Taking a deep breath, Hermione looked at herself in the sumptuous mirror and ran her fingers through her curls one more time. You can do this, she reminded herself, bracing her hands against the bath's grey marble countertop. This was your idea. Breathe. Just breathe!
She'd done everything she could to prepare herself. Face washed and teeth brushed, she'd slipped into something more appropriate for what might be about to transpire. Her wedding dress hung against the back of the door as best she could arrange it.
This is it, she thought, tying her robe closed, and it's all going to be fine. It is.
Hadn't it all felt so right just a few minutes ago, when he'd taken her in his arms and they'd nearly fallen onto that elegant couch in the sitting room in their haste to be together?
So why was she so nervous now?
Shaking her head, Hermione focused again on the planes of her face in the mirror. Ginny had done her make-up earlier that morning and it was still holding true. Of course, she was a little more worn out now.
And married.
She was married now.
If she said that she was tired, would Sirius insist on delaying whatever they were about to do?
Did she want him to?
No, she berated herself. You're being nervous and silly. Just get out there already!
Rummaging through her small, purple-beaded handbag, she lightly misted the insides of her wrists and the base of her throat with her favourite eucalyptus-and-rosemary essential oil. It always calmed her. Undetectable extension charms really were wonderful things. There was no way she could have carried of all her personal bits and pieces around with her in her wedding dress, and there were a few things — her wand, for starters — that she wanted with her, no matter what the occasion.
Sirius hadn't said anything specific, but she had the feeling that he quite liked the fragrance she used. He certainly hadn't shrunk away from her when she'd worn it before, the way he did whenever Tonks tried out different perfumes to see what pleased Remus most.
No, Sirius hadn't avoided her.
Not then, and certainly not now.
He was waiting for her. Just through that door.
All she had to do was walk through it.
And then everything would change.
At first, Hermione hadn't been paying attention to where they were going.
Having bid farewell to the remaining wedding guests at her parents' house in Highgate, she and Sirius had left the reception in a black cab heading back into Central London.
Cornelius Fudge had looked a proper fool as he'd cheered them on and helped her into the taxi, as though he was her father. Her real parents… that was a problem for another day.
Just the relief of finally getting away from it all was amazing.
And considering she'd never changed out of her wedding dress, she was also immensely grateful that Sirius hadn't insisted they ride his motorcycle to wherever he planned to take her.
"I've never been in one of these before, you know," Sirius whispered to her as they drove off. He looked around the spacious back of the cab with delight.
"What, never?"
He shook his head. "Lily made all of us go on the Tube a few times, years back, but this is a first." When he looked at her, the wickedness was plain on his face. "First of many things, this evening, don't you think?"
She gave him a tight smile, but then, as he looked out his window, he reached between them on the seat. The feel of Sirius' large, warm hand covering and holding her own soothed the butterflies furiously beating their wings inside her stomach.
Hermione had been so torn between the need to relax and the nervous excitement coursing through her, she hadn't realised where the cab was taking them until they were there.
"The Ritz!?" she squeaked, finally recognising the grey arches and dark blue awnings of the Piccadilly landmark.
For a man known more for his dogged nature, Sirius was grinning like the Cheshire cat.
"It's all right?"
"All right!?" Hermione couldn't have felt more dazed if she'd been hit by a stunning spell. "It's… it's The Ritz! How on earth did you ever… what… when did you—?"
Chuckling, he closed her open mouth with one finger. "I told you you'd approve."
"They know we're coming?" she whispered, nodding towards the footman in a top hat who was waiting to open the cab's door.
"I think so. Shall we?"
Hermione felt like she was getting out of a fairy tale carriage as she stepped out of the cab in her wedding dress.
"Good evening, Madame," said the footman as he helped her onto the pavement. "Sir. Any luggage?"
"I think it was already sent on," said Sirius, glancing down as he fixed his cufflinks.
"Very good, sir. This way, please."
Holding out one arm, Sirius swept Hermione up the stairs and into a lobby glittering with gold-leaf and crystal. She had to keep reminding herself that this was Muggle ostentatiousness, not some decadent wing of Gringott's or the Ministry.
She also felt increasingly ridiculous in her wedding dress. While the other guests in the hotel lobby were smartly dressed, she was on a completely different level of cringe-worthy formality.
Why hadn't she changed? The idea of a going-away outfit had completely escaped her until now, when it was too late. Why hadn't she remembered?
Noticing that people were practically gawking at her and Sirius as they walked by, she gripped his hand more firmly.
"You're gorgeous," he whispered. It was as if he could read her thoughts. Sirius, clearly, didn't give a damn that he was still in his morning suit, despite the late hour. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple before guiding her to the front desk.
Hermione stood next to him as she looked around the impressive oval room.
It really was almost too much.
"Ah, yes, Lord and Lady Black," said the clerk, smiling at Sirius and Hermione briefly before running his fingers through a meticulously professional card file to find their reservation. She felt sure there must be a proper computer screen hidden somewhere behind the desk, but the old-fashioned touch certainly fit with the rest of the hotel's style.
"First, may I extend the warmest congratulations from everyone here at The Ritz London on the happy celebration of your marriage. I'm sure today was a wonderful affair. Our very best wishes for your future life together."
"Thank you… ah—" Sirius leaned in slightly to check the clerk's name-tag. "Charles. You're very kind."
"Of course, The Trafalgar Suite has already been prepared—"
Hermione shot her new husband a fast look. "Suite?" she mouthed silently.
