Ch 221 - Double Ponytail ~Dirty Talk~

After reading the same page for the third time, Lucifer admitted defeat and slapped his book shut with a growl of frustration.

Too wound up to concentrate, he chose, instead, to sit in his armchair and glare at the fireplace.

There was a certain Gryffindor dancing about in his brain again, and due to her imminent arrival, there was little chance of him focusing on anything else.

He was annoyingly nervous about having her over.

It always felt invasive to him, as if he were asking people into his head to take a poke around his private thoughts and have a cup of tea.

But, Hermione was different.

In so many ways. 

For one thing, she wasn't a snoop.

And even if she did stumble over something questionable, she wouldn't judge.

He liked that about her. He could be himself without fear of offending any delicate sensibilities.

Hermione's acceptance came from compassion and empathy.

But her unflinching humanity wasn't what was tripping him up.

The thing he found most confounding about the girl was the fact that she seemed to truly enjoy his company.

There was an unspoken connection between them, a sense of understanding, as if she received great pleasure from his strengths as much as his....yes weaknesses.

And the feeling was definitely mutual.

That was what had his mind in such turmoil.

She was too amazing for a being of his . . . temperament . . . past . . . . . appearance . . . everything.

Lucifer smiled to himself, picturing her animatedly gesticulating with her hands as she went off on some literary tangent.

He'd never met a woman who could get him hard with nothing more than a book review.

How did she do that? Was it simply her fiery passion for knowledge that excited him, or was there something else, something more he couldn't—or wouldn't—define?    

The past several days have been like a dream.

A strange dream—full of wondrous anxiety. Was this what being happy felt like, brilliant yet terrifying?

How did people stand it? It made his stomach knot up like a barbed ball of yarn, yet he couldn't stop counting the minutes until....

His skin felt tingly warm where she'd pecked him, and Lucifer had to fight the urge to touch his face like a lovesick schoolboy.

Time for a distraction. "I got the new issue of Potion-Maker's Monthly yesterday. Have you read it yet?"

"No. Is it good?"

"It was interesting. There's an article I want you to read." It was his.

Looking playful, Hermione touched the center of his lower lip, as if kissing him with her fingertip. "Why don't you read it to me?"

Lucifer arched a brow. "Read it to you?"

"Yes, sir." She leaned in and nuzzled his ear. "Pleeeease?"

He knew exactly why she wanted him to read it to her, but it was too much fun to pretend otherwise.

"Why on earth would I read it to you when you are perfectly capable?"

"Because I like to hear you. Your voice is foreplay."

He allowed himself a quick smile before straightening his face and affecting his most seductive purr.

"I see." Since she was so keen, it seemed like an excellent opportunity to "expand her horizons."

"You know only little girls need to have things read to them."

Hermione hid her face in the crook of his neck, but he could feel her smiling against his skin.

"Are you ready to be my naughty little girl?"

Nodding quickly, she wriggled closer, pressing her chest to his.

"Did you wear the knickers I asked you to wear?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered to his shoulder.

"Then let's go upstairs. I'll get you ready."

"Ready? For reading?"

The corner of his mouth curled with the hint of a leer. "You can't be my little girl dressed like that."

Hermione seemed baffled by his reply, looking down at her clothes with critical curiosity. "Oh?"

"Come along." He patted her bum to get her moving.

Flicking his wand at the wall, Lucifer revealed the hidden staircase.

Standing without crippling his manhood took a bit of talent, but he managed a sly adjustment as he turned to lead the way.

She followed him up the stairs, her hand slipping into his when they reached the landing, and Lucifer led her to his Private Library room, feeling as if he'd just ascended the earthly plane.

As soon as she saw the annexed library lining his walls, her eyes went dark with lust, no doubt getting even more excited by the prospect of being surrounded by books while he banged her on this Antique brass bed.

He was rather looking forward to that himself.

Lucifer urged her to hop up, and she sat on the edge of the mattress, bouncing up and down a bit so the springs squeaked—which deepened the blush creeping along her cheeks.

Snickering to himself, Lucifer began the preparations by removing her shoes.

The socks would remain in place.

Warmth wouldn't be an issue, but he wanted to leave her feeling slightly off kilter.

She was now used to him stripping her bare and pushing her to her limits.

But he had a much more diabolical plan in store for that evening.

This wasn't about sex—well . . . not just about sex—this was all about her, about what she wanted, about fulfilling her hidden longings. 

"Lie back."

She knew him well enough to suspect something was up.

Her eyes narrowed as she lowered herself to the bedspread.

Lucifer gave no indication of any ulterior motive as he unfastened her jeans.

She lifted her hips to help him peel them off, and he wiggled them down, leaving her lounging in what was most assuredly an unexpected choice when it came to knickers.

They were simple white bikinis covered in red and pink hearts.

He'd specifically asked her to wear her cutest underwear.

Not sexy. Cute. Cotton was preferable.

She'd followed his instructions to the letter.

"Sit up so I can get your shirt."

Instead of completely undressing her, Lucifer only freed her arms.

Hermione gave him a funny look, but he ignored it and removed her bra.

After casting the frothy pink scrap of lace aside, he returned her shirt to its original place, threading her arms through the sleeves and tugging the hem back down to her hips.

"Little girls don't wear bras," he informed her. 

Relishing the sudden liberation, her nipples sprang up against the thin fabric.

They demanded his attention, and Lucifer was all too happy to oblige, eyeing them with blatant amusement.

He grazed the outline of one stiff bud and reveled in her intoxicated reaction. "Did you bring the elastics as I requested?"

Hermione looked baffled by his question, her expression wavering between dazed and bewildered. "They're in the pocket of my jeans."

He retrieved the hair ties from her rumpled trousers and with a dip of his chin, motioned for her to face the opposite wall.

"All right, stay sitting and turn your back to me."

There was a long pause as she studied him for clues, but when she got no explanation, she gave in and did as he asked.

Lucifer carded his fingers through the roots of her hair and massaged the tension from her scalp, bidding her to relax with a firm thumb to the curve of her cranium.

She breathed out a soft sigh and went limp.

Much better. When he cupped her crown, she leaned into his hand, pushing up into his palms like a cat.

She'd done the same thing before when he'd brushed her hair.

Interesting. Lucifer filed away her response for future reference. 

After parting her hair down the middle, Lucifer gathered it into two low bunches and secured each side—just as he'd seen it in her fantasies.

"There now, you're all set. Are you ready for your story?"

Hermione raised her hand and felt her head to see what he'd been up to. "Uuuuh . . . yes, sir?"

At her word, Lucifer kicked off his shoes and went around to the far side of the bed, where he took up his usual reading position.

Leaning back against the pillows, he plucked the magazine from his bedside table and opened it to the earmarked article.

Immediately, he began to read, and Hermione stared at him blankly for a few seconds, obviously expecting something more perverse than pigtails and half-naked story time.

When she realized he was really going to read the whole article to her, Hermione crawled over and curled up next to him.

Lucifer spent the next fifteen minutes smoothly gliding over each word, alternating between rumbled hums and staccato skips, popping each sound past his lips and tongue like an oral acrobat.

He knew exactly what she wanted to hear.

Every word was auditory sex that slithered between her legs to tickle her clit with consonants and vibrate her vulva with vowels.

Potion-Maker's Monthly had never been read so lasciviously. 

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