Seven

Hermione continued to lie on the hard surface of the table in her Potions Master's deserted room, her body heavy and limp with the after-effects of the pleasure which had just flowed through it. At first her mind allowed her no coherent thought, but as it slowly started to flicker back into consciousness she found it besieged by conflicting messages.

His acquiescence to her desire and skill at delivering her such rapture thrilled her and filled her with the deepest satisfaction. But this was tempered by the fact that he had once again run from her. Their intimacy had been the polar opposite of last time, where he had taken for himself. Now, he had denied himself his own release. She recognized his offering to her and could not ignore how sublimely he had given it, but he seemed scared, shamed by what had happened.

Hermione knew he would want more, knew she would too, but his abjuration of what they shared troubled her. She needed more of him: physically, mentally, emotionally. Her pleasure had been exquisite tonight, and yet still she had missed feeling him where she most needed him: deep inside, filling her body and soul. Their first coupling had been so frantic and brutal. Although she had delighted in it and had felt triumphant in her ability to destroy his self-control, she needed to share the deep connection she knew they had, to allow it to be manifested in mutual pleasure.

And she wanted to talk to him; to tell him she understood; tell him she realised now how profoundly she needed him, longed for him, knew he needed her equally.

She wanted him to talk to her.

Hermione knew that would be harder to achieve than harnessing his lust and desire.

But still the thought of them sharing more furtive glances, touches and forbidden moments sent an immediate quiver of delight shivering through her. The thrill of their illicit lust, the tension and dynamics in their institutional relationship, was so delicious in itself she thought she could survive on it alone.

As much as her mind ached with the thought of trying to understand him, her body could not wait for more desperate intimacy, more pleasure.

At last she raised herself from the desk and stood up. Her knickers lay on the floor beneath her feet, her shirt, tie and bra not far from them. She bent down slowly to retrieve them, awaiting the sense of shame she was sure would engulf her. It did not. As Hermione picked up her underwear from the floor of the Potions classroom, a place in which she had spent so many hours since her childhood, she felt no shame whatsoever.

Hermione dressed leisurely, running her hands over her breasts, remembering his mouth on them. Her body twinged again. She could not deny it further satisfaction for long. It was the start of the week; there were many more lessons to come. A slight smile graced her lips.

Once she had dressed, Hermione reluctantly left the room, looking back into it as she shut the door.

He was not at lunch. She was not surprised. She wondered what was going through his own mind, but knew he did it partially to torment her. She had done it to him. It served only to fan the flames of constant desire within her.

Snape remained away from the dining room all day and the next.

His absence started to rile her. On Monday and Tuesday nights she had made her excuses and left the Common Room early, retreating to her room where she immediately flung herself onto her bed and reached desperately between her legs, her mind filled with the memory of his tongue on that same ripe bud. She had come rapidly with a cry of remembered bliss and had then spent the nights curled tightly in her lonely bed, imagining him beside her, around her, within her.

Wednesday at last brought another Potions class. She toyed with the idea of making him wait again as he had denied her his presence at mealtimes. But her need to see him prevented her. and that afternoon she at last found herself outside his classroom, her breathing rapid, her belly clenched in anticipation.

Hermione entered with Ginny, her eyes immediately falling on him. He was at his desk, writing as usual, not looking up. She spoke loudly to her friend, alerting him to her presence. His head remained resolutely lowered.

Hermione sat, anger welling up within her. She had resisted. She had waited. It was long enough; she needed her reward now. Her eyes bore into him.

Look up, you bastard.

He did not.

The lesson began. His low silken drawl may as well have been directed straight at her clit, so sodden with desire did it make her. Why she had not noticed his voice before was beyond her. To her ears now, it was the most erotic sound she had ever heard. Still he avoided eye-contact. She feared she would go mad.

They started working on their potions. Luckily, it was a concoction Hermione had made many times before or else she would have been struggling to fulfil the task; she had not listened to a word of his instruction, only allowed his voice to wash over her.

As Snape moved around the room, occasionally sweeping rapidly past her, tantalising her with his scent, she knew she must act. Thinking about how he had left her the last two times, thinking about how their encounters had been so one-sided, her mind was suddenly set.

She reached for a parchment, tore a small section off the corner and, turning away from Ginny, wrote on it:

I want you inside me. I want you to make me come, screaming your name. I want you buried in me, feeling me coming around you, squeezing your pleasure out of you. I want to feel you come undone within me, filling me. I want you now.

Hermione folded the piece of parchment flat and bided her time.

