The door clicked shut behind them, and Narcissa let out a low chuckle as she adjusted her silky robe. "Well, that was entertaining. Poor woman doesn't know what hit her."
Amelia snorted, already heading toward the small sitting area near the window overlooking the château's gardens. "She knew exactly what she was getting into when she decided to eavesdrop last night. Play with fire, get burned."
"Mmm, quite literally in this case." Narcissa followed, settling gracefully into one of the plush armchairs and crossing her legs. "Harry's getting better at that little trick of his. Did you see how she practically melted when he brushed against her?"
"Hard to miss." Amelia grabbed a magazine from the side table—some French fashion thing—and started flipping through it absently. "Though I'm more impressed with how much control he's got on his magic. Even when dueling, he seems so much at ease casting spells even Dumbledore would struggle with. And those magical pulses he sent towards her, perfectly balanced."
Narcissa nodded. "He's learned to weaponize it."
"Is that what we're calling it now?" Amelia asked dryly, pausing at a spread of ridiculous haute couture dresses. "Christ, look at this monstrosity. Who the hell would wear a dress made entirely of feathers?"
"Someone with more money than sense," Narcissa replied, glancing over. "And yes, that's exactly what we're calling it. Harry's got a gift, might as well use it properly."
Amelia tossed the magazine onto the coffee table and leaned back in her chair. "Speaking of using things properly, I have to ask—what exactly is our relationship with him? Because even after everything, I'm still trying to properly figure that out."
Narcissa raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at her lips. "You mean besides the obvious?"
"Besides the obvious, yes." Amelia stretched her legs out, getting comfortable. "I mean, I know what I signed up for when this whole thing started, but it's gotten more... complicated than I expected."
"Complicated how?"
Amelia was quiet for a moment, staring out at the gardens. "I don't know. I went into this thinking it would be simple—I never want to get married, and here's a strong and wonderful man, maybe I can have some fun with him, no obligations involved. But now..." She shrugged. "It feels like more than that."
Narcissa studied her carefully. "Are you catching feelings, Amelia?"
"Maybe. Don't you have feelings for him?"
"Definitely." Narcissa's answer was immediate and matter-of-fact. "Though I suppose I had a head start. I've been with him longer than you have."
"As I've learnt pretty well by now." Amelia's voice carried a note of wonder. "How's that Malfoy situation working out for you, really? You didn't elaborate much on it last time."
Narcissa's expression darkened slightly. "Harry's planning to get rid of him."
Amelia nearly choked on air. "He's what now?"
"You heard me." Narcissa flipped a page calmly, as if discussing the weather. "Harry's going to eliminate Lucius. Permanently."
"Narcissa." Amelia's voice took on a warning tone. "You do realize I'm an Auror, right? I can't exactly overlook murder plots."
Narcissa raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Really? That's the stance you're taking?"
Amelia scoffed, throwing her hands up. "Oh, come off it. You know I'm not the hardliner everyone thinks I am. But there's a difference between bending rules and ignoring outright assassination plans."
"Is there?" Narcissa set her magazine down and fixed Amelia with a steady stare. "Because last I checked, you were perfectly happy to help Harry bend quite a few rules when it came to certain… unsavory elements in our society."
"That was different. I agreed with assholes like Lestrange from—"
"From what? Terrorizing innocent people? Destroying families?" Narcissa's voice remained calm, but the steel underneath was unmistakable. "Tell me, Amelia, what exactly do you think Lucius has been doing? He may put on a respectable face in public, but he's still the same man who uses his wealth and influence to crush anyone who inconveniences him."
Amelia was quiet for a long moment. Finally, she sighed. "You're not wrong. But Harry's not an executioner."
"No, he's not. He's something much more dangerous—he's someone with the power to actually change things." Narcissa picked up her magazine again. "And if that means removing obstacles like Lucius, then so be it."
"Merlin, Narcissa. When you put it like that..." Amelia rubbed her temples. "How exactly is he planning to do it?"
"Does it matter? The end result is the same."
"It matters to me. There's a difference between a duel gone wrong and cold-blooded murder."
Narcissa considered this. "I don't know, but I'm sure it would happen in a way that doesn't make Harry's hands dirty. He's too smart to let himself be implicated like that."
"That's something," Amelia muttered, a part of her still in disbelief that she was having this conversation. "And you're okay with this?"
