Chapter Text
Gabrielle strolled into the Auror division of the Ministry that morning with the absolute best of intentions. She was going to greet Harry in a polite and professional manner, sit down at his desk, and have a conference to establish where they were, where they wanted to be, and how they were going to move forwards without digging themselves in any deeper.
She reviewed the circumstances of their last meeting as she rode up in the lift. Her fingers drummed on her leg as she recalled how they’d talked, how they’d kissed…
How he’d slipped her out of her clothes and bent her over the sacred altar…
A little blush tickled her cheeks, and she cleared her throat, though she was alone in the lift. That was fine. It was natural. She was on her way to one of the highest levels of the Ministry of Magic, and she would act like a professional even if her brain insisted on bringing up sexy memories.
The lift was taking an awfully long time. It occurred to her that Harry had never told her what his official rank was. Did Aurors even have ranks? If so, he should definitely end up as the boss one day, if he wasn’t already.
She wondered what he would look like after a few years in such a job. Perhaps all the activity over the years would have filled out his arms and shoulders a bit more. Maybe he’d pick up some weight around the midsection as well. That’d be no crime, she always thought his trial of a childhood had left him far too skinny, even now, and a bit of softness would make him much easier to snuggle with. He might even gain an inch or two of height after a few years of eating properly for once. Perhaps some bits of gray would touch his coal-black hair at the temples, giving him a more mature aspect. He would look very dignified then, with his glasses and everything. She could just picture him sitting behind a crowded desk, his green eyes piercing her through those glasses, the very image of the “stern professor” look…
An unexpected throb of heat ran down her midsection, and she cleared her throat again, straightening out her skirt. She’d been sorely tempted to pick out a short one that was an absolute marvel for her legs, but had forced herself to admit that the choice would doubtless lead the meeting in a decidedly unprofessional direction. Nevertheless, she still had a reputation as a fashion icon to uphold, so she’d opted for a polka-dotted day dress with a square neck and dark bolero jacket with a matching hat, blocky heels, and white gloves, a vintage outfit that still managed to look modern amongst the dreadfully staid robes of the deeper Ministry. Macette, it was like Britain had never made it past the Middle Ages, and that was coming from someone who technically owned a cathedral.
It was therefore with firm resolution and the knowledge that she looked absolutely stunning that she politely greeted the Auror office secretary, who let her in without preamble, and opened her mouth to address Harry.
Unfortunately, the afterimage of an imagined older Harry was still lingering in her mind, so the lovely smooth skin and fully black hair of her own Harry rising from his desk to greet her struck her afresh, and she completely forgot that she wasn’t going to kiss him in greeting when he took off her hat and bent his mouth to hers.
Belatedly, she remembered that she was there for purely professional reasons, but by then it seemed a waste not to take his chin in her hand and kiss him back firmly, and maybe reach around his slim flank to squeeze at his delightfully firm ass.
He’d retaliated then, nipping sharply at her bottom lip, and the shiver she’d made against his front had made his arms tense, practically crushing her against his front, and he’d quite swallowed her half-moan of complaint that he was wrinkling her dress.
“To what to I owe the pleasure?” he murmured against her lips.
“I have broken off my engagement,” she whispered back.
He stilled. “What?”
“This morning,” she breathed, nuzzling against the side of his neck. “He took it rather well, considering. We never really got the chance to know each other. Truth be told, he might have a better chance with Aubergine.”
Harry seemed rather stunned. His hands actually began to slip from her sides, something she’d never known to happen before.
“That’s…I…wow…”
She fixed him with a look. “Are you pleased?”
The next thing she knew, she was pinned against the wall, and Harry’s hands were making a thorough explanation beneath her short jacket. Somehow, her own wrists had crossed themselves above her head in a manner reminiscent of their time in Chartres, allowing full access to her midsection that Harry was taking full advantage of.
Gabrielle prayed that his secretary had gone for her lunch break.
She couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. Everything was shifting, warm pressing, jostling arms and legs. Their lips made faint whispers every times they pulled apart like little declarations of love that the other one swallowed and gave back tenfold, until her fingers were drawing lines down the back of his jacket, and his were pulling her hair from its bun, and somewhere along the line her own jacket had disappeared.
Apparently frustrated that his roaming hands had found no openings in her dress at the waist, Harry growled and whirled her around to press her to the desk, attacking her lips with renewed vigor.
Dizzied by the quick transition from vertical to horizontal, Gabrielle clutched at his shoulders and moaned into the kiss. He was devouring her, stealing her breath, overwhelming her mouth with the taste of him, and his hands were making her warm and happy everywhere they touched.
It occurred to her in a dim, distant corner of her mind that this was precisely the opposite purpose for which she’d come to the office today, and resolved to tell him at the first opportunity.
Harry broke the kiss, pulling in a deep breath against her cheek, and said, “I can’t get enough of you,” in a deep, breathy voice. His knees bumped and tangled into hers as though words could not express his need for closeness.
Well, she’d get round to telling him eventually.
Gabrielle seized her mate by the roots of his hair and hauled him back down to her, kissing him hard and hungry until her lips started to tingle with numbness.
Harry leaned into the kiss with just as much vigor, but broke away when her hands started to fumble at the latch of his belt. Gabrielle gasped as his weight suddenly vanished from her front, and she had a split second view of Harry tossing up the hem of her dress and disappearing beneath it like a magician.
She felt warm hands slide up her inner thighs and whip her panties off with speed borne of expertise. Tingly wet kisses began to decorate her legs at random, triggering them to spread as a wide, guilty smile broke across her face.
“…’Arry…”
Her voice was weak and went unheard as wet lips applied themselves to her snatch, and her head thunked back onto the desk as the familiar waves of heat started lapping at her core.
Gabrielle closed her eyes and clutched at the edge of Harry’s desk, trying to keep her breathing steady as the world started to tilt underneath her. The fact that she couldn’t see Harry working so diligently between her legs apparently added something to the experience, because when two fingers slid inside her and began pumping at just the right speed, she quite forgot who she was. She wound her legs tightly around Harry’s head and gasped for air, rolling her hips against his face in time with his thrusts in an effort to chain him to this perfect rhythm.
It occurred to Gabrielle that Harry might not be able to breathe like this, and she decided that it would be a worthy sacrifice as long as he finished what he was doing first.
“Oh, ouiouiouiouioui, commeça, jussecommeça nounours, ohhhh oui…” she cried, pressing her thighs around his head like very tight earmuffs. She bit her lip, the pace of her hips stuttering as they ground against his face, and she felt him pull one hand out with effort and grasp firmly at her thigh, pinning her in place, and a fresh wave of heat crashed over her. She could feel little drops of her arousal trickling down over her clenched ass cheeks, tickling over her asshole, soaking into the fabric of her dress, and moaned as she wriggled ineffectively in Harry’s grip, desperate to press even harder against his face.
His mouth popped hard off her clit, drawing a gasp from her trembling lips as he wrenched his face out of her. She felt him draw a deep breath of air that tickled across her belly before he dove back in, licking and fingering in perfect tandem. She felt herself rise a little higher on the electric waves with every push of his fingers, until at last he drove her over the top with a hoarse, stuttered cry, her legs relaxing the death-grip they held on his neck as unimaginable pleasure wracked her brain to pieces.
So much for being professional.
Her vision blurring, she shuddered through a delicious rippling aftershock before a prickling rush of blood ran down her legs. Belatedly, she realize her crossed ankles were being lifted into the air, making her body into an L-shape on the desk. Harry was holding them up in one hand, and with the other he was gently stroking her ass.
He pressed a light kiss to the back of her ankle, and a violent shiver ran up Gabrielle’s spine.
“Qu’est-ce que tu fais?” she asked dazedly, trying to peer at him around her raised legs.
