Chapter 10: The hard length of Snape's cock sheathing itself in Elara's tight, wet cunt jolts her awake—her gasp turns to a choked moan as he grips her hips and begins pounding into her with slow, deliberate thrusts, his growl of 'Mine' vibrating through her bare back.
She awoke to pressure and fullness, a slow, dream-deep ache that solidified into shocking, blazing reality. The room was unfamiliar—rough-hewn beams, firelight dancing on stone walls, the smell of cedar and dried herbs. And him. Always him.
His body was a hot, heavy line against her back. His hand was splayed between her shoulder blades, pressing down, keeping her face buried in the pillow that smelled of him. She was naked, the wool blanket bunched around her hips. And he was inside her. Not entering, not teasing. Just there, buried to the hilt, a thick, unforgiving presence that stretched her to the point of a sweet, steady burn.
She made a muffled sound into the pillow, part confusion, part awakening pleasure.
His voice was a sleep-roughened rasp against the shell of her ear. “You’re awake.” It wasn’t a question.
Before she could form a thought, he moved. He pulled back, almost all the way out, the drag exquisitely rough, then surged forward in one deep, rolling thrust that punched the air from her lungs. A fractured cry escaped her.
“You came to my bed,” he murmured, his lips moving against her neck as he established a relentless, measured rhythm. Each stroke was deep, claiming, a piston of flesh that resonated in her very core. “You crawled into my sheets, smelling of my classroom, my spend still on your skin. Did you think that was an invitation to sleep?”
“I—I didn’t—” Her words dissolved into a gasp as he angled his hips, hitting a spot that sent white sparks behind her eyelids.
“You did.” His hand slid from her back, tangling in her sleep-mussed hair, fisting it tight enough to sting. He used the leverage to arch her neck, exposing her throat to his teeth. “You presented yourself. A fait accompli. So now you take the consequences.”
His pace quickened, no longer measured, now driving. The wet, rhythmic sound of their joining filled the small bedroom, crude and undeniable. The blanket slipped further down. Firelight glazed the sweat beginning to gleam on his forearm where it braced beside her head.
“You fucked me on a desk,” he growled, his breath hot and ragged. “You took your pleasure. Now I take mine. On my terms. In my bed. Like this.”
He slammed into her, the force driving her up the mattress. The hand in her hair held her fast, a captive to his tempo. This wasn’t the chaotic, shared frenzy of the classroom. This was a fucking with a deliberate, almost clinical intensity. It was punishment and possession fused into every deep, drilling stroke.
“You feel that?” he demanded, his voice tight. “You feel how deep I am? How completely I fill the cunt you so brazenly offered?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, the friction building a desperate, coiling heat low in her belly. Her fingers clawed at the sheets. “God, yes, I feel it.”
“It’s mine.” The declaration was guttural, absolute. “This tight, greedy hole is mine to use. To fill. To fuck awake whenever I choose. Do you understand?”
She couldn’t speak. She could only nod wildly against the pillow, a frantic gesture of surrender.
He released her hair, his hand sliding down her side, over the curve of her hip, rough and possessive. It dipped between her legs, his thumb finding the swollen nub of her clit. He pressed, circling with a brutal, perfect precision that synced with his thrusts.
The double sensation was too much. It detonated her. Her world fractured into pure, blinding sensation as her orgasm ripped through her, a silent, screaming convulsion that clamped down around his invading cock with vise-like intensity. Her back bowed, a taut string against his chest.
Her climax triggered his. With a final, grinding thrust that seated him impossibly deep, he stilled. A raw, choked sound was torn from him, more pain than pleasure. She felt the hot, pulsing rush of his release flooding her, marking her internally just as thoroughly as he had marked her skin before. He shuddered against her, his body a tense, trembling weight.
He shuddered against her, his body a tense, trembling weight. For several long minutes, the only sounds were the crackle of the fireplace and their slowing breaths. The heat of him inside her began to cool. Eventually, he shifted, withdrawing from her body with a soft, wet sound that made her gasp. The sudden emptiness felt more profound than it had in his classroom.
He rolled onto his back beside her, one arm thrown over his eyes. The firelight played over the sharp planes of his face and the pale, cursed mark on his forearm. She studied the grim set of his mouth, the tension still thrumming in his jaw. This was the aftermath, she realized. This quiet, heavy space was where his torment lived.
Elara pushed herself up on one elbow. The blanket fell to her waist. She felt sore, thoroughly used, and strangely, wonderfully alive. Her gaze traveled from his shielded face down the length of his body, past the dark hair on his chest, to where his spent cock lay against his thigh. A possessive warmth curled in her stomach.
“So,” she said, her voice husky from sleep and crying out. She reached out, tracing a light, idle finger down the center of his chest. “Is this where you bring all your disobedient students?”
His arm didn’t move. “Don’t be absurd.”
“Just checking.” Her finger circled a nipple. “The accommodations are superior to the dungeon. Warmer. Softer bed.”
“Your critique is noted.” His tone was flat, but she saw the muscle in his abdomen tighten under her touch.
She let her hand drift lower, over the tense plane of his stomach, through the coarse trail of hair. He caught her wrist just before she reached her destination. His fingers were like iron. He finally moved his arm from his eyes to look at her. His expression was guarded, a wall of obsidian.
“What are you doing?”
“Exploring.” She twisted her wrist lightly in his grasp, not to break free, but to feel the strength of his hold. “You’ve had me on a desk and in your bed. I’m taking inventory.”
“This is not a field trip, Miss Thorne.” The formality was a barrier, hastily reconstructed.
“Elara,” she corrected softly, holding his gaze. “You were shouting it last night. Or was that just the furniture creaking?”
