A/N: My muse has been a hussy recently, so I decided to try to calm her down with a lemony Hermione/Jasper one-shot. This is his side of my other story 'Wicked Game'.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor Twilight, nor am I affiliated with any of their respective owners. I just like to play with the toys.
Warnings: Here there be lemons. And light bondage. Ye be warned.
He stood in his apartment, scanning the skyline of the city. Living so close to so many people had given him hope at first, hope of finding another person who he could spend time with. He loved his family, but living with the same people for a few decades was wearing, especially since he was the only single one of the family. So he had branched out, getting an apartment near a favorite haunt of Peter and Charlotte so he could visit with his good friends on occasion, but what he really hoped for was to find a partner. A woman equal to him in every way but her mortality, one who piqued his interest intellectually and physically, someone who wouldn't run screaming when the time came to make a decision about forever. He wasn't sure where to start, so like so many looking for something they couldn't quite put into words, he turned to the internet. He found a nearby community of vampire enthusiasts, and while he knew they would more be more likely to be fans of Anne Rice and Bram Stroker, it would be better than nothing. Of course, that's all he got from the meeting he attended. Nothing. A bunch of people with a penchant of dressing in black, wearing fake fangs and/or contacts, and with such an overwhelming wave of similar emotions he could barely make it all the way through. The girls liked him, he looked troubled, pale, and mysterious, but none of them were what he was looking for. And the ones who claimed vampirism... if they only knew what it was really like. Felt what he felt. Seen what he'd seen. That most vampires he had come into contact with were nothing more than disposable bodies racked with bloodlust, not dark, sensual, existential beings. Few vampires he had ever encountered got past the stage where they knew nothing more than blood and survival, and they didn't perfect the later. For those who got over the newborn stage, and away from the wars, few outside Volterra had the time or patience to act like stereotypes. And then there were the types like Carlisle, who preferred the light over the dark and help over harm.
After six months of a mostly solitary life in Chicago he was starting to wonder if he shouldn't move on. Try again in another city. Certainly there had to be some woman, somewhere, who drew him in. He wanted what Carlisle and Esme had, deep love and loyalty. What Alice and Edward had, a playful relationship with just enough of an edge to keep things exciting, and an unrivaled understanding of each other. What Emmett and Rosalie had, an intense physical connection and unending trust. He kind of hoped for a movie moment; One where he saw the girl, fell for her, could sweep her off her feet and get his happily ever after. But so far few had warranted a second glance. He was an old soul in a new world, and while he was sure his woman was out there, he was starting to think she didn't live anywhere near Chicago.
And then one day, the day he had to decide to extend his lease or not, she appeared. Like magic, as ironic as he would later find that thought.
Of course, he didn't know her. It was just by chance he even spotted her, but as soon as he saw her, he was drawn to her. Wanted to watch her, to never tear his eyes off her. She drew him in from afar, and he was sure she didn't see him.
She was moving into the apartment building across the way. Such an innocuous activity. Thousands of people move every day, and he had seen more people moving than he ever wanted to. And yet, it was so different. She arrived with the requisite stacks of boxes, and men in uniforms carting in furniture. He didn't see much of her at first, she always had her back to him as she directed the movers as to where her things needed to go. He was bored with it quickly, but for some reason he couldn't stop watching. Once the movers were gone something amazing happened.
He had seen single women moving before. Usually they did one of two things when all their stuff was in their apartment. Either they got a boyfriend or a small team of girlfriends to help get their things away, or they poured themselves a glass of wine and sat on their couch, contemplating the enormity of the situation before them. Not this girl. She pulled out a stick and started waving it around. Boxes opened themselves, dishes flew into cabinets and towels stacked neatly in the linen closet. When the boxes were empty they collapsed themselves and disappeared. It took five to ten minutes for her to finish a room, but within an hour her apartment looked as though she had been living there for years.
A witch. No wonder she drew his interest. He had heard that witches and wizards existed before, one of those things the life of an immortal made him privy to, but he hadn't actually witnessed magic up to that point. Magical beings and vampires tended not to mix, and there was a deep seeded distrust of one another. But she was a safe distance away- across eight lanes of traffic and two sets of train tracks. She wouldn't be able to see him, and as long as she was unaware of his presence, it wouldn't hurt for him to watch her for a while. He chalked it up to spying on the enemy. The more he knew about magic, the better.
