Wanting
The first time it happened she thought she was hallucinating— an illusion of some sort caused by getting her head smacked repeatedly against the cobblestone wall.
Jonah Priors’ one good hand around her throat was not how she was expecting to spend the morning of her sixteenth birthday. No, she had expected to lose herself in the solace of the piano, chasing memories of Alex between each note, reminiscent of birthdays long passed that she had spent with him by her side. The same way she had spent her fifteenth—alone.
The mutt of a boy had snuck in behind her, waiting until her guard was down before he had grabbed her by the hair and dragged her from the piano bench. Jonah had wasted no time slamming her against the wall, a breath forcing itself from her lungs at the sudden shock.
Stars exploded in her vision as Jonah smashed her head against the basement wall a second time. Her vision darkened as she hissed and she reached out to claw at his eyes. He tightened his grip around her throat, leaning his head back away from her grasping fingers.
“Not so tough now, are we?” Jonah whispered, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
The anger bubbled up inside of her, an icy rage at the insolence of this stupid boy for the once again crossing her path.
The sheer fucking audacity.
Her eyes watered as he increased the pressure around her throat, though it could have been from the rotten stench emanating from his mouth that was far too close to her face.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to get you alone. These last four months I’ve been dreaming of this,” Ash practically tasted his foul words from how close his lips were to get own.
“Happy Birthday.” He grinned, his eyes feral with rage as he pressed his ruined hand over the top of his other, increasing the pressure until she felt like her eyes were going to pop out of her head.
He was going to kill her.
This coward was going to kill her, and she would die from the shame of it and not the lack of oxygen.
She slammed her knee upwards driving it directly into his crotch. He dropped his hold on her with a groan of pain and her knees buckled as she tried to steady herself. She sucked in oxygen like a starved man as she watched Jonah double over, catching his breath he had lost when she kicked his balls into his throat.
She didn’t bother wasting a moment checking the wound on the back of her head. She swung a fist down towards his back, the soft spot underneath the ribs that made boys drop like stones in her experience.
Jonah twisted, avoiding the punch and sent one of his own straight to her cheek. Pain exploded at the contact, and she staggered back tasting the coppery tang from where she bit her tongue.
“You bitch!” He growled, stumbling upright and towards where she slumped against the wall.
Blood marred her features and dripped into her mouth, yet she grinned savagely, barring her bloody teeth.
A wonderful tingle built under her skin before the candles in the basement guttered and blew out.
Darkness surrounded the pair of them, only the pale moonlight from the small basement window illuminating the scene. Jonah swore before he swung a fist towards her mouth, she ducked and caught him in the gut with elbow before she toppled them both to the floor.
She wailed on him, her knuckles splitting on his teeth as she emptied her rage onto the pathetic excuse for a boy.
After the third punch, Jonah reached up and yanked her hair back with a snarl. He flipped them over and drove his knee into her sternum. She gasped for breath as he held her down, the blood from his split lip dripping down onto her face.
He pulled a small kitchen knife from his back pocket, the silver glinting in the moonlight. A dark crimson stained the wooden handle and blade, and for the first time tonight, horror filled her.
He had kept the knife she plunged through his hand.
A twisted smile pulled at his bloody mouth, “I doubt the headmistress will even punish me for this. She’d rejoice that her most vicious sinner had been sent to hell.”
Before Ash could respond, could struggle, could even cry out for help that would never come— he plunged the blade downwards.
The first time it happened her blood thrummed, as if the pieces of an ancient game finally snapped into place.
She threw her hands up, her eyes snapping shut as a scream tore from her throat.
The air around her crackled with an energy so intense it was almost tangible and the weight bearing down on her chest disappeared so quickly she felt her lungs stutter.
There was no pain, no pool of blood pouring from where the knife had been poised to strike.
Ash opened her eyes, the basement eerily silent.
Her hands were frozen in place, lifted above her in defense and floating down in between them were cinders— cinders that whispered of a once-solid form now turned to dust.