“Je te baise, mignonne,” he whispered back, she could hear the smug grin on his face.
She didn’t have time to think of a retort because his fingers shoved hard into her raw, dripping snatch, and all her energy became focused on keeping a white-knuckled grip on the edge of his desk.
“Ohhhh, Arry!” she squealed, feeling the desk rock as Harry’s fingers plunged in and out of her. This was a harder, more desperate pace than he’d fucked her with a moment ago, and it set the inner motor of her tummy revving harder as she rocketed out of a soft afterglow into a dawn of burning white sensation.
An instant later, words were beyond her. Her eyes rolled up in her head, fluttering eyelids showing only white in a way that she distantly noted as being ridiculous from whatever far-off place her conscious mind had gone, but this was secondary to the all-consuming presence of him inside her,
“So beautiful,” Harry murmured, pressing another kiss to her tense calf. “You are just so…incomparably…beautiful…”
His speech was idle and almost distracted as most of his attention was locked on keeping his wrist in motion. Gabrielle whimpered, pushing herself back on his hand as best she could being trussed up like a game bird, the desperate need toreciprocate rising in her.
Her orgasm bowled her over like a freight train, hot and raw and almost stinging in its ache, right on the heels of her first, and her body quaked as she painted the back of her dress with her squirt.
Her mind left her body, and for an eternity she stepped long through silver clouds before prickling sensation returned to her limbs, and she found herself reaching blearily for Harry as he clambered over her.
Apparently, he wasn’t done with her yet, as he was pushing the hem of her dress up over her knees and past her waist, gathering it into an uncomfortable bunch over her tummy. He had divested himself of his trousers while she’d been gone, and she smiled at the sight of his cock wobbly batting at her knee as he made his adjustments.
Clambering over her, he sank inside with practiced ease, and she sighed at the familiar stretch as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders in welcome. The part of her that still burned for him wanted to wrap her legs around his waist and pin him into place, potentially forever, but the overwhelming majority of her was quite too well worn and sated and content to bother with anything more demanding.
Harry was evidently of the same mind, as he was fucking her at a pace so slow and relaxed it could be called lazy, although he maintained it to an admirable degree. Gabrielle made a pleased hum, stretching against him and nestling her head against his.
“Mmmm, mon amour, ne t’arrête jamais,” she said blissfully, rocking gently in time with his hips.
“You want it harder?”
“Non. I just want to feel you inside me.”
“I thought a veela was nevaire satisfied wiz just one?” Harry teased.
“Yes, well, sometimes she is satisfied with two,” she said, making a sleepy grope for his butt.
They stayed like that for a long time, gently rocking the desk back and forth with little squeaks until Harry’s strength finally gave out and he emptied himself inside her. Gabrielle wrapped her legs around him as he tried to extract himself, and he slumped back down in defeat, aiming exhausted kisses to her eyelids, her cheeks, the tip of her nose that made his chin bump awkwardly against her face, and she giggled.
They stayed like that even longer, wrapped in each other too close even to kiss, until their mess dried and became itchy, and they hauled themselves up to wobble around in search of their clothes.
Gabrielle saw her hat on the floor, and remembered that she’d picked a wide-brimmed one in the hopes it might remind her to keep Harry’s lips from approaching her own.
Oh well.
“Let us go to lunch,” she said as she straightened up, tilting that selfsame hat back upon her head.
“Lunch?” he asked. “You mean like a date?”
“Yes, a date. You are familiar with the concept?”
“In theory.”
“Zen we ‘ave nothing to worry about. Get your coat.”
The martial tone with which this command was delivered left no room for argument, and Harry was surprised to find himself obeying without conscious thought.
…
Walking down the hall, Harry became conscious of the fact that they were attracting stares, or at least more stares than two such people as themselves normally would.
He was on the point of asking why when he looked at Gabrielle and the words died in his throat.
