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“Perkins! Merlin, I was starting to think I’d missed an office closure,” Hermione said with a genial laugh. “Where is everyone?”
“Oh, weren’t you here when Director Garrett popped in this morning?” he asked. “I’ve just come up to grab a pair of scissors, but then it’s back out. You should really pop along. We’re having a hell of a time.”
Hermione frowned. “With?”
“The DMLE brought in a smuggling ring this morning. I’d barely sat down at my desk before Garrett came in demanding we all get to holding to help with the contraband.”
“I had an appointment this morning,” Hermione said. “I didn’t arrive until—”
“Tell him you just got here,” Perkins waved her off. “Come on, then. Tie your hair back and leave the outer robe here. Some of this stuff is disgusting.”
***
The first thing Hermione saw when she arrived at the DMLE was Thorfinn hoisting a barrel of something onto a shoulder, his muscles on full display, barely contained by the shirt he had on. She cursed herself for the lustful response she had, wondering why on earth he was even in the clothes he was in when ostensibly he was at work.
Why would Thorfinn Rowle even own a pair of jeans? And what gave him the right to wear them so perfectly? Denim hugged his muscular thighs and picture-perfect arse so well that she nearly tripped on her way in the door. And his arms were bared entirely, as he had apparently taken his battered Black Sabbath t-shirt out of a blender, rather than a closet.
He turned around with the barrel on his shoulder, taking orders from Harry Potter, who looked positively small next to him. Hermione barely heard any of it, her brain having short-circuited again at the sight of his broad smile.
“Hermione! ‘Bout time you joined us,” he boomed, coming her way with the barrel. “I’ve got these well in hand but there’s a case of something over there everyone else has been leaving for you.”
She managed to swallow back her awe and respond with a smooth and professional “For me?” that she was, quite frankly, proud to have pulled off considering the abject lasciviousness that had taken over the inside of her skull.
He stopped right in front of her and winked. “You’re in my way, love.”
“I—What—” she stammered, and then she shook it off and stepped aside. The laugh he let out in response only soiled her knickers further.
“You’re adorable,” he said, walking past. She watched him go, and then shook her head, trying to clear away the filth and focus on her job. When she turned back to the rest of the room, Harry was standing in front of her.
“Thank Godric you’re here,” he breathed, clearly exhausted by all that was going on around them. “These people were smuggling potions ingredients, the rare and volatile stuff. We’ve already had two mishaps. One of ‘em sent Gribbin to St. Mungo’s.”
Hermione frowned. “Rowle mentioned something was being held for me?”
“Right, yeah,” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s right over there, that blue case on the floor.”
Hermione followed his gesture and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “It looks like a briefcase.”
“Right,” he said. “Except there’s a smell coming from it, and ancient runes carved into the lock.”
“Runes?” Hermione perked up.
Harry barked a laugh. “Yeah, that’s why we saved it for you, you great swot.”
With a rude gesture and a laugh, she headed toward the case. Sure enough, as she came close, she smelled it—a sickly-sweet rotting apple scent, underpinned with something that made her feel like she was in danger. Shuddering, she knelt to the case, peering at the runes.
After a few minutes of studying, she sat back on her heels to think. The inscription seemed simple enough, but there was something about it that felt off. Behind her, the room bustled with movement; she could hear Harry barking orders on one side of the room, and booming laughter from the other, telling her Thorfinn was entertaining himself and the people around him as they did their work.
There was a loud crash, and she turned suddenly in that direction to find that Perkins was pinned underneath something that was gushing dark purple liquid. As soon as it touched him, Perkins vomited.
“Bloody hell,” Director Garrett bolted past, waving his wand frantically to contain it. Two Aurors rushed over to pick up the container; Thorfinn pulled Perkins out by the arms, dragging him away from the liquid. He let out a pained whimper and vomited again.
Hermione rushed over to help, cleaning up the vomit as Thorfinn got Perkins further away. Ultimately, Director Garrett took him to St. Mungo’s, barking frustrated orders to the others to be more careful as they worked.
Finally, after the chaos subsided, Hermione decided on a course of action. Once again kneeling by the blue case, she tapped the lock with her wand, muttering incantations to herself as she worked to untangle the curse twined around the lock.
It clicked open, the lock allowing the case to crack open, but holding it from opening any further. And yet that small crack was enough. Hermione felt a warm spray as whatever was inside belched outward with a violence, and almost immediately, it began to sting. She yelped, standing and backing away from the case, which belched again, spraying her legs with the same sickly-sweet material. Where it touched her skin, there was a crackling and hissing as it burned her. The same sensation was on her face, so she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping none had gotten into them.
“Shit,” Thorfinn’s voice boomed around her. “Clean it up! I’ve got her!”
She felt arms wrap around her middle and then the familiar, unsettling twist-pull of an apparition behind her belly button. Immediately the hiss of a shower turning on filled her ears, and a rush of cold water hit her without warning. Spluttering, she swatted blindly. Thorfinn laughed as he caught her hand.