Sirius gave her a subtle wink.
"—and the butler has unpacked the bags that were sent on earlier in the day. We, ah, we thought that you and Lady Black might prefer not to have anyone waiting on you in the room this evening, but we can of course modify this immediately if you require any—"
"The current arrangement will be fine."
The clerk continued to mark things off on the cream-coloured card. "If you'll just sign here, sir," he said, handing over a fountain pen. Sirius looked at the nib of the pen for a moment before signing his name with a flourish.
A bellboy led them upstairs to their suite. Hermione didn't think she'd ever been in a more elegant hotel room. At least, not in the Muggle world. A gold-and-green curtain hung at an angle just inside the front door, half-blocking the sight of grey tiled floors and more gold furnishings inside. At the end of a long hallway, she spied a large sitting room, trimmed with plush, brightly coloured carpets and antique furniture probably worth more than her entire savings account at Gringott's.
Still rather shocked, Hermione moved past the bellboy and down the hall into the front room with tall ceilings. She could hear the traffic on Piccadilly below their windows. Finding a long couch against the wall, she promptly sank down onto it, the layers of her gown plumping out around her. Looking up at the high ceilings and the opulent chandelier hanging overhead, she waited for Sirius to join her.
There had been a closed door half-way down the hall, and she felt fairly certain she knew exactly what that led to.
The nervous excitement inside her veins that had died away somewhat in the cab came roaring back like a rampant lion.
"If you require anything else, sir—"
"We'll let you know," said Sirius softly. "Good night."
The door closed with a discreet click.
And then they were alone.
When he appeared in the doorway, he took one look at her semi-prone position and began to smirk.
He tilted his head. "Tired?"
"Not exactly."
"Ah."
She looked around again at the splendour dripping from every corner of the room. "How on earth did you ever think of here?"
Putting his hands in his pockets, he gave her a boyish, almost bashful shrug. "I do know a few things about the Muggle world, love. Not as much as you, but even I've heard of this place. I just didn't consider it for tonight until Harry mentioned it as a joke, and I thought it was brilliant. Besides," he added archly, "I didn't think you'd care for a wedding night at The Leaky Cauldron. I know we're both fond of Tom, but I rather hoped you'd think I had better style than that."
"No one has ever questioned your sense of style, Sirius," she mused. "And we don't even need to unpack for ourselves?"
"Go look. I think we'll find they know what they're doing here. Let me help you up," he offered, holding out a hand. She took it gratefully; the angle of getting up from the couch in a full wedding gown was a bit… fraught.
The next thing Hermione knew, Sirius had pulled her upright and directly into his arms, his lips warm and searching as they moved against her own.
What started out as something rather innocent quickly changed into something else.
Out of both instinct and want, she ran her hands up the front of his blue dress-shirt, feeling the muscles underneath.
When he had kissed her at the reception, it had been so romantic.
This was different.
This was hot. Explicit.
His taste was so exciting that she lost herself. The only thing she was aware of in that moment was that she wanted to spend the rest of the night touching him.
As much as he would let her — or as much as she would let herself.
This internal tug-of-war between desire and nervousness was what was truly tiring her, she realised, not the hoop-jumping formalities of their wedding day.
The other morning, he'd said he wanted her, said yes to her crazy plan, but now that they were here — what was real?
You brought this on yourself, you know, sniped her conscience. And now you're overthinking it. Again!
Her new husband clearly wasn't having as many internal dilemmas as she, not with the way he was pressing her close to him, opening her mouth with the gentle pressure of his own and then exploring her like a bold adventurer. The groan Sirius made as their tongues touched and then gently battled with each other sent fire through her veins.
Then Hermione was falling back on the couch again, bringing him with her, both of them trying and failing to free him from his restrictive black morning coat as their mouths teased and tasted and tangled.
It would have been quite hilarious, if she wasn't so desperate for him to keep kissing her.
His arms got caught in the tight sleeves again and again, with no obvious escape route. Sirius growled in fury, but the feeling of his chest rumbling against her low-cut gown had quite the opposite effect of scaring her.
It made her want to get even closer.
Hermione was almost completely horizontal beneath him when he finally tore himself away. Rising first on one knee, his eyes raked her up and down as he realised her prone position. Quickly, Sirius backed away, snarling, "Fucking coat!"
At last, he was able to throw it to the floor.
Hermione tried to stifle a laugh. "I don't think the tailors had seduction in mind when they were cutting the fabric."
"Too right."
"Mine isn't exactly made for easy extrication either," she pointed out.
Sitting up fully, she touched one hand to her now-mussed hair and snorted at their mutual dishevelment. "How do I look?"
"Honestly? Pounced upon."
Arching an eyebrow at him, she said, "I think I'd like to get into something a bit more comfortable."
"You're sure?" he asked, keeping to his position a few feet away. "You did pick a very good dress. As I'm sure you could just tell."
"Something more comfortable," she repeated adamantly.
She began to make her way to the hallway when Sirius caught her hand. "Wait. Let me—I think you're going to need some help. To get out of it."
She rolled her eyes at herself. "Merlin, I forgot. Be warned," she added as he led her back into the room, "it's a bit complicated back there."
Turning her fully so that she faced the sitting-room fireplace and the gilt-framed mirror above it, Sirius began to make short work the laces and buttonholes at the back of her gown. His fingers yanked in one direction, and then pulled smoothly in another. Meeting her gaze in the mirror, he gave her a truly wicked smile before slowly bending down to kiss each inch of newly exposed skin as it appeared before him.
