A Lot of Talk . . . But Action?

Chapter 2 ~ A Lot of Talk . . . But Action?

Snape looked at the young witch standing in front of him. Was she serious? Snape had never been too much on conscience, and Hermione had grown up to be quite a pretty young woman, but he felt a twinge of something. He, too, was divided.

"Perhaps some sober-up potion would put you firmly on the proper side of the fence, Miss Granger," he said softly. "There is always the 'morning after' to think about."

The Potions master was mentally fighting with himself. Why the fuck was he doing this? He should just whip out his cock and let her see it. Maybe she'd agree to fuck him.

Hermione nodded and the wizard rose, carefully keeping his housecoat closed.

"I will be back with it in a moment," he said, striding into his bedroom and then into his bathroom, opening his medicinal stores. He always kept a bottle of sober-up potion handy. He took the bottle out and hesitated, part of him insisting he tell the witch there was none.

No. He'd probably want to kick himself later . . . but no.

He walked back into the study and up to the witch. He could smell a hint of jasmine as he uncorked the bottle and passed it to her.

Hermione looked up at him, then took a tiny sip of the potion . . . just a little bit, and handed it back to him.

Snape frowned at her.

"That's not enough potion to sober you up, Miss Granger," he said to the witch.

Hermione's eyes were clearer now, and so was her thinking, but she still had a bit of a buzz.

"I know," she said, "but I just want to keep a little of the liquid courage, Professor. I know that I'm rather repressed cold sober, and I just don't feel like being repressed tonight. I'd like to be able to say what's on my mind. I probably wouldn't if I didn't have a little buzz on. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Snape studied her.

"Your judgment could be impaired," he said quietly.

"Fuck my judgment," she responded. "Sometimes it just gets in the way."

Snape blinked at her. Hermione met his gaze evenly.

"Fine," he said, corking the bottle and walking back into his bedroom, then into the bathroom, putting the potion away. He didn't know what to think about this development.

Hermione didn't either, but that didn't stop the witch from walking into the Potions master's bedroom. When Snape walked out, he found her standing just inside the door, looking at his four-poster bed. Then she looked at him.

The Potions master in his housecoat and slippers. Her ex-professor. The most unapproachable man in the entire wizarding world. She couldn't believe she was in this intimate situation with him. True, he hadn't done anything to encourage her, other than show her she aroused him, but that wasn't intentional. In fact, he tried to discourage her . . . or at least make her think about what she was considering.

The situation was quite simple really. Hermione was randy. She wasn't seeing anyone and hadn't had a satisfying sexual experience in months. It took her weeks to get from point A to point B with a wizard. She was normally very slow about getting down to fucking, almost as if she believed there was a set, proper time to do it . . . and it took at least eight weeks of courtship. Waiting proved she wasn't controlled by her body's needs, or so she liked to think. Of course, the whole waiting game was rendered null and void if she wanted to fuck the wizard within days of meeting him. It didn't matter if she didn't. The urge was there . . . just repressed, held back until she deemed it 'proper.'

Hermione was a master of deluding herself.

Well, she didn't feel like being proper tonight. Snape wasn't the most handsome man in the world, but his bearing was what made him . . . dare she think it . . . sexy. Several of her friends would have passed out completely at this assessment if she dared to share it. By rights, he should have thrown her out when she first kissed him . . . but he didn't, and she had really laid one on the wizard.

He was also accommodating. He gave her something more to drink and let her listen to music in his rooms. She was sure it wasn't the type of music he was used to listening to . . . but he let her listen anyway. The Snape she remembered didn't give up one lick of control. It was his way or detention, loss of points or both. But that was him as a teacher. He wasn't her teacher any longer. He was a man . . . most likely a very lonely man whether he admitted it or not. And Hermione was lonely too. She would like some male contact, as long as it wasn't cold and clinical. The professor did seem that way. She wanted to feel something.

Snape had stopped just outside the bathroom door when he saw Hermione standing in his bedroom. They stared across the room at each other in silence.

"Professor . . . I need to ask you something," Hermione said to him, "something rather personal."

"I'm listening, Miss Granger . . . though I can't promise you an answer if your question is too intrusive," the wizard replied, his dark eyes resting on her a bit curiously.

"Are you a cold lover?" she asked the wizard.

Snape arched an eyebrow at her. This was some question. He decided it needed clarification.

"When you say 'cold lover,' Miss Granger, what do you mean?" he asked her, crossing the room now and sitting on his bed.

Hermione took a few steps closer, but was still a small distance away from him.

"I mean . . . do you kiss, caress . . . that kind of thing?" she asked him.

"Do you mean do I do foreplay, Miss Granger?" he asked her back.

"I guess I do . . . but during too," she said.

Snape looked at her. The truth was he rarely engaged in such activities because the women he usually fucked didn't require it, nor were they worthy of it. They were paid, after all, and needed no other priming than Galleons. The cold caress of coins in their palms lubed them up just fine.

"Why do you ask, Miss Granger?" he replied, again answering a question with a question.

Hermione thought it should be obvious.

"Because . . . because I need that from a wizard," she said softly. "I need to feel wanted."

The professor thought he had shown her, very pointedly, that she was wanted. He couldn't have the huge erection he did if he didn't want her. From her questions, it seemed Miss Granger was trying to decide whether or not she wanted him. Snape wasn't in the mood for a Q and A session.

