In the year 1900, Penelope Silverthorn returns to Hogwarts after eight years of leaving only to find herself struggling with everything she left behind, including Sebastian Sallow, who is betrothed to another.
EllaSallow
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Chapter 25: Sebastian's (Dis)Respect
"I'm reeling in my brain again, until it can get back to you." Ricky Montgomery
This chapter may contain partial mature content.
Heavy breaths echoed within the steam that covered the surrounding moisture walls. The air was suffused with a palpable tension; each inhale was laced with something more hotter. Something more burning.
The image of the forest green fabric hugging the body with effortless grace danced around the vivid imagination. It haunted at the edges of the consciousness.
Sebastian Sallow recalled the way the jersey clung to Penelope Silverthorn's skin; each seam and stitch molding to the shape of her body as if a stupid jersey from years ago was the last straw for the man. The sight was barely enough to quicken his pulse, igniting a burning sensation of the shower that hit with each moment.
"Goodnight, Professor Sallow." The memory echoed in his mind. Such simple words stirring something deep within him.
Professor Sallow. He knew Penelope held the power; the way her words could unravel him with a mere whisper, and yet she did it again.
Sebastian Sallow stood beneath the hot water, lost in inappropriate thoughts and his head tilted back toward the shower head, eyes closed as droplets of water fell from his freckled nose.
In the cocoon of the steam and solitude, he gave out a small grunt whilst his soapy fingers trailed down the abdominal area of himself and caused a tingling sensation.
Sebastian wondered what would've happened if Penelope ever allowed him to let loose on that Undercroft. He wondered how the scenario would've been if Ominis Gaunt wasn't there tormenting their moment.
Would her lips still taste the same? If her lingering scent stood the same, anything else would've been too, right? Would she still giggle when a hand would touch her inner thigh? Would she do that thing where she'll moan louder if he just pressed that one spot —
Sebastian threw off a low whimper, his right hand pumping tighter with each stroke and he could feel the tension seeping from his muscles. He'll replace the image with Penelope Silverthorn's touch; her fingers trailing along his flesh with the same tenderness.
What if he had taken her on that Faculty Tower after the game? No. He was a loyal man. It was impossible. He would never do that.
But what if he did? Could he finally get a scent of the old jersey on her? Fuck her endlessly as he imagines her wearing his Coach Sallow jersey from the back instead?