"I'm more than okay with it. I'm counting on it." Narcissa's smile was sharp. "I refuse to be trapped in a marriage with that ponce, especially now when I love another man. Lucius treats me like property, not a person. If Harry wants to free me from that so that we can be together, I'm hardly going to complain."
Amelia was quiet again, processing this. "And what about Bellatrix?"
"What about her?"
"Harry's planning the same thing for her, isn't he? With Rudolphus?"
Narcissa paused, genuinely surprised. "How did you—"
"It's not hard to figure out. If he's doing it for you, he's probably doing it for her too. They're both sham marriages, both political arrangements that benefit nobody except the men involved." Amelia leaned forward. "And I won't be surprised if you told me Harry's involved with her too."
She stared at Narcissa for a long moment before she burst out laughing.
"Of course he is. Of course Harry bloody Peverell is involved with both Black sisters. Why wouldn't he be?"
"Are you upset about it?"
"Upset? No. Surprised? Also no, now that I think about it." Amelia shook her head, still chuckling. "The man's got a type, I'll give him that."
"We're not that similar," Narcissa protested mildly.
"You're both gorgeous, both politically connected, both trapped in marriages to men who treat you like shit, and both powerful witches in your own right. Yeah, you're totally different."
Narcissa conceded the point with a graceful nod. "Fair enough."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts.
"You know what's funny?" Amelia said eventually.
"What?"
"This whole thing with the French. They're so bloody smug about their little veela trap, thinking they can manipulate Harry into doing whatever they want. They have no idea what they're dealing with."
Narcissa laughed. "I know, right? They think they can dangle a pretty girl in front of him and he'll roll over like a trained dog. They clearly haven't done their research."
"What research? That Harry Peverell is basically a walking aphrodisiac who could have any woman he wants just by looking at them?"
"That Harry Peverell is also smart enough to turn the tables on anyone who tries to manipulate him." Narcissa's grin was wicked. "Poor Clarisse probably thinks she's the hunter in this scenario."
"Oh, she's definitely the prey. The question is whether she realizes it yet."
"Judging by how she was practically panting at breakfast? I'd say she's starting to figure it out."
Amelia snorted. "The way she was looking at him when he did that thing with his aura... I thought she was going to spontaneously combust."
"I'm honestly surprised she didn't. Did you see her hands shaking when she poured the coffee?"
"Hard to miss. Poor woman's got it bad."
Narcissa picked up her magazine again, flipping through pages of political analysis. "The irony is that the French delegation probably thinks they're being clever."
"Do they actually think that would work?"
"They might. Politicians think everyone is as shallow and easily manipulated as they are." Narcissa paused at an article about magical population dynamics. "Plus, Harry's reputation precedes him. They probably heard about his abilities and thought he needed to be neutralized in some manner, and mistakenly assumed he was just another powerful wizard who thinks with his cock."
"To be fair, he kind of is."
"Yes, but he's also strategic about it. There's a difference between being driven by lust and using attraction as a weapon."
Amelia nodded thoughtfully. "Speaking of which, have you noticed how his power seems to be growing? Not just magically, but socially. Politically."
"Hard not to notice. But he's the Lord Peverell. Obviously, he'd command power and respect." Narcissa said smugly. "He's really something else entirely."
"What do you think it is? The magical power thing, I mean."
Narcissa considered this carefully. "I think it's what happens when a wizard reaches a certain level of magical strength and starts to embrace it fully. Harry must have spent so long trying to be normal, trying to fit in, that he never really explored what he was capable of."
"And now he is."
"Now he is. And the results are... significant."
"Significant enough that he can apparently just decide to eliminate people who inconvenience him."
"Significant enough that he has options most people don't." Narcissa's tone was matter-of-fact. "Power attracts power, Amelia. It always has. And Harry's got more of it than most people realize."
"Including the French."
"Especially the French. They're about to learn a very painful lesson about underestimating him."
Amelia chuckled. "Poor bastards. They send probably their best veela to seduce him, and instead he's probably going to seduce her right back and turn her into another one of his... what are we calling ourselves these days?"
"Associates?"
"That's a very polite way of putting it."
"I prefer polite euphemisms. They make everything sound more civilized."
"Fair enough." Amelia stretched, getting up to refill her coffee from the pot on the side table. "Want some?"
"Please."
