Chapter 7: Chapter 7
The silence after her question felt like a physical weight pressing down on the study. Dust motes hung suspended in the sunbeam separating them. Sirius didn’t move. His shoulders, broad under the leather jacket, remained rigidly turned away. The thick outline straining against his trousers was the only betrayal.
Cassiopeia’s own breath hitched. The words hung in the air, raw and dangerous. Did you like it? Seeing Rabastan take her. Seeing her come apart under his mouth, then his cock. Seeing Lucius orchestrate it all. The heat flared again, low and insistent, warring with the tremor in her hands.
He turned. Slowly. Deliberately. Like a predator sizing up prey. His face was granite, jaw clenched so tight she saw the muscle jump. But his eyes… Merlin, his eyes. They weren’t just furious anymore. They were dark, bottomless pits of something primal. Hunger. Possession. Fury all tangled together. They raked over her – the torn sundress barely covering her hips, the dust smeared on her cheekbone, the slickness still glistening between her thighs. His nostrils flared.
"Yeah," he rasped, the single word scraped raw from his throat. It wasn’t an answer. It was an accusation. A detonation. "I saw." His gaze locked onto hers, pinning her in place. "Saw you spread yourself for him. Saw you moan for him. Saw you fucking beg for it." He took a step forward. The heat radiating off him intensified. "Like a fucking slut."
The word slammed into her. Crude. Ugly. Meant to wound. Instead, it sent a jolt of pure, electric arousal straight to her core. She gasped, her nipples tightening painfully against the thin fabric of her dress. She didn’t flinch. She lifted her chin, meeting his scorching glare. Her voice, when it came, was surprisingly steady, laced with a defiance she barely recognized. "And you’re hard because of it." Her eyes flicked pointedly down to the undeniable bulge tenting his trousers. "Harder than Rabastan ever got me."
A low growl rumbled deep in Sirius’s chest. The sound vibrated through the silent room, primal and terrifying. Another step. He was close now. Close enough for her to smell the leather, the faint sweat beneath it, the sharp tang of his anger… and something else. Something darkly male. "You think this is funny?" he snarled, his hand snapping out, fingers closing like iron bands around her upper arm. He yanked her forward, crushing her against him.
The sudden contact was electric. His erection pressed hot and insistent against her belly through the layers of clothing. His strength was overwhelming. She could feel the coiled power in his frame, the barely leashed violence. It should have terrified her. It did. But beneath the fear, the arousal surged, hot and demanding. She tilted her head back, looking up into his furious, beautiful face. "Does it look like I’m laughing?" she breathed.
His free hand tangled roughly in her hair, pulling her head back further, exposing the line of her throat. His breath was hot on her skin. "You want to tease me, Cassie?" His voice was a dangerous whisper. "After that little fucking show? After letting him use you like that?" His grip tightened on her arm, bruising. "You think you can handle what I want?"
She didn’t answer. Instead, she pressed her hips forward, grinding deliberately against the hard ridge of his cock. A choked sound escaped him. She felt the tremor that ran through his body. His eyes blazed, the fury momentarily eclipsed by pure, unadulterated lust. "Fuck," he hissed.
He spun her around violently, shoving her backwards. Her hips slammed into the solid edge of Lucius’s heavy mahogany desk. Papers scattered. An inkwell wobbled precariously. Before she could catch her breath, Sirius was on her. His hands shoved her sundress up around her waist, the fabric tearing further. He ripped the remnants of her underwear away with a brutal tug. Cool air hit her exposed skin, followed instantly by the searing heat of his body pressing against her back. His knee forced her legs apart. One hand fumbled frantically with his belt buckle, the clink of metal loud in the tense silence.
"No foreplay for you, little slut," he growled against her ear, his voice thick with contempt and need. "You’re already wet enough from Rabastan’s leavings, aren’t you?" The blunt, thick head of his cock nudged against her slick entrance. She braced her hands on the cool wood of the desk, bracing for the invasion. "Take it," he commanded, and drove himself into her with one brutal, unforgiving thrust.
Cassiopeia cried out, arching against the desk. He filled her completely, stretching her unbearably, deeper and thicker than Rabastan. The friction was intense, raw, bordering on pain. Sirius didn’t pause. He set a punishing rhythm immediately, fucking her with hard, deep strokes that shoved her forward against the desk with every impact. His hips slammed into her ass, the sound sharp and obscene in the elegant room. One hand remained tangled painfully in her hair, holding her head down, forcing her cheek against the polished wood. The other hand groped roughly beneath her, finding her breast, squeezing the soft flesh hard, pinching her nipple through the thin dress fabric.
