A/N: I have been so unbelievably shocked and pleased with how many great reviews I've been given! Thank you everyone for sticking with this story and providing me fantastic feedback! I know that this story is confusing right now, but I promise, it will clear up. It's been a little thing of mine for me to answer past questions and add to the complexity with new ones as the story progresses. Also a big thanks goes to CharlieBelle, who created this fun concept poster for me. I have a link to it up on my profile if anyone wants to check it out. And if you're feeling crafty and want to make me others, I would love to see them! So, with that being said, please enjoy!
Her eyes were smoldering, and she was well aware he'd noticed. She smoothed her hair out the way he liked just for the occasion, but was well aware that soon it would be tangled in his strong fingers and return to its messy state before the night was over. She didn't mind. It was a special night, and Hermione had more in store for him. Or, that's what she told him anyway.
"Please tell me you're not teasing me," he breathed unevenly, adjusting his straining member in his trousers and licking his lips in anticipation.
"I don't tease," she assured him, and placed herself seductively into his lap, her lace knickers and corset dragging across his uncomfortably hot suit, sometimes catching the fabric and pulling a little piece up before sinking back down onto his skin. And to think that it could feel any more arousing.
Her creamy lipstick seemed magnetic, clinging to his mouth, ears, and collarbone as if to claim that Hermione was dominant; this was her leaving a reminder of that.
Not if he had anything to say about that.
As she ground her groin into his harder, she let out an innocent whimper, giving him the opportune moment to claim dominance. He thrust upward, the hard tip of his cock pressing into her when their hips collided.
This time, Hermione moaned, and he knew while. The skimpy lace knickers she was wearing had rubbed just the right exposed spot between her legs. If her eyes were smoldering before, they were scorching now.
She ground back down, aching to feel the same sensation once more while tasting his tongue on hers. She was quite determined, and upon experiencing the feeling once more a low moan escaped from her mouth to his, eliciting one of his own.
He pulled away to look at her. Her barely-covered breasts were heaving and flushed, and her lipstick was smudged all over her mouth. His fingers traced the cream and black laces down her corset, feeling her body's shape before reaching her hips. He cocked an eyebrow at her before catching his fingers on the elastic of her knickers and began to tug south.
Slowly, her groomed curls of her mound became visible, and his mouth watered a little. He was going to taste her; she knew it.
As he pulled, he lightly brushed against her, feeling the dampness between her legs.
"Fuck, Hermione. You're going to kill me."
"Not unless I die from anticipation first," she countered, trying to kick her kickers off her legs. "Now help me unlace this damn thing."
She opened her legs farther so she could stand, giving him an eyeful of what he'd soon be indulging in. His cock twitched and he cleared his throat.
He obeyed when she turned around, her perfectly shaped ass begging to be touched. She heard him sigh before standing to unlace the corset excruciatingly slowly.
And then the corset was lying on the floor next to them, her bare back imprinted lightly from the tight ends of the fabric. She sighed when his tongue traced down her back, stopping right above the dip, where his teeth nibbled down her sides as he made his way around her body to her belly button. He slowly crept up, nipping lightly at her flesh until he made it to the valley between her breasts. She was watching him carefully as he lapped at the skin before pulling away and smiling up at her. She was blushing now, still a bit embarrassed at exposing her body to him this way. Lingerie never seemed to have been her forte.
Then he surprised her by lightly biting her left breast. Hermione's initial gasp turned into a long moan as he began licking and sucking her nipples, ravishing her with his expert tongue.
But she hadn't forgotten that he was still fully clothed before her, because she tugged him off his knees and collapsed on hers, instructing him to remove his shirt as she did to his trousers.
Unlike him, she worked quickly, lust driving her need to remove all clothes, and remove them immediately. Soon, he was naked before her, and she licked her lips, ready to place them at the erect cock that was only inches in front of her.
"No," he said as she reached for him.
"Why?" she asked innocently as he tugged her back to her feet.
"I'm going first," he said firmly, lightly tracing her thighs.
"No, I am," she argued back, grabbing his shaft firmly in her soft hands, making him groan softly.
"Hermione," he began to argue once more.
"Fine. Neither of us are going to about this," she decided. She tugged him down onto the bed and placed herself on top of him, her wet core hovering above his pulsing tip. In one swift motion, she thrust down, igniting both their centers in equal passion.
Ron awoke from this dream panting, his stiff member aching in his boxers. Although he had wished it were a reality, he couldn't be more satisfied. Sure, he's dreamed of Hermione sucking him off, or him devouring her loads of times, but this dream was different. One, it was the first dream since seeing Hermione again that didn't involve her being pounded into by Malfoy, and two, it was more intimate. This was the kind of sex he ached for: the build up slow, but the anticipation being relieved with one swift thrust.
But now, it seemed like that was the only time this was going to happen, in his dreams. He was well aware Hermione would want to wait a while after the war; she wasn't some slag. But still, there was that need that remained he couldn't satisfy alone. He couldn't push it, and he was more than willing to wait. He just wished that she were all right.
He knew she wasn't, and after dinner the night before, Mum and Dad, and even Harry suggested they send her to St. Mungo's, but something inside Ron made him stand up and start shouting. The mere thought of Hermione being locked away made his veins want to burst.
He had to fix this. Even if it meant doing it on his own.
Sure, Harry and the others meant well, but it wasn't the people they loved being locked away in loony bins or forgetting how much they loved him.
