A/N: This story is my early birthday gift to myself. I heard the song 'I get off' by Halestorm. If you don't know it, go listen before reading, this story is highly influenced by that song. It involves a bit of voyeurism, EWE, and PWP.
I am not JKR or Stephanie Meyer. I do not own Harry Potter or Twilight. I make no profit from this, other than the pleasure of getting to think about the deliciousness of Jasper and Hermione together. But that doesn't translate into monetary value. So yeah, no money made here.
Hermione opened the curtains to her penthouse apartment wide. She could see the Chicago skyline lighting up the sky to her right, and saw the hundreds of headlights and taillights speeding both towards and away from the city seven stories below her. Across eight lanes of traffic and two blue line tracks there was another apartment building, identical in height. She couldn't help but smile as she saw the light in the penthouse across the way. That meant he was home.
She had moved to Chicago the year before, taking a job with the American Ministry in their legal department, trying criminals and helping to write new laws. She was quite pleased with the work, and also that she had found such a wonderful apartment building. It was two floors taller than the buildings on either side, and there was the wide expressway below, so she felt secure that she'd be able to enjoy plenty of privacy while still close enough to the city to make for an easy commute and have plenty of places to explore.
She realized, not too long after moving in, that she didn't feel as secure as she should have. No matter where she went in her apartment, as soon as she opened the windows she felt as though someone were watching her. It was irrational, she knew that and told it to herself often, but the feeling wouldn't go away. She eventually blamed it on the war, thought that perhaps she would always feel overly cautious because of it, and saw the best psychiatrist she could afford a couple of times before deciding it was something she would just have to get over.
Still, for a few months, she refused to open the curtains until she was fully clothed. No matter how many times she told herself there was no way someone could be watching her, and no matter how much she liked watching the city at night, she couldn't keep the curtains open unless she was doing something she didn't mind having someone watch her do.
One day she decided she was going to get to the bottom of her fear, or put it to rest completely. Before she opened the curtains she cast a super-sensory charm to give herself telescopic vision to prove no one could possibly be overlooking her apartment. As soon as the curtains were opened, and the feeling swept over her, she realized how very wrong she was. Someone was watching her, or at least, he had the ability to be watching her. And that someone made her blood run ice cold for a moment. Honey-blonde haired and incredibly handsome, Hermione didn't need more than a two-second look to realize that there was a vampire living in the penthouse of the apartment across the way, and that he could easily see into her apartment. But almost as soon as the initial fear rushed over her, it was gone, replaced with her usual curiosity. The vampire had golden eyes. He was an animal feeder, and obviously safe despite living near a large city. She had the feeling for months, meaning he had been watching her that long, and hadn't approached her. For some reason he found her fascinating, and she immediately found him the same. He was engrossed in a book as she watched him, brow furrowed in concentration, and she was grateful for being able to take a decent look at him, as the more she looked, the more she realized she enjoyed the view. Vampires might not be the safest part-humans to be around, but they certainly were the pinnacle when it came to attractiveness. And this one did not disappoint. He was tall, his hair was curly and fell nearly to his shoulders, he had strong features, and was well-built under the sweater and jeans he was wearing. She forced herself to stop looking at him before he looked back, but it didn't stop her thinking about him. She thought about him as she cooked her dinner, as she ate, and as she took a shower. And that night, for the first time since she moved in, she opened the curtains before she climbed into bed. For some reason she found the concept of him watching her sleeping from afar exciting, but all too quickly the excitement wore off, and she was desperate to get the thrill back. And she knew just how to accomplish her goal.
It was nerve-wracking that first night, but for some reason she felt a little playful, and the thought that he was watching her pushed her past her fears. Still, she couldn't bring herself to do it too publicly that first time. After climbing out of the shower and getting ready for bed she put on her sexiest nightgown, one she rarely wore, and climbed into bed. She pulled a sheet up to cover her waist and began to touch herself. First it was slow, running her fingers over the silk of the nightgown, over her stomach, barely dipping below the sheet before coming back up. Finally she ran them up to her breasts, touching herself through the silk, feeling her nipples grow hard beneath the fabric as she gently twisted and squeezed them. When she felt she needed more her left hand kept touching her breasts while her right slipped under the sheet. Slowly she pulled the nightgown up, uncovering herself, and her fingers moved through the trimmed patch of hair before sliding across her nub. She drew in a sharp breath at the contact, but the sense of him watching her was so overwhelming she refused to let things go too quickly. She slid one finger, than another inside herself, finding her sweet spot, and gently pulsing her fingertips against it. She moaned unabashedly, squeezing her breast, and lifting her hips against her hand as her body begged for more. She pulled her slick fingers from herself, sliding up her slit until she found her clit again. Her mind conjured up a picture of the handsome vampire as her fingers began to circle, slowly at first, then faster, occasionally pausing to plunge back inside herself. Quicker than she thought possible she felt herself teetering on the edge- her muscles tightening, her breath becoming ragged, the image in her mind taking over. One of the most intense orgasms of her life took her over and left her reeling, desperate for breath, her muscles seemingly unable to respond to her commands for a few moments.