"Look at you," he snarled, his breath hot on her neck. "Bent over your boyfriend’s desk. Taking cock like you were fucking made for it." He pinched her nipple harder, twisting it, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. "Is this what you wanted? Huh? Showing off for me? Making me watch?" He leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder. "You’re nothing but a greedy little cunt, Cassie. A filthy, desperate slut."
The crude words, spat with such venomous heat, combined with the relentless pounding deep inside her, ignited something terrifying. Shame warred with a dark, thrilling pleasure. She was wet, impossibly wet, her body responding treacherously to his roughness, to the sheer dominance of his possession. He pulled her head back sharply by her hair, forcing her spine into an arch. His other hand shoved her dress down roughly over her shoulder, exposing her breast. He didn’t hesitate. His mouth descended, hot and wet, sucking her nipple hard into his mouth. The sharp pull, the scrape of his teeth, sent shockwaves of sensation straight to her core.
"Oh god… Sirius!" The name tore from her, half-protest, half-plea. He sucked harder, biting down just enough to make her cry out again, her hips instinctively pushing back against his driving thrusts. He released her nipple with a wet pop, leaving it throbbing. His hand slid down her belly, fingers finding her clit, already swollen and hypersensitive. He rubbed it hard, roughly, in time with his brutal strokes.
"Come on," he growled, his voice ragged. "Cum for me, you little whore. Show me how much you love being fucked like this. Used." His fingers worked her clit relentlessly. The pressure built, terrifyingly fast, a coil tightening beneath the relentless invasion. She stared blindly at the scattered papers on the desk, the elegant grain of the wood blurred by tears she hadn't realized were forming. His cock slammed deep, hitting a spot that made her vision spark. His fingers pinched her clit. The crude words echoed in her head. Slut. Whore. Greedy cunt.
The dam broke. Her body convulsed violently, clamping down hard around him with a force that ripped a ragged groan from his throat. Wave after wave of brutal, shattering pleasure tore through her, leaving her trembling, gasping, pinned between the unforgiving desk and Sirius’s unyielding body. He fucked her through it, his rhythm faltering only slightly, driving into her pulsing depths with harsh, grunting thrusts.
"Fuck… yes… take it…" he choked out, his own control fraying. He buried himself deep one final time, hips grinding against her ass as he came with a guttural roar, spilling hotly inside her. His body shuddered against hers, his weight pressing her harder into the desk. His hand, still tangled in her hair, loosened its grip slightly. His harsh breaths echoed hers in the sudden, heavy silence.
He stayed buried inside her for a long moment, his forehead resting against her shoulder blade. The scent of sex, sweat, and leather filled the air, thick and cloying. Slowly, he pulled out. The sudden emptiness was jarring. Cassiopeia slumped forward over the desk, her legs trembling too much to hold her. She felt the wetness trickling down her inner thighs. Sirius straightened up behind her. She heard the rustle of fabric as he adjusted his trousers. She didn’t turn. Couldn’t look at him.
The silence stretched, thick with the aftermath of violence and release. The only sound was their ragged breathing slowly evening out. Cassiopeia stared at the wood grain beneath her cheek, feeling the phantom ache deep inside, the sting on her nipple, the bruises forming on her arm and hip. The elegant study felt tainted, violated. Just like her. Sirius hadn’t moved. She could feel his gaze on her back, heavy and unreadable. What now? Apology? More anger? The terrifying uncertainty hung heavier than any word he could have spoken. She closed her eyes, waiting for the axe to fall.
The silence stretched, thick with the sour tang of sweat, sex, and something like regret. Cassiopeia remained pressed against the cool wood, the grain imprinting itself on her cheek, her legs trembling. She felt raw, scraped hollow, the echoes of Sirius's furious possession still vibrating through her core. His harsh breathing behind her was the only sound besides her own frantic pulse thudding in her ears.
Then, fingers – calloused, strong – clamped onto her hips. Before she could gasp, Sirius wrenched her upright, spinning her roughly to face him. Her back slammed against the unforgiving edge of the desk again, knocking the breath from her lungs. He stepped between her splayed legs, trapping her, his eyes, dark and burning, locked onto hers with terrifying intensity. There was no anger left, only a raw, naked hunger that stole her breath anew.
