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Chapter 12 : Taking You Sober
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Chapter Twelve: Taking You Sober
Sirius draped an arm over the edge of the burgundy chair, tilting his whiskey bottle back and forth as he watched the last swallow of amber colored liquid with quiet wonder. The soft rumble of the train and a brief roll of thunder somewhere off in the distance signaling a winter storm had arrived in England had a narcotic effect on his reflexes…almost as if he was moving hours slower than the rest of the world. He would cast a reflective look toward Hermione on occasion, but for the past several hours they had remained silent except for courteous pleasantries as they passed the bottle back and forth. He’d never met someone with whom he could have a “comfortable” silence and, in fact, had often wondered if there was such a thing. It seemed that someone always felt it necessary to fill the voids in conversations, as if even the slightest amount of quiet signified something akin to tension or awkwardness. He felt none of that in her company…they both seemed content to be alone together, reveling in their own thoughts and happy that the other was kind enough not to intrude.
“Sirius, we’ve finished the bottle,” Hermione shook him slightly. “Just how much did you drink in the tavern anyway?”
“Never fear.” He waved his arm lazily to provide her another bottle. “I can do magic in my sleep, my dear.”
“Pureblood abilities,” she nodded, pouring herself another glass. “How I do admire them at times like these.”
“Please, don’t compare me to Draco,” he murmured, wanting to be angry but knowing the whiskey would prevent it. “I just might vomit.”
She laughed. “I was thinking of Harry, actually. After Ron’s death, he kindly kept me well stocked on liquor.”
Sirius frowned…a slow frown as her words sunk in.
“No,” she laughed a silly drunken laugh. “He’s much too noble for what you are thinking. I was very much sober the first time…” she blushed, “well, the first time we were together.”
Sirius’ deep laugh echoed into the hall. “A shame you can’t count on me to be so noble. I’d ravage you right here if I thought I could stand up.”
“Oh, do tell.”
He ignored her teasing comment, something tugging in his mind and telling him he was going too far in his suggestions. “Alas, I am unable to stand much less fumble with my clothing so your virtue is quite safe with me.”
For the first time since he’d been alone with her, he felt it. That awkward tension when he’d once again stepped over some invisible line. He felt he should say something but could think of nothing that would be even half appropriate, so he merely sighed with resignation and an apologetic grin. When she failed to return it, he eyed her more closely, his drunken haze allowing him to see things he wasn’t sure were real.
Or maybe they were.
She sank back into her seat, sipping from her bottle in a dignified airy manner, but Sirius could sense the change in her. Her movements were more on edge, her eyes burning into him. She shifted easily, almost in a professional manner, so that his gaze would fall to the slight curve of her thigh as it disappeared under her skirt. He met her gaze steadily but she gave nothing away. He watched as she carefully placed the bottle on the table between them. She stood up, her hands moving to the back of her waist. She slipped off her skirt, the sight of her lace lingerie causing his breath to catch in his throat.
She moved a step closer to him. Pulling off her shirt, she stood before him, a look of mild impatience and amusement crossing her face. “Do tell,” she whispered softly.
“I should say something to dissuade you,” Sirius murmured, a slight furrow growing in his brow.
“Probably,” she nodded, dropping to her knees as she snaked her body closer to his, her teeth pulling gently at his pants leg as she slid her face across his thighs.
“I should be responsible,” he tried, watching in a half drunken daze as her tiny hands pushed aside the bottom of his cloak and began slowly, agonizingly slowly, undoing the leather belt around his waist.
“Mm-hm,” she mumbled as her hands slipped below his waist, her mouth warm on his exposed flesh.
He tried to untangle his thoughts but the warmth of her breath and the sensual feel of her against him was too much for him to take. His body reacted instantly, causing him to grab her hands in his fists, tugging her away from him to try and regain some control over himself. His mind cluttered, his thoughts muddled, he could find no way to verbalize what was wrong with this situation.
She knew he was struggling…he could see it in her eyes. But she made no attempt to move forward or reach out to him. She was letting this be his decision…if he told her to stop, he knew she would. Her fingers laced into his as she waited for his answer, her rapid breathing filling the entire room and stifling every thread of meaningful thought he tried to conjure. He gritted his teeth.
When, exactly, had he become the cautious one?
Dropping his glass to the floor, he jerked forward and pulled her onto his lap, his teeth burying in the pale freckled flesh on her abdomen. “Fortunately for you I am neither rational nor responsible.”
She accepted his answer readily, her legs straddling him easily, her slow easy movements quickly being overtaken by his more aggressive, demanding ones. It had been too long for both of them and in the excitement of a new found lover’s touch, both came quickly and easily. She remained on his lap as their trembles began to dissipate, unwilling to release him from the connection they shared.
“Mornings and trains,” he murmured with a soft chuckle, “you really should give me advance warning of these things, you know.”
Hermione smiled mischievously, unbuttoning his shirt so she could let her lips trace the curves of his chest. Her touches were slow and pleasing, her lips seeming to memorize each ripple of muscle and pink tinged scar. “I rather enjoy surprising you.”
“I’m drunk, you know that?” he asked, letting his hands slip through her hair and wander across the purple lace fabric of her bra, caressing her skin with a tenderness neither had taken time for before.
“Yes, but you would’ve let me take you sober.”
He gave her a look of disdain even though his hands had clasped around her breasts as a fire began to rise again within him. There was something about her--her fiery temper; her unbridled lust; her commanding take-charge tone that demanded to be acknowledged-- that tore into the very fabric of his being and required him to push her out of her own comfort zone. “I deny it.”
Hermione gasped as he pulled her deeper into his lap, his mouth searing a path down her neck. He moved more slowly this time, effortless in his timing to tease her as her moans became deeper, her senses more engaged.
He was teasing her…laughing, tickling, and smiling as if pleasing her was the only reason for his existence. He enjoyed being the sole object of her attention, she could tell, and for her efforts, he contented her with touches so silky and smooth she could easily delude herself into believing that were only for her.
Never had she known such freedom as she did under the touch of Sirius Black.
Author’s Note: I apologize for the delay in updating…it’s been a bit hectic around the site lately. I hope you are still enjoying it, I know I’m still having a wonderful time writing it. Thanks to all of you for the wonderful reviews, I love hearing about what you think is coming next and where this story is headed. Thanks to everyone!
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