She was glowing. Her cheeks were rosy, her smile blinding, and her eyes bright. Even those wisps of hair that escaped her hat looked shiny, bouncing with each step she took.
His eyes roaming down, Harry quickly realized that you didn’t need to be an Auror to deduce what had put Gabrielle in such a good mood. Her neat little polka-dotted dress was wrinkled and rumpled and mussed beyond belief, almost threatening to slip off one elegant shoulder. She had clearly only made a cursory effort to pin her hair back down after shaking it free, and her gorgeous face was rather a bit too flushed for such a short walk. That, and she was clutching Harry’s hand in an absolutely iron grip.
Whenever a witch or wizard passed within their orbit, their gaze grew unfocused, and a dreamy smile would spread across their face as though lost in happy memories, suffused with the blissful energy radiating from a very thoroughly satisfied veela. Harry could feel rather than see the hungry eyes and lustful thoughts tracking over Gabrielle’s body, as well as his own, to his surprise.
“Don’t be so modest, nounours,” said Gabrielle, as though reading his thoughts. “You are a very sexy wizard.”
Harry might normally have tensed at such an open display of forbidden affection, but it was quickly becoming evident that something important was changing in their relationship. His impeccable detective instincts were telling him that this was but the opening salvo to a full and open declaration that might blow both their lives into total chaos.
Instead of the wave of panic he was expecting to feel, the realization left him only with a sort of dull relief. The subterfuge which had been so alien to him was gone, and whatever his sins had been, he could face them now on his own terms.
That, and also he was getting a bigger dose of Gabrielle’s allure than anyone else, so it was hard to think of anything else except how good she looked from behind in her rumpled dress. He wondered if prolonged exposure to her allure meant that he would eventually build up a resistance to her charms.
“No,” said Gabrielle, casting him a mischievous look over her shoulder. “In fact, my father says ze effects only grow stronger wiz age.”
Fuck. He was finished.
…
They went for lunch at a little café on Diagon Alley that Gabrielle knew. Harry’s security instincts informed him that they were quite surrounded by a number of innocuous café-goers sporting suspiciously camera-shaped bulges under their robes. He didn’t bring this up with his companion because something in the smugness of her smile suggested that these guests, although uninvited, were not unexpected.
“Well then,” said Gabrielle, setting her comically tiny coffee mug into its comically tiny saucer. “Was there something you wanted to ask me?”
“Yes. Can you read my mind?”
“No. You are just spectacularly easy to read.”
He frowned. “Not sure if I believe that.”
“I knew you were going to say that.” She pulled her croque-monsieur towards her and began to slice it up. “Are you sure there was nothing else you wanted to ask me?”
Cameras began to slide out from under coats and jackets like guns, but Harry found that he didn't really care. The sunlight was catching in her eyes, a smile was dancing across her lips, and he really didn’t need to think very hard about what he was going to say.
“Marry me.”
“You intend to make an honest woman of me, is that it?” she asked, her eyes not leaving her fork and knife. “Rather old-fashioned of you, I should think.”
“No,” he said. “I just can’t stand the thought of not being at your side from now until the end of time.”
Gabrielle took a meditative bite. “Hmm. As it ‘appens, I have recently broken off one engagement, to a wizard whose wealth and prospects far outweigh your own. What could you have to offer me?”
“My heart. My home. My devotion. My fortune. My soul, should you require it. Some pretty good jokes I learned from Ron. Also, your veela magic chose me.”
“Hmm.” Gabrielle tapped her chin with one finger. “I suppose that is enough. Very well, I accept.”
Grinning, he leaned across the table to kiss her gently on the lips, and that’s when the cameras started to flash.
…
For the past two weeks, Rita Skeeter had been preparing a painstakingly detailed story on how Harry Potter had been having a sordid and illicit affair with Wizarding radio star Celestina Warbeck, so the news that the selfsame man had just publicly admitted to a having an affair with fashion mogul Gabrielle Delacour hit her hard enough to send her collapsing onto her desk in a dead faint. Upon being revived by an alarmed Prophet intern, she had demanded that an emergency edition be sent out at once, with their guilty faces in full view on the front page.
