.

CHAPTER 10

A heavy thumping rattled my door, causing me to frown; I wasn't expecting anyone. It was too late for Draco and Katie to drop by — Scorpius would be sleeping — and after a month on stage, Hermione was back to her regular schedule and was in a late ballet class.

My frown deepened as the thumping continued. What the hell was going on?

"One moment," I called, replacing the cap on the Macallen, then headed for the door.

I had hoped to spend a quiet Friday evening enjoying a scotch and reading the last few chapters of a book I'd picked up. I'd spent the day writing; Hermione had done wonders for me and I'd written the first eight chapters in the two months since our first date. However, the series I'd been reading had won me over and I was looking forward to finishing the book I was on and starting the next. So I was slightly annoyed at the prospect of one of my other neighbours interrupting my evening.

I opened the door to find my mad muse scowling at me.

"Hermione? Is everything—"

She shoved past me and stomped into my kitchen. I heard her harsh huff of breath, heard the ice clink in my glass and I assumed she'd picked it up and drank it.

I sighed and closed the door, curious as to what I might have done. Or not done. And since I had a fairly good idea of what it was, I braced myself and walked back into the kitchen.

"Hermione—" I tried again but she cut me off.

"Are we ever going to have sex?" She spat the question at me. "Or is this some ridiculous old-fashioned bullshit where we have to be married before we see each other naked?"

Her question — her tone — didn't shock me. I'd been holding back, and I knew she was frustrated; my excuse of propriety and manners was definitely wearing thin. I wanted her more than she could possibly understand, but my nerves of actually being with her had forced my constant excuses of wanting to be a gentleman.

"Hermione, this is…" I sighed and shook my head. "I know I keep saying it, but this is about me, not about you."

"Oh, I get it; you're sorry you started this and now you're regretting even speaking to me?!"

My own frustration stirred. "Hermione, no. It's not that at all."

"What is it then? I'm just a ballerina and I'm not good enough for a world famous writer? You think just because we come from different worlds, that just because you come from money I'm some kind of gold-digger? I have my own money, Lucius. I don't need yours!"

My frustration turned to anger, bubbling up and bursting out.

"How long has it been since you've had sex?" I asked and she rolled her eyes.

"You already know the answer to that," she snapped. "You listened often enough."

"So, four months then?" I shot back.

I had counted the silent Tuesday nights — hated that I had — and I knew it had been well over a month since he'd been in her bed before our tiff that led to our first kiss. We'd been seeing each other since that first kiss, and I did understand her frustration. But four months was nothing in comparison to my situation.

"And your point is?"

"Well, it's been over three years for me."

"What…?" She jerked back, her eyes going wide.

"Three years, Hermione. Three. Years."

"But, your divorce was only—"

"Things had already started to go downhill. I hadn't been with her in that way for more than a year, but I refused to simply give up. Her cheating, however, just sealed it."

"Lucius..."

"In my entire life, I've only ever been with two women. Two." I squeezed my eyes closed and pinched the bridge of my nose, then my words just spilled out of me. "I'm almost twenty years older than Charlie, twenty-five years older than you. And on top of that, I've heard what I have to compete with. Then add the fact my wife was sleeping with other men — many other men — for the entirety of our marriage, and do you know what that says about me? It says I couldn't keep her satisfied, so she went elsewhere." I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. "So how do you think this all makes me feel? How do you think it feels to see your wife's face in absolute ecstasy while another man fucks her? How do you think it feels to have already heard your voice while you were with another man?"

I crossed the room and folded my arms over my chest, scowling at my reflection in the window. I hadn't intended to unload on her, not so bluntly in any case. My mind had been burning with the truth of my life and as much as I wanted to be with her — had fantasised about being with her — my nerves would kick in and I couldn't shake them.

I hadn't been lying. I'd only ever been with two women; my girlfriend when I was nineteen who I dated for almost two years, and my ex-wife. I'd been married at twenty-three, a father at twenty-four. My experience was very limited. My ex-wife had never complained, had mostly seemed to enjoy being with me, but the fact she cheated repeatedly left niggling questions in my mind.

Why did she cheat? What did I do to make her cheat? What didn't I do to make her cheat? They were questions I'd repeatedly asked myself since the day I walked in on her. And when I discovered just how many others there had been, I hated myself.

Hermione thought she wasn't good enough for me when it was truly the opposite. I wasn't good enough for her. And I had serious doubts that I could give her what she wanted.

"Lucius." Her hand touched my arm and I quickly flicked my eyes to her. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologise." I glanced back at my reflection. "You didn't know."