At first she carried out her life as usual, and she seemed a very private person. Before she got dressed for bed she closed the curtains, and they wouldn't open back up until she was ready for the day. Occasionally she would open them when she was in her pajamas- usually a well-worn pair of red and gold pants and either a t-shirt or tank-top depending on the weather- and stare out at the skyline for a while. She had her fair share of visitors. Two seemed to be her best female friends, and they liked to make dinner together and chat over glasses of wine. There was another group that visited her quite often- a raven-haired man, and a varying group of redheads, occasionally with a blonde girl with an odd sense of style or a brown haired man who looked thrilled to be included. She seemed much closer with the second group, playing games, laughing more freely, and many of them would spend the night. Her female friends used the front door, these friends came out of green flames in her fireplace.
After a little while he realized her curtains were spending more time shut than open, and he found it very frustrating. He missed watching her. He wanted to see her. A few times he considered trying to approach her, but he held back. He didn't know how much witches were taught about vampires, but if she recognized him as one there was a good chance there's be a confrontation before he had a chance to explain. And what would he say to her? "Hello, I've been watching you from across the expressway for months. I know you're a witch, there's a good chance now that we've met you know I'm a vampire. Would you like to hang out sometime?" Even without the witch and vampire thing, he was sure that opening would earn him a well-deserved slap. What witch would want to be friends with someone as dangerous as he?
And then one day everything changed. Her curtains started to be opened more often than closed, and he now could watch as she slept. But it was what happened a few days after that would irrevocably draw him in to his witch. Perhaps she had a bad day at work, or had to be up early the next day, but either way they were shut half an hour before she usually went to bed. He settled down with a novel he was reading, and had made it through three chapters when he noticed her curtains had opened again. He knew she was probably just sleeping or watching the skyline again, it could be hypnotic when one had a lot on their mind, but he stood to get a glimpse of her anyways. And what he saw was shocking, and yet the most erotic thing he had ever seen. She was lying in bed, half-covered with a sheet and wearing a sexy silk nightgown, and she was touching herself. He knew he shouldn't be looking, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. He was mesmerized by her fingers, running over the fabric, squeezing and rolling her breasts, dipping beneath the sheet to touch herself. He felt himself growing as she got closer to her climax- her face flushed, she nibbled her lip, her hand moved faster. Finally her back arched, lifting her off the pillow and her mouth opened in a moan he'd give everything to have heard. When she climaxed she collapsed back on the bed, her body twitching uncontrollably, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to regain her breath. He was frozen until her body sank into her mattress, her eyes closing slowly as she fell asleep with a smile playing across her face.
As if a spell on him lifted he found himself able to move again, but there was only one thing he could think to do. He was straining painfully against his pants, and he knew there was nothing he could think of to rid himself of his erection. It had been too long since he had last had pleasure, and the image of her was burned into his mind and wouldn't leave until he had taken care of himself. He stripped off without care of where his clothes fell, and stepped into the shower. He thought about her, of her hand running over herself. He used one hand to steady himself on the marble wall of his shower as he allowed his imagination to take over. In his mind it was not her hand twisting her peaks, it was his. She moaned in pleasure, begged for more, wanting his hand everywhere. It didn't take long for him to bring about his own climax. When he was able to bring himself back to reality he realized that he hand closed his fingers around the marble, gouging finger-length streaks in the stone. That was going to be a hard one to explain to Carlisle and Esme if they dropped by before he had a chance to get it fixed. Then again, it was going to be a hard one to explain to the repairman as well.
He thought that night was a fluke. She opened the curtains for some reason unknown to him, and he would never get to see it again. How wrong he was. Within a week he was watching her strip bare before him, showing him everything. He drank it in like a parched man drinks water, absorbing every detail, memorizing how she touched herself and the reactions her body gave to each of her different touches. His shower was getting more use than ever, and it was only when he realized he was close to losing control that he forced himself to leave the city for a weekend to hunt. But even driving down the road his mind was back in her apartment, with the girl as she came undone in front of him, and he wondered what wonders she was exposing that he was missing.
