Dusk and Desire - A Mattheo Riddle Story

His. Hers. Theirs.

"Rosier, Riddle!" Enzo barked. "For five minutes, can you two get along? For five bloody minutes?"

Actually, we can get along for a lot more than five minutes, Mattheo wanted to say but he had a feeling Nora would elbow him for saying that and she was fucking strong. Her elbows were bony and they packed a punch. Plus, he really wanted to get laid today and she seemed to be on edge enough with tomorrow being her first game back since her injury.

Halloween had come and gone. Nora wasn't happy to miss the first Slytherin Quidditch match but with her foot in a cast, she hadn't had much choice. If Draco hadn't caught the snitch early on, they would have been bloody screwed.

Now, it was mid-November and Nora was back with a vengeance. Well, trying to be. Enzo hadn't let her practice much until today—the captain was one of those people who cared more about his players than winning, which would have been fine had said player not been the woman who didn't take lightly to being benched. Let's just say that Mattheo had plenty of angry sex lately... and the anger was definitely not from him.

Not that he minded. He'd take any sex from her. Angry, fiery, slow. All of it, he would happily lap up like a starved man. He would take anything she gave him.

No girl had made him feel the things Nora made him feel. The way she swirled her hips, the way her moans vibrated throughout his body, the way she liked it when he was rough with her. It was as if the perfect woman was built and sent directly to him in a package with a good ass and great tits.

But honestly? The best part of sex with Nora was those blissful few minutes after when she let her hair stay down and she would gaze at him with those big hazel eyes. Her face would be devoid of any scowls, missing that little crease between her eyebrows that he kind of adored, kind of hated because it meant she was upset. And she would look at him. Actually look at him. Not with hatred, not with frustration. Just with a look that was so perfectly Nora.

And then the moment ended.

Like the spell on her was broken, Nora would blink her eyes and the ice queen came back with full frost. She'd stand up, clothe herself, put her hair half-up instead of in the messy waves he loved to run his fingers through, and then she'd walk out like nothing had happened. She wouldn't stay the night, she wouldn't even speak to him. Normally, he'd be too embarrassed to let a girl do that to him and still come back. His pride didn't like beatings like that.

But Nora could walk away whenever she damn well wanted. Because his door would always be open to her.

He wasn't sure when it happened. He couldn't pinpoint the minute or the hour or even the day when it happened. He wasn't even sure how it happened. All Mattheo Riddle knew was that, slowly but surely, he was becoming more and more obsessed with Nora Rosier. And maybe—just maybe—he was beginning to fall in love with her.

Again. Only this time, maybe even harder.

So, yes, he could get laid tonight if he wanted to. Find some girl—probably a Hufflepuff because the Gryffindors were still mad at the way he beat Dean Thomas to a pulp and Ravenclaws weren't his usual go-to—and have a couple rounds of fun. But he didn't want that. He didn't want some girl. He wanted Nora.

So if he had to deal with her mood swings, if he had to endure Quaffles thrown at him when he looked at her wrong, if he had to deal with sharp words, if he had to deal with her frustration over being forced to sit on the sidelines, if he had to deal with her icy walls, he would. He would do it day after day after day. Because those little moments when she melted just for him were the best moments of his life. The moments when Nora actually felt like his and he actually felt like hers and they felt like us.