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She couldn’t bear it.
Ever since Thorfinn Rowle had been assigned the office across from hers, she had no peace. He was loud and incessantly talking, always entertaining some coworker or another in his door frame, lingering like a malignant tumor in the arterial hall their offices abutted. He laughed boisterously, and it echoed.
He was also huge, and blond, and had a propensity to wink at her if he passed her by.
It was infuriating.
Another raucous peal of laughter came from his office and Hermione snapped. Shoving up out of her chair, letting it clatter behind her as it rolled backward into her file cabinet, she marched into his office. “You have got to be quieter.”
“Hermione!” he crowed. Gesturing to his guest chair, he said, “You’ve met Anthony Goldstein.”
“I… yes, we were at Hogwarts together,” she stammered, completely thrown by his lack of care whatsoever for her distress. She gave Anthony a tight smile of acknowledgment and then turned back to Thorfinn, finding his ocean-blue eyes fixed to her, a charming, toothy smile framed neatly by the hair of his beard.
He was the picture of Nordic manliness, thick muscles testing the limits of his neat blue button-down shirt. It drove her half to madness that her physical response to this infuriating behemoth was unmitigated arousal.
The ego and superego acquiesced every time she looked at him, the id screeching like a wildcat as it careened to the forefront and claimed absolute control of her body. And from the smirk on his face, Thorfinn could tell.
“Goldstein, my man,” he began, standing. Hermione’s eyes followed him up. He was an absolute Viking. The very archetype of the men artfully splattered across the covers of her most cherished romance novels, pulpy fiction riddled with the sort of grunting masculinity that Hermione swore she only enjoyed on the page.
On the page.
Until they gave Thorfinn Rowle this gods-damned office.
While Hermione blinked away the short-circuit her mind had done, Anthony had vacated the office, and Thorfinn, much to her dismay, had closed the door behind him.
“So, Hermione,” his voice was alarmingly close to her ear. She spun and found herself nose-to-chest with him, the buttons of his shirt within nudging distance. She let her head fall back and looked up at his face.
His smug, smirking face.
“I…” she swallowed. Her mind was blank, her body buzzing.
He chuckled, a low and dangerously sexy sound that emanated deep in his throat. He grazed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, making her shiver. “What brings you to my office?”
“You’re so bloody loud,” she managed.
He lowered his voice, dipping his head to put his mouth by her ear. “I’ll have you matching me in no time, if you’ll let me.”
“You’re a pig,” she said, not backing away as he came even closer. He smelled so bloody good. Her knickers were already ruined.
“Seems to me you’re losing the fight against yourself,” he said, trailing a finger along her jaw. She wet her lips, a quick dart of her tongue.
His eyes followed the movement. Then, he dragged her lower lip down with a thumb.
“I don’t like you,” she insisted, though her eyes fluttered shut.
“You like me enough,” he retorted.
“It’s just lust,” she argued. “It means nothing. Just a base response to your… your…”
He chuckled again, dark and tantalizing. “My what?”
“Your whole Viking thing,” she said with frustration, waving her hand generally at him. “Who said you could just walk around looking like this?”
He laughed heartily that time and stopped his teasing, opting instead to haul her up off her feet with two large, strong hands under her thighs. She squeaked with surprise as he turned and slammed her against the door, grinding his hardness against her. “Do you want this, Hermione?”
“I…”
“Don’t think,” he insisted. “Just answer. Do. You. Want. This?”
She scanned his face, taking in the hungry look in his eyes, the way they’d darkened with lust he was holding back, waiting for her answer. She saw the promise in his gaze: if she said yes, if she acquiesced to her body’s base desires, he would devour her.
It came out on a breath. “Yes.”
His lips crashed into hers, his tongue delving insistently into her mouth. Hermione’s arms ringed his muscled shoulders, the fingers of one hand fisting in his hair for purchase. As she tugged on it he groaned into her mouth, the action spurring him to tear her blouse open, sending mother-of-pearl buttons flying in all directions.
If she’d had a single brain cell to spare she might have protested, but every neuron in her cranium was too flooded with lust, overwhelmed with the singular notion that she wanted him inside of her, dragging orgasm after orgasm from her core in an act that she’d gone far too long without.
“Fuck me,” she insisted. She ripped at his shirt, returning the favor, and his buttons joined hers in scattering across the floor. “Fuck me now.”
