Chapter 5: Reckless Release
The steam hung thick and cloying in the small bathroom, condensing on the cold tile walls and frosting the single, high window. Harry stood under the pounding spray, eyes squeezed shut, head bowed against the tiles. The hot water sluiced over his tense shoulders but did little to ease the knot of frustration lodged beneath his breastbone. Molly’s furious decree echoed in his skull: Not alone together. Ever. Hermione’s tear-streaked face, the torn pink lace bra strap… Ginny’s infuriating smirk.
His hand moved under the water, slick with soap and spray, wrapping around his hardening cock almost without conscious thought. The forbidden image bloomed behind his eyelids: Hermione, not crying, not ashamed, but flushed, eyes dark with desire, her blouse open, fingers tracing the lace edge of her bra… then morphing, shifting… Ginny’s confident smirk, her knowing eyes, the athletic curve of her hip as she leaned against the doorframe… Fuck. His grip tightened. The friction was delicious, urgent. He pictured Ginny’s hand, slick with him earlier, reaching lower… imagined Hermione’s shy gasp turning into a moan… His hips jerked forward into his fist, the water drumming a frantic rhythm against his back. He was close, so close, lost in the humid haze of steam and illicit fantasy.
The scrape of the door latch cut through the water’s roar like a knife.
Harry froze, heart hammering against his ribs. He whipped his hand away from his cock, pressing himself flat against the cold tiles, water cascading over his face. Through the thin, translucent shower curtain, distorted by droplets, he saw the door swing open. A silhouette filled the frame. Not Hermione – taller, leaner. Ginny.
Panic seized him. He fumbled blindly for the tap, hissing as scalding water hit his knuckles before he managed to wrench it towards cold. The spray became a punishing, icy drizzle. “Ginny?!” he choked out, voice raw. “What the fuck are you doing? Get out!”
She didn’t move. She stood there, framed in the doorway, the steam curling around her ankles. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, raked over the blurred outline of his naked body pressed against the curtain. A slow, predatory smile spread across her face. “Relax, Potter,” she drawled, her voice cutting easily through the diminished spray. “Mum’s orders. Guarding the door.” She took a deliberate step inside, letting the door click softly shut behind her. The small room instantly felt claustrophobic. “Making sure Hermione doesn’t sneak in for a… chat.”
Harry’s breath hitched. He was achingly hard, exposed, trapped. The cold water plastered the cheap curtain against his skin, outlining every contour, every desperate twitch. “Guard the outside!” he hissed, trying to angle his hips away. “Not in here! Get out!”
Ginny ignored him. She leaned casually against the sink counter, crossing her arms. Her gaze lingered pointedly below his waist. “Bit late for modesty, isn’t it?” Her tone was pure amusement. “Caught you red-handed. Or rather…” Her eyes flicked back up to meet his, gleaming with dark delight. “…wet-handed. Thinking about Hermione? Or maybe… me?” She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “After Mum’s little scene? Naughty boy.”
Humiliation burned hotter than the earlier steam. He wanted to sink into the tiles. “Fuck off, Ginny,” he growled, but it lacked force. His cock throbbed, betraying him, straining against the clinging plastic curtain.
She pushed off the counter and took another step closer. The steam parted around her. He could see the faint outline of her breasts beneath her thin t-shirt, the curve of her hips in her jeans. The predatory amusement sharpened into something hotter, hungrier. “Or what?” she murmured, her voice dropping to a low purr that vibrated in the humid air. “You’ll tell Mum? How’s that going to look? ‘Mrs. Weasley, Ginny caught me wanking in the shower.’ Brilliant defence.” She was right beside the tub now, her hand hovering near the edge of the curtain. “Seems like you need… assistance.”
Before he could react, her fingers hooked into the top edge of the shower curtain. With a sharp tug, she yanked it sideways along the rail. The cheap rings screeched. Cold air rushed in, hitting his wet skin, making him gasp. He stood fully exposed, water dripping from his hair, running down his chest, his stomach, his rigid cock jutting out, flushed and leaking.
“Jesus, Ginny!” Harry instinctively tried to cover himself, but she slapped his hand away.
“Don’t,” she commanded, her voice losing its playful edge, turning hard, demanding. Her eyes devoured him, dark and dilated. “Look at you. So fucking hard. Forbidden fruit tastes sweeter, doesn’t it?” Her gaze locked onto his cock. “All that pent-up frustration.” She reached out, not tentatively, but with deliberate possession. Her fingers, cool compared to the water, wrapped firmly around his shaft.