___•___
The heavy oak door creaked open, and Ash stepped into the headmistress's office, an icy dread filling her veins with the anticipation of punishment. To her surprise, there was no whip waiting for her, no immediate retribution for the act she committed a week ago.
Orphans ran away all the time.
Though she herself was at loss as to what exactly happened in that basement.
An older man occupied the chair across from Headmistress Beckett, his gaze penetrating and thoughtful. He wore a royal blue scarf around his neck, a golden pattern embroidered on the fabric that gleamed in the morning light trickling through the large window.
The scarf’s color matched the blue of the robes the gentleman wore. She had never seen such luxury, such vibrant color in clothing.
The bruises on her face and the dirty cotton dress hanging from her frame had never made her feel as poorly as she did now.
His hair was grey, slicked back and his face warm in a way that attempted to disarm her.
She steeled herself. Her throat bobbed as she stood in the doorway, her chin dipping as she prepared to run for it. Was her punishment to be sold to this man? A young bride for whatever needs Headmistress Beckett saw fit?
“Asha, this is Eleazar Fig.” Headmistress Beckett clipped, her usually sneer replaced by a smile so forced it looked painful.
“Ah my young friend, how lovely to meet you at last. You know you aren’t an easy one to find.” He smiled softly, a stark contrast to the grimace on the Headmistress’s face.
Ash merely blinked, her gaze flickering between the two of them. She stayed rooted to her place by the door until Beckett tapped the desk in annoyance, gesturing with her eyes to the empty chair beside the man.
Ash crossed the room warily, choosing to stand behind the chair and not in it— the lines around Beckett’s mouth suggested a punishment was due for the act of defiance.
The man simply smiled at her and as their eyes met she felt that wonderful tingle under her skin.
“Mr. Fig here is convinced that you would be an…ideal candidate for the private academy where he is employed.” The headmistress smiled through gritted teeth.
Ash blinked again, her gaze flickering between the man and the headmistress and the roll of parchment she was placing on the desk. The man reached for the parchment and Beckett gripped it tighter.
“I must warn you Mr. Fig, our dear Asha is a callous child, a troublemaker,” the headmistress turned her gaze to Ash, “There are other younger, more suitable, children that follow our Lord’s will. I will gladly grab one of—“
“No no, that will not be necessary.” The man clicked his tongue, his soft blue eyes hardening as he stared down the headmistress, “I am quite certain about my choice of our young friend here.”
A release of parchment, a signature, and a final withering glare from Beckett— and her fate was rewritten.
They stepped outside the gates side by side, and Ash turned back to look at the orphanage looming behind her. She was in a daze, her feet carrying her without agency as her mind swirled.
Girls of varying age stood in the courtyard watching her go, Elizabeth Alcox watching her with wide, teary eyes.
She couldn’t protect them now.
She turned from the gates. There would be no tearful goodbyes, no promises to write or to save them.
They would be empty promises anyway.
She carried no belongings except a haggard book tucked under her arm.
A carriage awaited them, and once inside the older gentleman turned to her, his blue eyes bright once more.
“Have you ever heard of magic my dear?”
The memory replayed in her mind over and over as she stared through the doorway into the dark and empty classroom.
If Professor Fig was still here—
She stopped that train of thought before the grief could overwhelm her.
Professor Fig wasn’t here. She didn’t save him, and now she had to do this without him.
The large room once covered head to toe with stack of books, rolls of parchment, and magical trinkets, now stood near barren. The large desks that once were haphazardly strewn about the room were orderly, not one out of place.
She never got the chance to take Magic Theory with Professor Fig. It was mainly reserved for first years, but Fig had mentioned that come sixth year, he would request for her to be in his class.
Now his room was transformed, from the comforting chaos to something so rigidly orderly by whatever professor had taken his place last year, that she couldn’t bear to stand there any longer.
She turned on her heel and stalked from the doorway.