"The look on your face," he rasped, his voice gravelly, strained. His hands slid up her sides, rough palms scraping her skin, gripping her waist tightly. He pushed her down, forcing her to sit fully on the desk's edge, leaning over her, his face inches from hers. "That night you came back from France. Summer before last." His gaze was relentless, pinning her. "You thought the house was empty."
Cassiopeia froze, a jolt of pure shock and mortification lancing through her. That memory – humid twilight, her own restless fingers, the desperate, whispered name… His name. How…? Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Sirius saw the recognition flood her face, a cruel satisfaction twisting his lips.
"Found you sprawled on the sofa in the sunroom," he continued, his voice dropping lower, intimate and accusing. His hips pressed forward, the hard ridge of his renewed erection grinding against her sensitive core, making her gasp. "Fingers buried deep inside that tight little cunt of yours. Moaning my name like a prayer." He leaned closer, his breath hot on her lips. "Screamed it when you came. Loud enough I heard it from the hallway."
He thrust once, hard, a shallow penetration that stole her breath, forcing a choked whimper from her throat. Her hands flew to his chest, pushing weakly, but he was immovable. "Found your panties later," he growled, his eyes blazing. "Silk. Cream colour. Slick with you." His thumb brushed roughly over her parted lips. "Stole them. Jerked myself raw imagining it was you squeezing me, not my fist." He thrust again, deeper this time, filling her completely, making her arch and cry out. "Every damn time you called me 'Uncle Sirius' after that?" His laugh was harsh. "Like a kick to the gut. Made me harder than granite."
He started moving, a slow, deliberate withdrawal followed by a punishing thrust that drove the air from her lungs. His gaze never wavered from hers. "Teased me. Constantly. Leaning over tables. That fucking laugh." Another deep stroke, hitting a spot that made stars burst behind her eyes. Her nails dug into his shoulders. "Wanted to bend you over every flat surface in this goddamn house. Claim you." He punctuated each word with a sharp snap of his hips. "But you were… family. Off limits." Sarcasm dripped from the word.
The rhythm intensified, becoming harder, faster, driving her up the desk with each thrust. The friction was exquisite torture, the intensity of his confession mingling with the brutal physicality. Shame, embarrassment, and a dark, thrilling pleasure warred within her. She couldn't look away from his eyes, the intensity there both terrifying and mesmerizing. A sob escaped her, part protest, part desperate need.
"Kept those panties," he grunted, sweat beading on his forehead, his movements becoming more urgent, animalistic. "Smelled them. Remembered the sounds you made." He shifted his angle slightly. "Knew exactly how you tasted." His hand slid down, fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing hard, rough circles. "Knew you were tight. Knew you’d take my cock like you were made for it." He slammed into her, deep. "Feel it?"
The dual assault – his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside, his fingers relentless on her clit, and the filthy, intimate truth of his words – shattered her restraint. Her back arched violently off the desk, a raw, keening cry tearing from her throat as orgasm slammed into her, wave after wave of blinding, convulsive pleasure ripping through her core, clamping down hard around his length.
"Fuck, Cassie," Sirius groaned, his rhythm faltering as her inner muscles gripped him. He buried himself to the hilt, grinding against her as she pulsed around him, her cries echoing in the wrecked study. She felt boneless, wrung out, but the pleasure kept cresting, drawn out by his continued shallow thrusts and the rough pressure on her clit. Tears streamed down her temples into her hair. Another peak surged, less violent but deeper, pulling a desperate whimper from her lips as she convulsed again.
He watched her come apart, his expression savage, rapt. "Again? Filthy girl," he breathed, awe and possessiveness lacing the crude words. He drove into her once, twice more, hard and deep, then stilled, pressing her down into the desk, his own release shuddering through him with a guttural groan. He spilled inside her, hot and thick, his forehead dropping to her collarbone, his body shuddering against hers.
He stayed there for a long moment, buried deep, his weight heavy, his breath hot and ragged against her damp skin. Cassiopeia floated in a haze of shattered nerves and overwhelming sensation, her body still trembling with aftershocks. The scent of their coupling, sharp and primal, filled the air. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled out. The emptiness was profound. He straightened up, looking down at her sprawled on the desk – flushed, tear-streaked, utterly wrecked. His expression was unreadable, a complex mix of satisfaction and something darker, more dangerous.