Her head fell back as a bone-deep sigh escaped from between her lips.
"You're right," he whispered in her ear as the final laces were loosened, "you should get into something more comfortable."
She turned, her hands holding her now-very-loose bodice against her breasts.
"Hurry," he murmured, leaning in to place a light kiss along her neck. "Professor Black wants to start classes right away."
Her mouth twisted in amusement. "I should never have encouraged you to think about it that way."
"Too late," he grinned back. "Go. I'll be waiting."
"Here?"
His hot stare shot straight through her. "Some place else, I should think. Don't you?"
Blushing even more, she glanced at him again before making her way down the hall to the W.C. "I won't be long," she promised.
"Good."
She gave him one last, long gaze before pushing through the door.
Holy Hecate, he looked like such a pirate. Her breath caught in her throat. He might have been dressed to the nines, but at that moment, Sirius Black was quite clearly a dark and devious scoundrel with only one thing on his mind.
Her.
Screwing her courage to the sticking place, Hermione opened the door and crossed to the bedroom of their suite.
The lights had been turned down low, but a fire was burning; mirrors on both sides of the room caught and reflected its glow. Her eyes fell on the other figure in the room, and she immediately forgot all about those private pep-talks and calming exercises in the loo.
How could she breathe when she'd completely forgotten how her lungs were supposed to work?
Because there was Sirius, leaning against the wall near the fire, looking as if he was ready to devour her.
He'd changed out of his wedding clothes, too. Dark blue pyjama bottoms hung low on his hips, just as they had done that winter morning when her crush on him had flared to life. One ankle was draped casually over the other, and he hadn't bothered to put on a shirt. His crossed arms both hid and highlighted the muscles of his chest and the inked whorls and symbols tattooed across them. Even from the doorway, she saw his silver-grey eyes darken dramatically as he took in her own change of clothing.
Hermione smoothed a hand down the arm of her silk robe — the one she'd worn in front of Sirius for months. "I grabbed it the other day at the house. I didn't think everything for today had to be new."
He nodded. "I love it. I always have. As you very well know."
Smiling slightly at the memories those words produced, Hermione took a few further steps into the room and looked around.
"Tell me something," he asked softly. "I've often wondered — did you buy it for me?"
Her eyes locked with his. "Maybe," she said slowly, "or maybe you just got lucky."
"Oh, I did. No need to tell me twice."
Hermione stepped closer, doing her very best not to stare at the wide king-size bed that dominated the other side of the room.
"Champagne?"
"Is there some?"
Sirius gestured to where two flutes full of dancing, golden bubbles rested behind him on the mantlepiece. "After all, it is our wedding night. The champagne was waiting for us — and it's a good vintage. And, later," he added, his eyes crinkling, "if we want more, we should have it. I'm sure Rita Skeeter and the other gorgons from the newspapers will be checking out our hotel receipts as soon as they can obliviate some poor fool at the front desk. Might as well let their readers know we lived it up, eh?"
Taking one of the flutes from his outstretched hand, Hermione immediately knocked back half the glass in one gulp. Tears quickly came to her eyes as she began to cough and splutter, the sparkling stars of the champagne exploding down her throat more than she had expected.
"Creature, woman!" he yelled, slapping his hand on her back repeatedly. "That's top quality de Rothschild Champagne! Don't waste it!"
"Sorry," she coughed, her eyes still watering. "It went down the wrong way."
Tsking loudly, Sirius rubbed between her shoulder blades before taking her glass back and pouring her another. "Careful with this one, yes? There's no rush."
"Right," she muttered, staring into her glass.
"Hermione." Sirius' voice immediately dropped low. "You don't have anything to be nervous about. You do know that, don't you?"
"I do."
"Good, then. Drink up."
"To us?" she suggested, raising her glass slightly.
"To the joys of non-consummation with my brilliant, beautiful wife." He saluted her with his own glass before clinking them softly together and then taking a deep swallow.
Hermione let the bouquet tickle her nose for a moment before she joined him. This time, the champagne bubbled deliciously against her tongue, filling her mouth with the taste of dry toast and sunshine.
"Merlin, I am that now, aren't I?" she mumbled, the back of one hand pressed against her mouth to catch any drops of liquid on her lips. "Your wife."
He gave her an easy smile. "You and no other."
"Well, then." Setting down her glass, she squared her shoulders deliberately. She could do this. She knew she could. "Shall we?"
Sirius' eyebrows lifted in both shock and amusement. "What, that's all I get? One drink and then you'll have your wicked way with me? Whatever happened to a little romance?"
Hermione sniffed smartly. "I just wanted you to know that I'm ready when you are."
With one sharp tug, she undid the belt on her robe. The silk wrap hung open for a moment before she let it slide off her shoulders and onto the floor.
Now Sirius choked, the last sip from his glass suddenly causing him problems. He put the flute down and wiped his mouth without every breaking eye-contact.
Clearing his throat, he then swallowed very slowly, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing up and down. Hermione wanted to run her fingers along it, to feel the physical differences between their bodies. There was so much about men that she'd never explored, and she so wanted to.
If he'd let her.
Seeing her blatant curiosity, the surprise on his face swiftly shifted into something else — something much more voracious.
Perhaps the outfit was a tad risqué, Hermione thought to herself, but she'd needed a confidence boost in order to get herself out of the loo — and she'd certainly had no idea a few bits of material would affect Sirius quite this much.
