The Burning Pen

Story Name
by Ruth Solomon

The story content is adult in nature and can contain graphic sex and violence.  Those under the age of 18 are asked to leave this site immediately.  You are not welcome here.  The author is not responsible for those under-aged who view these works.

CHAPTER 6

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 6 ~ Worship 1

"Severus," Hermione said softly, feeling a bit strange at using his given name. It was such a large leap in breaking down the fences of decorum. Addressing Snape as 'Professor' was a way of mentally keeping him at arm's length and acknowledging his authority over her. It placed him outside of her personal space.

But using his name gave him a personal identity as a human being, an individual beyond his position. Calling him Severus made him suddenly accessible—someone equal, someone she could meet on more balanced terms. It made him an ordinary man to some extent, although Hermione knew Severus Snape was far from ordinary.

Still, it felt so intimate to say his name and feel the soft syllables roll over her teeth, tongue and lips. There were no harsh, guttural vocalizations in the pronunciation, in fact, even saying his name was sensual, first the soft S hissed through the teeth, then the slight V bite of the lower lip, then the easy, languorous purr of the R, finished by another soft, tantalizing and intimate pronouncement of "us" so filled with promise.

Severus.

Hermione never realized how sexy his name sounded when spoken, even as it described his outwardly severe nature. But, he wasn't being severe now. Learning about this gentle side to the wizard made him even more of a dichotomy, so—complex. Someone completely different from the assumptions made about him because of the life he'd led. So many had been so wrong about the man, she among them.

Gods, she wanted this.

"Turn around," Snape said softly, gently turning her so her back was facing him. Hermione turned, tense and expectant, but not knowing what to expect. Snape stepped a bit closer, close enough to feel the heat of her body, but not coming into contact with it. Still, Hermione could feel his warmth, too, and trembled involuntarily.

Snape reverently placed his hands lightly on her shoulders, feeling her soft, wet skin beneath his palms. Slowly, he drew his hands down her arms, caressing them, feeling her slight musculature, his fingertips moving slightly, Hermione sighing as he completed the journey to the back of her hands, then slipped his fingers between hers slowly. It felt sexual the way he did it, his digits sliding between hers with a slight but delicious friction.

He then gently swung her arms outward, arcing them upward until they were above her head, then again, he caressed her arms, slowly, tenderly, as if touching the most precious treasure on the face of the planet, his hands following the lines and subtle undulations of her flesh, slipping over her elbows, the soft skin of her armpits, over the ridges of her ribcage, the dip of her waist, swell of her hips and smoothness of her thighs. Hermione felt like purring at the gentle thrill of his touch, which left a tingling trail of warmth imprinted on her skin, and she sighed as he moved her hair to one side with one hand, then wrapped both arms around her belly and pulled her back against him, his chest resting against her back as he kissed her throat and held her.

Hermione could feel Snape's pulsing erection resting against her buttocks, but he didn't grind into her. He simply held her, curled around her, his chin now resting on her shoulder, his cheek pressed to hers. Still, the contact was so intimate, she was so aware of his warmth, the contact of his skin against her own, the hardness of his body complementing the softness of her own. It felt—perfect.

His eyes closed, Snape breathed in deeply and let out a satisfied sigh, his arms still wrapped around Hermione's soft middle. Contact. How he had missed this kind of embrace, the feel of a woman, soft, feminine, accessible. He kissed her throat again, lingering over it, feeling the pulse of her artery beneath his lips and savoring the wellspring of life in his arms. How could she not know how beautiful she was? How could she think he wouldn't want to partake of that beauty? That he wouldn't want to lose himself in the wonder that was Hermione Granger?

Hermione felt his arms loosen slightly.

"Turn around," he breathed again.

He held her close so he could feel the delicious slide of her flesh against his, the softness of her breasts sliding across his chest, the fullness of her hips as they slid against his loins, catching his erection for a luscious moment before they were pelvis to pelvis, Hermione looking up at him with liquid eyes, his arms still locked around her, resting in the dip between back and buttocks.

"Severus," Hermione breathed as if his name was an invocation, a magic she was summoning, her intent powerful and compelling as he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her tenderly, suckling on her lips, drawing away and pulling at them, before returning again and again, lost in their warmth, softness and willingness. Her mouth was sweeter than the sweetest confection and more intoxicating than the strongest libation.

As Snape kissed her repeatedly, Hermione felt a kind of intoxication of her own, the world around them losing reality, the only thing real was the softness of Snape's lips pressing against her own, gentle, overpowering, making her feel disembodied and nearly lost as he kissed her again and again, his head turning this way and that as he indulged himself. Hermione pressed into him harder, her body anxious now. Patience? What was that? Her body had a mind of its own. But if Snape felt her growing urgency, he didn't act on it immediately. His hands began to move again, over her back, smoothing over her spine, shoulder blades, sides and the topmost swell of her buttocks.

He didn't grope. He petted, caressed, and smoothed, Hermione aware of every tiny callus, every roughened patch of his hands. A man's hands, careful, reverent and gentle.

He was driving her mad already. Hermione opened her mouth, wanting to feel him slip his tongue inside so she could taste him, his fire. Snape continued to simply suckle on her lips, content with that for now. Yes, he really was slow. Delicious—but far too slow.

"Severus," Hermione whimpered, the need in her voice clear. Snape responded, easing his tongue into her mouth and wrapping it around Hermione's own supple muscle, tangling, sliding and lapping sensuously, almost lazily at her heat. Hermione felt a sharp pulse between her thighs and gasped into his mouth, her body quaking. Snape pulled away, looking down at her, his eyes glittering with pleasure at their interaction.

"Patience," he breathed. "Worship takes time, Hermione."

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A/N: Annnd, a little more. My black and mild is finished and I'm smokeless right now. Smokes are part of the process for lemony parts. Lol. If I can scrounge up some change, I'll probably write the finishing chapters of this today. I think there will be two more. I've already come up with what I think will be a satisfying ending for a story this short. Thanks for reading. ***

PLEASE REVIEW "In the Prefect's Bathroom." >>> NEXT CHAPTER

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