He didn't speak. His hand reached out, not to touch her, but to snag his discarded leather jacket from the floor where it had fallen. He shrugged it on with a familiar, sharp movement, the sound loud in the stillness. He adjusted his sleeves, his gaze sweeping over her one last time, lingering on the marks he’d left on her skin. Then, without a word, he turned and walked towards the study door. The heavy oak clicked shut behind him with finality, leaving her alone amidst the scattered papers and the lingering, violent echo of his possession. Her body ached, her mind reeled. The silence pressed in, heavier now, filled only with the frantic drumming of her own heart against her ribs.
The silence pressed in, heavier now, filled only with the frantic drumming of her own heart against her ribs. Cassiopeia lay sprawled across Lucius’s ruined desk, the polished wood cool and sticky beneath her thighs. Every muscle felt liquid, useless, yet a frantic, hollow ache bloomed deep inside where Sirius had been. The slammed door echoed louder than his roar when he came. Gone. The word scraped raw against her thoughts. The scent of him – leather, sweat, sex – still choked the air, mocking her.
She pushed herself up, wincing as her hips protested the brutal angle they’d been forced into. Her sundress hung in tatters, offering no cover. Wetness trickled down her inner thigh. Shame warred violently with a terrifying, gnawing emptiness. She stared at the closed door, the elegant oak paneling suddenly a fortress wall. Her breath hitched, ragged and uneven. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was suffocating. A vacuum where his fury, his possession, had been.
"Sirius." His name escaped her lips, a hoarse whisper swallowed by the oppressive quiet. It sounded pathetic. Weak. But the ache intensified, a physical demand. She slid off the desk, legs buckling slightly. She caught herself on the edge, knuckles white. The room tilted. She needed… him. Not gentle. Not kind. That terrifying, consuming fire. The crude truth in his voice. The way he’d filled the unbearable void Rabastan left, then ripped it open wider. "Sirius!" Louder this time, raw and desperate, echoing off the high ceiling. She stumbled towards the door, ignoring the sharp protest from her bruised hip. "Don’t leave! Please… come back!"
Her hand slammed against the solid wood. Once. Twice. A dull thud that vibrated up her arm. "Please!" The plea tore from her throat, ragged and broken. "I need…" Words failed. What did she need? More pain? More possession? More of that devastating honesty that stripped her bare? She pressed her forehead against the cool wood, trembling. "Come back. Fuck me again. Please, Sirius." The vulgarity felt necessary, a key to unlock him. "Don’t stop."
Silence answered. Heavy. Absolute. Her fist clenched, nails biting into her palm. Defeat washed over her, cold and sickening. She’d pushed too far. Lost him in the wreckage. She slumped against the door, the fight draining out of her. Then, a soft metallic click. The door handle turned. Slowly. Cassiopeia froze, breath catching. The door swung inward silently. Sirius stood framed in the dim hallway light, jacket still on, expression unreadable shadow. He hadn’t left. He’d been waiting. Listening.
His gaze swept over her – trembling, half-naked, tear-streaked face pressed against the doorframe. A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw. No words. He stepped forward, one fluid movement, crowding her back into the study. The door clicked shut behind him. His hands were on her instantly, rough, hauling her against the wall beside the door. Plaster chilled her bare back. His knee shoved between her legs, forcing them apart. He didn’t kiss her. Didn’t speak. His fingers dug into her hips, lifting her slightly off her feet. His cock, still hard beneath his trousers, ground against her slick core through the fabric.
"Begging now, Cassie?" His voice was low, dangerous gravel. "After throwing yourself at Rabastan? After playing Lucius’s pretty whore?" He yanked her torn dress down her arms, trapping them at her elbows, baring her breasts. His mouth descended, hot and punishing, sucking a nipple deep, teeth scraping the tender peak. She cried out, arching into the pain-pleasure, her hands pinned uselessly. "Pathetic." He released her breast with a wet sound, his eyes blazing into hers. "You think I want your fucking scraps?"
He fumbled with his belt buckle, the clink harsh. "You want me back?" He shoved his trousers and briefs down just enough, freeing his thick erection. The blunt head pressed insistently against her entrance. "Take it." He thrust upwards, hard, filling her in one brutal stroke. Cassiopeia gasped, head thudding back against the wall. He pinned her there, his hips pistoning, setting a relentless, deep rhythm that stole her breath. "Should have taken you years ago," he growled against her throat, each word punctuated by a driving thrust. "Saved you the fucking trouble."