Harry groaned, a deep, involuntary sound torn from his throat. Her touch was electric, obliterating thought. Her thumb swiped roughly over the slick head, smearing pre-come. “Fuck,” he breathed, hips jerking forward into her grip.
“Yeah,” Ginny breathed, her own breath catching. She tightened her hold, her other hand braced on the wet tile beside his hip. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. “Bet you were thinking about shoving this thick cock right into Hermione’s tight little cunt, weren’t you?” Her voice was filthy, low. “Imagining her crying out?” Her hand began a slow, firm stroke, base to tip, her thumb circling the sensitive ridge. “Or maybe… you pictured me riding you? Taking every inch?” She punctuated the question with a sharp twist of her wrist.
Harry gasped, his head thudding back against the tiles. “Ginny… stop… Molly…”
“Molly’s busy lecturing Hermione downstairs,” Ginny murmured against his neck, her breath hot. Her strokes quickened, her grip tightening. “She thinks I’m diligently guarding the hallway. Didn’t specify which side of the door.” Her free hand slid down his stomach, fingers tracing the tense muscles, dipping lower. “She trusts me.” Her fingers found his balls, cupping them, rolling the tight sac with a possessiveness that made his knees weak. “Big mistake.”
Her mouth crashed onto his, hard and demanding. Her tongue forced its way past his lips, tasting of mint and something darker, primal. It wasn’t gentle; it was a claiming. Harry groaned into her mouth, his hands, acting on pure instinct, gripping her hips, pulling her flush against the cold enamel edge of the tub. Her clothed heat pressed against his dripping thigh. Her hand on his cock was relentless, pumping him faster, rougher now, her thumb grinding against his frenulum with every upward stroke.
She broke the kiss, panting, her eyes blazing. “Need more?” she rasped. Without waiting for an answer, she dropped to her knees on the damp bathmat. The sight of her fiery hair level with his cock, her eyes locked on his, hungry and defiant, sent a jolt of pure lust through him. She didn’t tease. She opened her mouth, leaned forward, and took the swollen head of his cock between her lips.
“Oh, fuck!” Harry gasped, his fingers tangling in her wet hair. Her mouth was hot, wet, incredibly tight. She sucked hard, hollowing her cheeks, her tongue swirling fiercely around the sensitive tip. Then, with a low hum that vibrated through his entire shaft, she pushed forward, taking him deeper. Her lips stretched obscenely around his girth. She gagged slightly, pulled back, then plunged down again, deeper this time, her nose pressing into his wet pubic hair. Her hand worked the base she couldn’t yet take, stroking in time with her bobbing head.
The sensations were overwhelming – the wet heat, the suction, the scrape of her teeth, the rhythmic pressure of her hand. He could feel the tight clench of her throat as she took him deep. Her eyes, watering slightly, looked up at him, challenging, triumphant. “That’s it,” she mumbled around his cock, the vibrations intensifying the pleasure. “Fuck my mouth, Harry. Shove it in.” She pulled off, gasping, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening shaft. “Bet Hermione wouldn’t suck you like this.” She grinned, a filthy, knowing curve of her lips. “Bet she’d choke.”
Before he could process the taunt, she surged forward again, swallowing him down to the root this time. Her throat convulsed around him, a tight, rippling pressure. Harry cried out, his hips bucking uncontrollably. He was hurtling towards the edge, the coil in his gut tightening unbearably. Ginny sensed it. She pulled off with a wet pop, leaving him throbbing and desperate. She surged to her feet, her hands frantically working the button and zip of her jeans. She shoved them down her hips, along with her knickers, kicking them off impatiently. She was bare beneath, her cunt glistening, swollen folds already parted.
“Need you inside me,” she gasped, her voice thick with need. She gripped his hips, her nails digging in. “Now, Harry. Fuck me. Hard.”
She didn’t climb in. She braced one foot on the edge of the tub, spreading herself wide, presenting herself to him. Her pussy was inches from his cock, dripping wet, the dark red curls plastered to her skin. The invitation was raw, undeniable. Harry’s control shattered. He grabbed her raised thigh, fingers sinking into firm muscle, and yanked her closer. With his other hand, he guided the thick head of his cock to her slick entrance. He rubbed it roughly against her clit, making her gasp and arch, then pushed forward.