She knew he would not acknowledge her however many times she thrust her hand high into the air. When Ginny wasn't looking she surreptitiously slipped a modicum of badger spleen into her potion, knowing it would not spoil it but confuse Ginny enough to seek advice.

Duly, Ginny's potion became thick and turned a strange shade of green. Her friend frowned in confusion, staring blankly at her textbook. Then, emitting a deep sigh, she reluctantly raised her hand in the air.

"Professor Snape. I don't know what's gone wrong here. I know I've put everything in exactly as it says. But I think you need to see this."

Snape's face was set straight, but he did not show the annoyance he normally exhibited on these occasions. Hermione suspected he knew the reason why Miss Weasley's potion wasn't behaving as it should.

He swept over to them and Hermione's heart started pounding furiously within her. As before when Ginny had needed assistance, he came and stood between them around the back of the desk. Hermione gripped the table with her right hand to prevent the overwhelming longing inside from engulfing her.

His aroma was intensely powerful and his robes swayed next to her hypnotically. Their teacher leaned over Ginny's cauldron, muttering about incompetence and lack of attention.

Hermione held the parchment under the fingertips of her left hand. Slowly and unobtrusively, she pushed it along the table towards his hand which rested on the table so close to her. Her professor continued his verbal humiliation of her friend, but she registered none of it. When the corner of the parchment made contact with his fingers, he paused in his tirade for a moment before swiftly resuming it.

Hermione looked down at his hand, the parchment resting next to it. She could hardly breathe.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his fingers moved over it and he enclosed it in his hand, finally clenching his fist tight around it. Then suddenly he drew himself up, waved his wand over Ginny's cauldron, and hurried away, mumbling, "There, that should suffice. Proceed."

Ginny looked stunned. She glanced into her cauldron. The potion was back to normal. For the life of her, she could not understand why the Potions Master had just spent two minutes insulting and haranguing her, only to suddenly and instantly restore her work to its original state without another thought.

Turning to Hermione, Ginny twisted her face in confusion. "What the hell ...?"

Hermione smiled benignly and shrugged.

Her eyes then turned immediately to Severus Snape.

He had returned to his desk and, pulling the chair out, sat down. For a moment he did nothing, simply stared out at the room, his eyes exhibiting no discernible emotion. Then she saw his hands move together on the table, manipulating something held in them. His eyes at last moved down to the object held in his fingers.

Hermione forgot to breathe. Her eyes were trained on his face, gauging his reaction.

Snape gave little away, but Hermione was so absorbed in every nuance of the man that she noticed the slight flush tinging the cheeks and the chest rising and falling more rapidly than before.

After a moment, his right hand encircled the thing he had been studying into his fist and moved it to his pocket.

He did not look at her. He did not get up. Professor Snape sat at his desk until the end of the lesson, ignoring the needy students before him. Hands which had remained raised for several minutes eventually gave up. The resulting potions were dreadful.

When it was time to dismiss the class he at last roused himself and glanced distractedly into the cauldrons of his students. Moving to stand at the front, he spun to face them.

"Failed. All of you." His wand flicked briefly before him. Their cauldrons, potions and all evidence of their hard work vanished. "Get out."

The students looked at each other in confusion and annoyance, but they knew better than to argue with Snape. They started to leave.

Hermione hung back. He had returned to his desk and remained there, head down, writing once again. She burned with longing and struggled to breathe, but she would play it his way. She would be patient; her action would eventually be acknowledged.

She turned to leave, the last student to do so, following behind a Ravenclaw boy. She could hardly drag her feet away from him, but forced herself towards the door. Come on. Come on. How long would it take?

Her hand was at the door handle, holding it wide for her to exit. She moved to pass through it.

"Miss Granger."

She stopped. Her eyes closed. She could not prevent a smile of relief breaking across her face.

Slowly, she turned. He had stood and moved away from his desk. His face was calm, relaxed. In his right hand he held her scrap of parchment.

Hermione walked assuredly towards him, stopping within a foot. He was breathing heavily. Her insides twisted with familiar agony.

Snape remained upright, but his black eyes looked down at her from above and he drawled, low and smooth, "Passing notes in class is strictly forbidden, Miss Granger."

Biting her lip coquettishly, she turned her face up to him. "I'm sorry, Professor Snape. What are you going to do about it?"

He raised his eyes to look beyond her, and she thought she could detect the merest hint of a smile play around his mouth. He lowered his gaze to hers once more. Hermione waited, wondering how things would proceed this time. She had made her feelings abundantly clear. But still she was not sure if he would respect them.

They seemed to stand, merely staring at each other, for the longest time. Then, at last, he reached down and with the softest touch, took her hand in his.