"No, but that doesn't mean I get to be rude and demanding." She stood in front of me, prising my arms away from my chest. "Why didn't you tell me you felt this way?"

I shrugged, unable to explain it to her. I was raised to believe men didn't have weaknesses, and if they did, they certainly didn't show them. Or talk about them. Men were strong and virile, they didn't admit to nerves when it came to the opposite sex. Men simply shoved down any insecurities and got on with it. But I couldn't do that with her. She deserved more. She deserved the Charlies of this world.

"You don't have to worry about me being younger than you, or what you heard, or Charlie. None of that matters." She touched my cheek gently. "I stopped sleeping with him because of you. Of what I feel for you. That's what matters."

She slipped her arms around my waist, urging me to wrap my arms around her. I sighed and folded her into my embrace, pulling her close and tucking my chin over the top of her head.

"I'm sorry I made you feel like that," she said. "You have nothing to worry about though. I don't care about what you think you're capable or incapable of, I just want to be with you."

"That doesn't ease my nerves," I replied quietly.

"Why are you nervous?" She tilted her head back to look up at me.

"Did you not hear what I just said?"

"Yeah, but, I'm sure the first woman you were with was different than the second woman. I bet it took time to adjust. This isn't any different."

"It's completely different. I heard what Charlie was capable of."

She laughed, "You're being ridiculous. I've no doubt you're capable of the same."

"At least one of us has confidence," I grumbled.

"Well, it's nothing we have to worry about right now. We weren't having sex tonight anyway." She kissed me quickly then stepped out of my arms. "So let's try something else. Lie down," she told me and gestured towards the couch.

"Lie down?"

She nodded. "Yes, lie down. On your back."

I lifted an eyebrow in question and she slapped my arm.

"Nothing sordid, just snuggles." She frowned at me. "Please tell me you've snuggled on the sofa?"

"Not since I was nineteen."

"Well, you've been missing out, my friend." She pointed a finger at the couch. "Lie down."

I did as instructed, crossing my feet at the ankles and shoving a cushion beneath my head.

"Your feet are bare," she noted. "That's new."

I wiggled my toes. "I guess I'm trying a few new things tonight."

She leaned down and kissed my forehead, then grabbed the television remote before scrambling over me. When I finally realised what she was doing, I shuffled over allowing her to wedge herself between me and the back of the couch. She wriggled into a comfortable position, half laying on me, her arm slung over my middle, her head on my shoulder, her leg draped over mine.

"Relax, Lucius. I won't try anything, I promise."

I curled my arm around her and pinched her hip, making her giggle. "My mother warned me about girls like you."

Her giggle turned into a snort of laughter. "What kind of girl am I?"

"Oh, you know, one of those beautiful, sweet, slightly mad girls."

She snorted again then kissed my chest. "I probably wouldn't have met your mother's approval then."

"Absolutely not. You would never have been good enough for her baby boy."

Her snorts turned into laughter. "Oh, you're a mummy's boy?"

"Far from it. You remember me telling you I was raised by nannies?" She nodded, then began scrolling through TV stations. "My mother's only input into my life was to proudly tell everyone I had been accepted into my fancy boarding school and to give her approval to Narcissa. Both times, it seems, she was wrong."

"Your boarding school cheated on you too?"

I laughed and hugged her to me. "You're a bit too perfect, you know that?"

"I know," she replied cheekily and let the remote drop to the floor after finally deciding on an Agatha Christie murder mystery. "And I didn't even go to a fancy boarding school."

"And yet, you're gorgeous and successful. Something every mother should want for their son."

"Like you said, I'm perfect."

I agreed and kissed the top of her head, then turned to watch the television, not really taking anything in but her. She was so warm and soft against me, her body moulding to mine in that clichéd way that was beyond perfect. The gentle fragrance of her shampoo was sweet and fresh, the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed was a warm press against my side. Her fingertips began tracing lazy patterns over the cotton of my shirt, circling over my heart. Her touch was light, as if her mind was racing and her fingers were simply an outlet for those thoughts. But even if it wasn't, her delicate touch was beginning to stir a certain warmth inside me.

"Lucius?" she murmured my name, not looking up at me.

"Hmm?" I hummed in response, so completely lost in the warmth of her.

"Were you serious about three years?"

"Absolutely serious."

"Why did…?"

"Why did I stay?" I finished her question for her and she nodded against my chest. "Honestly, I don't know. I guess I stupidly thought there was nothing going on with her — at least I hoped — but I was so blindly in love with her, maybe I just didn't want to see what was really happening."