Isn't this what a woman wore on her wedding night?
A low growl came from deep within his chest. She could almost feel it rumble against her bare skin.
Hermione fingered the edge of the naughty chemise Andromeda had given to her as a secret wedding present two nights before. The current look on Sirius' face explained why Tonks' mother had looked so mischievous as she'd pressed the wrapped package into Hermione's hands.
"Andi might have gotten a bit carried away?" she suggested, lifting up the hem an inch or so to flash him even more of her thigh.
"My cousin gave you that?"
Hermione nodded.
His nostrils flared. "For tonight?"
She nodded again.
Sirius blew out a long stream of air before vowing, "I'm going to kill that witch."
"Is there something wrong with it?"
"For fuck's sake, no!" he yelped. "You look—I can't even… you're… you—" He broke off, his mouth still half-open as his eyes roved up and down her body. One of his hands drifted forward as if to touch her, before he caught himself, dropping it as if she was a hot flame.
"That's how good you look right now, love," he ground out, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. "I can't even say the words. But that," he added, pointing at the sexy silk and lace that dipped low between her breasts and barely covered the tops of her thighs, "that's a goddamn weapon against my self-control, and Andi bloody well knew it!"
Hermione's eyebrows drew together. "Why would she do something like that?"
"Obviously, she wants you to be the real Lady Black as soon as possible."
"What?"
"Take it as a compliment," he said with a snort, "because I'm pretty sure in her demented thinking, it was one. There's at least one member of the Order of the Phoenix who would be very happy if we screw this up tonight and can never get an annulment. Think of it as Andromeda's cracked way of welcoming you into the family."
Her eyes widened. "I'm so sorry! I just thought it looked… nice."
"Don't apologise!" He sighed deeply, letting his gaze roam all over her. Hermione noticed his hands clench as he did so. "You look fantastic."
Smiling a little, she asked, "So, we start my lessons tonight?"
"Does that sound like a good plan to you?"
"Does it sound like one to you?"
His mouth flattened. "You realise we're going to go around in circles forever at this rate."
"I know," sighed Hermione. "I'm sorry. I'm nervous."
"But you don't have to be nervous about me."
"Yes, I do."
He looked taken aback. "Why?"
"Because you're Sirius Black. And I'm… me," she finished lamely, staring down at the floor.
"Kitten, look at me. No, I mean it," he said, coming closer and tilting her chin up. His eyes were silver flames as she gazed at him, the fire crackling beside them.
"You are Hermione Granger Black. You survived the war. You survived Bellatrix. Without you, Harry would never have defeated Voldemort. You've saved me many times, and you've just done it again today. I could have been spending tonight in a place worse than hell, but I'm not. Because of you. You've just pulled off the most impressive wedding I've seen in donkey's years. And now you've hoodwinked the Ministry and come up with this dastardly sexy plan to make sure we have something for ourselves despite all this madness. I'm amazed."
When Hermione tried to look away, his fingers grasped her chin, holding her fast. "Yes," stressed Sirius, "that was you. And, perhaps you're a little uneducated in some very specific areas of life, but that's what I'm here for now, isn't it?"
"You won't laugh at me?" she asked worriedly.
His eyebrows rose high. "Why would I do that?"
"You might find my lack of knowledge amusing."
"I find you amusing," he teased, still touching her face. "In the best sense. I find your innocence… wickedly intriguing. Except," he added, cocking his head, "you're not exactly innocent, are you? Just inexperienced."
Letting herself smile just a bit, Hermione slowly tipped her head back as his fingers deliberately moved from her chin down along her throat. It was the merest brush of a touch, but it still made her skin break out into goosebumps.
"Are you cold?" he asked, noticing her reaction. "I lit a fire."
"I noticed. Is it a real one?"
"Merlin, no. The floo's all sealed up. The Muggles would probably throw us out of the hotel if they knew. But a proper tutorial for my student requires just the right classroom setting."
"I'm still a little nervous," she admitted, stealing glances at the licking flames.
"Come here," said Sirius. He sat on a plush chest at the foot of the enormous bed, his dark good looks and darker tattoos standing out against the white and gold décor all around them. Taking her hands, he held her between his knees, looking up into her face.
Hermione felt completely torn between relaxing because this was Sirius in this room with her and she knew him, and stiffening up for exactly the same reason.
This was Sirius.
And that was a very large, rather intimidating-yet-inviting bed just behind him.
"We're not having sex tonight, love, all right?" he said in his gentlest voice. "We can't. We know that. So, you don't need to be afraid of either that specific act or its consequences. Consummation can't happen for us, but, in the end, that's just one way to have sex."
"Really?" She knew she sounded flummoxed, but she truly was. "I… I thought there were only a few ways to do it."
He hid a smile behind one hand. "Just how many do you think there are?"
She pondered for a moment. "Three?"
"That's all?" he barked, half-laughter and half-shock.
Her hackles rose immediately and she took a step back. "Why? How many do you think there are?"
"Well, there's… I mean—" he stalled, his gaze darting back and forth. "Just off the top of my head?"
"Fine."
His thumb tapped against his fingers in turn as he tallied up. "Without giving it extensive thought, I can think of… Merlin, what, about… seventeen? And that's not including different positions or locations."
"Seventeen?!" she exclaimed.
