MILF/infidelity
“I’m sorry, I won’t be able to make it, I’ve got too much going on this week.”
“No, I know, but I-”
“Yes I’m aware it’s an extremely important meeting, I … all right, I’ll move some things around and be there this weekend.”
“Of course. Of course, I’ll see you then. Goodbye.”
Hermione didn’t meet Ron’s eye as she hung up the phone.
“This weekend?”
“I’m sorry Ron, I tried, really - you heard them, it’s non-negotiable that I’m there to receive the Romanians!”
“It’s the semi-finals this weekend!”
I know, love, but I’m sure you’ll do brilliantly! And I’ll be there when you guys make it to the finals. I promise.”
“Bollocks. Whatever, ‘Mione.” Ron stared off unhappily for a moment, but as Hermione knew, his moods never lasted for long.
“What do you want to do for dinner? The team’s coming over, as it’s Thursday, right? I’ll make anything you like.”
“Yea? That roast like my mum makes?”
“Coming right up.”
- - - - -
“Please don’t stop. OH; gods that feels so good.”
“You bet your sweet arse I’m not going to stop, not until my name is the only thing falling out of those luscious lips of yours.”
The relatively innocent massage turned suddenly salacious as deft fingers slipped across the curve of her backside and in between her thighs, and Hermione’s resulting exhale seemed to release weeks of tension. She felt her muscles relax alongside her spirit as those talented hands helped themselves to her ins and outs.
Soon, her breathing was becoming more labored and the hands were becoming more intent, moving with purpose and consistency, and so much feeling. Her lover’s name left her lips a dozen times as she came: Pansy, Pansy , PANSY ! And with the last few shudders and iterations, the tears began to fall.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I wish it wasn’t so easy to lie to him about this. About you. I don’t know what I'm doing anymore - making dinner for ‘the team’ even when my kids are off at school, and lying about work trips every other weekend.”
Hermione waited for Pansy’s response, but received none.
“Nothing to say?”
“Nothing I haven’t said already.”
“Say it again, then.”
A deep sigh. “I can’t do this with you forever, Hermione.”
“I know. I know.” She wondered if Pansy could hear the urgency underlying her tone. “Just a little while longer, I promise. I’ll talk to him. It’s just that, ooh, I don’t know how he’s going to manage, without me there to help him.”
“You're not his mother.”
“I know. I know that. Although sometimes it feels like I am.”
“I know all this.” Pansy’s mood was quickly turning dour.
“Pansy. Look at me.” Hermione’s tone was firm, certain.
“I don’t want to be your secret. I want to be your partner.”
It was Hermione’s turn to let out a sigh: one filled with longing and hope and fear and possibility. She nodded, trying to tell Pansy with her eyes what she was unable to say with her words. She leaned in for a docile kiss, which Pansy turned into something deep and desperate.
- - - - -
The following Monday, Hermione gathered her things and her courage and floo’ed home to see her husband, who it turned out had won his game. That boded well, she thought wryly, to have his mood bolstered; he was not going to be pleased about what she had to tell him.