Neither Harry nor Gabrielle were aware of the storm raging in London. They were kneeling on a patch of soft grass in a circle of standing stones, deep in the Delacour woods.
Harry snuck a glance at Gabrielle. She was wearing a ancient-looking type of dress called a chiton in the blue tartan of the Delacour clan, the same colors he wore on his braccae. Her blonde hair was loose about her shoulders, save for a single braid where a lock of his hair had been braided into hers. He sported a similar one just above his left ear, a sliver of silver in the black.
Her expression was pious and calm, as though praying, but one eye cracked open almost as soon as he turned, apparently sensing that he was peeking.
“Oh, forget it,” she sighed, getting to her feet. “They ‘ave almost certainly left by now.”
“Wait, you mean your family, and the officiant? This whole time, we were just waiting for them to leave?”
She gave him a patient look. “What did you think we were doing?
“I don’t know. Meditating? Completing the ceremony?”
“The ceremony was all that walking and stuff we did earlier, remember? We were just waiting for my family to get far enough away so they wouldn’t hear us.”
“Hear us do what?” Harry tried to ask, but was silenced by Gabrielle tackling him solidly to the grass.
“Nous sommes mariés, nounours,” she grinned, her bare knees peeking from under her skirt as she straddled his waist. “Ils doivent nous donner un peu de temps privé.”
Harry’s face was quite curtained in by her silver-blonde hair. Her smile was soft, her eyes were bright, and she looked so desperately kissable that he couldn’t stand it, but when he surged up to meet her, his head crashed back down on the grass.
Gabrielle’s musical giggle made his desire to kiss her surge into a pressing need, but once again his head barely made it a fraction of an inch off the ground before it crashed back down, and he swallowed a pained groan.
He felt fingers trace lightly over his jawline. “Struggling, mon coeur?” Her voice was light with amusement.
He gave her a suspicious look. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am. Something you care to explain, dear wife?”
Sarcastic as it was, the word made butterflies erupt all through Gabrielle’s tummy, but she kept her state well enough to say “I ‘ope you did not think that your taking charge would be a regular occurrence. We are laying in the center of our veela ‘eart-stones, the very center of our clan’s magic. You are not a Delacour yet, but I am. Until you are, these stones obey me.”
Her eyes hooded, she leaned down until her lips were just barely brushing his, and murmured in a low voice as she started to gently rock herself against his crotch.
“And I do not want you to move.”
Harry was quite sure that he died at this point, unable to do anything except stare up into the darkening sky. Stars were starting to wink into place overhead, and he wondered briefly if it would get cold out here with no shelter. He hadn’t felt a trace of cold so far, which probably had something to do with the very warm woman snuggled into his chest, drawing a slow, patient line of kisses down from his ear to his chin.
“Such a nice jawline my husband has,” she said approvingly, kissing along the edge of it.
Harry suppressed a chuckle. “A nice jaw? Someone can have that?”
“You call me a liar? If I say my husband has a spectacular jaw, then you must take me at my word. I happen to be an expert in analyzing the beauty of the male species, and the jaw can be a very important factor in the construction of the face.”
She crossed her arms over his chest and studied his face. “Although, I must admit it is not my favorite feature of yours. Your nose is quite attractive. Aquiline, like a king’s.”
She leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose.
“Hmm. On second thought, perhaps it is instead your mouth, which seems ready at a moment’s notice to shout heroic spells, flash a disarmingly inept smile, or say something so monumentally foolish as to make every girl weak in the knees for miles around. It is also admirably suited to fit mine. Clearly, this must be my favorite feature of yours.”
She leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, and her fingers curled into his tartan robe as he did his best to reciprocate from his forced recline.
