Between his Warmth and his Wrath

Chapter 1

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The sound of the clock rattled through my head with every passing second, seeming to get louder with every resounding noise. Dumbledore had been talking relentlessly about turning cats into cacti for about twenty five minutes and I don't think I could have repeated a single word he had said. When enduring virtually the same lesson for the third time, the mind inevitably wanders and as a creature of habit, my mind wandered to him. His raven hair, his chiselled features, his dark eyes. The way he towers above me and has to lean down to kiss me, the feel of the base of his pelvis fitting perfectly against the peak of mine, the exquisite contrast of his burning heat and the icy wall as he pins me against it, using his whole body against mine, knowing his own strength.

Thinking of him near me, touching me, I found myself automatically tightening my thighs beneath the desk, my hips grinding only slightly, sending an ecstatic warmth throughout my core. I stared over at his empty desk, biting my lip as I wondered where he was at that moment, what he was doing, what he would do to me later... I arched my back, increasing the pressure between my warmth and my thighs. Envisioning his hand on my thigh, my -

Jarring me out of my distracted state, the heavy door groaned as it was heaved open.
"Tom?" Tom? Butterflies rattled in my stomach, "As I understood it you were to be absent for the entirety of today's lesson. Has there been a change of circumstance?"
I turned and there he was, the light from the window falling on him like a spotlight.
"No you aren't mistaken, Sir. I'm afraid I only came for Scarlett, her presence is demanded elsewhere."
Me? "Very well, Riddle. Good day to you both."
As I rose from my chair my legs were practically trembling in anticipation of his touch. My teeth dug into my lip as I met his eyes, telling him exactly what I wanted. The contact between our eyes was as strong as the contact of our skin, his vision bearing into me, thrilling my soul. And just like that he drew his eyes away, his face telling nothing but his eyes telling everything. He was teasing me. Everyone being there, watching us, completely oblivious was more exciting than anything else could have been. The thought that people would probably work out what we were really doing made me struggle to keep my composure. I wanted them to know. It only made it more exciting.

I reached the door and he shifted ever so slightly, causing a minimal, but definite grazing of our skin. He sluggishly pulled the door shut as I stood in wait, dragging out the process at an infuriating pace. He was toying he with me. It was alright, I knew I would get him back. Once the door was shut, he wordlessly took hold of my wrist, his fingers applying impossible pressure as he strode through the halls at such a pace I had to trot behind him, unable to match his stride. After three sharp lefts and an unnervingly quick descent down a staircase, he practically threw me into the Slytherin common room. Empty.