One might seem it would get old, watching the same girl doing similar things every night. But it never did. She started stripping down slowly in front of the window, and for a moment he wondered if she knew, if this was a show for him, but he realized how impossible that was. Witches didn't have super-powerful sight, did they? Seeing as how some of her friends wore glasses, he was pretty confident they had normal vision. There would be no way for her to know he was there, that he was watching. Their relationship was wrong, he had no right to be watching her the way he did, but she was too delicious to give up. And there was never a chance of actually getting her, so he would have to settle for what he could get.
On occasion, when her friends came over, she would close the window, and he wouldn't be able to see. It was only ever when one of the redheads- a tall one with one ear and the weight of the world on his shoulders- who spent the night in her bed. He would climb in as she closed the curtains, and he would feel anger and jealousy rush through him. The first time it was all he could do to stop himself from going over there, but he reminded himself that she was not his. She may very well be the wizards, but if she was he was doing a poor job spending time with her, only coming over every few weeks. The idea that he was a friend with benefits, as was the current term for them, flitted through his brain, but it didn't settle well with him. She was too beautiful, too smart, to have to settle for meaningless sex. Or, at least his construct of her was.
He spent too much time away from home without contact, and he should have known Esme would never let it stand. She wouldn't come herself, she wanted to be their mother without them actually feeling like she was being 'mom'. She had two choices of who to send to check up on him, and she sent Emmett and Rosalie. Which was incredibly lucky for him. He'd never be able to keep the girl from Edward, and he didn't want to know what Alice had been seeing lately. Whatever they knew, they weren't passing the information on, because Emmett and Rosalie arrived blissfully unaware of his nighttime viewings. And he pointedly keep them out during the evenings when the girl was putting on her show- taking them to a baseball game, a couple plays, and out to some clubs. Each time he returned and the girl was asleep, but he didn't dare let his gaze linger. Emmett and Rosalie might be the least perceptive of his family, but that was like saying they were the dumbest members of MENSA. They still knew when something was going on.
His brother and sister liked watching baseball games and discussing what was going on, but the day was bright, and they didn't dare go to the ballpark. Instead they went to a local bar, ordered beers they would never drink, and watched the game while ignoring those around them. Eventually Emmett and Rosalie got into one of their playful arguments that usually meant he'd be sequestered to his bedroom if not driven out of the apartment entirely that night, and he was trying to ignore them and secretly hoping they'd leave in time for him to catch a quick view of the girl that night when the completely unexpected happened.
"Do I look as good out here as I do in bed?"
Those words, spoken barely above the sound of her breath in her soft, British accent. He didn't dare hope the words were meant for him as he looked towards the woman. It was her, standing there and looking like perfection. Her hair was pulled back in a messy-looking bun he was sure was that way on purpose. She wore a little makeup, but it didn't draw away from her natural beauty. She didn't bother adding color to her lips, she nibbled on them enough to draw a natural pink color to them. She paid for her drinks and turned to go back to her table. Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second- nothing to most people, more than enough for him. Her eyes were questioning, hopeful, and alluring. That fraction of a second was all he needed to know. She knew about him watching, and it had been an act on her part. Whether or not she ever planned on drawing him in for real was probably up in the air until that moment, but now she had put it to a question. He had a choice to make- to go to her immediately, approach her in front of her friends, or to wait for her to leave. The second was infinitely more appealing. Approaching her now would not only involve trying to get her friends to approve of him, but it would also alert Emmett and Rosalie, who had managed to leave each other alone long enough to watch the game again. If they saw him approaching a girl there would be endless taunting, plus a report back to Esme, who would call the next day with an interrogation. If Emmett and Rosalie knew he was going home with a girl he didn't even know the name of, Esme's interrogation would become a lecture about treating a woman with respect. And him prefacing it that it was all part of a voyeuristic game would earn him a visit from his very stern mother-figure. He watched the woman as she walked back to her table, a little stiffer than a normal person, head not turning even slightly around.
Emmett and Rosalie had gone back to kissing, and he saw his chance.
"Get a room," he hissed, tossing the key to his apartment on the bar in front of them. "Preferably the guest room, but if I know you, and I do, all I can do is ban you from my room and hope I don't find the place in shambles. Just promise you'll close the curtains so no one else has to be subjected to you."