The ache in his boxers reminded him of his dream again, and Ron allowed himself to drift into his fantasy world again, focusing heartily on the valley between those beautifully perky tits. One thing his fantasy didn't include: that bloody freckle that rested between them. He'd seen it many times, and he knew it was there. Over the past few years, he caught many peeks down Hermione's blouses. Usually the line of a nude bra or a tiny glimpse of color could last him for days. But never without the thought of that damn freckle. He didn't know why he loved it so much, but in a way, he felt closer to her. He was freckled from head to toe, but with Hermione, other than the tiny specks across her nose and cheeks, he never found any other freckle on her skin. Until he saw that one during the Horcrux hunt when she woke up and her shirt was askew.
He tried to be quick and quiet, so not to wake Harry. Once he reached his completion, he shot a gaze toward the cot where Harry surprisingly wasn't lying and pulled his hand out of the elastic in his boxes. If that git was sneaking out with his sister he was going to kill him. He reached around for some clothes to cover him, only coming up with a holey t-shirt and some baggy sweat pants.
Ron stalked out of his bedroom door and down to Ginny's room, cracking the door open. Sure enough, Ginny's bed was empty, and instead Hermione jolted up, breathing heavily.
"Ron?" she croaked, squinting in the darkness.
"Um, yeah?" he called back, frozen in place.
"What are you doing in here?"
"Well, uh, Harry was missing in his bed and I think he snuck off with Ginny downstairs or some place."
"Honestly, Ron. They're both old enough to be left alone for twenty minutes. They can take care of themselves."
"But that's my sister and-"
"But he's your best friend."
Ron sighed. Once again, logic won. He turned to leave, but Hermione stopped him.
"Am I going to have to go to St. Mungo's?" she asked gravely. She sat up in bed, and turned on the light on Ginny's nightstand. Her hair was frizzy as could be, and her clothes were disheveled. She looked as though she had been tossing and turning since she climbed into bed.
Ron felt that familiar desire rush down to his groin as he recalled his dream once more. Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice him staring at her shoulders, which looked bruised in the light, and he suddenly wondered if those had been there before he saw her. It took him a moment to remember that she asked him a serious question. He sat on the empty cot.
"I dunno. I'm trying, Hermione, really. But everybody else-"
"I know. I overheard everything," she mumbled guiltily.
"Oh." Ron's ears became flushed. She heard him yelling about her not going. She heard him practically spill his feelings into the air. They hadn't gotten much past that one kiss and handholding yet. This made everything even more complicated.
"Thank you," she said, and stood, walking over to him.
Fucking bollocks, he thought to himself. This is becoming extremely familiar to my dream. Hermione stood before him in flannel pajamas pants and a tank top that was too small, as it creeped up on her hips and exposed a strip of flesh between it and her pants. She bent down and hugged him, sending a hit of disappointment through Ron. It was like nothing had ever bleeding happened between them in the first place.
As he began to pull away, Hermione leaned forward again, this time planting a small peck on his lips. Instinctively, Ron's hand touched her cheek, dragging her forward again and indulging in a deep, yearning kiss. Hermione didn't fight it, responding in earnest, clutching the back of Ron's neck and falling into his lap as his other strong arm clasped her lower back and squished her closer yet, so their bodies molded perfectly together.
Ron's hear beat frantically, and everything in his body stirred with lust. This time he didn't bother fighting it off. Everything was so alluring; the warmth of her skin against his, its softness, and how her lips felt incasing his. It was right, and he knew it.
But Hermione didn't. She didn't know if this was how everything was supposed to feel anymore. It was almost as if her body had been desensitized and was now merely reacting upon instinct. Everything was hot and intense. While she didn't regret it happening right then and there, she knew that she was forcing herself to do it. The only way to avoid going to St. Mungo's or hurting Ron further was to pretend to get better, even if she wasn't. She would have to push herself to kiss him and touch him, even if she didn't feel that sensation Draco gave her. The more time she had been given to muddle through the events that happened, the more she was able to recall.
There were certain details she knew were real, knew were false, and were entirely unsure about: the first thing being her time turner. Hermione knew very well that she returned it to McGonagall at the end of third year. So why did she remember looking for it after the war? She assumed that's when something happened to her. Either she was bewitched or was hit on the head with rubble, but this stint of amnesia had seriously messed with her memory and was becoming quite irritating.
No, she decided. Irritating was for when Ron chewed with his mouth open. This was beyond that. Unbearable. She knew she wouldn't be able to go on for much longer if things didn't start getting sorted out.
Which brought her back to where she was, lips swollen after snogging Ron, and sitting on his lap, feeling his arousal pressing into her. He looked absolutely bemused, but completely satisfied, almost like he just take his first drink after going days without water. Hermione felt her face go red and looked away as she climbed off him, a small cough escaping Ron. He sounded like he was covering up a groan or something, but she couldn't be sure.
"I'll keep fighting," Ron said after a moment, standing and stretching his arms. "I don't think you should be in St. Mungo's. Don't worry, Hermione. I'll help you sort this whole thing out." He tiptoed out of the room, and Hermione was satisfied to hear him squeaking the floorboards upstairs, obviously too dazed to remember a certain sister and best friend of his who were missing.
She was also surprised that Ron hadn't noticed the bruises that now occupied her torso. She expected he would have said something, anything about them, but instead, he was too busy snogging her. Hermione shut the light off, hoping that this time when she slept, she wouldn't wake up with new battle wounds.