“Again, perhaps not,” she sighed, breaking the kiss. “It is a lovely mouth, to be sure, but it never seems to say what you are really thinking. For that, I must look into your eyes, eyes of such piercing greenness that they could pierce a girl’s heart if she weren’t careful. In them, I can read your intentions like a book.”
Harry stared very hard at Gabrielle, trying to make his current intentions as clear as possible.
She leaned forward and kissed each of his eyelids, the brush of her lips as light and delicate as a draft of air from a butterfly’s wing.
“But I can also read your heart, nounours. A good heart, strong, if a bit weighty in some areas, and left light in others. That is why I love you, I think. I can see a place in your heart that was meant for me to fit.”
She kissed him properly then, and Harry found that the hunger for her that had risen in his belly a moment ago was kindling to a warm, soothing simmer as he tried to put everything he was feeling into the place their lips met.
The hunger came back a moment later as the heels of her palms dug into his chest, and she shoved herself down him in a way that rather bunched up his braccae around the midsection.
Gabrielle fished about for a moment in the layers of tartan before pulling out his cock, and her eyes drifted back to meet his just as her lips landed lightly on the plummy swell of his cockhead.
“I am so glad this cock belongs to me now,” she murmured, sprinkling light kisses around the crown.
Her lips parted around the tip, and she began to suckle, working gently at his crown with her lips while her tongue danced teasingly over his slit, but refusing to move an inch further down his shaft, a titillating sensation that only made Harry ache for more of her. He groaned, but the temptress did not respond, merely sealing her lips tighter around his cockhead and pulling hard enough to hollow her cheeks, her hands gently massaging his thighs through his robe.
The stones around them were starting to…well, if he had to put a word to it, he would say they were humming, but he couldn’t quite hear anything, he was just somehow more aware of them then he had been when they arrived. That was saying a lot, considering the vast majority of his attention was focused on the beautiful young witch huddled over his crotch.
He choked as her tongue swept deep into his slit, which sent an unexpected bolt of tingling right to his very center.
“God!” he wheezed.
At once, Gabrielle’s mouth left his cock, and she fixed him with a disapproving look. “From now on, ze only name I wish to hear from you is mine. Understood?”
“Oui, madame,” said Harry, his Auror instincts kicking in for a moment.
She gave a satisfied nod, and returned to her work, sucking his cockhead back into her mouth before releasing it with a pop!
“Ngk!”
“What delightful music you make, my love,” said Gabrielle, finally running a hand up his shaft. “You are my favorite instrument to play. I wonder what other sounds I can draw from you.”
Her finger snuck underneath, and gave a quick stroke to the skin underneath his balls.
Harry jerked within his invisible restraints.“Guh!”
“Ooooh, I liked that,” said Gabrielle, sounding pleased. She cupped his balls and gave a daring squeeze.
Harry sucked in air and made a curiously weak moan.
Alternating between her hands and her mouth, Gabrielle played a symphony on her new husband’s body for what felt like an eternity, drawing gasps and moans in surprising new tenors, until his breath got so uneven she feared he might pass out. Harry teetered on the brink of orgasm, the wet pull of Gabrielle’s mouth growing more insistent, then slackening every time the tight knot in his belly threatened to burst.
At last, she picked herself up, dusting grass from her knees. She gathered up her skirts and raised them over her knees, stepped over Harry, and sank down on his achingly hard cock, drawing a sigh of relief from both parties as they were finally joined. Swirling her hips in a tantalizing pattern, Gabrielle bit her lip and let her head tilt back, fucking herself hard onto Harry’s cock at her own perfect pace.
As pent up as he was, Harry clung to his release, determined not to give in until he gave his wife the full measure of satisfaction. She leaned forwards over him, her hands digging into the grass on either side of his head, the pale arch of her throat shining above his face as he moaned, and at last the measured thump of her ass against his thighs began to stutter, and she gasped her release into the night air. With a groan, Harry spilled himself inside her, and they panted together for a moment as she rocked back onto her knees, still impaled on his shaft as their mess oozed out from where he was plugged inside her.