It had been two weeks since the news of Adelaide’s departure from Hogwarts had reached her ears.
If sleep had eluded her before, now it was a fleeting wisp slipping through the gaps of her restless night. She was surviving on Pepper Up potions and the occasional Wide-eye. It wasn’t difficult to get ahold of them turned out. The seventh year apprentices in the Hospital Wing were quite forgetful on Friday nights, and she found the storage cabinet with practiced ease.
Anytime she shut her eyes she was bombarded with images of her magic tangled around her, burning through her skin down to the bone. And once her mind tired of that dream, Adelaide’s soft blue eyes drained of life would be the final crescendo and she would awake nearly in tears.
Sebastian and Ominis had listened that night when she burst back into the Undercroft, her voice cracking as she explained what Poppy had told her. They had listened, but didn’t understand her desire to get involved in something that was not related to Harlow, or Ranrok, or her ancient magic.
“Even if Oakes was taken, that doesn’t mean you have to be the rescuer.” Sebastian murmured, tucking a lock of her hair back into its braid, “You don’t have to get involved in every crisis, especially now.”
Especially now, he had said. Now that she was useless, powerless, and emotionally unstable. Now that she wasn’t the honed killing machine she had been before. Now that she couldn’t lock away that pathetic child inside of her.
The moonlit twists and turns of the castle halls led her up to the stairs Astronomy tower, which she began to climb.
She had spent every waking moment of the last two weeks with her nose buried in that tome, translating with Sebastian, or sneaking into the Hufflepuff dorms when Adelaides’ roommates were out, obsessively combing through the girls’ possessions— or lack thereof.
Part of her wondered if she was going crazy— if perhaps the girl had been withdrawn from Hogwarts. There were no traces of Adelaide in her dorm, no lingering chests, no letters, not even a strand of her honey blonde hair.
And yet she kept searching anyway.
It didn’t always have to be her.
Her feet carried her up the winding stairs, her legs burning.
It didn’t always have to be her— and yet it did.
Her mind flitted back to the memory that had been replaying over and over in her mind.
She had killed Jonah. At the time she had no idea what happened, couldn’t grasp how he could have been there one moment and gone the next.
It wasn’t until she arrived at Hogwarts, until death coated her hands once more, that she understood.
It was a death she rarely thought about.
She had spent weeks with Professor Fig before her arrival at Hogwarts— weeks of the kind man attempting to unravel whatever the fuck was wrong with her— whatever pain and rage she had wrapped so tightly around herself. He had managed to civilize her enough to dampen the overwhelming urge to snap at everything and everyone her first year, while showing her the wonders of magic.
She missed that version of herself— that fire that she could no longer reach, that ice that had sealed away all of her unwanted memories and feelings.
Professor Fig had never understood how she had been overlooked for so long— how her magic remained dormant well past its time.
She figured a mixture of malnutrition and abuse had a helping hand.
She crested the final step of the tower and let out a puff of air, the cold turning her breath into a cloud in front of her. Her cotton pajamas did little to ward out the frigid autumn temperatures. The stars were bright, a celestial canvas adorned with silver threads of starlight. She walked to the railing, basking in the cold night air that soothed the burn under her skin.
Her magic had begun writhing again.
It burned right under her skin, an itch she couldn’t scratch. She did her best to ignore it. The inferno had begun three days ago— and combined with her nightmares she felt she was teetering on the precipice of disaster.
The moon bathed the world below in its ethereal glow, while constellations dance in the vast expanse, weaving dreams in the tapestry of darkness.
Her breath puffed in front of her as she sighed, her eyes flickering across the expanse of starlight above her.
She didn’t know why she came to the Astronomy tower of all places— she just didn’t know where else to go.
Her dorm was the logical choice and yet she couldn’t stand to be in that bed another second— not after she had awoken an hour ago with a scream ripping from her throat.
