The Stag and The Harpy | James Potter

Better

{{MATURE}}

Phoebe's eyes are still closed, her body still warm and relaxed from sleep.

But there's something tickling her neck and then her stomach and then her thighs. Her eyes fly open and she gasps,

"James Fleamont Potter!"

She flings the blankets back, staring in shock at his chin resting on her hip bone. She can feel her face warming under his mirth filled eyes. His hands smooth up her thighs again and she says firmly,

"Get away from me right now. You're supposed to be resting!"

"I am resting," He argues, pressing a kiss to her stomach that has her whole body tingling. She grabs his shoulder gently, saying hurriedly,

"James—"

"I'm resting," He says again, settling into the mattress. He spreads her thighs to fit his shoulders, letting out a hum of approval at the sight of her blue panties. He grins mischievously, running his thumb along the waistband teasingly. She shoves at his body again, harder this time as she argues,

"We cannot have sex—"

"Fine, we won't have sex. But let me taste you please," He groans, nuzzling her thigh. He's desperate for her. Waking up next to her erased every painful memory or moment since they'd left Hogwarts. Because she was his again. And she was ripe for the taking, spread out so beautifully beneath the covers when he woke up. He couldn't resist.

"If anything I should be the one to—"

"No, I want this."

She huffs, leaning up on her elbows to say irritably,

"Interrupt me one more time and the answer is no."

Her heart thumps harder in her chest when his smile turns into a smirk, his teeth tugging at his lower lip before he says huskily,

"So it's a yes?"

She stares at him silently, chewing on her lip. She feels a growing fire in her lower stomach, her mind briefly replaying the last time they'd had sex. When he'd made her watch. She instinctively goes to squeeze her thighs together, but he tuts and spreads them apart wider. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly now, her mind growing foggy. He'd just been injured, nearly killed. And here he was looking at her so sinfully it made her want him so badly it hurt.

"Say it, Phoebe," He murmurs against her thigh, his hands teasingly tugging at her underwear. "Just say the word."

She gasps when he kisses her over the lace, saying throatily, "Fine, yes! But—"

He cuts her off, pushing her panties to the side and thrusting a finger in her slick heat.

"Fuck," She whispers, her head falling back into her pillows. She nearly cries when he withdraws his finger, looking down to see him pulling it into his mouth like it's the most delicious thing he's tasted. She feels scandalized, almost embarrassed, but so turned on by him she can't even care.

He moans out loud when he finally slides the barrier down her legs, whispering, "Fuck, look how wet you are."

"James," She whines quietly, slapping her hand over her mouth to keep her noises at bay. He growls quietly, "Don't. I want to hear you."

She nearly tells him to piss off, that if anything she can do it herself, but then he's stroking her with the flat of his tongue so aggressively that it makes her back arch off the bed and a cry fall from her lips.

He looks like he's just been offered a thousand galleons, his eyes glowing as he licks and sucks gentle and slow and then hard and fast.

Phoebe's hand find his hair, torn between pulling him away and bringing him closer to chase her approaching high. Her other hand grabs at the headboard, knuckles turning white as she grips the post.

"Fuck," He moans against her, his length now painfully hard in his pants. She was so sweet, so sexy. Her voice rings in his ears, making him dizzy and so turned on it makes him want to say screw resting and fuck her until they're both sweating and sore.

But he said he wouldn't, that he'd just taste her. So he relishes how good she feels and tastes, smirking when she nearly jumps off the bed as his tongue delves into him.

"James," her voice is airy, her legs are shaking. He teases her clit with his tongue and then pulls back to rub her with his fingers, cursing at how wet and hot and needy she is.

He thrusts two fingers inside her and moans at the way she clenches around him, returning his mouth to her sex. Phoebe can't control her bucking hips, only when he curls one arm under her bent knee and holds her steady against his mouth.

She's so close, almost reaching that peak of climax that she knows will leave her throat raw and her legs shaking. She groans before mumbling helplessly,

"James, I—fuck! Fuck, I'm close, I'm—"

He suddenly pulls away, leaving her feeling empty and burning at the same time. She quickly sits up and asks incredulously, "W-why'd you stop?"

He grins and slides up to press his lips to hers chastely before leaning back and saying simply,

"Pay back."

"For what?!" She cries, tempted to push him back down between her legs to finish what he insisted on starting.

"For leaving so fast after I fucked you in the bathroom. And for kissing Malfoy, don't think I don't know about that."

She stares at him in disbelief, arguing, "I left because I was confused and upset!!! And I kissed Malfoy to distract him."

He smirks and shrugs, replying smoothly, "That's fine. I'm sure this will distract you."

If he wasn't still bruised and battered she'd push him off the sodding bed and tackle him. She scowls and mutters, "Fine."

Her hand snakes down to finish the job she was desperate for. She doesn't even make it past her bellybutton before he grabs her wrists in his hands and pins them above her head.

"No way, P," He grumbles, nuzzling her cheek before pecking her frowning lips. "No touching what's mine."

"James, I swear—"

"I'll make it worth your time," He promises, smirking when she grows quiet. His tone holds the promise of something spectacular, something better than her fading potential orgasm. He chuckles deeply at her pissed off face, saying cheekily,

"If you touch yourself, I'll know."

She tries to fight his grip, but she's breathless from him. He exudes sex and power despite his run in with death. Maybe because his run in with death.

She sighs and finally looks away from his golden eyes, accepting defeat as her thighs ache with need. Scowling to herself as he laughs at her expense.

Bloody stag.