Harry shifted, feeling the delicious ache in every muscle, then froze. “I can move again.”
“Notre lien de mariage est consommé,” said Gabrielle blissfully, her eyes still closed. “Comme Delacours, nos pouvoirs sont égale au sein de notre territoire.”
At once Harry Delacour-Potter grabbed his wife by the waist and pressed her to the grass, furiously smothering her face with kisses while she began to laugh. He wrapped his lips around a spot on her throat and sank his teeth in, turning her breathless laugh into a shriek, and her legs kicked helplessly under his as he sucked a deep purple mark into her skin.
After a time, her eyes became glassy, and her kicks lost their force as the continued pressure of Harry’s lips began to rebuild the fire in her belly.
Pulling away, Harry down looked at Gabrielle with dark eyes, and the growl of his next words made shivers go all the way down her spine.
“Oh, you’re going to pay for that, mignonne.”
He hauled her up into his lap, held her there for a moment with more kissing, then turned her around and shoved her playfully back onto the grass. She landed on her hands and knees, happy little giggles still bubbling helplessly from her belly, and felt a sudden draft of cool air across her backside as Harry flipped up the hem of her chiton. He delivered a crisp slap to her exposed ass, making her give another breathless little shriek and tremble as he caressed the reddened cheek, then slapped it hard again.
“We’ve never done it this way before,” she thought gleefully to herself as she felt Harry’s weight line up behind her.
To her surprise, she felt his fist curl itself into her loose hair, and he began a slow, inexorable pull that made a line of prickling electricity start to tingle all the way across her scalp, down her spine, and straight into the pit of her stomach, where a fresh wave of heat washed over her pussy.
Gabrielle made a high-pitched sound that Harry could not resist, and he slammed home inside her, throwing a wave of sparks up inside her as the remains of his old cum squished around his cock, and she flushed at how absolutely dirty it made her feel. His hips were merciless, filling the night air with rhythmic slapping as he pistoned in and out of her, each thrust sending a wave of happy aches through every inch of her. Her moans started to bleed into each other, tears welling in the corners of her eyes as Harry pulled harder at her hair. One thrust was hard enough to make his balls slap against her clit, and the unexpected thrill made her trembled in his grip, arching her back harder and raising her ass a little further into the air.
“You look so good like this, Gabrielle,” Harry groaned, his fingers digging into her hip. “So tight. Your fucking body…absolutely gorgeous.”
Gabrielle whimpered, arching her head back up towards him, and tried to rock herself back as best she could in this unfamiliar position. “H-h-harder…”
“You want more?” he gasped, pulling a little harder at her hair so she squeaked. “I’ll give you more, darling.”
The pace he set then was brutal, his iron length slamming into her so hard it made her toes tingle. Gabrielle felt like her insides were being pounded out by Harry’s cock, pushing her open until she was nothing but jelly. Her arms were quaking with the effort of holding herself up against him.
“Haaaarrryyyy,” she cried. “I’m gonna…”
“I know,” he grunted, keeping to his pace. “I’ve got you.”
Her voice broke as she screamed into her orgasm, her arms quivering. Falling forward, Harry’s hand landed hard in the grass next to her own, and he buried himself as deep inside her as she could go, and in one, two, three quick thrusts Gabrielle felt the heat blossom inside her again, trickling warmly down her thigh.
They gingerly let themselves down on an untrampled bit of grass, and laid together, Gabrielle wearing Harry like a blanket as he murmured the incantation to clean them up.
“How was your first taste of married life, sweetheart?” asked Harry, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“I can’t feel my legs,” said Gabrielle sleepily. “Perfect.”
“Good.” Harry yawned. “Funny, I don’t feel a bit cold in here. Is that more Delacour magic?”
“Yes,” said Gabrielle, her eyelids starting to flutter. “I’ll tell you more about it in the…in the…”
“…Gabrielle?”
But she was already asleep.