Been a long time but I thought I would try to get back into this story, let me know what needs work and what you think. Thanks!

The great hall bustled with the excitement of nearing holidays and Severus glared down at them all, ever so much portraying the Grinch they all knew him to be. Few months have ever been as trying to him as the previous. Through his embarrassment of being seen as the jealous, possessive, rage-fueled prick he knew he was, he had locked himself away from his apprentice.

Oh, he had kept up with her studies, communicating only for the purposes of her tutelage, but their … other arrangements had come to an abrupt halt. At first, she seemed more than pleased with the turn of events, if her prickly attitude and ramrod straight posture was to be considered. But over the weeks it had softened.

Hermione's shoulders had relaxed, words had become soft spoken, and eventually she started probing him with curious looks. When that hadn't spurred any advances from him, she had really started to try his patience. Curious looks became longing looks, her words chosen carefully to elicit a reaction from his dominant side and Merlin help him if he didn't almost crack on several occasions.

He knew he was being petulant, stubborn, a downright imbecile for avoiding her but his pride had taken quite a beating with her outburst. She deserved better from him, from any dominant who had signed a contract to care for her. But still he skulked in the shadows.

She sat with her dunderheaded friends, soaking in the last of their company as the train left first thing in the morning. Potter slung an arm around her casually, holding her far too closely for Severus' liking, enough to make him curl his lip in a sneer and force his gaze downwards. Stupid, Potters.

A crack of wildfire whiz-bangs went off in the room and sparklers spelling profanities flew through the hall causing an uproar of laughter. Another glance at the table caught a vision of Hermione's face shining with mirth, Potter pulling her closer.

A swirl of black robes later and he was striding away from the cacophony, retreating to the solace of his rooms for far too much Ogden's.

It was well past midnight when he felt the wards to his rooms let someone in. He was buzzed to say the least, sitting on the armchair where he recalled having licked the little witch to a shattering orgasm. The memory and her face appearing before him in the dim light of the fire did nothing to ease the arousal growing inside of him.

"You're late," he mumbled over the tumbler of his glass.

She bristled visibly, "You noticed?"

Ah, back to prickly it seemed. She was cautious, her body stiff, her eyes glowing with vigilance. Another vision of her in the throes of ecstasy as she rode him to completion invaded his thoughts. He shook his head and sneered, "I notice everything, Granger."

She mumbled something under her breath, shuffled her feet, and looked downcast.

He stood now, inches of height crowding her, "Do you want to know what I have noticed in the past months?"

Arousal charged between them as she looked up at him, whiskey-coloured eyes darkened with promise. "Yes, Master."

Any acerbic retort he had been ready to lash at her dissolved, instead heat and need flushed through his body. It was the Ogden's he tried to convince himself but the desperation of those two words had shot straight to his cock like a lightening rod.

"I have noticed you dressed entirely inappropriately in our rooms," and with a flourish of his wand she was stark before him, her school robes vanished. If he was looking for a reaction, he received none.

He circled behind her, "I have noticed you dropping items in class," he bent her at the waist, her arms reaching out to steady herself on the armchair, "in our apprentice sessions, bending over far too often in my presence."

Fuck, her ass called to him, begged for a devastation of colours. But now was not the time for pain, he owed her an apology, a dominants apology. He knew he had to, as much as he had been avoiding it, he had to apologize for his mistreatment of her, and then his avoidance of her.

The whiskey emboldened him, especially as a mewl crossed her lips as his hands groped her, kneading the soft flesh of her cheeks.

"I have noticed," his fingers slid down between her cheeks, rubbing her opening, feeling her juices coat his fingers before he circled up to her clit. She choked out a moan, trying to hold back her responses and failing, "the silencing spells on your room at night. What have you been doing, Hermione?"

Without waiting for a response, he snaked a hand in her hair and slowly pulled her back into his chest, breath against her ear, as he rubbed his aching hard on against her behind. "Have you been touching this?" His free hand started to rub against her vulva, she groaned.

He led her, never losing his grip in her hair, to the fire side, laying her down and kneeling over her with his knee pressed forcefully against her dripping pussy.

"Tell me, Hermione."

"Yes Master, I've been touching myself," she gritted out, eyes closed, holding rigid still, desperate to hold back how much he was affecting her. No, this wouldn't do.

"Hermione," she looked up at him, and through the buzz of whiskey he tried to convey his meaning without the words. Defiantly, she stared back, and he knew it wasn't enough. He sighed heavily, leaning his forehead against hers, "I … apologize."

The moment stretched out before them, his apprentice and submissive naked under him, wet and wanting but stubborn with good reason. He was still clothed, his knee pressed insistently against her, hand caught in her wild curls. Just as he was about to move away from her, he felt her move against his leg, grinding slowly.

He looked down at her, a small coy smile playing on her lips, "Please, Master. I need you."

You. The word echoed. Not an orgasm, not release. You.

The effect was startling. It pulled at his heart in a wrenching grasp and made his nostrils flare with desire. He ground his knee against her, "Show me."

Uncertainly, and with a mild look of embarrassment, she started to writhe against his leg. It was timid, coaxing sweet mewls of desires from her lips but he wanted to see her undone. As undone as he felt, reckless, wild, out of control. He pressed harder against her and leaned down to hiss in her ear, "You can do better my little slut, show me how bad you need this," he pressed harder as she gasped, "show me, ride me, Hermione."

Quickly, he vanished his clothes and tossed his wand aside, flipping her on top of him and sliding inside of her tight heat. Pleasure enveloped him, a low hum of satisfaction groaning between the pair of them. He gave her behind a sharp slap, and she started moving. A slow up and down movement as she worked out a rhythm.

Gods she really was something to behold. Hair mussed and frizzed with their activities, breasts bouncing to her movements, her skin glowing, bathed in fire light. He can't remember if he had ever had a witch ride him like this before, flat on his back and completely in her control.

It felt amazing, so tight and warm around his aching cock, he definitely wouldn't last long, especially if she sped up any faster.

As if reading his thoughts she slammed her hips down, grinding hard and lifting again, faster and faster. He threw his head back and groaned. No, she had to cum, he needed to feel it before it was all over far too quickly.

With one hand on her hip, the other started circling her clit with his thumb, needing her to be as lost as he was. "Cum for me, I need you to cum."

As if his words themselves were magic, he felt her contract around him, tightening but not quite there. He planted his feet and started meeting each of her thrusts downwards with an upward stroke, knowing it would be his undoing before long.

"Oh Gods, I can't hold it," he groaned through clenched teeth. She screamed out in pleasure, her body collapsing onto him as he pumped hard into her. Wave after wave of orgasm crashed over him as he spent himself inside of her.

They collapsed, he rolled her to his side and curled tight around her, their breaths coming out hard and ragged. Vanilla and cinnamon enveloped him as her hair tickled his face. Whether it was the orgasm, or the Ogden's, there was no resisting the pull of slumber. He barely croaked out, "Stay," before his eyes shut of their own accord.

If he had been more awake, he would have realized that she hadn't heard him, eyes already shut and mind adrift as she too hadn't the energy to move a muscle.