She eased into a blissful sleep, where she dreamed she was in the apartment on the other side of the expressway, secretly spying on the vampire as he watched her, immobilized in fascination, as she got herself off. She dreamed he stared at her until she fell asleep, then hurried to his bathroom where he stripped and climbed into the shower. In her dream he was unable to get the image of her out of his mind, and he took his impressive length into his hand and pumped himself quickly, the fingers of his other hand gouging long scratches in the marble around him as he climaxed. She awoke with a start, could feel her arousal, and was unable to go back to sleep without bringing herself to a less intense, but still needed climax.
And quickly afterwards it became a game to her. How much was she willing to show him? It took a week for her to gain the courage to not cover herself with the sheet, but after that she became more bold. The game was in her favor, and she held all the power. The outfit would change, occasionally the nightgown would be replaced by something a little more conservative, but to make up for it she'd introduce a toy into her play. Then she'd strip completely for him, laying herself bare across a new set of sheets as she slowly drew the pleasure from herself. One Saturday she was heading to the store to pick up a few things for a dinner party she was hosting, and she spotted a lingerie shop. On a whim she went in, and spent a weeks wages on matching sets, negligees, and a bustier and garter set. That night, for her dinner party, she wore the later set under a rather conservative sweater-dress, and took her time stripping the whole thing off. She knew he saw her, the feeling of his eyes on her would be terrifying if she didn't find it so erotic and exciting. She allowed herself to have fantasies about him- about cool hands running over her, strong arms enveloping her, a man who never needed to sleep keeping her up all night with his attentions. The game was addicting, and she could practically feel his disappointment on the nights where she went to bed wearing her flannel pyjamas, knowing he'd see nothing that night. She wondered if he was jealous on the nights where her friends would stay over. Harry and Ron always slept in her spare room, which faced away from the vampire's building, but George was still having trouble dealing with Fred's death, and had more than once climbed into bed with her out of a need for human contact. These were the times she refused to keep the curtains open, George deserved privacy in his grief, but she would always wonder what was going through the vampire's mind during those nights. Did she have as much of an effect on him as he did with her?
The games continued for months, through the winter and nearly into summer. It was the first Friday Hermione felt comfortable going out without a jacket. She met some of her new friends, Sarah and Cassie, who she had met in Chicago's equivalent of Diagon Alley, and they went out to dinner. Afterwards they convinced her to go to a local bar for a few drinks. They decided on one not too far from Hermione's apartment, a chic little place that was always full, but didn't feel crowded. Hermione was wearing a simple blue cotton dress, looking nice, but not overtly sexy. She had been on a few dates in Chicago, but for some reason none of them felt right, and she had yet to have a second date.
They found a table near the small dance floor, and ordered their first round, which came quickly. Hermione nursed her drink as they talked and watched the crowd, but even though they were all drinking slowly the drinks ran out, and there wasn't a waitress in sight. Hermione volunteered to go get the next round, and slid off her stool to head towards the bar. Before she reached it, however, she stopped dead. He was there, sitting at the bar, watching a baseball game on a screen with two others she immediately knew to be vampires. One was a statuesque blonde, wearing a tight, fitted shirt with a White Sox logo and a pair of jeans that every woman in the place would pay good money to look as perfect as she did in them. The other was a large man, arm possessively around the woman, though otherwise his demeanor seemed open and friendly. Her vampire, if she could call him that, was sitting slightly away from the other two, eyes glued to the set, a beer he would probably never drink in front of him. All three were either ignoring, or ignorant of, the many longing gazes they were receiving. Why the three vampires were in a bar and not at home was beyond her, but suddenly she felt emboldened. It was time for the game to get serious or end completely.