A flash of something dark and dangerous flickered in his eyes. He released her wrist as if burned. She didn’t pull her hand back. Instead, she closed the distance, palm flattening against his lower belly, feeling him breathe. She leaned in, her lips a whisper from his.
“You’re thinking too much,” she murmured. “I can hear the gears grinding from here. It’s just a room. It’s just a bed. It’s just me.”
“It is not just you.” The words were low, vehement. “That is the entire fucking problem.”
“Why?” She kissed the corner of his tense mouth. “Because I’m a student? I’m of age. Because you’re my professor?” Another kiss, this one on the sharp line of his jaw. “You stopped being just my professor the moment you came in my mouth against your storage cupboards.”
He flinched. “You have a singular talent for reducing profound complications to vulgar logistics.”
“It’s a gift.” She smiled against his skin, her hand sliding the final, decisive inch to wrap around him. He was soft, but the skin was like silk over iron. He hissed in a sharp breath. “See? The body is simple. It wants what it wants. The mind is the messy part.”
She began to stroke him, slowly, firmly, using the slickness of her own arousal and his spend that coated him. Her thumb swept over the flared head on each upstroke. She watched his face, watched the struggle as sensation warred with his endless, churning analysis. His eyes remained open, locked on hers, but the black pupils were swallowing the irises.
“Stop,” he said, but it lacked conviction. It was a whisper, a token protest.
“No.” Her rhythm was relentless. “You didn’t stop when I was asleep. You took. Now I’m taking.” She felt him thickening, lengthening, growing heavy and hard in her hand. A thrill of power shot through her. “Your mind is a prison, Severus. But this…” She squeezed, and a bead of fresh moisture appeared at his tip. “This is freedom. And you want it. You want my hand on your cock. You want my cunt around it. You want to stop thinking for five damn minutes.”
He was fully hard now, a thick, veined weight in her fist. His breathing had shifted, deepened. The hand that had caught her wrist now lay fisted at his side.
“You are insufferable,” he breathed.
“And you’re a hypocrite.” She shifted her body, swinging a leg over his hips to straddle him again. She guided him to her entrance, notching the broad head against her. She was slick, open, still loose from his earlier fucking. She paused, looking down at him, at the conflict ravaging his features. “So punish me. Fuck the insufferable out of me. Unless you’d rather lie here and think about your problems.”
She sank down.
The glide was smoother this time, a deep, filling ache that made her sigh. He was so deep, seated so perfectly inside her. His hands flew to her hips, fingers digging in, not to guide her, but to anchor himself.
“Playfully asked for more, did I?” she whispered, beginning to rock, a slow, grinding undulation of her hips. She braced her hands on his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart under her palms. “I must have been out of my mind. This is clearly a terrible idea.”
A sound, almost a laugh, a ragged, broken thing, escaped him. His hips jerked upwards, meeting her downward slide, and the sudden, perfect friction made her cry out. The dam broke.
“You have no idea,” he snarled, surging up, rolling her onto her back in a tangle of limbs and wool blanket. He loomed over her, his weight pinning her, his cock buried to the root. His eyes were wild, feral. “No idea what you’re playing with.”
“Then show me.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles at the small of his back. “Stop talking and show me.”
He did.
He fucked her with a frantic, driving urgency that felt entirely new. This wasn’t the controlled punishment of the morning, nor the shared frenzy of the desk. This was pure, unchecked need, a hunger finally unleashed. He drove into her, each thrust a desperate claim, the headboard knocking a steady, urgent rhythm against the cottage wall.
“Is this what you wanted?” he grunted, his voice raw. His hands were everywhere, gripping her thighs, pinning them wide, then clutching her breasts, his thumbs abusing her nipples. “To be the distraction? To be the thing that finally makes me forget?”
“Yes!” she screamed, arching under him, meeting every plunge. The coil was winding again, tighter, faster. “Make me the reason. Use me. Forget everything but this. Forget everything but how my cunt feels wrapped around your fucking cock!”
Her filthy encouragement shattered the last of his restraint. He shifted, hooking her legs over his shoulders, bending her nearly double. The angle was brutal, perfect. He pistoned into her, shorter, harder strokes that stabbed directly into the deepest, most sensitive part of her. The slap of skin was loud, animalistic.
“Come for me,” he demanded, his voice a guttural command. “Come on my cock, you brazen, impossible girl. Let me feel you lose control.”
The command, the angle, the sheer overwhelming force of him, tipped her over. Her orgasm exploded, a white-hot convulsion that ripped a silent scream from her throat. Her inner muscles clenched around him in frantic, fluttering waves, milking him.
It dragged his own release from him. With a final, shuddering thrust, he buried himself and stilled. A broken, almost anguished groan was torn from his chest as he emptied into her, pulse after hot, endless pulse. He collapsed forward, his forehead dropping to her shoulder, his body trembling with the force of it.
They lay like that for a long time, fused together, slick with sweat, breathing in ragged unison. The fire popped. Somewhere outside, a bird called. The reality of the cottage, the morning, and the impossible line they had just vaporized, settled over them like dust.
He was the first to move, rolling off her with a grace that seemed at odds with his previous abandon. He stood without a word, walking naked to the small bathroom. She heard the shower start.
Elara lay amidst the ruined sheets, feeling the ache in her muscles, the cool trickle of their combined release between her thighs. She looked at the closed bathroom door, then at the mark on the sheet where his head had lain. A slow, shaky smile touched her lips. She had asked for more.
He had given her everything. And in doing so, he’d taken everything from her, too. The game had changed. The stakes were nowhere to be seen. They were already all in.