Sinners and Serpents {g.w.}

Chapter 16

Your heart rate spiked dangerously high as George's words caused heat to simmer low in your stomach. Maybe it was the Firewhiskey zipping through your veins, maybe it was the fact that you finally had a good fucking reason to kiss George again, but you said:

"What the hell are you waiting for, then?"

George's hand slid to the back of your head, cupping your neck as his lips crashed down onto yours for the second time in reality. It felt like the millionth time because of how many dreams you'd had about his mouth, his hands.

One of those hands was now belted around your waist, tugging you roughly to George's body, as if he needed you even closer. It was just like you remembered it from Halloween; his lips were smooth but moved aggressively against your own, his hands, callused from Quidditch, caused sparks of arousal to ripple up and down your spine.

It was just like you remembered it, but somehow, it was better this time, because you knew it was George fucking Weasley that you were kissing, that you were sighing for. You had thought more than once that kissing him knowing it was him would make the experience worse, but as his hand tugged your head back, making you stand up on your tiptoes to better reach his mouth, it only excelled the feeling.

George's mouth was moving against yours as if in a synchronized dance where every movement made the fiery want burn hotter within you. You barely even had moments to breath, but you were far from complaining. In that moment, you would've traded air for anything George was doing to you.

Fuck, kissing George had your knees weak again, had your head spinning again. And he had been needing this, apparently just as much as you had. Merlin knew you had tried to get him out of your system. You'd tried replacing the alluring feeling of his hands dancing across your skin with other people's touches, but they weren't George.

Because George's touch? It was like fucking heroin, you were sure of it. It burned you, but in a way that only had you panting for more as his mouth left yours and traced that familiar trail down to your jaw and neck, wreaking havoc on the sensitive skin there.

It didn't even occur to you to warn him not to leave bruises, not because you were a bit tipsy, but because you wanted evidence of his touch to stain your body for days to come.

With a quick, smooth movement, with one arm George hoisted you up onto the porcelain counter, the cold surface stinging your feverish skin. George pressed between your legs, his hips colliding with yours with friction so sweet it had you panting as he worked kisses of varying roughness across the tender expanse of your neck.

"Bloody hell, Scales," George muttered against your skin. "I hate that I've been fucking waiting for this since Halloween."

"I knew you were lying when you said you didn't like kissing me that night," you panted, your hands tugging at George's thick red hair.

"Just like you were, isn't that right?" George mused, grinding his hips into yours and making a soft breath fall from your lips at the feeling of him dragging against you. "I may not be a mind reader, but I could tell the effect I had on you. You're like an open book, really."

You let out a laugh that was cut short by George's lips brushing your collarbone as his thumb traced beneath the curve of your chest. "You're one to talk. You were the one who pulled me away in the first place."

George straightened, looking you in the eyes. "Scales, you were practically undressing me with your eyes from the moment I walked into the Great Hall. Don't act like you're so damn innocent in all of this."

"Never said I was," you told him, but your focus was mainly on getting his lips pressed against yours again. The nagging thought that you were running out of time cut through the foggy haze settling over your mind and you were desperate to make the most of this fleeting time you had been gifted. You had no clue when, if ever, you would get this chance again.