The Undercroft was empty, Sebastian had left hours ago— exhaustion lulling him into a stupor as he shut his journal and strode from the chamber with a soft squeeze of her hand.
And the Room. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to step foot in the space since she destroyed it.
The cold air soothed the ache inside of her, and the wind nipped at her flushed skin.
She leaned into the breeze, allowing it to rip strands of her hair out of her braid—allowing it to quell the gnawing sensation inside of her that she wasn’t doing enough.
She picked her fingers bloody as her mind spun.
Translation wise her idea of the runic symbol being galleon was correct, which Sebastian eventually conceded. Which meant some wizarding family was paying the owner of the journal to run these experiments.
There was an extra layer of horror in that.
They had also discovered that the experiments had begun changing. The first ten or so entries of the tome seemed to be focused on the stifling effects of goblin silver on wizard kind and magic as a whole.
However, the journal began to mention a new type of magic— raw, unbridled power— as it was stated.
She had guessed of course, that these experiments—this torture— would be tied to ancient magic, but the confirmation tore at something inside of her.
The horrific experiments were recounted in detail that made her stomach churn— catalogs of victims exposed to varying levels of silver some cutaneously and others, to her horror, intravenously. The entries medically precise, clinically cold, and devoid of any remorse.
The experiments were so similar to what Ranrok had done with dragons her fifth year, so similar that she guessed that the author of this journal had to be Bragbor— that this tome was just a missing piece of the much larger collection she had hunted for nearly two years ago.
Despite the overload of information, she needed a location— a place in which these horrific experiments took place— a place that Ranrok could have used as a base—a place that Harlow could be now.
She didn’t know what she’d do if all of this time yielding nothing substantial.
She needed a drink.
Her eyes flickered up to the night sky, the starlit expanse soothing the turmoil inside of her.
Here she stood, grappling with the weight of what felt like the entire wizarding world, yet the only discussions she heard around the castle involved students buzzing with excitement over the upcoming All Hallows Eve masquerade ball.
Their excited conversations had buzzed around her like distant echoes, but she struggled to focus on the trivial revelry. The impending celebration held no allure.
It was all she heard in the halls, the whispered conversations—
Did you hear Lorelei Jenkins was asked by Everett Clopton?
What color dress would compliment my eyes the best? Gold or perhaps emerald?
Do you think Professor Sharp will attend? He’s so handsome—
It made her sick.
And jealous.
The jealousy burned through her veins, coating her tongue as she stared up at the twinkling stars. It was a bitter feeling, deep rooted and festering.
She had spent her entire life wanting. Like a child forced to stand at a buffet but never allowed to eat. She had thought that the wanting would end when she came to Hogwarts— that magic would fill that void inside of her.
But she hadn’t gotten the chance to simply live— to feast. No she was thrown head first into a war she didn’t even know about months before.
Then fifth year ended and the wanting only grew— the bitterness with it. And now she stood at the precipice of another war, another fight that others were willfully ignorant of while they went dress shopping.
The jealousy roiled inside of her until it faded into the background of that vengeful magic churning deep.
She gripped the railing, her eyes slamming shut. She hissed through her teeth as a wave of it slammed into her.
One breath
Two breaths—
Steam rose around her hands from where she gripped the ice cold railing.
She pushed down against the wildfire building inside of her, clenching her jaw as she fought from blowing the Astronomy tower to bits.
Fuck this.
She pushed from the railing, not even glancing at the scorch marks left in her wake as she took the stairs two at a time.
Down and down she went, her magic pushing out, scratching against the walls of her mind as she sped through the castle.
Her feet carried her to the bowels of Hogwarts, the hour late enough that even the prefects weren’t roaming the halls.
A whisper of a password and she slunk through the emerald green common room, the fire reduced to embers in the hearth. The moonlight casted rippled shadows through the lake-view windows. She paid little attention as she strode down to the dorms, her magic pulsing like a drum in her veins.