"Where are you going?" Rosalie asked.
"For a walk. I might go out further. I'm feeling a bit confined, and might need to get out to the wilderness for a while."
"Didn't you go camping last weekend?"
"Yeah, but it was a nice weekend, so the forest was busy, and all I saw was a whitetail. Not enough, I don't think, and having you around always drives me out of the area quicker," he said, sliding off the stool without a good-bye. He headed towards the door, taking the long way so he could walk around the woman's table. She did look quite fetching, and he would have to remember to tell her that. But the dress would look much more fetching thrown onto the floor. He had no intentions of protecting what Esme would call 'a woman's virtue'.
He walked to her building, looked up, and decided to wait a little further away. There was an alley a couple of buildings away, just off the easiest passage from the bar to the front of her building. He walked to the middle of the alley, just in case she went that way, and waited. He thought she would be by quickly, but an hour and a half later he was still waiting. It was frustrating, and he debated returning to the bar and figuring out what was taking her, but then she passed. He felt bad for a moment, her head was down, her cheeks pink, she was obviously upset. Perhaps not approaching her at the bar had been a poor decision, but it had already been made. So he hurried to the end of the alley to catch her attention.
He wasn't sure what he wanted out of that first meeting. He was thrilled she was talking to him, and his mind was racing. Did he ask her on a date? Were they past that? How did she even know he was watching her? He wanted to ask her somewhere private to talk, but then she got closer. Her scent was intoxicating, drawing him in, enticing him to touch her, the lust she was feeling for him amplified in his emotional state. And then his resolve broke, he was touching her, had her between his body and the wall, and he was kissing her. It was the single most thrilling moment of his life, and the world started to slowly melt away as he was lost in her scent, the sound of her breathing and heartbeat, the feel of her warm body pressed against his, her fingers running over him insistently. If they hadn't been interrupted by the boys at the other end of the alley there was a good chance they would have been too engrossed in each other to care that their coupling was so public.
Within minutes they were in her bed, consummating whatever type of relationship they had. It was surreal at first, he was convinced for a time that his mind finally got away from him, that his fantasies had taken over, and that he'd come out of his trance back in the familiar shower, with himself in his hand and Hermione, his beautiful Hermione, back in her own apartment, sleeping and blissfully unaware of the vampire watching her every night.
Somewhere in the midst of their lovemaking he realized that things were really happening. And that he would never be able to settle for just once. He was hers, he'd do anything for her, follow her anywhere. His mate. Some day he'd offer her immortality. Fate didn't throw them together for their time together to be so short. His eyes weren't glued to her that first day for any random reason. There was magic at play here, maybe she was aware of it, maybe she wasn't, but either way he knew in that moment that their journey together would be a long one. Instantly there was a shift in their lovemaking. The lust he was radiating turned to something more, something deeper, and she seemed to feel it as well. He sat up, so he could feel her wrapped around him in as many ways possible, and they finished while gazing into each others eyes.
Then she asked him to stay. It was a tremendous relief to hear that she was feeling at least a bit in the same way. Of course, there was suddenly an edge. How was he going to explain everything to her? Was he just going to try to pretend he was human until they had spent enough time together, or should he be honest from the start?
In the end he didn't need to worry. As they lay on her pillow, having the kind of small talk most people reserve for long before they sleep together, she reached up to push a bit of his hair away from his face.
"I like looking in your eyes," she admitted. "They're captivating."
"Glad you like 'em, darlin'," he smiled, trying not to feel nervous that she noticed.
"I've never seen one with your color eyes before."
"One what?" he asked, surprised.
"Vampire, of course," she laughed.
He was so shocked he couldn't speak, so she continued.
"I've only met a few vampires before, and they've all had red eyes. I know what golden means, and I know it must be difficult for you."
"You know I'm a vampire?" he asked in awe.
"Of course. I've read all about them."
"And you're... okay with that?"
"Now would be a poor time for me to change my mind, wouldn't it? If I had a problem with it, I would have moved as soon as I realized you were living across the way and watching me."
"How did you know I was watching you?"
"Super-sensory charm. I knew someone was watching me, and I was determined to figure out who. I spied on you once, and realized you were the only one who could be watching me."