"You married her and took those vows seriously," she said. "That makes you considerate and loyal, not stupid."

"I think being blindly considerate and loyal for twenty-five years makes me royally stupid."

"Was it really your entire marriage?"

"No, maybe not our entire marriage, but I've learned it was for the vast majority of it."

"I'm sorry she did that to you." She lifted her head and smiled tentatively at me. "We're not all like her."

I ran my palm along her arm. "I know. But you do understand why I've been hesitant?"

"I do. But do you understand I don't care?"

I tilted my head forward and she met me halfway, our lips meeting in an easy kiss. I smiled at her when I pulled back, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip

"I do."

She kissed me once more before laying her head back on my chest and snuggling into me. Her fingers resumed their meandering drag across my chest, slipping down occasionally to my ribs and further down to my hip. It was nice. Quiet and calm. Content. A feeling I hadn't experienced in years. Everything about this — about her — felt right. She was fiery and opinionated, but she also listened and understood. I hadn't experienced anyone like her in my entire life.

Her fingers skimmed down my side once more, only this time on the return journey her hand slipped under my shirt and skated over my bare skin. I held my breath, my shirt rucking up as her hand moved higher along my ribs,

"I thought you weren't going to try anything."

"I'm not." Her hand moved higher, her palm pausing over my heart.

"Mm-hm," I hummed. "It certainly feels like you're not trying anything."

"If I was trying something, I would be touching you a bit lower." Her hand shifted to my stomach. "And it's annoying me that you're not ticklish."

"Sorry, but I never have been."

"That doesn't seem fair." Her fingertips circled over my ribs and she glanced up at me, scowling when I didn't flinch. "No?"

I shook my head. "No."

"What about here?" Her fingers shifted to my hip, pressing into my skin, and I laughed at her frustrated huff.

Watching me closely, her fingers shifted again and she teased the hair on my navel. And while it didn't tickle, I felt the pull and stretch as my cock began to stir.

Her fingertips disappeared just beneath the waist of my jeans and she bit her lip nervously. "Is this okay?"

I nodded, wondering just how far her fingers would venture downwards. Or, if this was all just a cheeky tease. And despite my initial hesitation, I was hoping it wasn't the latter.

"I can stop if you want."

"No, please don't," I replied hastily, causing her to raise an eyebrow at me.

"So, you do want me to try something?"

"I think you already are."

"But you didn't want me to."

She withdrew her fingertips from my jeans, her hand sliding back up my stomach. I wrapped my fingers around her wrist, stopping her, and pressed her hand to where I was growing harder with each passing second.

"Am I terrified I won't be enough for you? Absolutely I am. But I'm even more terrified that I'll never have you."

"Lucius," she said in a soothing voice as her hand began to rub slowly over me. "You don't have to be terrified of that. You had me from the moment I first saw you in the hallway."

I grabbed her wrist again, stopping her. "What?"

She nodded. "You said you wanted me when you hadn't even seen my face. It was the same for me. Only I knew what you looked like. That first moment, when I said hello and you just stared at me, I knew you were someone I wanted to get to know."

"Why?"

"Because you were all mysterious."

"Rude would be more accurate."

"Well, you were a bit impolite, but I was still intrigued."

"And yet—" I stopped. She'd continued to sleep with Charlie after she'd seen me.

"I still banged your wall with Charlie after seeing you?"

I huffed out a laugh. "Yeah."

"I wasn't sure you'd be interested."

"So you strung him along until I talked to you?"

"No, I didn't string him along." She poked my ribs. "Our arrangement meant either of us could end things any time, and even though you had me intrigued, I knew nothing about you, so you were more of a fantasy."

"I didn't really have you, then."

"You did, in a way. I mean, I knew nothing about you, but Mrs Trelawney predicted your very image — and she never predicted anything correctly — so, imagine my surprise when I saw you." She bit her lip nervously. "And I felt a spark every time I saw you. I never felt that with Charlie."

I shifted on the couch, rolling us so we were on our sides, facing each other. This conversation needed to be face-to-face, not at the awkward angle I was looking at her.

"You felt a spark?"

She nodded. "It was like something… I don't know. Something important? Something real? Does that make sense?"

"It does," I assured her. "Because I felt it too."

She touched my cheek. "I guess this was meant to be then."

"I guess."

We stared at each other for the longest time, her thumb gently stroking my face, my hand sliding along her thigh. I'd been close to her, had kissed her, had felt her body pressed against mine. But this felt different. This was the spark. A quiet spark, but a spark nonetheless.