Her breathing was ragged as she stood outside his door, the magic burning and surging as she stood poised to knock.
What was she doing?
She didn’t let the hesitation last, didn’t let herself second guess the desire that had driven her to his door.
Her fist descended upon the wooden door, three soft knocks before she took a step back, clenching her hands at her side as she fought against the inferno building and building—
Shuffling sounded on the other side of the door before it was pulled open and a mess of brown hair poked through. Deep umber eyes met hers, confusion lacing his features as his brows furrowed. He ran a hand down his face and pulled the door open further, his navy blue pajama pants low on his hips and his chest bare.
“Ash? Is something wrong?” His voice was a low rumble, laden and heavy with sleep.
Her tongue felt leaden in her mouth as she stared at him, as she drank him in. Guilt tugged at the far corners of her mind— Sebastian rarely slept and here she was waking him for her own selfish reasons. The burning heat of the magic licking at her insides smothered the guilt quickly.
“My magic—“ She breathed the words out and the panic must’ve shown on her face— she had waited to very fray of her control to come to him. He swore under his breath, pushing out from his dorm and shutting the door behind him.
He grabbed her hand, tugging her down the hall and paying no attention to the puzzlement surely shown across her face. Their shoes clacked against the iron grated floor beneath them, resonating in the silent hall. He didn’t so much as balk at the heat radiating from her hand—didn’t flinch as he pulled her further from his door.
“Where are we going?” She gasped the words out, fire beginning to choke up her throat. Sebastian merely clenched his jaw, and shoved open the ornate arched door before them.
Candles flickered to life as he yanked her through the threshold and she registered through the blinding heat lancing her body that they were in a bathroom.
The Slytherin bathroom exuded an opulent allure, bathed in the shimmering embrace of silver decor. The empty space was adorned with intricate patterns of serpentine motifs, woven into the very fabric of the walls.
Stall showers stood sentinel along one wall, their silver fixtures gleaming with an elegant sheen. Parallel to the showers, a row of sinks adorned with gilded accents awaited.
In the heart of this lavish haven, a large, cavernous pool beckoned. Its waters, dark and rippling, stretched out with an almost mystical allure.
Sebastian drug her to the nearest shower and before she could protest he slammed the knob downwards unleashing a torrent of ice cold water upon both of them.
She sucked in a breath of surprise, her lungs faltering at the deluge that threatened to smother the fire smoldering inside of her. Sebastian gripped her tightly, pulling her against his bare chest as the freezing water poured over them, soaking them to the bone.
She could barely breathe— could barely think against the clashing of temperatures on her skin. She swore, as she blinked through the water splashing down her face, that steam rose around her. Sebastian simply pulled her tighter against him.
Once her skin stopped burning, Sebastian’s grip loosened incrementally until he pulled her face from his chest.
The water continued to shower down on them, “Need more?” Sebastian murmured, running a hand up to cup her neck.
She knew what he was asking, and though her magic had reached a level point, a momentary equilibrium, she hadn’t come to him this night for a cold shower.
She brought her hand up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck— and pulled his face down to hers, crashing their lips together.
He groaned against her mouth and wasted no time kissing her back.
His restraint snapped and he tangled one hand in her wet hair, tugging her head back to devour her better.
Her mind and body was surrounded by him— every thought ceased to be if it didn’t revolve around his body against hers, his tongue pressing against her own, and the smell of him enveloping her. Autumn and papyrus and old books and every late night adventure.
Her hands couldn’t touch him enough. She ran her hands down from their purchase in his sopping hair to his bare chest and moaned against his mouth as she felt every dip and curve of his muscled abdomen.
He pressed her harder against the shower wall, taking the brunt of the cold water himself with the shift.
He swallowed the sounds of pleasure that fell from her mouth as his free hand slipped down her body and gripped her waist as if he were afraid she’d disappear if he didn’t hold her.
