Random Day
Hermione exited the bathroom and stopped in the doorway to the sitting room to watch Lucifer read by the crackling fire.
He was sprawled across the Chippendale sofa, his long legs spanning the length of the seat.
Warm firelight blazed and fluttered over his skin, and while his hair had enough shine to reflect the guttering glow, his black coat and trousers absorbed the light, blotting it out like an eclipse, so only his face danced with artificial life.
He lifted a pale hand and absently licked one finger before turning the translucent page in his moldering book.
Her nipples tightened behind her satin negligee, and she smiled and leaned on the door frame, patiently waiting for the next page turn so she could see that tongue wet his finger once more.
She so rarely got to witness it in action, as it was usually scavenging through her most hidden recesses, which made it difficult to see.
Even with a mirror. She glanced at their bed.
Even with two mirrors . . . and the most perverse Pensieve in creation.
Hermione brushed one finger over her right nipple, and her depths thrummed in response.
Lucifer appeared completely absorbed in his book.
Her fondling went unnoticed.
Years of ruling had inured him against all forms of distraction.
Lucifer could read in the Great Hall with kids screeching and utensils scraping against plates.
The racket made Hermione want to tear off her ears, but he tuned it out effortlessly.
His focus was breathtaking. Especially when it was directed at her.
His tongue crept out again, the pad of his index finger touching the tip.
He smoothly flicked the page over and continued to read. Hermione's smile broadened.
Whenever Parvati asked what the secret to their relationship was, Hermione always just smiled and said something sweet, like compromise.
But she knew the real answer.
Buttons.
Rows and rows of glorious buttons.
Her eyes traveled down his chest, tracing each round button with a pang of longing.
Back at Hogwarts, Lucifer's mostly casual outfits are all like this, he told her it had been synonymous with intimidation to Slytherins or any other person even trying to strike up a boring conversation with him and wasting his time.
Only, it was the subject of her most knicker-flooding fantasies.
How many times had she undressed him, taking her time, slipping each worn button through its stiff hole only to reveal the bright white of his dress shirt beneath—lined with another shiny row of buttons?
And then there were his delicious sleeves.
When it was time to play Deviant Girl and the Depraved Disciplinarian, he'd lecture her like doing with Cheering Charms or that day with Ginny as he slowly unbuttoned each arm with pointed deliberation.
She'd be soaked before he even put her over his knee.
Her clit responded to each deft caress as if his fingers were gliding through her sodden folds rather than rasping over each black button. Tease.
And his trousers—my God. The first time she'd unbuttoned his fly, she thought she was going to hyperventilate.
She hadn't even known that anyone still wore such things.
How cumbersome. Zips were so much more simple . . . and easier to manipulate in the throes of passion.
But she soon learned that getting him hard and watching those buttons struggle to contain the thick column of his sex was one of life's great pleasures.
Pulling open each button to free his cock was orgasmic.
As each one popped open, her pussy would jolt with sweet anticipation.
It was like opening a present every time they fucked.
'You got me something? How thoughtful. I wonder what it is? Button. Button. Button. Gasp! It's your dick. Just what I wanted. How did you know?'
All those buttons took time.
And Lucifer loved taking his time. He liked precision and concentration; and watching her get increasingly desperate with each delayed undressing played right into his devious machinations.
It was time for some of her own devious machinations.
Hermione tiptoed to his side, careful to stay on the rugs so her bare feet didn't touch the frigid flagstone floor.
Even when she was standing right next to him, he didn't look up.
She knew he was aware of her presence, but reading was sacrosanct in their quarters.
They never interrupted the other in the middle of a good book.
Not without good reason.
Hermione brushed her fingers over her shoulders one at a time, tipping the thin straps of her nightie so they fell around her arms.
With a serpentine undulation of her torso, the slinky satin slid down and pooled at her sides, baring her breasts.
She pulled her arms free and lifted her hands to her chest. The rounded flesh was warm in her cupped palms.
Her nipples peaked in the open air, and she grazed one budding tip with the side of her thumb just to feel that juicy jolt between her legs again.
His eyes slid to the side and caught sight of her.
One black brow quirked in interest.
Smiling sweetly, Hermione circled her hips so her gown lost its grip. A soft susurration of satin slipped to the floor.
That got his full attention. The lines on his face smoothed as his brow lifted in delighted surprise.
Without looking at his book, he slid the worn red ribbon between the pages to mark his place.
His eyes never left her body as he blindly deposited his book on the end table behind him.
Hermione skimmed her hands over her body, drawing his eye to her hips and, ultimately, her chestnut jungle.
His grunt was rough with hunger, and his long fingers shot to his throat to loosen his collar.
Hermione stayed his hand. Those were her buttons.
Snaking her leg over his body, she straddled his hips, pressing her pussy to his perking placket.
That was hers too. She leaned down and touched her mouth to his.
Her tongue danced over his lips, and he immediately opened up, inviting her to come in for a taste.
Mmmmmmm, chocolate pudding.
That night's dessert. It was even more exquisite when mixed with the warm flavor of his mouth.
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Author's Note
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