“Watch out,” he chuckled. “I’m pretty sure you’d have to go to St. Mungo’s if we waited for the water to warm up. You’re lucky I’ve seen this before.”
Eyes still closed, Hermione frowned. “Is it in my eyes?”
She felt his fingers slide over her skin, thumbs gently rubbing the substance away from her forehead. The water had finally come to an acceptable temperature, and coupled with the astonishingly careful way he was handling her, she felt a warmth in her bones that she wasn’t sure how to handle. “Nope. Not in your eyes. And it’s not on your face now, either.”
“My arms,” she said, softly. His hands went to her forearms, rubbing away the mysterious substance, and finally Hermione let her eyes flutter open, looking down at where his hands circled her wrists. They were soapy; she hadn’t noticed, but it made sense, since she’d been covered in corrosive slime. Though tender, her skin seemed largely unscathed. “Thank you.”
He lifted his eyes from her wrists and gave her a smile. “Couldn’t let that stuff ruin your skin.”
“Is it in my hair?”
Thorfinn frowned, lifting his gaze and looking down at her head. “Little bit. Let me.”
Hermione let him move her beneath the spray, still disoriented and unsure of her surroundings. She watched him as he reached behind her and flipped open a cap. As his fingers worked into her hair, she smelled it: the same scent she caught in his hair from time to time, a mild, clean almond scent. “Are we at yours?”
“Had to wash it off you somewhere,” he shrugged. Then he smirked down at her. “Not exactly how I imagined getting you in here.”
She huffed a laugh. “You’ve imagined getting me in your shower?”
“I’ve imagined you everywhere,” he said. Reaching up, he removed the shower head, using it to rinse her hair. He scrunched the water from it, replaced the shower head, and then she heard him pop another cap.
“What are you—”
“Conditioner,” he said. “I won’t be responsible for fucking your hair up.” His fingers worked the conditioner through her hair, and then he turned her, pressing her back into the tile wall. “Give it a few minutes. Let it do its magic.”
Hermione looked up at him, unable to control the thoughts racing through her head now that he had her caged with his arms. They were standing under the spray fully clothed, soaked, steam clouding the glass of the shower door. It was a large shower, but still only a shower, meaning they had been incredibly close together through this whole ordeal. Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest as she watched his face. Typically smiling, he now looked deadly serious, eyes darkened with brazen want. His gaze dropped to her lips a split second before he leaned in and captured them, kissing her deeply, sucking a breath in through his nose as he shifted to pull at the wet fabric of her shirt.
A desperate whimper escaped her throat as he divested her of her clothing, one sopping piece after another. Peeling his own wet clothing away, he caged her with his arms again, now fully bare with her in the rising steam. He crowded her, his mouth and tongue claiming the territory of her mouth as his body trapped the rest of her against the tile.
She gave in fully, her mind free of everything but the promise of pleasure, and slid her arms up around his neck. His hands went from the wall to her body, sliding down her sides and curling around her rear, squeezing before traveling further down to her thighs. He dipped and lifted, and she wrapped her legs around him, the two of them fully in sync.
Hermione felt him shift, giving himself a good base, spreading his feet and pressing her against the wall, placing everything exactly where he wanted it. It was as though he’d done this thousands of times and had his marks memorized, like an actor’s choreography on a stage. A hot burst of jealousy rose in her throat and she exorcized it by taking his lower lip between her teeth, tugging at him with a little more fervor than she’d shown him before.
He growled low in his throat in response, the fingers of one hand curling beneath her and finding her center. Another hungry whine escaped her, and this time she pulled away, dragging her lips along his stubbled jaw and nibbling at his ear. “What are you waiting for?”
His response was to surge against her, entering her with such enthusiasm that she cried out and threw her head back. His lips went to her neck, sucking love bites into the delicate skin of her throat as he thrust into her again and again. With one hand, Hermione grabbed at his hair, pulling as he slammed her into the wall. Another low, appreciative groan escaped him. “You’re feisty today.”
“Shut up,” she admonished him, earning a chuckle that she muffled with her mouth. He responded by grabbing her breast, twisting her nipple with a grip that edged along the border of pain. She cried out again, and dragged her nails down his back. They continued this tit-for-tat, testing each others’ limits, adding rough edges to their coupling, pushing themselves into new territory. Thorfinn reached sideways and twisted the nozzle, lowering the temperature. The cool water coupled with their nips and bites had an oddly soothing effect, giving each of them an out if a pinch was too rough or a bite was too hard.
When he bit down on her shoulder, just hard enough to leave a mark, an orgasm crashed over her, sudden and sharp and exquisite. With a wail, she shuddered against him, clenching around him and making him groan. He nuzzled against her shoulder, pressing his lips in hot, open-mouthed kisses against her neck. “I fucking love the way you feel when you come on my cock like that.”