His mouth left hers and she whined in protest. Her eyelids fluttered open to find his self satisfied smirk a hairs breadth from her mouth. He reached to his left and turned the knob, reducing the downpour to a steady drip.
Her heart was beating out of her chest as she stared up at him, and the words fell from her lips before she could stop them, “Why didn’t you take me to your room?”
His eyes darkened and he lifted his hand, running his thumb over her bottom lip as he spoke.
“Ominis is a light sleeper, and I doubt he’d enjoy late night company.”
If the freezing water hadn’t stole every ounce of heat in her body she’d blush in embarrassment.
She had completely forgotten about Ominis in her rush to the slytherin dorms.
“Oh.”
His smirk grew and he added the pressure of his thumb against her bottom lip. She parted her lips instinctively and an appreciative rumble growled in his throat.
“Do you want to take a bath?” He murmured, and when her brows furrowed he continued, “You should warm up before I walk you back, and the bath is much more lavish than this tiny shower.”
He dipped his thumb into her mouth just enough for her tongue to touch the tip before he sucked in a breath and removed it, brushing it over her cheekbone instead.
She didn’t answer right away, her mind still lost in the coil of pleasure wound tightly in her lower abdomen. He raised an eyebrow and she finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper, “Aren’t you tired?”
“M’wide awake now, thanks.”
She nodded absentmindedly, and let him lead her from the stall. She didn’t care about a bath, she wanted his mouth on hers, wanted to taste him until she forgot her name.
He flicked his hand and the knobs to the pool-like bath turned, steamy hot water pouring into the tub, topping it off.
Sebastian moved to stand behind her, his hands brushing up her arms and resting on her shoulders as he whispered against her ear, the sound low and gravelly, “Do you want me to leav—”
“No.” She interrupted, leaning back against his body, relishing in the beast inside that was now slumbering once more.
He chuckled against her neck and pressed his lips below her ear, causing her to arch against him.
“Then allow me to distract you, Cendrillion.”
She didn’t miss the tang of bitterness that seemed to seep into his tone— but before she could question it, could turn it over in her mind, his hands slipped to the hem of her grey pajama shirt and began peeling it upwards.
The wet fabric clung to her skin as he pulled it up and over her head.
The cool air nipped at her bare skin and she was acutely aware of her ruined back now on display.
He had seen her back before, had seen the mutilated flesh, the long scars carved nearly to the bone. He had healed the newest addition the that tapestry not a month ago.
And yet this felt like being seen.
She tried to press back against him, to hide the damaged skin from the candlelight but he stopped her.
A hand pressed to the back of her neck before dragging slowly down, his index finger lightly skimming the thickest scar down her back. She sucked in a ragged gasp at the contact.
No one had ever touched them like this— touched her like this.
Alex had healed her scars when she was younger, but that had been clinical, brotherly. And Garreth had remained content to ignore their existence.
His finger traced the jagged line all the way to the base of her spine as she let out a shaky breath.
“You are— so beautiful.” He breathed the words out so quietly they sounded more for his ears than her own.
She blinked back the tears pooling in her eyes and clenched her jaw to steady the tremble.
His hands slid to her waist and he gave her a squeeze before hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her water logged pajama pants. He paused, bending down, pressing an open kiss to the middle of her back, “Tell me to stop.”
She shook her head, her eyes fluttering closed at the desperation in his voice, “Don’t stop.“
He let out a groan against her skin before stripping her of her cotton pants and undergarments. He stayed on his knees beside her, steadying her as she stepped each foot out carefully.
Her breath hitched as she caught his eyes, the raw adoration filling his warm irises nearly stopping her heart entirely.
His brown locks were stuck to his forehead, his own pajama pants slung dangerously low on his hips and he stared up at her with wanton need.
Whatever was happening wasn’t hungry and fast and desperate and that scared her. Because how could she delude herself into thinking she could maintain that fragile friendship with Sebastian when she wanted him so badly it hurt. It scared her because it felt real, and it couldn’t be real because she didn’t deserve this. Not from him.
