we shouldn't do this
“We shouldn’t do this,”he whispers.
But she thinks that’s all the more reason why they should.
Dean is leaning back on a leather sofa with his jeans down around his ankles. One of his hands is wound up in her bright blonde hair, while the other plucks at one of her unclothed breasts.
Daphne has spent months at her journalist’s desk watching these very hands sketch political cartoons for The Daily Prophet (now under new management). Weeks thinking about what it would take to get them exactly here.
Just beyond the velvet privacy curtain, bone-beating bass rattles the walls of The White Rabbit. Pansy is up on a table, scream-singing with a giant Birthday Girl pin affixed to her sheer black dress, while Neville stands below looking up at her, one part amused, the other wary, in case she falls.
Daphne’s lashes flutter open and she pulls her lips away with a soft pop. “Am I not satisfying you?” she asks playfully, and then, more seriously, “Do you want me to stop?”
“Please don’t.” The words rush out of him, and it’s the first time since they started working together that she’s seen him look slightly abashed.
“Are you worried someone will find us?” she asks. “That they’ll hear?”
Dean lets out a short laugh, but then his response dies on his tongue, replaced by a guttural groan as she takes his bollocks in hand and gives them a gentle squeeze. She repeats the motion, this time roving her tongue over them, too.
A coy smile plays on her lips. “You’re awfully loud,” she teases, “for someone who doesn’t want to get caught.”
She returns her mouth to his cock, tongue dragging up the underside, and this time, when she fastens her lips around the head, Dean rocks his hips forward. Allows himself to get lost in the way it feels to be inside her mouth.
Daphne wraps a hand around the base and pumps him slowly while her tongue swivels teasingly closer to the top. She eases herself down again, hollowing out her cheeks as she goes.
Suddenly, she feels herself being pulled up from where she kneels at his feet. “What I meant to say,” Dean grinds out, “is we should continue this somewhere else. I’m not letting you finish me off on some dirty nightclub floor. This isn’t going to be where I fuck you, if you’ll let me.”
Her coy smile returns as she straightens her burgundy dress. “I thought you’d never ask.”