"You... did all that, even knowin' I was watchin'?"
She bit her lip, and he had to hold himself back from kissing her again, because he knew the moment they kissed again they'd be lost in each other, and he might have to wait hours for the answer. Not that he would mind, but he was fascinated with his Hermione, and was torn between wanting to be buried inside her again and wanting to talk to her until she was to exhausted to keep speaking.
"It was somewhat thrilling for me," she answered slowly. "Thinking you were watching and enjoying the show."
"I certainly did enjoy the show, ma'am," he chuckled.
"Is it any better now that you're part of the show?"
"I much prefer this," he beamed before leaning forward and claiming her lips again. She wasted no time, wrapping a leg around him and rolling so he was positioned between her legs. He reached down to position himself at her opening, and slid slowly into her, relishing in the moan that escaped her lips. He kissed her as much as he could as he moved inside her, feeling her fingernails running down his skin, a sheen of sweat breaking across her skin even when she was covered by his cool body. He could have stayed with her like that all night, but soon she was clamping around him, drawing him into her, her head rolling back as she lost control, and the sight and feeling of it all sent him over the edge as well. She rested against his chest as she came down, and quickly gave herself to fatigue and fell asleep. He happily held her all night, and would never object to their quick romp when she woke up the next morning.
They had promised it would never be through the window again, but their little game had been too much to give up so quickly. She wanted to keep her friends oblivious to her torrid affair until they both felt comfortable enough to make introductions. So when her friends Harry and Ron visited two weeks later they were separated, but once her friends had retired the game was on again, the show through the window. As exciting as it was he forced himself to wait until he could have her again the next night, when to his delight she wore the same undergarments to bed. When Esme and Carlisle visited for a week they were parted again, though he managed to manipulate them into using his spare room a couple times so he could watch Hermione. They were only forced to reveal their relationship when Christmas rolled around and Alice insisted on meeting his woman. Of course they adored her as one of the family from the moment they met her.
The bigger problem had been telling her friends, but fate took care of that for them.
He got back from a long hunting trip in Canada a day early, and decided he was going to surprise Hermione. Using the key she left him he entered her apartment a half hour before she was due home, started a pot roast for her, and settled on the couch in front of her fireplace, waiting for her to emerge.
Like clockwork she stepped out of the fireplace at five fifteen, and he stood, opening his arms to welcome her.
"Jasper!" she cried, looking startled. "You weren't due home until tomorrow!"
"I drove exceptionally fast, even for me," he smirked.
"I didn't know you'd be here. You see, Harry..."
She was cut off by the fireplace glowing green again, and Harry stepping out. He took one look at Jasper, and turned, wide-eyed to Hermione.
"'Mione, did you know there's a vampire in your sitting room?"
"Yes, Harry," she replied nervously.
"Is this... is it a common occurrence to have a vampire in your flat?"
"It recently has been."
"Is he a very good friend?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Well, then. Nice to meet you," he turned and held a hand out to Jasper.
Hermione was relieved her best friend took the news well, and soon had introduced him to her group of friends, and Molly Weasley, who doted on him like a son.
Once the relationship wasn't a secret the inevitable question came up- why would they continue to live across the expressway from each other when they were spending most nights together. His lease came up for renewal first, and he decided to move out and move in with her. The move was quick, with Esme and Alice coming over to pack and move things, and before he knew it he was bidding them good-bye as they left for a well-deserved weekend shopping and seeing the latest musical, leaving him alone with only a few pieces of furniture Edward would be picking up the next day. He looked around one final time, saving a last glance at Hermione's apartment for last, and found Hermione wasn't waiting for him to come over. She was stripping off her shirt dress, revealing a modest pair of knickers and bra underneath. She turned away from him and slowly pulled the bra off, making a show of covering her breasts with a hand as she put it in her hamper. Turning again she took the knickers off, but not before she had stepped behind her curtain so he could only see the fabric as she tossed them across the room. When she re-emerged she had put on a much more risque black and red lace set. She sat on the bed, slowly pulling on a pair of thigh-high stockings with lace tops, securing them in place with her wand before slipping her feet into a pair of dangerously high heels. She stood up, turned, and walked out of his line of sight. He turned to hurry to her, thinking she'd be waiting for him, when he was suddenly jerked back as though by an invisible lasso, landing hard in a chair, his wrists forced behind him and bound to the thick wooden back rest. Reflexively he strained against the bond, but found no amount of strength would free him. A flash of panic swept over him until he felt the other person in the room- and the desire she was oozing.