“Fucking gorgeous.” His voice was practically a growl and he pressed a wet open mouthed kiss to her hip bone causing her to jolt. He stood slowly, his hands running up and over her thighs, her hips, the ruined flesh of her back, a thumb brushing her nipple, before they rested on her jaw. He towered over her as his dark eyes drank her in.
“Get in the bath.”
His voice was a rumble in his chest, and as he spoke he tugged her hair free from its braid, and tangled his long fingers in the damp waves.
She stared up at him, her thoughts far from reach, and her hands leaden at her sides. She wanted to reach and touch him— to run her hands and mouth over the plains of his chest and lower still. And yet she stood frozen under the penetration of his gaze.
She had never felt so laid bare— so naked all the way down to the fibers of her soul. It held her still, and it was all she could do to tear her gaze from his own and look instead at his mouth.
He saw the desperation in her eyes and tangled a hand in her hair before closing the distance between them.
The kiss was slow and deep, as if he was determined to memorize the shape of her mouth against his, to memorize the sounds he pulled from her with his ministrations.
She melted against him, and her hands were once again under her control as she ran them up over his biceps and then down his chest, scratching lightly. He groaned into her mouth and pulled away right as her hands landed at the waistband of his pants.
He cradled her jaw, breathing heavy through his nose as he spoke, “Get in the bath.”
He left no room for arguing as he pulled from her reach, a smirk on his lips when the motion pulled a whine from her throat. The sound was embarrassing and yet she felt nothing but hot molten desire flooding every pore of her body.
He watched her, his eyes dark and hooded, and she saw the desire reflected back at her as he adjusted himself in his clinging pajama pants. She couldn’t tear her eyes away, her mouth watering at the sight of his strain.
She stepped forward, past him, and descended the submerged steps into the deliciously warm pool. Anticipation surged through her as she took her bottom lip between her teeth. She had never wanted something so badly as she wanted him at this moment.
She moved deeper into the bath, towards the middle, until the water reached her shoulders. She heard the sound of rustling behind her, water splashing, and before she could turn— before she could enjoy the sight of him peeling his own clothes off— he was upon her.
His body pressed into her from behind and she gasped, feeling the length of him against her lower back.
She leaned back against him, her heart beating nearly out of her chest as his hands ran up her body.
“Sebastian—“ She choked out, her words a plea as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. He hummed in acknowledgment before burying his face against the side of her neck. His left hand coasted up her body and gripped her neck with a pressure that made her groan. His right hand moved down, resting on her lower abdomen.
She squirmed against him, desperate for more contact. He squeezed his hand against her throat and nipped at her ear.
“I want you to sit on the ledge for me and spread your legs like a good girl, can you do that?”
The words nearly caused her knees to buckle and she moaned unabashedly, pressing her rear back against him. He grunted against her ear and trailed his right hand lower, ghosting a finger over where she wanted him most.
“Answer me, love.”
She whimpered as he swirled his index and middle finger against her clit.
“Y-yes.” She gasped out, grinding her hips against his hand.
He pressed her tighter against him for a moment, and she felt his arousal hard against her back. He released her, and she nearly stumbled through the water as she reached trembling hands for the ledge. She turned to gaze at him over her shoulder and found him devouring her with his eyes.
She hoisted herself up with shaky arms and laid back on her elbows. The tile was cold beneath her bare body and yet she barely felt it. Her chest heaved as she stared down at Sebastian from where he stood in the pool. He moved closer to her, his eyes never straying from her face. A drop of water slid down the column of his neck and she tracked its path all the way down to his muscled abdomen. Her eyes flickered back up to his right as he reached her.
She knew she must look a sight— body laid along the tile like Venus of Urbino, chest rising and falling rapidly, cheeks flush and lips parted in wanton desire.
Sebastian reached her knees which were bent and squeezed together. He placed a hand on each knee, rubbing reassuringly. His eyes bore into hers, “Tell me to stop.”