"Yeah, about that. Let me make a proper list and I'm sure I can think of more." Sirius leaned towards her, his eyes beginning to gleam. "Be honest, love: are you appalled or intrigued?"
Hermione bit her lip. A part of her probably should be acting all virginal and prudish, but, in the end, she couldn't lie to him.
"Honestly?" she asked, stepping between his knees again. "Eager."
On hearing that, his mouth curved into the sexiest of grins. Sirius reached up and cradled her jaw in his palm. "Merlin, 'Mione. How did I never see you this side of you before?"
She lifted one shoulder in answer. "I don't know if anyone has."
"Kitten, us together — it's about having fun and, yes, you want to learn about men — and yourself while we're at it — but only ever if you properly fancy it. If you don't want to do anything right now, there's no pressure. We have these very posh digs for tonight with what I trust will be an extremely well-stocked mini bar somewhere in the other room. But," he said, sensing her trying not to smile, "I will admit that I'm hoping you'll want to play a little bit before we turn in for the night. Because, believe me, with the way you look tonight, I won't be able to think about anything else."
She took a shuddering breath, but then nodded.
He held out their joined hands so that he could have an even better inspection of the supple material sliding against her skin. "Fucking hell," he muttered, a roguish grin lighting up his face. "I get to corrupt this?"
When he gave her a very Sirius-worthy wink, she finally did laugh out loud. "You are such a tease," she said.
"Trust me, pet, if this goes the way I think it might, we're both about to be teased within an inch of our lives. Now, do I have to call this class to order," he said, sitting up with a wicked glint in his eye, "or can you trust that Professor Black is now in charge?"
"Is this totally silly?" she asked.
The mask fell for just a second as Sirius clicked his tongue. "Probably. On the other hand, it's our wedding night, we're both totally done in, and the world, as they say, is watching. Might as well snog."
Pushing away the last of her nervousness, Hermione interlaced their fingers together. "Well, then, Professor," she said with an intentional purr, "where do we start?"
Delighted, Sirius pulled her down toward him. Before their lips could meet, however, he drew back. His fingers tightened against hers before letting go.
"Love? Sorry, but I forgot to ask earlier: just how much of a virgin are you?"
"I didn't know it worked by degrees," she frowned.
"It doesn't usually, but as Corrupter-in-Charge, I think I need a quick outline. Is your virginity just a technicality, or are you really new at this?"
"You can't tell?"
"Between the terrace, my bedroom, and now?" he asked. "No bloody clue."
Hermione mentally flashed through her rather limited sexual history. "I've kissed boys. I've been 'snogged', but every time was… fairly disappointing."
"Any idea why?" he asked, his head tilting to one side.
"I couldn't lose myself in any of it. I started analysing everything that was happening."
"Occupational hazard with you, I should think."
"Before the other night with you on the terrace," she said, "I honestly couldn't see what all the fuss was about. Flirting can be fun, but serious kissing just seemed wet and rather inelegant."
His brows drew together. "Well, there's some wetness involved, obviously, but there should be a lot of finesse, too."
"There wasn't."
"There will be," he promised. "But first, love, you really need to relax."
She looked down at him, at the way he was almost laughing up into her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she realised that a tight stiffness had coiled itself across her shoulders. It was as if the lack of clothing there was heavy instead of freeing.
"Come here," he whispered.
A moment later, Sirius had pulled them both onto the bed, her sitting at the edge on one side, him on his knees behind her, his hands gently caressing either side of her neck and down her shoulder-blades.
"Ohhhh," she moaned. "I love it when you do this."
"Do you now?"
"Mmm-hmm. That other time, in the library…"
"Yes?" The word rolled off his tongue, making her arch her lower spine.
"It really helped."
"Helped with what?"
She felt he was leading her somewhere with every question, intentionally distracting her from the overpowering richness of the room: the ornate carpet at her feet, the stack of pillows to her left, the matching side-tables decorated with perfectly full white roses. This was a room for high romance, full of grace notes to heighten the occasion. It was a room she didn't feel she had any right to be in, and a bed that was so comfortable it should have been outlawed.
"You helped me to let go," she exhaled. "To stop stressing. Stop thinking."
"And that's what you need to do again. Don't think. Just feel. Feel me."
The massage went on, his fingers working their own special brand of magic. The only lights in the room were the soft flickers from the fire and a candelabra on the make-up table, the mirror behind it reflecting its warm glow.
"You have such good hands," she murmured, her neck bending forward.
"Just wait, love," he growled softly. "I've barely even started."
His thumbs flexing against her muscles, Sirius then asked, "When I kissed you… the other night… was that the first time you'd been—hell, I don't even know how to say this properly—had anyone touched your body like that before?"
Shutting her eyes, Hermione imagined herself back on the dark terrace at Grimmauld Place, Sirius' hand cupping her breast, savouring its weight with the pads of his fingers, making her rise to him, his grip firm against the curve of her ass as he bent her backwards in his arms...
"It wasn't the first time someone had gotten a bit handsy—"
"I hope I was better than that!" he exclaimed, clearly put out.
"—but it was the first time that I wanted anyone to keep going." She turned to look at him. "I wanted you to keep going."
"Thank you," he said, his voice soft once more. "We'll go slow, Hermione. I promise."
"I know that," she said, giving him her back again. "I trust—oh!"
Sirius had started kissing her naked shoulder blades, just as he had done earlier when he'd loosened her wedding gown, his lips working in tandem with his hands.
"Relax," he crooned.