“Mm,” he agreed with another kiss, stepping back and carrying her with him to his desk, where he swiped up his wand and hastily cast some silencing spells.
“Contraceptive,” she reminded him between wet kisses against his jaw and neck. Moments later, she felt the familiar tingle of a perfectly-cast birth control spell.
Then, their clothing vanished. She startled, glancing down at their now-naked forms, and he chuckled. “On the chair.”
She glanced to his desk. Sure enough, both of their clothes were there, haphazardly draped over his furniture as if they’d been thrown there in haste. Refusing to compliment him, despite the spellwork for that sort of thing being immensely complex, she simply acknowledged it with a “hm” and shut him up with another ravenous kiss.
Her back hit the door again, and this time his fingers found her dripping core. He chuckled against her mouth and took himself in his hand, coating himself in her slick.
He notched his head against her opening and thrust, driving into her sopping heat. Once, twice, and then he was fully in, and fucking up into her with a wanton pace. Hermione closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the door, gripping his muscular shoulders as he slammed into her again and again.
One of his thumbs collided with her swollen clit and she moaned loudly, his name escaping her lips in a lascivious whine.
“That’s right, make some noise,” he goaded her, panting with his effort. “I want to hear you.”
“Fuck,” she gasped, swallowing another moan. “Fuck me, fuck me—”
“That’s it,” he urged. “Tell me how big I am.”
“So big.” She dragged her nails along his chest.
“You take it so well.” He shifted slightly, spreading his feet for more leverage, and began to pull her down by her hips to meet him every time he thrust. He watched himself enter her over and over, his lower lip caught in his teeth. “Fuck, Hermione, you take it so fucking well.”
“So big,” she repeated, the tension building deep in her core. She could feel her legs beginning to shake, the first sign of her oncoming orgasm. “Oh god, Thorfinn.”
“You like that,” he observed, rubbing circles against her clit.
“Oh, fuck,” she moaned, gripping tightly on his shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscle there. “Fuck, fuck—”
“Such a mouth on you,” he admonished. “Maybe next time I’ll fuck that.”
She laughed. “Next time?”
“You’re riding my cock into oblivion and you want me to think there won’t be a next time?”
“I can’t stand you,” she said, and he pressed harder on her clit. The tension within her snapped, a spring under too much stress, and she screamed with ecstasy as he continued to drive into her through her orgasm.
“Fuck,” he panted. “Fuck that feels incredible.”
Hermione could barely think; her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, her voice stolen by the overwhelming power of her orgasm. All she could do was hold on tight as her body spasmed, her oversensitive cunt shuddering around his relentless erection.
She knew he was close, though, by the way he took his hand from her clit and slammed it into the door to brace himself. She clung to him, little gasps punctuating his every thrust, until he finally gave in to his release and slammed into her one last time, an inarticulate cry of pleasure punctuating their frantic coupling.
His forehead hit her shoulder as he recovered, refusing to withdraw from her until his blood vacated his cock and returned slowly to his brain. Even then, he let her down to her feet, but he didn’t release her from the cage of his arms, opting instead to devastate her with another kiss, tongue and teeth claiming new territory as he did his best to leave an indelible mark.
Finally, he pulled back, and she was able to begin the work of redressing.
Thorfinn dropped into his desk chair and leaned back in it, swiveling slightly as he watched her summon her buttons and repair her blouse. “So, about next time.”
She huffed a laugh. “There won’t be a next time.”
“Uh-huh.” His sarcasm was palpable. “You tell yourself whatever it is you need to tell yourself to believe that.”
“I mean it, Rowle,” she said, pulling her trousers on and clasping them shut. “I can’t stand you.”
“You don’t have to like me to want this,” he gestured at himself, still completely nude. “I can see it on your face every time you look at me.”
“I’ve gotten it out of my system.”
“Mmhmm,” he nodded. He picked up his wand and waved it lazily, summoning his clothing from where it lay strewn about on his guest chair.
She insisted. “I have.”
He chuckled. “Of course you have.”
“I’m going back to my desk now,” she said.
“You do that.” He grinned at her and then stood, trousers in one hand and his once-again hard cock in the other. “Try not to think too hard about me fucking your pretty little mouth next time.”
Her mouth flooded with saliva, the sight of him reigniting the lust they’d only just slaked. She hesitated, and a devilish light glinted in Thorfinn’s eye.
“Or,” he began.
She swallowed. “Or?”
“Or you don't go back to your desk just yet.”