“Don’t you dare stop.” She replied, her green eyes nearly black with need.
A rumble broke from his throat, low and heavy. His hands slid down to her thighs and he gripped each tightly before pulling them apart.
His eyes feasted on her as if he was a starved man.
Her breath caught in her throat as he peppered hot kisses to her thighs, starting at her knees and moving slowly down.
“You’re a fucking dream.” He groaned against the inside of her thigh, slowly moving his mouth closer and closer to her apex. Her eyes fluttered shut as she whimpered.
“Look at me.” He growled, and her eyes snapped open.
She watched with rapt attention, her body trembling under his hands, as he buried his face at her center.
A guttural noise fell from both of their lips at the contact and she fought to keep her eyes open. Her body arched against the tile, one hand gripping mercilessly at the edge of the tub and the other tangling in his hair without abandon.
He tugged her thighs further apart as he licked a strip up her center with the flat of his tongue tasting her as if the secret to the universe were buried between her legs.
His name began falling like a mantra from her lips as he swirled his tongue around her clit, her body jolting and twitching with every swipe of his tongue.
He pressed further into her, groaning as he licked and sucked.
She grasped mercilessly at his hair, tugging him impossibly closer as she rolled her hips against his face. It was an ecstasy she couldn’t get enough of.
It wasn’t her first time, on the receiving end of pleasure like this, but Garreth wasn’t much of a giver and preferred her on her knees instead of the reverse.
Sebastian seemed to have no such qualms, as he pressed his tongue inside of her, fucking her with it as she moaned his name.
The sounds of her cries of pleasure reverberated around the space, echoing a symphony and Sebastian was the maestro.
He flicked his tongue against her clit, and she felt that coil of pleasure in her belly begin to tighten.
“Tastes— so good,” He groaned against her, “Been wanting another taste since that fucking party.”
His words only surged her higher up to her peak, and she felt her legs begin to tense and twitch beside his head. He pressed one finger, then another, inside of her, curling them to hit that sweet spot.
She cried out his name, her free hand scratching against the tile as she grew closer and closer, “Sebastian—“
She broke, a ragged moan falling from her lips as she arched up and off the tile. He kept his mouth pressed firmly against her, pushing her through her orgasm and to the other side. Her body trembled as she panted and melted back against the tile.
Sebastian slowly withdrew, licking his fingers clean as he did. He pressed wet kisses to the inside of her thighs and she jolted, overstimulated in the best way.
Her eyes flickered across his face, taking in the slick that wet his mouth and chin. She reached for him, with a shaky hand, wanting to repay the favor— wanting to feel him inside of her.
He shook his head, a lopsided grin on his face as he slowly pulled her back into the tub. She stood against him in the pool on wobbly legs, and she drug a hand down his body, nearly reaching—
He grasped her wrist stopping her movement. She looked up at him with blown pupils, “You didn’t finish—“
“I’m plenty satisfied, Cendrillion.” He cut her off, rubbing her knuckles softly.
She shook her head, pushing her body against him, “But we could—“
“I’m not taking you in a bath,” he gave her a hard look, “Now, you’ve been thoroughly distracted I believe, let’s get you off to bed.”
She shut her mouth, a pit forming in her stomach as he dropped her gaze and ran a hand through his messy hair.
He didn’t want to have sex. She shouldn’t have assumed that just because he would go this far, that he would want her in her entirety. There were lines of course. Lines she herself shouldn’t want to cross because their friendship was so fragile— so newly reforged. She had told him she just wanted a distraction, some fun, she should have expected this.
She ignored the sting and gave a short nod, letting him lead her from the bath. He handed her the discarded pajamas, murmuring a drying charm as he did.
As they dressed in silence, she watched him. Watched his clenched jaw, his unfocused eyes as he slid back into his own pajamas.
And as he led her back to her dorm, she had never wished more that his thoughts weren’t so hard to read.