She slid up to the bar next to the vampire, but not touching him, doing nothing to draw attention to herself. She ordered her drinks, and waited until she saw the bartender bringing them over before she whispered, so low she wondered if the words actually came out, "Do I look as good out here as I do in bed?"
The vampire's head snapped up, just a little too fast, to look at her, but she pretended she didn't notice as she paid for the drinks, leaving the bartender a generous tip, and caught his eyes for a fraction of a second as she turned and went back to her table. Her heart hammered in her chest as she sat back down, but she didn't dare look back. Instead she tried to join in Sarah's conversation about a disastrous date she had been on. The longer it took, the more nervous she became. Had she crossed a line? Was the game only interesting when he thought she was an unwilling participant? Was his desire limited to looking, and not touching? Was he embarrassed to know he had gotten caught?
Three drinks later, and Hermione was ready to leave with whatever dignity she had left. She felt humiliated, the vampire was obviously not interested now that he knew she knew. The game was over, and despite being ahead the whole time, she lost in the end. She finished her drink, threw a few dollars on the table for a tip, and bid her friends good-bye. Her apartment was four blocks away, through a well-lit and safe area, and her wand was easily accessible in her purse, so she felt no need bother hailing a cab. She passed darkened specialty shops, a diner, and a drug store before turning onto her mostly residential street. Two buildings before her own she heard a voice float out of an alley she just passed.
"I thought you were never going to leave that bar."
The voice sent a thrill down her spine. It was cool and calm, with a slight southern drawl, and it oozed lust. She stopped and spun slowly, but was not at all surprised when she came face-to-face with him. He was leaning against the side of the building, half hidden in shadow. In any other situation she would be terrified, throwing the first hex she could before running, or even Apparating, but not now. Facing him now sent a surge through her body that settled somewhere below her waist.
"I was waiting for someone," she replied, not moving.
"He left you hanging, darlin'?"
"How rude of him," he said, taking a few slow steps towards her. "He should have grabbed hold a long time ago. Otherwise he's leaving you out there for anyone to snatch up. That's not how a gentleman treats a lady."
"I never said he was a gentleman. All evidence points to the contrary. He's been watching me for a long time, and hasn't once approached me. One might consider it the height of rudeness to look for so long without offering anything in return."
He took another couple steps towards her, which brought him to within arms length of her. "If you knew he was looking, why didn't you let him know so he could take advantage of that fact?"
"It might have helped if I knew who he was," she replied, taking a half-step forward. If either of them moved any closer they would have to touch.
"I could be wrong, but I think his name is Jasper, ma'am."
"Call me Hermione."
"Hermione," he breathed, and the desire brewing inside her surged as he said it.
"Of course, it's never too late for him to make up for his transgressions," she murmured, lifting her face towards his.
"He'll get right on that," he murmured, his cool breath cascading over her face. Before she could respond his lips were on hers, in the most bruising and intense kiss she ever experienced. Her magic became alight, and she could feel every small movement he made, and lust crashed over her in waves, as if she were feeling his on top of hers. They quickly found the same rhythm, and she was vaguely aware of the cold brick of the building coming into contact with her back. One of Jasper's hands found her arse, lifting up, pulling her legs so they wrapped around him as she was wedged between him and and the building. His tongue ran over her mouth, and she allowed it to clash with her own. The hand not supporting her arse ran up her arm, her shoulder, and her neck before entwining itself in her hair. He pulled the bun she was wearing free, and she could hear the pins she used to keep it in place hitting the asphalt below them. She was beginning to lose herself in him, and would have happily agreed to let him have her against that wall if she didn't hear several men hollering and cat-calling at them from the far end of the alley.
"My place?" she whispered.
He let her down rather gently for as quickly as it was, and she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards her building. She was barely aware of the doorman holding the door open for them, and she knew she hit the call button for the elevator more than once in her urgency, though he could later insist it was thirty-two times. As soon as they were alone in the elevator he had her up against the wall again, taking advantage of the seven-story ride to rid her of her shoes and loosen the belt that cinched her dress around her waist. When the doors opened he didn't put her down, instead carrying her to her apartment, one of two on the floor. Luckily she had performed a spell when she moved in so the door would open with her touch, as she couldn't remember where the key was in her bag, and he wasn't helping her memory by running his lips down her neck. Their shoes and her bag were discarded before the door clicked shut, and he picked her up bridal-style and walked her to her room as though he had been in the apartment hundreds of times before. Before he set her down on the bed he pulled the dress up and over her head. He placed her carefully on the bed and stood over her, gazing down at her hungrily.