Turning, pulling her gently with him, he led her behind the board, to a door she had strangely never noticed before. Her blood coursed fast around her veins, making her light-headed with need.

He opened the door and led her through.

Hermione found herself in a small sitting room. It was surprisingly cosy and well-appointed, but she had little time to take in the details as he continued to pull her towards another door on the far side. They passed through it into another room in which stood a wardrobe, chest of drawers, chair and bed. Hermione allowed herself a slight inner laugh at the extraordinary nature of the moment. She was in Professor Snape's bedroom. Again, the room was not large, but welcoming, warm, with rich furnishings and ancient paintings on the walls. She glanced at his bed. It was not large: a single bed. His solitude over the years hit home.

Hermione looked across at him. Now they were standing here together he looked shamed, nervous. It was such an unfamiliar thing to behold in him that her heart swelled and she moved rapidly towards him, her arms coming up around his back and clasping him to her. Her head descended to his chest and she breathed him in, hearing his heart beating steadily within.

His arms slowly, hesitantly enclosed around her and he gradually held her so tight she could scarcely breathe. She did not mind. At length she raised her head to look at him, fixing his eyes with hers. She spoke, openly and honestly. "I meant every word."

Slowly, almost indiscernibly, his head moved down, until at last his mouth hovered over hers. She could feel his honeyed breath warming her lips and longed for him to close the remaining distance between them.

He leaned ever more downwards and at last she felt his warm, firm lips, surprisingly full on hers, moving, parting, questing inside. She immediately acquiesced and opened to him, allowing his tongue to slip inside and taste around her mouth. She met it with her own and increased the urgency between them, twirling and caressing him. Her hands reached up to his buttons as she had imagined doing so often, and at last he allowed her to continue. She undid them slowly but surely, working her way down the long front of his coat.

At the same time his own hands came up to her tie, unknotting it and pulling it from her collar. Then he moved to her shirt, mimicking her actions with the buttons. They worked in perfect harmony, each divesting the other of clothing at an even pace. She had finally undone all his buttons and reached up to push his coat from his shoulders. It fell to the floor. Beneath she found a crisp white shirt with luckily not nearly so many fastenings. She made light work of it and when at last it parted, she could not prevent a gasp sounding from her at the sight of his pale torso finally revealed to her. He stopped his own ministrations for a while, and she felt him, hot and desperate beneath her fingers, breathing rapidly. He tensed slightly. She ran her hands tentatively at first under the open shirt, her fingertips grazing his burning flesh. Hermione looked up at him. His eyes were alight, but she could detect an anxiety within them, as if he was worried he would disappoint. She held his gaze and smiled tenderly, then raising her hands, she pushed his shirt back so that it rested just on his shoulders, and slowly lowered her head to his body.

At the first touch of her lips he jerked. She pulled back momentarily, allowing him to adjust. He had been so long without tenderness, without gentle contact, that the agonised pleasure she was imparting to him now was almost unbearable. She knew it and waited. Then when she sensed him relax, she once again lowered her head, planting delicate, warm, wet kisses along his flesh. This time his muscles remained slack but his breathing became increasingly rapid and heavy.

As she moved over his pale skin, Hermione noted the many scars and abrasions which covered it. She soothed and kissed each one, causing slight moans to be drawn out of him. If she had been looking up, she would have seen him gazing down at her in sheer wonder.

At length she drew her hands up and pushed his shirt fully off him, letting it flutter to the floor. His body was slender as she had imagined, yet firm and rigid, his lean muscles taut and sinewy under the surface. To Hermione, he was perfect.

She moved up again to his mouth, wanting to feel his tongue in her once more. He obliged, opening her mouth with renewed vigour and plundering her wet, velvety depths. He tugged increasingly urgently at her clothes. Her shirt fell to the floor and his hands came up to swiftly undo her bra. She helped by wriggling out of it. Once naked on top, they pressed themselves into each other, their hot flesh almost melting the others.

Then all Hermione's awareness moved to her hips and the ardent throb which pulsed unremittingly. She pushed in hard to meet him and was met with a rock-hard resistance. He groaned loudly into her mouth. Her belly clenched, and she needed him suddenly and desperately. Her hands came down to his belt and she fumbled to undo the clasps quickly. He reached down to help her, and quickly his trousers and underwear fell to the ground and he was there before her, rigid, engorged, seeking her out. She gazed down at him. She had felt him within her, glanced at him before, but to have him now so real and vital in front of her filled her with the deepest longing.

She found herself instinctively starting to bend at the knee, to be nearer him ... but his hands held her up. Not now. She acknowledged that. For now, they both needed a deeper fulfilment. He had not forgotten what she had written in her note.