The resistance was minimal, just a hot, velvety clench before her body yielded, swallowing him in one fierce thrust. Ginny cried out, a sharp, guttural sound that echoed off the tiles, her head thrown back. “YES! Oh fuck, YES! So deep!”
Harry buried himself to the hilt, the sensation of her tight, wet heat enveloping him almost blinding. He held there for a second, shuddering, feeling her inner muscles flutter and grip him. Then he pulled back almost entirely, leaving just the tip inside, before slamming home again with brutal force.
“Harder!” Ginny demanded, her hands scrabbling at his wet shoulders for purchase. “Fucking ruin me!”
He obeyed. He gripped her thigh tighter, anchoring her, and began to piston into her with raw, driving thrusts. The wet slap of flesh on flesh filled the steamy room, louder than the dripping shower. Her cunt was scorching hot, impossibly tight, gripping him like a fist with every inward plunge. He fucked her with the pent-up frustration, the confusion, the forbidden thrill of it all. Each thrust drove her back against the sink counter, rattling the porcelain.
Ginny met him thrust for thrust, grinding her clit against his pubic bone, her cries escalating into sharp, breathless gasps. “God, yes! Fuck! Your cock… so fucking good!” Her fingers dug into his back, nails raking his skin. “Fill me up! Come inside me!”
Her words, filthy and desperate, pushed him closer. He could feel her inner walls starting to ripple and spasm around him. Her head lolled forward, her fiery hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. “Gonna come…” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “Oh god, Harry… make me come!”
He shifted his angle slightly, driving upwards, grinding deep on every stroke. Her cry shattered, turning into a high-pitched wail as her body convulsed, clamping down on him with incredible force. Her cunt pulsed rhythmically, milking his cock. The intense pressure, the sight of her coming undone, tipped him over the edge.
He buried himself deep, grinding against her as his own orgasm ripped through him. Thick pulses of come erupted inside her, hot and urgent, spurting again and again as he groaned, a raw, animal sound torn from his chest. He held her there, shuddering, buried to the root, feeling her own tremors subside against him.
The steam swirled around them, thick with the scent of sex, soap, and exertion. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the relentless drip-drip-drip from the showerhead. Ginny slowly lowered her leg, wincing slightly, her body sliding down his until her feet touched the floor. She leaned heavily against the sink, her chest heaving, a sheen of sweat mixing with the condensation on her skin. Harry slumped back against the tiles, spent, his cock softening but still slick with their combined fluids.
Ginny looked up at him, her eyes still dark, but the predatory edge softened by satisfaction. A slow, smug smile touched her lips. She reached down between her legs, her fingers coming away glistening with his come mixed with her own wetness. She held them up, a vulgar display. “Mum’s little guard dog,” she murmured, her voice husky. “Doing her duty.” She brought her fingers to her mouth, slowly licking them clean, her eyes locked on his, daring him to look away.
Harry stared, a fresh wave of guilt warring with the lingering aftershocks of pleasure. The forbidden thrill was undeniable, addictive even. But the reality crashed down: Molly’s fury downstairs, Hermione’s shame, and Ginny’s triumphant manipulation. He was inside Ginny, his come dripping from her, while Molly likely still lectured Hermione about propriety mere floors below. Ginny’s smirk widened as she saw the conflict in his eyes.
“Better hurry,” she said casually, turning to grab a towel. She tossed it at him. It hit his chest with a damp thud. “Wouldn’t want Mum to get suspicious if her guard takes too long.” She pulled her jeans back on, not bothering with her knickers, stuffing the damp scrap of lace into her pocket. She ran a hand through her messy hair, composing herself with terrifying speed. “See you downstairs, Potter.” She winked, opened the door a crack, peered out, then slipped silently into the hallway, closing it behind her.
Harry stood frozen under the cold drip of the shower, the towel clutched uselessly in his hand. The scent of sex hung heavy in the steam. Ginny’s taste was still on his lips, her heat still clinging to his skin. The torn pink lace bra strap felt like a brand in his jeans pocket downstairs. And now, Ginny carried his seed inside her, walking freely past the very door she was supposed to guard. The trap had sprung again, tighter than ever. He was drowning, and Ginny held the key to the cage, laughing as she turned it.