"Did you think it would be that easy?" Hermione purred, stepping out from behind him and running her wand across his face.
"Yes, ma'am, but I must have been mistaken," he smirked.
"Indeed, you were. And I'm going to make you pay for it, Major Whitlock."
A shiver of excitement shot down his spine. "Ma'am?" he asked, staring at her hungrily and shifting his hips to relieve some of the pressure from his cock straining against his jeans.
"You will watch," she ordered. "And you will do as I say. I'll know when you want it enough to be rewarded. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," he smiled widely.
"Good," she murmured, tossing her wand to the side before stepping forward and sitting astride his lap. She bent her head, her lips coming so close to him he could feel the heat radiating off her. "Kiss me," she ordered.
He responded enthusiastically, thrusting himself forward to catch her lips in a bruising kiss. He kissed her as passionately as he could, and strained to follow her lips as she backed away from him, and let off a soft groan of protest when he found he couldn't.
"Things must be getting tight," she murmured, shifting her hips against his, feeling his erection underneath her.
"Let me see if I can do something about that," she smirked, running her hands over his shirt before slowly unfastening each button. She pushed the shirt open and ran her fingers lightly over his cool skin, taking a little too long to explore his bare chest, causing him to get restless and start fighting against the bonds.
She chuckled and leaned into him, gently kissing his neck. "You are too easy sometimes, Major Whitlock."
"You forget I am not used to going slow."
"I would think what is more unusual would be being restrained."
"Damnit, Hermione, if you don't start something I'm going to break this chair..."
"Language, love," she murmured against the skin behind his ear, her warm breath electrifying his skin. Before he could come back with a witty retort her fingernails raked down his unforgiving chest, tracing over every line of his muscles, while simultaneously nipping his neck. She unfastened the button on his jeans and, just when he thought he might be getting a little release, stood and strode to the other side of the room. He groaned and strained as she conjured up a bottle of wine, taking a long, slow drink before setting it down and surveying what was left around the room.
"You think I was going to get to the fun part that quickly?" she asked, standing by the iPod station he had left hooked up. "That's no fun," she smirked, scrolling through the songs.
"Hmm... a playlist entitled 'Our Game'. Would that be songs you listened to while we were playing that game, or songs that reminded you of what we used to be before we were together?"
"The later, ma'am," he groaned, shifting his hips, trying to get some kind of relief.
She pressed the button, and a rather raunchy rock song started playing. She gazed at him with a sultry smile, putting the device down. "I can work with this," she murmured, moving towards him. She sat astride his lap once more and started dancing against him, moving her hips across his lap, moving her body so he could see each of her muscles straining against her skin. She would bring her breasts close to him, almost close enough to nuzzle, then lean back, making them utterly unattainable. Then she turned around, grinding her bum against his straining cock, and he heard the chair straining in protest as he tried to free himself of the bonds.
She turned again, sitting astride his lap but lifting slightly off it, so her breasts were close to his face.
"Kiss me," she ordered again, and it was clear she wasn't talking about her mouth. He thrust himself forward as much as he could, kissing her exposed flesh, sucking on the spots he knew drove her wild, lightly biting what was covered by the bra. He could smell her arousal growing, felt her buck her hips involuntarily against him, and mewl in pleasure when he touched just the right spot.
Without warning he took one of the straps of her bra in his mouth, pulled it safely away from her delicate skin, and bit hard, ripping the fabric with his sharp teeth and venom.
"Jasper!" she gasped as he used his teeth to pull the cup down, exposing her breast to him. She didn't protest when his cool tongue flicked across her exposed nipple, immediately tightening the nub as it strained for more. He lavished attention on her as she moaned, holding his head to her, and he occasionally strained against the bonds, wondering how much more of the exquisite torture he had to endure before he would be freed. With ease he tore the second strap, repeating his actions on her other breast as she began to pant in need.
Suddenly she pulled away from him, standing up and smirking down at him.