Sliding her fingers into his hair, Hermione dragged his face to hers, kissing him until she was gasping for air. Between her orgasm and his attention, she was buzzing, her entire body still yearning for more of that delicious ecstasy, and she didn’t want him to stop. Squirming against him, she clenched around him, urging him onward. Swallowing hard and letting her head fall back against the tile, she moaned as he brought his mouth down to her nipple.
A low chuckle rumbled through him. “You’re insatiable today. Look at you.”
“Don’t stop,” she managed.
“Wasn’t gonna.” He released her nipple and replaced it with his fingers, teasing her as he continued to thrust into her. He slowed, dragging himself in and out against her walls, putting his entire back into each movement. Hermione, wedged between him and the wall, could only hold on, her breath coming more rapidly as he brought his thumb down on her clit. “Want you to break on me again. Maybe I’ll give you three this time.”
Hermione whined incoherently, closing her eyes. Thorfinn’s lips found the soft place under her chin. He nudged her head back in order to kiss as much of her skin as he could reach, sucking bruises in some places and worshiping others with his tongue. He didn’t seem to tire at all; though he had been holding her up throughout this encounter it didn’t appear to have an effect, except to impress Hermione so much that she found herself fantasizing about the next time, and the next, and the next.
As tension rose inside of her, she clawed at him, an incoherent fountain of words like please and more and right there and don’t stop spilling from her lips. He took every direction, acquiesced to every demand, until he had his fingers in the flesh of her hips to help himself drive into her as hard and deep as she wanted.
“You know what I want to hear,” he urged her, watching her face as he pumped into her, the spray from the shower running down his chest. With an endearing half-smile, he goaded her. “Come on, love. Let me have it.”
“Thorfinn,” she gasped, exquisite pleasure building deep inside of her, a powerful orgasm threatening just beyond her threshold. As he pistoned into her, she saw his eyelids flutter, the only hint that he was close to losing control. But all she could manage was more of the same. As her sensitivity rose to such heights that she felt nearly unable to bear it, she only repeated “Thorfinn, Thorfinn, Thorfinn” until she broke on a scream and slapped her hand against the tile wall, bracing herself against sensations he wouldn’t let her escape.
Thorfinn grunted and kept pistoning into her, though she felt the heat of his spend flood into her. He didn’t relent until she stopped shuddering and slumped, sated, against the wall. Only then did he withdraw from her and help her to standing feet. “You good?”
“Mmm,” she responded, leaning into his chest. His arms wrapped around her, holding her to him. His skin was hot and beaded with water, and as she caught her breath, he moved them both beneath the cool spray, letting it help them down from their high.
Hermione let her eyes close as she felt his fingers go back into her hair, massaging her scalp. With a low chuckle, he observed. “There’s still conditioner in here.”
“It’ll be extra soft,” she mumbled into his chest. “It’ll smell like you.”
“You’ve figured out my nefarious plot,” he said. “You’ll think of me every time you smell it.”
She shook her head against him and he laughed, drawing down the shower head again, rinsing the conditioner from her locks. Then, he lathered every inch of her with soap, grinning up at her as she jerked sensitively when he approached the tender flesh between her legs. She rolled her eyes, but it only amused him further.
“You know,” he said, as they were drying off. “You only told me to shut up once today. I think that’s a record.”
“Oh for Merlin’s sake.”
“What? Can’t say it now that I pointed it out?”
She swatted at his arm. “Shut up.”
“Oh, tch,” he scolded. “It’s like you don’t want me to dry your clothes.”
“I have a wand.”
“Yes, but I have your clothes,” he grinned, and then he darted out of the bathroom.
“Thorfinn!” she yelped, chasing after him. She’d never been to his place, and had no idea where to go, with only the sound of his chuckling to guide her. Following him through what was a surprisingly organized bedroom and down a hall, she found him in the kitchen, her dry clothes folded neatly on his kitchen island.
“I like the look of you in here,” he said, stepping between her and her clothes. “In a towel, no less.”
“We should get back to work. They’ll wonder where we went.”
“They know where we went,” he said. “You had a toxic substance on you. I took you to get cleaned up.”
“And it shouldn’t take anyone that long—” she protested, but he cut her off with a kiss.
“Shut up,” he said, smirking when she dropped her jaw with indignation. He plucked her towel off, letting it hit the floor, and then lifted her to his kitchen counter. “I want to fuck you here first.”
The look on his face was too heated. Hermione was powerless against it.
***
“Oh good, there you are,” Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Merlin. It’s been an absolute madhouse in here. You didn’t get hurt, did you?”
“No, I’m all right,” Hermione smiled. “Rowle thought fast.”
Harry nodded. “Good for him. That stuff ate through the floor over there.”
Hermione bit back her surprise. She still didn’t know what it was, so the fact that it could have done her sincere damage had Thorfinn not moved so quickly hit her hard. She nodded, letting her gaze drift over to the man in question, his muscles tense as he helped Director Garrett turn the wheel on a stubborn vault door, remembering all too well the way he used those muscles when alone with her. “Yeah. Good for him.”