And as her eyes darkened, I knew she felt it too.

Her nose bumped mine as we inched closer together and in that second, I knew without a doubt, I was supposed to be with her.

She curled her fingers in my hair and then she kissed me.

Soft. Sweet. Gentle. Just her lips brushing against mine. And I didn't care if this didn't go any further. She had given me the one thing I needed — the knowledge that she wasn't going anywhere.

Her mouth opened slightly, waiting for me to respond. I followed her lead, moving my lips with hers and feeling her tongue touch lightly against mine. It was still soft, almost chaste, neither of us pushing the other for more. Her hand relaxed in my hair, moving to my cheek, her thumb caressing my skin as gently as her lips on mine. Minutes passed, long and slow, unhurried, the time stretching into complete nothingness. And any thoughts of my age being a problem dissolved.

I hadn't just kissed a woman like this for years; not since the first few years my ex-wife and I had been together. And even then, I didn't remember a time when we just kissed quietly. It had always been frantic and fast, always rushing to that end goal. And while I could feel the stirring low in my gut, and the stretch of my jeans was becoming slightly uncomfortable, I wasn't concerned with anything but kissing her.

Sliding my hand up to the back of her neck, I teased my fingers against her warm nape, making her shiver. She worked her knee between my legs, her thigh sliding up to feel the effect kissing her was having on me. She whimpered quietly, pressing her thigh harder and pulling a shaky breath from me at the friction her movement caused.

I urged her gently to her back. She went easily and pulled me with her, switching our positions. I was half on top of her with my leg firmly wedged between hers as we continued to trade kisses. The lingering taste of red wine on her tongue made me smile to myself imagining her building up her courage to come over here and yell at me.

We remained unhurried, her fingers skimming my skin, sliding beneath my shirt and pressing into the muscles along my spine. Her hand was warm, her fingers delicate, taking her time to explore my back in the same way she had my stomach.

I brushed my thumb repeatedly over her cheek, loving the tiny whimpers and breathless sounds she made with each gentle caress, with each touch of our tongues. She tilted her head back in a clear invitation and I began to suck wet kisses along one side of her throat. She inhaled sharply when I grazed my teeth along her jaw, finding her mouth again and kissing her with a desire I'd not felt in years.

Her breath became shallow, quicker, her exhales huffed in gasps close to my ear.

"Lucius…"

I worked my way down to the base of her throat, tugging the zipper of her hoodie down, then kissing the curve of her collarbone. Her legs squeezed around mine, her hips rocking and sliding her very centre along my thigh. Her hand gripped mine, removing it from her hip and dragging it higher to cover her breast. I pressed my palm firmly against her, feeling her nipple tighten through the thin camisole, and she responded with a soft moan.

"Your skin is amazing," I muttered against her chest. "You smell amazing."

Another slow grind against my thigh had me sucking harder on her throat. She arched her chest more fully into me, my hand squeezing her harder.

Her hand reached between us, and I groaned into her neck, grinding against her, matching the movements of her hips as she rocked against my thigh.

"Is this—oh!" She choked out a soft cry when I grazed my teeth over her thumping pulse.

Her hand moved against me, squeezing me once through the denim of my jeans before shifting higher to tease the hair on my navel. I moaned into her skin when those delicate fingers slipped beneath the waistband, seeking out the hardness contained within. Her fingertips grazed me, but she growled in frustration; my jeans were too tight for her to do much more.

Her hand returned to my hair, tugging gently and pulling my head back.

"We can stop," she whispered. "If it's too much."

My hips moved involuntarily, pressing my heavy erection into her hip and I knew there was no way I was going to stop.

"It's not too much," I wheezed and dragged myself away from her to stand up. "But we're not doing this here."

I held out my hand and helped her find her feet. And as I walked across the living room she turned her head and frowned.

She tugged on my hand. "I'm pretty sure your bedroom is in the other direction."

"It is," I replied, continuing on to the guest room. "I only want this to be us. I don't want the ghost voices to be hanging over us as they would be in my room."

"We already shared your room once," she reminded me.

I stopped in the doorway and held her face in my hands.

"That was different. That was comfort when you needed it."

"What will this be?" she asked, her breath hitching on the last word.

I slowly slid my hand down the side of her neck, tracing a line across her collarbone, around the curve of her breast, along her ribs to her hip.

Leaning down, I kissed along her jaw, then — with a confidence I still didn't truly feel — whispered in her ear.

"This will be me giving you everything you thought you wanted… and more."