Ronald Weasley stood near the edge of the ballroom, bored and uncomfortable.
It was the Patils' annual New Year's Eve gala, a tradition his mother-in-law had carried on after the death of her own mother-in-law. All of the old-money pure blood families still considered attendance mandatory, even though there was no longer the wrath of the formidable Mrs. Santosh Patil to fear. Mrs. Amartya Patil had broadened the invite list to include senior staff at the Ministry of Magic and a number of other "up and comers." Ron suspected that Dadi Patil would have pronounced the gathering "hopelessly Bohemian," but he was glad to see more familiar faces than just his in-laws, his sister, and her husband.
At the moment, however, he was regretting the extended guest list. He had been cornered by one Robert Martin (Ministry of Public Works) who was making a long and very passionate case for Auror involvement in keeping the various statues of war heroes from becoming graffiti-strewn. Ron twisted his head slightly and pulled at his shirt collar, unused to his muggle tuxedo. (No robes allowed, a tradition begun by Dadi Patil. Once, just after he was married, Ron had attempted Indian formal wear because it was more comfortable. But he had looked like some horrible Kipling-esque pretender, so it was back to black tie for him.) In a desperate attempt not to appear too bored he glanced around the room, his eyes searching for . . .
And there she was, resplendent in a salmon and gold sari. Her hair was coiled atop her head, baring her long, graceful neck. She was talking and laughing with a very good-looking man Ron didn't recognize and he felt a twinge of jealousy. Just then she looked up and their eyes met. She winked and he winked back, the jealousy gone as quickly as it had come. Then he turned to give his full attention to Mr. Martin.
Much later, the party over, Ron and Padma trudged slowly up the stairs to their own rooms on the first floor. "What time is it?" Padma asked, yawning.
"Almost four," replied Ron.
"I'll just check on her and meet you in the bedroom, then?"
"No, I'll come with."
So up another flight of stairs they went to the children's floor, opening the second door on the left as silently as possible. By the light spilling in from the hallway they could see little Maya, just two, her sleeping form curled around Stanley, her prized stuffed eagle doll. Padma leaned over the bed and kissed Maya lightly on the temple and the girl stirred, sighing and wrapping herself even more tightly around her toy. Satisfied, the parents slipped back out of the room and down to their own bedroom.
Ron closed the door behind them, then slipped an arm around his wife's slim waist and brought his lips to hers. Some unspoken agreement turned what began as a friendly, loving kiss into something darker and laced with fire. Padma moaned as she pressed her body even closer to his, leaning as far into the kiss as she could.
Ron released her lips and with deft fingers removed the pin at her left shoulder. The salmon and gold sari fabric slipped down to the floor, baring the brown midriff below her sleeveless blouse. He placed a wet kiss along her neck, then sank to his knees before her and nuzzled her stomach with his nose, placing another kiss on her navel. She placed her hands on his broad shoulders to keep her balance as he slowly untucked the pleats of silk from the petticoat, gathering the sari carefully in one hand as he loosened it and then placing the fabric over one shoulder. He untied the drawstring of her undergarment and slid it from her slim hips. She stepped carefully out of both the petticoat and her gold evening slippers and Ron handed them and the sari to her to put on the chair.
She stayed apart from him a few moments longer, slipping off the gold blouse. He couldn't help but stare wolfishly, even possessively, at her body. Padma was tall and slender, slim-hipped and dusky-skinned, with small upturned breasts and a beautiful heart-shaped face. She pulled three long pins from her hair and it fell across her shoulders like black silk. Oh, but she is gorgeous, he thought as she walked seductively toward him, her pale green-yellow eyes glowing with lust, and he could feel his cock stiffening at the sight of her.
He pulled her hips toward him, kissing her navel again, then placing tiny kisses in a line down her lower abdomen. She widened her stance slightly and he slipped his face between her legs, reaching out the tip of his tongue to lick her just so, and she shuddered, grabbing his shoulders more firmly and leaning back.
Ron moved further down, inhaling her scent deeply as his tongue moved along the velvety-soft folds of skin: outer, inner, open like a flower. He kissed and licked and bit down gently, and she moaned and writhed in his arms. He could feel her knees start to give way, so he moved his large hands from her hips, sliding one to the small of her back while the other spanned her buttocks, and she relaxed, leaning more of her weight against him as she spread her legs even further, allowing his lips and tongue more access. He could feel her tensing in his arms; then he fastened his mouth around her clitoris and it began.