His hand slid between their bodies, fingers finding her clit, rubbing rough, demanding circles. "That summer party at Grimmauld Place," he hissed, his breath hot on her skin. "You were eighteen. Wearing that white dress. Wet through before dinner even started." He thrust harder, deeper, hitting a spot that made her vision blur. "Caught you alone in the conservatory. Moonlight on your skin." His fingers pressed harder on her clit. "You leaned over the orchid table. Bent right fucking over." A sharp snap of his hips. "I almost shoved that dress up and took you against the glass. Would have shattered it."
The image slammed into her – the humid air, the exotic blooms, the terrifying thrill of his gaze she’d pretended not to feel. Her inner muscles clenched involuntarily around him, drawing a guttural groan from his chest. "Yes," she gasped, the confession ripped from her. "I wanted it."
"Knew you did," he snarled, his pace never faltering. "Saw it in your eyes when you straightened up. Cheeks flushed. Breathing fast." He bit her shoulder, not gently. "Then Regulus fucking called you." His thrusts became punishing, driving her up the wall. "Another time. Your graduation trip. Paris." His hand tightened on her hip, fingers digging into the bruise he’d already made. "Found you drunk in that tiny hotel bar. Alone." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper filled with remembered frustration. "You clung to me. Whispered nonsense. Rubbed against me like a fucking cat in heat." He slammed into her, making her cry out. "Dragged you upstairs. Put you to bed." His laugh was bitter. "You passed out. Curled up like an innocent. While I sat in the fucking chair all night, hard as stone, smelling you on my hands."
Each confession was a lash, a brand. The Paris trip – the fuzzy memory of his hands on her, the crushing disappointment waking alone. Her body responded treacherously, tightening around him, slick heat flooding between them. "Sirius…" His name was a moan, lost in the slap of skin against skin.
"Last year," he continued, relentless, his voice thick with lust and remembered fury. "Malfoy’s fucking garden party. You were arguing with Lucius by the fountain." He shifted his angle, driving impossibly deep, hitting a nerve that sent electric shocks through her. Cassiopeia whimpered, her nails scraping uselessly against the plaster. "Saw the look on your face. That stubborn fucking tilt to your chin." His fingers worked her clit faster, rougher. "I walked right past you. Grabbed your wrist." He thrust hard, grinding against her. "You flinched. But you didn’t pull away." His eyes locked onto hers, burning. "Almost dragged you into the fucking hedge maze. Would have fucked you senseless against the thorns. Made Lucius hear you scream." He slammed into her again. "But you blinked. Looked scared. Really scared." Contempt laced his voice. "So I let go."
The memory surged – the sudden grip on her wrist, the terrifying intensity in his eyes, the fleeting thought of thorns tearing skin. The fear had been real. So was the dark thrill that followed him walking away. "I wasn’t scared of you," she gasped, the lie tasting sour. "Not… not like that."
"Liar," he breathed, his lips brushing her ear. His rhythm became erratic, frantic. The pressure from his fingers on her clit was unbearable, pushing her towards the edge. "Always wanted it. Always fucking teased." He drove into her, deep, grinding against her clit with his pelvis. "Admit it." His voice broke. "Admit you wanted me to take you."
The coil snapped. "Yes!" The word tore from her, raw and desperate. "Every time! I wanted it!" Her body convulsed violently, clamping down on him with crushing force, wave after wave of brutal, shattering pleasure ripping through her. She screamed, the sound echoing off the walls, her body arching wildly against his pinning hold.
"Fuck! Cassie!" Sirius roared, his own control shattering. He buried himself to the hilt, grinding against her as he came, his release hot and pulsing deep inside her. His body shuddered violently against hers, his forehead pressed hard into the wall beside her head, his harsh breaths mingling with her fading cries. He stayed buried, holding her pinned, his weight heavy, his body trembling with the aftershocks. Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled out. Cassiopeia slumped against the wall, legs giving way completely. Sirius caught her before she hit the floor, his arms wrapping around her waist, hauling her against him. She buried her face in the cool leather of his jacket, trembling uncontrollably, the scent of him, sex, and plaster dust filling her senses. His breath was ragged against her hair. He didn’t let go. Not yet. The silence returned, thick and charged, but different now. Filled with the echo of shared ruin and a terrifying, undeniable truth neither could name. His grip tightened almost painfully. "Mine," he rasped, the single word vibrating against her temple, a claim that felt less like victory and more like a sentence.