The effect of him behind her on the bed was like warm water pooling across her bare skin, making her wriggle and writhe in an effort to submerge herself. Time stretched out as he worked her over and over again, until seconds and minutes lost all sense of measure and rhythm outside of his smooth, slow touch. Sirius pushed against some muscles and then pressed his warm lips to others, heightening each sensation. Hermione did as she was told, relaxing and tightening, and then finally letting go completely, a wave of heat washing over her.
"Gods, woman," he growled. "The sounds you make!"
"I didn't know I was doing anything," she said, her eyes closed.
His low chuckle vibrated against her shoulder. "Trust me. You are. And it's sexy as hell." Kissing his way slowly up to her ear, he then whispered, "You smell divine."
"That's reassuring," she smiled.
"You always do. It bewitches me. Your scent. It's been driving me mad for days, now. Weeks."
She was about to say something in response, but the air was stolen from her lungs when Sirius leaned in a bit more and sniffed deeply up the side of her neck.
"Oh!" she cried out. "Do that again!"
"Really?" He sounded immensely pleased with himself.
This time, when his nose and mouth ran along a certain spot, even Hermione knew that she had squeaked.
Any embarrassment, however, immediately disappeared as Sirius nibbled that same side of her neck, his hands slowly and intentionally sliding down past her collarbone to skim over the thin fabric covering her front.
It was so sensual. The cleft between her legs tingled.
Maybe it was the silk, maybe it was the man behind her, but Hermione knew she had never felt anything so achingly perfect before.
"Gods, I've wanted to do this for so long," he murmured, her breasts filling his palms. He squeezed them gently. "Do you have any idea how good you feel here?"
She shook her head, words almost beyond her, but she leaned back further into his arms, not wanting him to stop.
Stroking up and down across her nipples, Sirius shifted closer. As the tips of her breasts stiffened into tight nubs, he began to flick them gently with his fingers. "You looked beautiful today."
"Did—did I?"
"Gods, yes. Sweetly sinful. I couldn't believe my eyes when you came down that aisle. Couldn't believe we were doing this." His lips found a certain point on her neck that fired through her like an electric current, and he sucked at it before whispering, "That we were getting away with this."
"We did," she groaned, and then hitched even more as his thumb and forefinger began to roll her tight nipples through the silk covering them. "We are."
Hermione lost herself in the wonderfully male smell enveloping her, his familiar notes of old parchment and leather mixing with a salty heaviness that she found completely intoxicating.
Still playing with her, Sirius placed small kisses along her neck, holding her close. "You've saved me twice now, you know," he said in a low voice. "But, all things considered, I think I prefer this way to you blasting out the wall of Flitwick's office."
"So do I," she sighed breathily.
"Although," he added, mostly to himself, "with any luck, there might be a few explosions tonight, too."
"Stop talking," Hermione said quickly, before turning in his arms and finding his lips with her own. She tried to put everything she was feeling into that kiss, everything soaring through her, but he was also much closer to her than she had thought, and quite soon she feared she was about to fall off the edge of the bed. She grabbed at his shoulders, trying to hang on.
Laughing gently, Sirius pulled her further up against him, hooking her knees with one arm. "Easy there, kitten. We have all night to play."
Hermione cringed. "That was a bit awkward, wasn't it?"
"Pshaw!" he shrugged. "Scads of raw talent. We just need a little practice, and then any wizard will find you completely irresistible."
Her stomach dropped.
Practice.
Other wizards.
They were her own words, her own wishes from just the morning before… but it felt so wrong to hear them while they were here, in this room, together.
This time, when she leaned up into the crook of Sirius' neck, she took her time, kissing him sweetly, banishing everything from her mind except the feel of his hands against the backs of her knees as he held her to him, and the way the comforter beneath them stretched audibly as their weight shifted on the bed.
Sirius kissed his way down her jaw, slowly running his fingers along the smooth, satiny silk of the chemise as his lips tortured her throat. Leaning them fully back on the bed, he kept one arm around her shoulders, propping himself up on his elbow so he could gaze down at her.
As his other hand began to work its way up her legs, she felt a wave of pure gratitude towards Ginny for having reminded her to shave that morning.
Hermione wanted… she wasn't sure what she wanted, but she knew he could give it to her. She craved the weight of him on top of her, but he kept just enough out of reach that she couldn't pull him down.
His hand moved further up, tracing the soft skin at the side of her knee. She shuddered and he then sniffed deeply at the air. Could he smell how aroused she was? She knew he was making her very wet, that the heat was flooding through her, but he hadn't touched her there yet. Did he know what he had done to her already?
"Is this all right?" he asked, his fingers lazily drawing circles north of her knees.
"Mmm-hmm."
"More?"
"Mmmm."
Sirius smiled smugly and kissed her shoulder. "Lesson number one: you're wearing too many clothes."
"Am I?"
He caught her eye, clearly approving her sultry tone. "Mmm-hmm," he confirmed. "And, as much as I adore this," he gestured to the chemise, "it's in my way."
Running a finger along her jaw, the laughter on his face suddenly turned serious. "Promise me: if I do anything you don't like—anything at all—you tell me, straight away. All right? This is all about you tonight."
"But what about—?"
She put a hand on his smooth, bare chest and then, together, they looked down the planes of their prone bodies to where Sirius' pyjama bottoms were doing absolutely nothing to conceal how much he had already enjoyed their time together.
"Won't it be painful for you," suggested Hermione, nodding at his erection, "if we start something and then you can't… you don't… finish?" she ended weakly.