He reached around to undo her skirt and, with help from her, she was soon completely naked. Swiftly, he removed his remaining clothes, and they stood before each other, exposed and open.

They moved for the other at exactly the same time, kissing, caressing, hands, lips, tongues questing over each other's bodies. He pushed her gently backwards until they reached the bed and lowered her to it.

His mouth continued to move over her flesh, pausing at her nipples, taking them deep into him as he had before. The pleasure coursed through her and she arched up to meet his lips and tongue, a moan sounding into the room. He became ever more desperate and moved down to the apex of her thighs. His long, nimble fingers parted her folds, finding her slick with anticipation. She felt two, maybe more thrust into her, probing deep and hard within. She pushed down onto them, crying out her delight. His mouth descended to her. She jolted up to it, a bolt of electric delight shooting through her. Her hand came down and twisted in his hair. He groaned against her, increasing her pleasure yet more and merely laved ever more ardently at her.

His firm, hot tongue moved ever upwards. Her swollen bud of nerves craved his touch, but equally she knew what she needed above all else. He licked so close to it she thought she would pass out. His agile tongue encircled, enticed, teased her clit until she was sure she would explode. But just as she thought she would fall, he moved away. Hermione gazed down blearily.

He was kneeling before her. She saw him jutting out, so long and magnificent, the head purple with expectation. Hermione threw her head back and bucked towards him, thrusting her hips up for him, unable to maintain her silence.

"Please ... please, Severus ... god, you know what I want, what you want ... don't deny me anymore, or yourself ... take me ... I give myself to you ... take my pleasure ... take your own ... god ... now ... now ... fuck!"

With that word, so extraordinary coming from her, his features set in an expression of complete wondrous abandonment. He settled himself, grabbed her hips, pulling her roughly towards him. Then positioning himself, he thrust into her. Her eyes rolled back in her head and a cry of sheer rapture was pulled from her. He looked down, seeing her impaled on him, and allowed a hiss of equal pleasure to force its way out of him. Then he turned his eyes back up to hers, and they locked. Her mouth hung open in deepest satisfaction. She could feel every inch of him inside her, full and throbbing. She needed as much of him as she could get.

"Move ... move inside me ... hard ... do it ... do it now!"

Again her words were too much and he could only comply. He started to pull out, then plunge back in: deep, long strokes which flamed her agonised walls. She was so hot, so tight, his mind blurred with ecstasy. She squeezed him hard as he pounded along her. Each thrust caught her already electric, primed clit and she felt her muscles shifting, moving towards that ultimate disintegration. He gripped her hips ever more tightly. She knew he would bruise her, but did not care. Snape was moving desperately along her now, jolting her up the bed with each drive forward.

Hermione was ready. She glanced up at him, her breathing ragged, uneven, her eyes widening in anticipation as her muscles clenched. He locked eyes with her and Hermione felt him tense and swell within her. He spoke suddenly and unexpectedly.

"Come! Come for me now! Let me feel you!" His words were poured down in sublime pleading as he caught her clit one final time.

Her mouth dropped open and she came, plunging over the edge. A light seemed to flash behind her eyes, and her body melted in wave upon wave of ecstasy. She spasmed uncontrollably around him buried deep within her, pulsing around his iron shaft, his name torn from her lips. "Severus! God, oh god! Yes!" With that he was lost. He convulsed into her: long hot bursts of his pleasure shooting up into her, over and over. His head fell back and he let out a groan of unspeakable rapture.

When at last their pleasure had subsided, he leaned over her, his hands on either side of her head. She was smiling up at him, her eyes dancing, her face glowing. He had never seen anything so beautiful. Reaching down, he captured her mouth in his, ardently but tenderly. She brought her hands round his back, pulling his heavy weight down onto her. He had not wanted to crush her, but she seemed to need it. Snape let his body sink firmly down onto hers, careful to remain deeply buried within her.

They spoke not a word, but lay for what seemed like hours, breathing each other in, their bodies melting together, indistinguishable.

Later they moved to relieve the cramp which had started to creep into their muscles. He had softened, but when he finally slipped out of her, her features flinched in momentary despair. Immediately, he moved her onto her side and slid behind her, spooning his long limbs and torso tightly into her, planting a gentle kiss in her unruly damp hair. They closed their eyes and fell swiftly into a long and dreamless slumber.

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As you may have gathered, this is an erotic story, exploring the development of a relationship through sex. There is plenty of plot, dialogue and character exploration to come, but also much more erotica. Let me know your thoughts so far. I love hearing from you.

LL x