirt draping slightly less open thanks to her new angle. Another perk for my self control, and I take a deep breath. This can be great, if I let it. If I make it.

I slip my hands beneath her shirt again and steadily make my way up to her bra.

She exhales softly and leaves my mouth to almost nuzzle against my ear and my cock makes a sharp exclamation point. Don't forget about me, it waves about indignantly, making my life impossible. As if I could.

I know Granger feels it again but she shows enough restraint to ignore it.

I'm immensely grateful and I try to show it by working my thumbs just barely underneath the hemline of her bra. She shivers slightly under my hands, still tucked into my neck, and I press a kiss to her shoulder as I give my thumbs a circular swirl.

I feel the weight of her tits as I work my way gently around the underneath band of the bra and when she doesn't protest, I slide my fingers under, too.

Now she does start to move, the slow, gentle rocking of her weight again and I fight not to still her this time. If I'm careful, I think I can do this.

We're not snogging so she might not notice, and if I can keep it together, keep my hands doing what she likes -

I let my hands gently squeeze and roll with the rhythm Granger sets, trying to determine the pace she seems to prefer. I'm getting close and I set my mind to focus on the rhythm. Just keep moving with her.

She nuzzles her ear into my neck again, just behind my ear, and I can't stop it. I don't try. I keep my hands moving for all but a split second and I press my lips where her neck meets her shoulder, hoping I don't quiver too much.

When it's over, I try not to change a thing. After two or three moments, as my brain starts to reassemble itself, I start to pay more attention to how she's liking my handling of her breasts.

I leave one hand to it and tentatively move the other down her stomach, pausing significantly at the button of her denims. She kisses my jaw and I unsnap it, hardly believing what's happening.

But I have no intentions of sex today, no matter what Granger might permit me to do. This is incredible. I won't risk her regretting it later. This can't be the only time we get to do this.

I slip a hand in and feel down for her knickers, tightly pressed between her legs spread on either side of my waist, and the denims. She shifts a little and I'm able to move a finger beneath them, pausing again.

I look at her, wanting to be sure. She nods a little breathlessly, and I move to kiss her on the neck as I slowly work my finger around her folds, figuring out where things are in this foreign Granger-land inside her tight denims. I stroke and press and she makes small noises that send more jolts of electricity through me.

I can't do too much from this angle, though, and I don't want to get her naked today. I mean - I do, but I won't. I'm finally able to wriggle the top digit of a finger gently inside her, just a little, and she gives such a soft moan of desire I think I could pass out.

I'm going to find that angle. Whatever it takes. I shift around slightly, wriggle Granger's denims slightly looser on her hips, and slowly press my finger further inside her.

She's hot, so hot, and tight. Maybe it's the compression of her pants, maybe not. I don't know and don't care. It's dizzying.

I slide it slightly further and curl it a little before drawing it back out and she whimpers, moving her hips slightly against my finger as I do.

This possibility hadn't occurred to me. I do it again and let her move. I take my other hand away from her breast and put it on her hip, gently urging Granger to move as she likes. I'll keep my hand where it is, and she can show me.

I try not to disrupt her as I work my thumb into a decent position, and do my best to provide a little pressure in the right spot as my finger curls against her. She's starting to make more noises, now, her hair over her face, and I don't have a spare hand to brush it back.

I want to see her.

But her face is down, her head hanging, lost in what she's feeling. She has one hand flat against my chest, bracing herself as she moves, and she finally takes the other one to corral her hair out of her way. Her mouth is slightly open, her eyes closed. She's rocking back and forth on my hand, and it's the single sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life.

I keep the curling rhythm for her with my index finger, keep the pressure on my thumb off and on, trying my best to swirl it just so with the little room I have. She starts rocking forward harder, and back softer, and her mouth opens slightly more.

I feel her body start to quiver, then almost spasm as she moves her hips forward one, twice, hard. Her inner walls clench around my finger and I wonder if there's ever been a better feeling.

Sliding my hand out of her pants, I trace it up her back, staying under her shirt so I can feel her bare skin against the palm of my hand. I lay her on my chest as she comes down. I can feel her heart beating rapidly, fluttering almost like a bird and I wonder idly what mine feels like.

I feel like a kid, a teenager, full of furtive encounters and eager explorations, mouths and hands.

The intensity of the beginning, the hopeful optimism of more. The thrill of it.

It's what I've been missing through a hundred casual encounters of sex, and I didn't even know it.