He smirked. "Love, I think I can handle it. And, if I can't, then I'll handle it."
Sirius gave her a long look to make sure she understood.
She did.
But before she could say anything else, his mouth was over hers, and she was lost… lost.
"Gods, you're gorgeous," he sighed, finally coming up for air.
"Me?"
He scowled. "Shut up."
"Make me."
He barked out a laugh, his eyes crinkling with mirth. "The nerves are gone, then, I take it?"
"I think they might be."
"Good girl."
Then Sirius bent down and took possession of her mouth again, and Hermione's education truly began.
Edging his fingers along the silk that cut a deep-v down her chest, Sirius lazily lowered one half of Hermione's chemise. He gave her the briefest of grins before softly biting his way down past her collarbone. One hand caressed her bare breast, his thumb sliding along the stiff peak and then playing with it as his mouth teased the rest of her mercilessly.
Her low sigh of ecstasy echoed in the night.
Just when she thought Sirius might take her nipple in his mouth — she was quite desperate for him to do just that — he attacked the side of her neck again, his lips greedily tracing up and down her throat. His entire body moved along hers in one long, tantalising kiss.
"Sirius!" she gasped.
"This is all right?" he murmured against her.
For a moment, his hard chest pressed against her breasts — one bare, one still shifting beneath the supple silk, which was its own form of torture. His index finger ran along her lips, waiting for an answer.
"Yes," she sighed. "Yes, this is… it's—"
She didn't have the words.
Which, considering who she was, was indescribably exciting.
"Watch me," he whispered roughly. "Watch what I'm doing to you. Any wizard worth his salt will always want to worship you. Remember that."
One side of her face lifted in an intriguing smile. "But what do you want to do to me?"
"This," he whispered, and his hot mouth finally closed over her breast.
Hermione tried to do as she was told, tried to watch, but after just a few seconds of seeing his mouth devouring her, she had to close her eyes. Her head rolled back against the pillow as she sighed and groaned together. It was too much. The sight of Sirius loving her body like that — the tugs from his mouth that shot straight to her core — it was all too much. Her eyes slammed shut as every sensation in her body focused on where he was licking her, laving her, pulling her even further into his mouth.
Sirius was ravenous, chasing every sigh she made, suckling one breast while massaging the other, until she thought she might go mad. He peppered little kisses around the soft skin and down the valley of her cleavage before returning to the nipple he had already made wet.
Could a woman finish just from having her breasts touched?
Hermione had never thought such a thing was possible, but the heavy, hot throbbing that had begun between her thighs earlier ratcheted up several more notches. Her hips began to cant upwards again and again. Something lithe and sinuous coiled its way through her body, making everything taut, twisting her up more and more, until the delicious, winding tightness was all she could think of.
She'd had no idea that it could feel like this.
Sirius stopped for only the briefest of moments to bare her other breast before starting the same torture all over again on her other side. He made a low groan as his tongue pushed and teased her nipple that she happily answered in kind. Wanting to touch him, she wound her fingers through his hair, holding him to her even while she tried to grind against his leg, needing the pressure not just from his mouth, but from the rest of him, too.
He was killing her. It was a painless death, a marvellous one, but she was dying just the same. She was being burned alive, but with no flames — only heat.
Arching sharply, she moaned, desperate for his thigh to press further up between her legs. When he shifted to give her what she needed, her breath hissed between her teeth.
Sirius had said tonight was for her, and he was certainly going about things that way. Hermione could tell he was skirting the edges of his own desire in order to inflame hers, the proud, thick length of him constantly pressing against her upper leg and hip through his pyjama bottoms.
"Sirius?" she gasped.
"Mmmm?"
She could feel his evil smile against her even while bent to his work. One more lingering kiss on each of her aching breasts, and then he was looming above her once more, his enlarged pupils as black as his name. Their legs were sandwiched together, letting her feel his heat and hardness through their thin layers of clothing.
Carefully, Hermione slipped one hand down their bodies, half-hesitating, but so wanting to know the shape of him, to feel him shudder as she wrapped her hand around him in the same way he had made her pant for him. Her fingers grazed his stomach, briefly touching the line of hair that descended from his navel.
Sensing what she was about to do, Sirius groaned in her ear.
Then, just when she finally reached for him, he snarled and flung himself beside her, his head hitting the pillow with a notable thump.
"Merlin's teeth!" he bellowed, throwing an arm over his face. "I am such a fool!"
Stunned at the sudden change of pace, Hermione exclaimed, "Why? What is it?"
"Why the hell didn't I do this yesterday?"
She was too confused by his reaction to bother covering herself. His eyes lingered on her bare breasts and the wetness he had left on their crests before he began to speak.
"Yesterday morning." He stopped, looked in her eyes, and then kissed her softly, his hand curving around the back of her head. They then stared at each other across the pillow, Sirius clearly torn between telling her what was wrong and wanting to keep kissing her...
"I should have just—"
…until he gave in and reached for her again, nibbling her lips...
"—thrown you on my bed—"
…chasing that taste with a deeper kiss that made him growl against her…
"—and pushed myself so deep inside you—"
…until their lips met for their most searing embrace yet, passion enflaming every part of her…
"—so that we wouldn't be trapped like this!"
Huffing loudly, he rolled off her onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Hermione once again took in the impressive tenting of his pyjama bottoms before reaching for his arm.
"That wouldn't have worked," she said softly.