"Everyone is in class," a smirk crept across my face expectantly as I stated what we both knew.
"No one will be in here for at least fifteen minutes..." he added to my own statement, no smirk was on his face though. He only looked hungry, famished.
"That's not very long" I toyed with the hem of my skirt coyly, drawing it to the limit of my modesty, "someone could come back early..."
"We both know you like to get caught, Scarlett" his voice was rough, he was struggling to control himself. I responded with the lowest, most subtle of moans at the thought and that pushed him over the edge. He strode over to me, his muscles appearing to almost swell to twice their size, exerting a power and dominance one could ordinarily only imagine. His huge hands took me roughly by the waist, his lips colliding with mine in an aggressive embrace, my body being crushed between his and the wall as the force of our collision drove me into it. A shaky groan escaped from my lips into his as we finally touched, clearly driven insane, he made an involuntary, low growl-like sound that vibrated through me. My hands reached to entwine themselves around his neck but before they could his hands left my waist and took me by the wrists, pinning them above my head and holding them there in an iron clad grasp. His mouth left my own, releasing a gasp from my throat as I took my lip between my teeth to contain myself. With one hand holding my wrists as high above my head as I could reach, the other expertly untucked my shirt from my skirt and ran his hand across my stomach, feeling every inch of my skin. He quickly drew his hand from under my shirt and and one fluid motion, popped every button on it by tearing each piece of thread with shear force. He separated his eyes from mine and they landed on my chest, shielded now only by a thin layer of black lace which I was very aware hid nothing. Something about him undressing me, not giving me a choice while suspending my arms, rendering me entirely powerless, aroused me in ways I never could have dreamed of. Every muscle in my body contracted with shear, burning desire. And he felt it, he utilised it. I watched him intensely, I watched the hunger in his eyes as he stared at my chest; his hand moved to where his vision lay, grasping my breast, moulding it with his fingers, rubbing and squeezing and pinching at his own fiery leisure. His lips placed a kiss on my jawline, the tip of his tongue lightly following the touch of his lips, he planted another in the curve between my neck and my jaw; I arched my neck allowing him easier access and he responded in kind, planting a trail of electric kisses, tracing the lines of my neck with the tip of his tongue until he reached my clavicle. With his teeth he teased me, gripping my clavicle slightly between his teeth and sucking exquisitely, sending jolts of electricity through my body as I inwardly hoped he would leave a bruise right there on my collarbone. He sucked once more and then proceeded down to my heaving breast, kissing me over the lace, making me ache for the direct contact of his mouth over me. I made the mistake of trying to move my hand to remove the lace and his grip tightened threefold, his head immediately shot up and he growled into my ear, "I didn't tell you to move, Scarlett, did I?" My eyes met his defiantly and a grin crept onto my face. Another mistake. His hand shot to my throat, his fingers putting pressure on me in such a way that the line between pleasure and pain was blurred severely; instinctively, I tightened my legs in an attempt to control the aroused throbbing between my thighs.
"Did I?" He snarled, his face less than an inch from mine, his hand growing tighter on my throat.
"No, you didn't, Tom" and his lips came down on mine, biting my lip with such force I was sure I tasted blood. His hand moved from my throat and undid the front clip of the lace, fully exposing my chest. His mouth immediately landed on my areola, sucking the skin between his teeth, each graze sending shivers running through me.
"Tom..." my voice trembled "I want you-" I felt him chuckle into my mouth.
"I hadn't noticed, Scarlett. I was baffled by those moans,"
"-inside me, Tom" that did it. I knew he liked it when I tried to dictate, when I show him an ounce of power so that he can take it away. He hoisted my tights down my thighs and proceeded to impatiently tear them off, balling them up with one hand,
"They're saturated," he smirked, knowing how much power he had in that moment. His hand slid up my thigh and as he approached his destination he felt how very ready I was. With one hand holding my wrists, he moved the hand on my thigh to his trousers, rushing to unbutton them and pull them just low enough to free himself. All I could do was look at him and remember how intimidated I was by it the first time we were together. I wasn't new to sex, but I had never been with anyone of his... calibre m, so to speak. He gripped my behind and lifted me up to his waist, silently telling me to wrap my legs around him. He guided his member to the wetness of my inner thighs, he was solid, the hunger in his eyes was reflected in the hardness of his penis, it was more swollen than I'd ever seen it. The weight of his head landed completely on my shoulder as he entered me, sliding the first inch in by his definition of the term gentle, probably aware that even I was not used to his current girth, but after he was within me, his hunger took over and he thrusted in and out with enough force to make me cry out his name in ecstasy and pain. A tear rolled down my cheek, falling onto his shoulder, each cry encouraging him to thrust faster and harder, hitting more than just the right spot. Ecstasy overwhelmed me and my cries practically turned into screams as his grunts grew stronger and stronger. His head raised from my shoulder so he was looking into my eyes, his face contorting slightly with every thrust and his hair falling over his eyes in curtains. He crashed his lips onto mine, his breath forceful against my cheek. I knew he could feel my pulse growing stronger on his member because his energy only seemed to grow, his pelvis crushing against me so violently I could almost feel myself bruising. He knew I was nearly there, his grip on my behind tightening as my legs began to tremble and I finally released with him still inside of me, every single atom in my body exploding at once, my cry of relief allowing him to finish, thrusting with more strength than ever before until every muscle in his body contracted, his grip on my wrists tightening so much I thought they might snap. He finally went still within me, as deep as he could reach. I felt every throbbing movement as he accomplished release with an immense cry and his head fell onto my shoulder and the hand holding my wrists fell to my breast.
"Damn it, Lottie," he only used his nickname for me when we was feeling affectionate, which usually came after our most rigorous rendezvous, "what is it that you do to me?" My hand fell to his head and my fingers combed through messy hair. I couldn't help but smile as I appreciated the fact that I'm the only person in the world who gets to see him like this: rugged and coated in sweat, his hair a mess of curls and curtains. He always presented himself to the world in a pristine and idealistic manner, his hair perfect and not a crease in his shirt. But here he was, his head on my shoulder, his shirt a disaster and his hand on my chest for comfort. I only wish he knew that he never looks better than he does like this: vulnerable. In this moment, my trembling legs may have been around his waist, he may have been the only thing that was holding me up, but he wasn't in control. He was just himself. And I loved him.