Invictus [Tom Riddle / Tomione]

Snapshots of October

"Her heart sank into her shoes as she realized at last now much she wanted him. No matter what his past was, no matter what he had done. Which was not to say that she would ever let him know, but only that he moved her chemically more than anyone she had ever met, that all other men seemed pale beside him."

F. Scott Fitzgerald, A New Leaf

Hermione straddled Tom's waist, impaled on his cock as he gripped her hips, his fingers digging into the flesh of her side. He held her suspended in the air as he drove upwards into her, over and over. He preferred this position. He could fuck her hard and deep, stroking that sweet spot inside her and watching her face twist into an expression of torturous pleasure. His black eyes glittered dangerously.

"That's it," he murmured. "You're doing so good, little witch."

She bit her lip whenever he praised her.

He often had to stimulate her in order to bring her to release, but in this position, he could bring her to an explosive orgasm nearly every time. He always relished the look on her face; just the anticipation of it almost sent him over the edge.

Hermione moaned, a sensual, husky sound. Her head fell back and she gasped, breathless, her hair tumbling wildly over her shoulders. Red crept down her throat and spread through her chest, a sign that she was close.

"Fuck, Hermione." Tom's ab muscles contracted as he thrust into her, a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin from the exertion. He watched where they connected, the way her tight cunt hugged his cock as he pulled out of her just to drive himself into her again. Small bruises bloomed on her skin where his fingers bit into her flesh. Tom stared at them. He wanted to leave them everywhere.

He was breathless and his muscles were taut. His head fell back, the cords of his throat and Adam's apple straining, his too-long hair falling over his forehead messily, and Hermione thought there was no more attractive sight. Her chest tightened painfully as she looked at him. She reached a hand forward and ran her fingers over his tendons and neck muscles as her eyes rolled back in bliss. He drove upward and into her hard and deep, hitting a particular angle that drove her to insanity. She clenched her walls around his cock, letting out another moan as she lost control.

Her mouth fell open. "That's a good little witch," Tom rasped hoarsely. "Let me hear you scream."

She cried out, her vision blackening with little rainbow-colored stars as pleasure rocketed through her, spreading out in numbing waves through her core. Tom's fingers wrapped around her throat. "Who do you belong to, Hermione?"

"You," she whispered, struggling for air as her body pulsed in ecstasy. "You, Tom."

"Mine," he gritted through his teeth, and then with a deep, rough thrust, he spilled inside her.

He released her throat and slid his hand around the nape of her neck, pulling her forward until she fell against his chest, her nipples teasing his chest hair gently. "Mine," he breathed. Their bodies were vibrating against one another, chests shaking with the violent pounding of their hearts.

In that moment, Tom vowed he would find a way to bind the pieces of his soul to hers, not for only one lifetime, but for eternity.

He felt he had a right to do so.

She belonged to him, after all.

Afterward, as she lay in bed beside him, her head on his chest, staring around his room as if memorizing it, she felt all the unspoken things between them. He'd poured them several glasses of firewhiskey throughout the night and Hermione was tipsy, although Tom handled alcohol well and never seemed to show signs of being drunk.