She leaned back, her hands moving up from his shoulders to the back of his head, and lost more control as her hips thrust up slightly. But Ron was stronger than she, and he held her in place as her orgasm consumed her. She cried out his name and he didn't stop, drinking her juices and reaching inside her with his tongue to feel her muscles clenching. Padma kept moaning, good little multi-orgasmic girl that she was, until finally, exhausted, she pushed his head away and he eased her down into his arms.
He kissed her temple as she cuddled against his chest, sitting sideways in his lap. He was sure she could tell he was hard as a rock beneath her but he loved the feel of her weight against him, she naked, he still fully clothed (he hadn't even loosened his tie). Her skin was so beautiful, prettier than any clothing she ever wore, especially now with the flush of orgasm still upon it, a thin film of sweat making it glisten even more than usual.
Then she stirred. "Put me on the bed," she said, "then take off your clothes for me."
He nodded and sat back up on his knees, Padma in his arms, then carefully pulled up to his feet. He deposited her lightly on the bed with a kiss, then walked to the foot of the bed, slipping off his jacket as he did so.
Padma slid up so that her back was against the headboard of the bed, crossing her legs and looking at Ron with the same expression of possessiveness and lust that he had worn earlier.
Ron felt himself blushing under her scrutiny and damned his fair skin. Well if she wanted a stripper then a stripper she would have. Humming to himself and dancing a bit, he swung his jacket over his head, then tossed it to her with a flourish that got her laughing. He followed with the black bow tie and cummerbund, shimmying his hips and flailing his arms in a broad parody of an exotic dancer. He placed his cufflinks and shirt studs on the nearby bureau, then pulled his shirt off one shoulder at a time, glancing at her with an exaggerated "come hither" look before he tossed her his shirt and undershirt.
Padma caught the undershirt, still giggling, then held up her hands. "Don't you throw those trousers at me!"
This was fine with Ron, as his trousers were not fastened with velcro as a stripper's would be and he wasn't sure how to get out of them gracefully anyway. He quickly finished undressing and joined her on the bed, stretching out next to her, his cock erect against her thigh. "I'm glad you stopped laughing once I actually got naked," he said.
Padma smiled and kissed him. Then, looking down at his cock, she asked, "Is that for me?"
"If you want it."
"Oh, I want it, all right."
"How?" he whispered as he nuzzled her neck.
She replied by kissing him firmly as she rolled him onto his back, her legs straddling his chest. She straightened somewhat, grabbing his hands, and he helped her to balance as she lifted up then impaled herself on his erection. She was so wet and open that she was as ready as she'd ever be but it was still difficult. She lowered herself slowly, slowly, until she had taken all of him and her pelvis sat flush with his.
"This is so much easier," she said, breathless, "since the baby."
He nodded, gently sliding his hands up to caress her dark brown nipples. "Let me know."
She closed her eyes, moving slowly back and forth to get used to him inside her. His hands continued to softly stroke her across breasts and stomach, shoulders and back, until he felt her relaxing under his touch. Then she leaned down against him. "Now," she whispered.
He rolled them back over so that she was beneath him and she relaxed into the mattress. He kissed her, then began to move, thrusting, kissing her lips, her ear, her neck, and she slid her hands to his shoulders and held on, wrapping her legs around his broad back. He moaned, and she whispered in his ear, "love you love you love you." He kissed her again, his muscles tense from trying not to thrust too hard.
"Just let go, baby, it's okay," she whispered to him.
He grunted slightly then moved his arms, shifting to another angle, and bent his knees to lift them both from the bed. She held onto his shoulders and he pulled her up until she was sitting in his lap. He put his hands on her hips and they rocked back and forth, looking into each other's eyes, until at last he let go, holding her tight to him and shouting out her name. She uncrossed her legs and he let her fall back onto the bed, slipping out of her and laying down next to her on his back.
He was breathless, as though he had been running, and it took him some time to come back down. All that time she whispered sweetly in his ear, stroking his chest lightly. Always, it had been much harder for him to achieve and come back from orgasm than it was for her, especially in the early days when she had been so tight and he so large that intercourse was difficult.
Eventually he opened his eyes and reached over to pull her into his arms. "So," he said, "who was that bloke you were flirting with tonight? Hmm?"
She smiled. "Some music journalist, actually. Dunno how he got invited. Why? Jealous?"
"Not a bit," he replied. "No reason to be, really."