Obsession

Chapter 23

"Slow down, Bellatrix; you're going to rip your gown."

"As if you wouldn't be able to repair it." Bellatrix heard the slur in her own voice as she yanked at the zip down her side and slithered from her black silk gown. She started tearing at the strapless, seamless undergarment she wore beneath, and then suddenly she stumbled. She felt Voldemort's arms lace around her, pulling her back up as she stepped from her black heels and murmured,

"Oh, it feels good to have those shoes off."

"You're drunk." He smiled a little as he said it, but even as Bellatrix shook her head in protest, her vision swam in a blur. Voldemort started sliding her knickers and bodice off, then crouched down to pull off her silk stockings, and he noted, "You had two flutes of Champagne and four glasses of elf-made wine. You're drunk."

"Sorry." Bellatrix laughed a little as he rose and started pulling off his own heavy velvet dress robes, and she said, "I started thinking about making a Horcrux, and every glass of wine just sort of... and I was so happy. Every dance was bliss, and I... mmph."

She stopped blathering on as his hand cupped her breast, as he stood shirtless before her and whispered,

"See if your fingers can still manage the buttons of my trousers, Bella."

"Yes, Master," she replied, her hands going between them. She fumbled a little, for he was dragging his thumb over her hard nipple and eliciting a hiss of want from her. Eventually she managed to shove his trousers and knickers down over his hips, and then he helped her by pushing them away and stepping aside. He started to push her toward the bed, and Bellatrix found herself lying on the brocade coverlet with her legs dangling over the edge.

"Bella," Voldemort said in a rather grave tone, bending down and grinding his huge length along her thigh, "this isn't going to last very long. I've been thinking about it all night, and I..."

She saw it then, the glittering black hunger in his eyes, the way his lips were quivering, the way his high cheekbones had gone pink. She rubbed at his arms as he braced himself over her, and she murmured gently,

"I'm yours. Your wife. This isn't an affair anymore. It's a marriage."

"Specifically, it is my marriage to you," Voldemort agreed, "and because of that, and because I've been wanting you all night, I'm warning you that this will last half a minute. I'm sorry; I'll take you again in the morning."

"You can take me five times a day for the next hundred years, if you like," Bellatrix grinned, and then she gasped, for her mouth was crushed beneath his. He kissed her so hard that she could hardly breathe; his tongue thrust almost angrily between her teeth and raked the roof of her mouth. He sucked so hard on her own tongue that she squealed in protest, and then she felt her thighs being roughly parted.

She screamed into his mouth, her fingers cinching on his biceps, for he'd driven himself into her entrance with hardly any warning. She was a little wet, but not enough to grant him easy admission, and it stung badly. She felt her eyes sear from the pain, and she knew Voldemort sensed her discomfort. He wrenched his mouth from hers and reached between them, muttering,

"Lubrico Duo."

There was a great flush of slick lubrication that transformed the sensation from sheer pain to intense pleasure. He started to rock his hips against Bellatrix, and she moaned wantonly at the feeling of him filling her so thoroughly. But after just a few thrusts, Voldemort stopped and growled,

"I ought to have taken some blasted Girding Potion. I can't..."

"My Lord." Bellatrix forced her eyes up to his, blinking through the haze of alcohol, and she reminded him, "My body is yours whenever you want it. There will be other times, countless times. Of what consequence is it if you finish too -"