"Would it help your decision, Miss Granger, if I were to strip and strut my wares for you, displaying myself like some male animal in rut? Possibly bobble my head, or flap my arms like a rooster? Or maybe bring you a small pile of shiny things, hoping to catch your eye? Or better yet, I could go to my labs, whip up some bright body paint and boldly color myself like a peacock," he said, unable to help himself. Hermione made him feel as if she were trying to put him through paces, and he balked at it . . . realizing at the same time more than likely he had insulted the witch and she would leave.

Hermione looked at him coolly.

"Just an answer will do, Professor," she replied, wondering why he would attempt to push her away when it was obvious she aroused him. Maybe he had performance anxiety. More than likely it was the natural bastard coming out of him. Well, she had a part two answer for him. Did she dare say it?

She looked at the wizard who had a self-satisfied smirk on his pale face, presumably because of his sarcastic, clever side-stepping of the issue.

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly. Oh yes . . . she dared.

"Unless what I saw was false advertising . . . and you really aren't 'up' to fulfilling my needs at all . . . then I'd understand, Valentine," Hermione purred with a nasty little smile.

Snape's smirk quickly turned into a scowl, and a very black one. Was the cheeky witch questioning his virility?

"I assure you, witch . . . there is nothing false about me," he snarled. "I am more than 'up' for anything you have in mind."

Hermione found she liked him snarling.

"So do you, or don't you?" she asked him.

"What?" he snapped at her, his anger and growing desire to take the witch making him lose his train of thought.

"Do you kiss, caress . . . in other words know how to make love to a woman?" Hermione stated flatly.

Snape had enough of this. He stood up and began to walk toward Hermione slowly and menacingly, no longer holding his robe. His organ flashed her with every step he took. Hermione's heart began to pound, but she knew the wizard was purposely trying to frighten her and make her run away. He was doing a good job of it actually, but the witch was a Gryffindor. She wouldn't flee his room in that manner. If she did leave, it would be with some dignity.

He stopped about a foot from her, his dark eyes resting on her face.

"Do I know how to make love to a woman? I've never asked myself that, Miss Granger . . . but I definitely know how to fuck one," he breathed at her.

The wizard was so tense, Hermione felt as if he were ready to spring on her like some kind of animal. Her belly was in knots. The sexual tension between them was palpable.

"But do you know how to kiss one?" she replied.

The Potions master stared down at her, not saying anything, his black eyes glinting. Suddenly he stepped into her, pulling the witch hard against his body and covering her mouth with his own, possessing it, his lips moving against hers sensually before slipping his tongue into Hermione's mouth, tasting her heat and sharing his own.

Gods, his kiss was hungry, powerful and full of promise. How did a man so cold generate so much fire? Hermione felt herself helplessly melt against him, her body practically molding itself to his, the wizard's hardness long and firm against her belly as he deepened the kiss, bending Hermione slightly backwards and folding over her, beginning to work his cock against her until the witch started gasping.

Then he broke the kiss and released her, his pale hand sliding across her lower back caressing it gently, more gently than Hermione could have ever imagined before it fell away.

How could such a harsh man have such a tender touch? It must be because of his art. He had to stir gently at times and quickly at others to perfect his brews. What else had he perfected? She looked up at the wizard, feeling as if she couldn't speak a word.

Snape's nostrils were flared as he looked down at Hermione. He felt her body responding to him, molding itself to him . . . even now the witch was having trouble breathing, her breasts rising and falling quickly. He had no intentions on letting Hermione leave unscathed now. She had sealed her fate letting him kiss her. A kiss was not enough.

"No more verbal sparring, witch. We're beyond that now. Do you stay or do you go?" he asked Hermione, his voice washing over her like a caress.

Hermione felt as if she were being drawn up into the wizard's dark, captivating eyes. It was as if he were casting an Imperious curse on her without speaking a word. She felt herself move into him and his arms wrap around her, his lips, soft, demanding, close over her own, then she was lifted from the floor and floating, then sinking into softness, warm hands sliding up the calves of her legs, caressing her skin, pushing up fabric, a low, silken voice urging her to lift her hips, strong fingers gripping her shoulder and pulling her upward gently, the sensation of being freed from confinement and air prickling her skin. Then there were lips again, on her mouth, then her throat . . . and hands, this time sliding downward, around the curve of her breasts, over her waist and snagging on her hips, then again, the low voice purring at her to lift, and the slide of fabric, much less fabric this time, down her thighs, over her calves and ankles, then over her feet, followed by a feeling of total freedom and intense heat. Then she was alone.

Snape took off his housecoat, looking down at the naked witch shifting on his bed. Hermione seemed to be in a daze of desire, her amber eyes focused on him yet not seeing him. The wizard climbed into the bed and lay down on his side facing her, his dark eyes drifting over her body.

Hermione's breasts were perfect as far as he was concerned, large but not too large, tipped with brown, tight nipples. Her belly was a bit rounded, but soft, and her waist flared into ample hips, and she had thick, strong thighs. No doubt the witch thought herself too plump. But she wasn't. Not as far as the Potions master was concerned. To him, Hermione Granger was built like a woman was supposed to be built, soft, curvaceous, and full . . . with a body a man could hold on to, feel like a cushion beneath him and of course, bounce off of like a trampoline.

Snape ran his finger slowly down the witch's throat and between her breasts, Hermione's mouth parting, her back arching upward as she sighed.

"Do I know how to make love to a woman, Hermione Granger?" he purred at the witch, rolling over on top of her.

Hermione stared up at him, still unable to say anything because of all the desire she felt. Snape smirked.

"Let us find out, witch," he said, lowering his mouth to hers.

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