"Why not?"
"Even if you'd had me then," she said, running her hand along his upper arm, "you still couldn't have me now. It's like you said — we would have known exactly what we'd be missing, which might be even worse. I would have had one time with you—"
Sirius snorted. "Twice. At least twice, love. Give me some credit."
"—but then, never again."
His hand thumped against the mattress in the small space between them. "Damn it!" Sighing deeply, he then conceded in a less aggressive voice, "Yes. Yes, you're right. But, gods, I so want to be inside you right now."
Looking back, she never knew what made her so bold in that moment. So daring.
Maybe it was just from being with him.
"You can," she whispered, taking his hand. "Like this." And then sucked two fingers into her mouth, stroking them with her tongue.
Momentary surprise was soon replaced by something purely devilish that lit up his face. He practically smouldered with it. Languorously pulling his wet fingers out from between her lips, he then ran them down the entire length of her body until he honed in on the thatch of trimmed curls waiting for him where her chemise had ridden up.
"And like this?" he mused, softly dragging a finger down her centre. She gasped. Then he pressed just the tiniest bit inside.
Hermione's eyes flew open.
"Oh!" Her chest rose sharply as the relative coolness of his fingertip met her inner warmth. "Ohhhh…"
Taking his cues from her face, Sirius eased his way in ever so slightly, no deeper than his second knuckle, but more than anyone else had ever touched her before.
"Fucking hell," swore Hermione.
He couldn't help the low chuckle that escaped him. "My, my. I see marriage hasn't done anything to improve that mouth of yours."
"Is that a bad thing?" she asked. The newness of his touch shone in her eyes.
"Never," he rumbled. Kissing her again, he began to tease her outer folds with light, dancing strokes. "Yes?"
"Mmmmm…"
"Oh, playing with you is going to be fun, kitten. It might kill me, but it's going to be fun. And you taste…"—he brought his finger up to his mouth to sample the moisture that had gathered there—"… amazing."
His eyes closed as he licked his finger again, a low groan rising from deep within him.
"Circe," breathed Hermione, her eyes locked on his face. She didn't know what to make of him, of herself, of where they were, or what they were doing. She felt any last bits of her control slipping away.
It was delicious.
Apparently, she was delicious.
Only the barest edge of silver remained in Sirius' dark eyes as he teased her opening again, pushing in just enough to make her clench. Watching him touch her and then hearing him sigh as he licked up her taste once more, made Hermione realise she had never been more turned on in her life.
"Kiss me," she whispered.
No need to ask Sirius Black twice.
But then, even as their lips met, every line of his body suddenly changed.
He pulled back.
Something wasn't right.
Looking around the darkened room, he shook his head. The fire he had lit cast flickering shadows all around.
"What is it?" asked Hermione. She could tell this wasn't the same kind of hesitation he'd shown earlier. This had nothing to do with her virginity.
Sirius was on alert.
Tense.
When he didn't answer, she pressed him again. "Sirius—"
"Shhh."
"But—"
"Shhh! Don't move."
Even in the dim light, Hermione could see him concentrating… listening… his muscles bunching against her body as he sensed—
His eyes flared open.
Harshly, he demanded, "Where's your wand?"
"In—in the toilet. In my bag. Why?"
Moving off her and the bed in one long, smooth motion, Sirius padded over to the open bedroom door, still keenly listening, his head half-cocked. "Fuck. Those bastards."
"What is it?"
"Those fucks from The Prophet," he swore. "I knew they were a prurient lot, but this is too much, even for them." Still half-listening near the door, he glanced back at her. "I was worried. I thought they'd try to spy on us tonight. Skeeter could definitely sink that low. I set up wards while you were getting changed — inside the room, outside — but… Merlin," he winced, "they're really testing them!"
Pulling up her negligée so that her breasts were covered, Hermione came toward him, trying to—
There.
Was that something?
It must have been.
Sirius blinked, and then his eyes went wide. He stared hotly at a point beyond her shoulder, through the window overlooking the dark park beside the hotel.
Her own senses on high alert, Hermione had just started to glance at him when she felt a sharp, cold twinge run through her and the rest of the room.
"Sirius?"
"Bloody hell." His face paled. "That isn't—it can't be—"
Another, stronger pulse rocked the room, and Sirius flew into action.
"We have to get out of here," he snapped. "Now."
Everything felt rushed and sharp. The next thrum seemed almost visible as it snapped through the entire room.
Sirius drew Hermione to him. "When I say, I want you to run and get your wand. Don't look back. Just run."
"No!" she cried out, shaking her head. "I won't leave you!"
Grabbing her shoulders, he growled, "I want you to get your wand and get out! Get to Grimmauld. I'll hold them here as long as I can!" Sirius' teeth ground together, grimacing with the physical effort of keeping his wards intact. His fingers tightened ever so briefly on her bare skin before he released her. "Now!" he shouted. "Move!"
They broke apart. Hermione shot across the marble hallway as Sirius dashed for his own wand on the mantlepiece.
With an ear-splitting crack, bright green, blinding flashes of light erupted at every window of the suite. The panes shattered instantly.
A moment later, Hermione was back in the hallway, her wand drawn. But by then, large, dark funnels of cloud had already spun through the broken windowpanes, blasting past hundreds of glass shards on the floor.
Her jaw dropped. She'd seen those whirling black plumes of smoke before.
"HERMIONE!" yelled Sirius. "GO!"
But she couldn't.
It was too late.