"Naughty, naughty," she scolded in a husky voice that betrayed the lust she was radiating. "You nearly took control from me. I'll have to punish you for that."
"Making me wait like this is punishment, you tortuous witch," he growled, testing the bonds again.
"You said it yourself: You could break the chair," she smirked, pulling the destroyed bra off and tossing it aside. "Why don't you?"
"Do not tempt me, seductress, I will not be held accountable for what happens if you continue."
"Do you know what I think?" she murmured, moving towards him and kneeling.
"I know what you feel," he hissed. "I am not the only one who wants me to break the chair and fuck you while pieces are still tied to my wrists."
"You would have done it already if you didn't want this... if you didn't need to be the powerless one for once. You seem to love giving me control," she muttered, slowly pulling down the zipper on his jeans. "To tease you. To make every one of your senses come alight while denying you what you want most. You will get to fuck me, you know you will because you know I want it as badly as you," she tugged on the jeans, and he shifted so she could pull them down to his knees. "And so you let this game continue because you're curious. You want to see how far I can push you before your need takes over," she murmured as she pulled his boxers down, freeing his rock-hard cock. "You want to see how far this goes before you need to regain control."
He opened his mouth to question her, but was silenced as she ran her tongue over his cock, then took it into her mouth.
"Fuck, witch," he hissed, and he could hear the wood of the chair crack, but it didn't give. Her warm mouth engulfed him, moving up and down at the painstakingly slow speed only a mortal woman could achieve. One hand cupped him, the other circled the shaft and moved with her mouth. He was reduced to an incoherent mess, encouraging her in speech to rapid for her to hear, relishing in every second until he felt a familiar tightening in his groin. He willed himself not to finish, he couldn't, Hermione hadn't gotten touched yet...
He was about to warn Hermione to stop when he felt the bonds disappear. Without hesitation he gently, yet quickly, grabbed Hermione. He pushed her onto the couch, pulling her to the edge as he knelt in front of her, pushing open her legs. Her knickers were torn off and cast aside before she could protest, and his cool tongue found her slit. She moaned her approval, winding a fist into his hair and raking the fingers of her other hand down his arm. He savored her taste, running his tongue over her slowly, though to her it would feel rapid. The motion was so familiar to him he could perform while watching her, the delicious flush of her skin creeping up from her chest up her neck as she got closer, the overpowering scent of her threatening to take his control. She was delirious with the sensation of his cold skin against her skin, which felt as though it were on fire, and in no time she felt her body start to coil in anticipation, breaking in a spectacular orgasm. She panted, wanting to wind down, but Jasper had waited long enough. He picked her up, turning her over so her knees were resting on the couch and her hands gripped the back. He forced himself under control as he entered her, knowing he wanted nothing more than to grab her and pound into her but unable to do so out of fear of harming her. Soon he would give her immortality, and when she was no longer breakable he would be able to be as rough as he wanted, but his love for her and fear of harming her kept him under control.
Of course, she didn't make it easy, wantonly pushing her hips back against him, throwing her head back, and purring her pleasure and encouragement. Her skin, so soft and warm underneath him, yielded to his his lightest touch, erupting in small bumps as he ran his hands over her. He slid a hand around her front, touching her breasts, rolling and tugging her peaks, and holding her in place as he moved against him.
He felt himself tightening again, and moved his fingers to her clit, stroking it and circling it to force her to go over the edge with him. An unladylike string of obscenities spewed from her lips as she clenched around him, and with a few more bruising thrusts he pushed her over the edge and took him with her.
She collapsed against the back of the couch, panting hard. He chuckled, leaning forward, grabbing her around the middle and laying her gently on the couch. He laid down next to her, drawing her close to him as he planted kisses on her face, neck, and jaw.
"What were those?" he asked, looking at the damaged chair but not seeing any trace of what had bound him to it.
"George's new product. 'Bonds of Love'. They only let you go when your only thought is to please your partner. He wanted me to test them out. Now he can advertize that they'll even hold a vampire back."
He chuckled. "Anytime he has any other product, I will happily do him the service of being his test subject."
"You owe me a bra. I liked that one."
"I'll buy you a lingerie shop, on the condition you'll model the products for me."
"I haven't shown you enough?"
"I will never get enough of you," he murmured, kissing her again.