"I always liked those," he smirked, nodding towards the white bra and knicker set she had considered one of her more conservative pairs.
"Are you just going to stand there and look?" she asked impatiently.
He responded by pulling his shirt over his head. She had a few seconds to marvel at him, at the body that was near perfection standing before her, before he was in bed with her, his lips finding hers again, pushing her so she was lying on the bed with his body pressing into her from above. Her fingers raked against his cool skin, unable to find purchase, but needing to touch him, to assure herself that it was really him this time and not her imagination running through one of her fantasies. But her fantasies had been limited to some of her past experiences, and she never once imagined he could rid her of her bra without her realizing he had even slipped a hand behind her. Her fantasies could imagine his skin was cool, unyielding, and flawless. She realized as his kisses trailed down her neck and her chest, that his skin was not smooth perfection, but rather covered in barely-noticeable ridges, which she had to strain to see. She tried to make a mental note to ask him about them later, but lost her thought as his tongue flicked out to meet one of her peaks.
Her arousal was an inferno, painfully hot below her waist, and the heat radiated out through her body from there. It was in sharp contrast to the coolness of his skin, his hand, and his tongue, and the contrasting sensations was nearly enough to send her over the edge. She gave control of her body to her urges, hips raising so she was rubbing against his jean-clad leg insistently, one hand wrapping tightly in her sheet, the other firmly planted in Jasper's hair. His mouth moved from one breast to the other, and the hand that had been massaging that breast trailed down her stomach, moving over the waistband of her knickers, and rubbing her a few times through the fabric before he found the spot that had her moaning loudly. He moved his fingers like she did when she was trying to pleasure herself quickly, and within three circles of the digits she climaxed, clinging to him to keep herself grounded as the pleasure flowed through her body until every nerve was alight.
He slowly moved off her as she came down, and she felt him pulling the wet knickers from her body. He took a few seconds to appreciate her nude form from a distance he was sure he'd never be able to experience her from, and then he stripped his pants from his body, and lay next to her. One of his arms snaked around her, pulling her upwards until she was astride him. He didn't need to ask, she reached between them, finding his cock waiting for her. It was as impressive as she had imagined it was, and she eagerly positioned it under her and lowered herself onto him.
His hands shot to her hips, holding her in place as they both got used to the feeling of their bodies together. She gripped his forearms tightly, looking down at him as though she was afraid he would leave if her eyes left him. After a few moments she felt his grip loosen, and she took it as permission to move. She used her grip on his forearms to steady herself as she lifted her hips off his, then lowered herself again. She moved slowly at first, then began to move quicker as the fire in her abdomen began to flare again.
"Touch yourself, Hermione," he begged in a ragged whisper. "Show me how you want me to touch you."
Her hips began to move in circles as she let go of his forearms. Her hands immediately cupped her breasts, alternating between massaging them and gently twisting her peaks. He watched her for a minute, then pulled her forward so he could take over. Her hands were on the headboard, and she tried to focus on her movements against him while her mind threatened to give up all control to the feeling of him. He pulled her further down, so she was forced to put her arms on either side of him. His arms were gentle as he held her to him, fingers playing with her hair, lips surging forward to meet hers. The frenzied pace of their lovemaking shifted, and she realized at that point things were never going to be the same. The game would never be over. They now belonged to each other, and this night would be the first of many.
He pushed himself up into a sitting position, helping her shift her legs so they were wrapped around him. Their gazes locked as they started moving together, slowly until they found a rhythm that matched. He held her tightly to him, arms wrapped around her possessively, and she ran her fingers over his chest and back in a sudden need to feel as much of him as possible. They drew each other in as their movements sped up, kissing passionately. Before long she felt herself clamping down on him. Her second orgasm wasn't as explosive as the first, he drew it slowly out of her, but it was just as intense. He kept moving in her as she finished, and her exhausted body sank against him. A few more thrusts brought about his own orgasm, and she felt him spill into her.
They stayed together as she came down, catching her breath and finally finding the strength to lift herself off him, laying next to him and pulling him down to her. He kissed her, lips, face, and neck, randomly, holding her close until she was finally able to find the right words.
"Will you stay?" she asked.
"As long as you want me, darlin'," he replied with a smile.
"Never through the window again," she insisted.
"Never," he shook his head before wrapping her around him as she drifted off to sleep.