Amelia poured two cups, adding cream to both. She handed one to Narcissa and settled back into her chair. "So what do you think is happening with them right now?"
"With Harry and Clarisse? Oh, she's probably a puddle on the floor by now."
"Think he's actually going to sleep with her?"
"Eventually. But not right away. Harry's too smart for that." Narcissa sipped her coffee thoughtfully. "He'll play with her first. Make her want it. Make her beg for it."
"That's cruel."
"That's strategic. If he gives in too easily, she'll think she won. If he makes her work for it, she'll be too focused on getting what she wants to remember why she was supposed to want it in the first place."
"Devious."
"Effective. By the time he's done with her, she'll be more interested in pleasing him than in serving French interests."
Amelia laughed. "Damn, we're terrible people, aren't we? Sitting here planning the seduction and corruption of some innocent French woman."
"She's a veela who was sent here specifically to manipulate Harry. I'd hardly call her 'some innocent French woman.'"
"Point taken. Still feels a bit like watching a cat play with a mouse."
"Except the mouse volunteered to be caught."
"Also true." Amelia paused, listening to the sounds of the château around them. It was quiet—too quiet for a place that should have had at least some activity. "You know what? I can't hear anything from downstairs."
"Neither can I. Either they've moved somewhere else, or..."
"Or Harry's put up silencing charms."
"Which means things are progressing faster than expected."
They looked at each other, both having identical expressions of amused speculation on their faces.
"Should we be concerned?" Amelia asked, though her tone suggested she wasn't particularly worried.
"About Harry? Never. About Clarisse?" Narcissa shrugged. "She's a big girl. She can handle whatever he throws at her."
"And if she can't?"
"Then she shouldn't have tried to manipulate him in the first place," Narcissa shrugged.
Amelia nodded. "You know, I used to think I was ruthless. But spending time with you and Harry has really put things in perspective."
"How so?"
"I was ruthless within the system. You two are ruthless about changing the system entirely."
"The system is broken, Amelia. It has been for decades. Someone needs to fix it."
"And you think Harry's the one to do it?"
"I think Harry's the only one who can do it. He's got the power, the connections, and most importantly, he doesn't give a damn about preserving the status quo."
"Speaking of connections, what do you think the political fallout from this tournament is going to be?"
Narcissa set down her coffee cup and picked up her magazine again, this time focusing on an article about international magical relations. "Depends on how well Harry does. If he wins..."
"When he wins."
"When he wins, it's going to send a message. That Britain isn't the backwards, isolated country everyone thought it was after Flitwick's retirement. That we've got power and we're not afraid to use it."
"And if other countries don't like that message?"
"Then they'll have to deal with it. Or deal with Harry directly." Narcissa's smile was sharp. "I know which option I'd choose."
"The French are about to get a preview of that choice."
"Among other things."
Amelia laughed. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Immensely."
"And what happens after? After Lucius is gone, after the tournament is over, after Harry's collected his latest conquest?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what's the endgame here? Harry can't just keep accumulating power and women indefinitely. Eventually, something's got to give."
Narcissa was quiet for a long moment, considering this. "I don't think Harry knows yet. I think he's still figuring out what he wants his life to look like."
"And we're just along for the ride?"
"We're helping him figure it out. And enjoying the benefits along the way."
"Benefits like dead husbands-to-be and political influence?"
"Benefits like freedom and the chance to be ourselves for the first time in our lives."
Amelia nodded slowly. "When you put it like that, it doesn't sound so bad."
"It's not bad at all. It's necessary."
They fell into another comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. The sun had climbed higher in the sky, and the château felt peaceful.
Amelia suddenly chuckled, shaking her head. "My younger self would have been horrified by this conversation."
"Your younger self wasn't mature enough. Or seen what happens when good people try to play by rules that evil people ignore. I'm sure you've seen your fair share in the Ministry."
"True enough." Amelia finished her coffee and set the cup aside. "Though I have to admit, there's something liberating about not having to pretend to be the perfect Auror all the time."
"You were never perfect. You were just pretending to be."
"Thanks for that ringing endorsement."
"You know what I mean. You always had this ruthless streak, this willingness to do whatever it took to get the job done. You just hid it behind regulations and proper procedure."
"And now?"
"Now you don't have to hide it anymore."
"I can agree with that." Amelia stretched again, settling more comfortably in her chair. "You know what's funny?"
"What's that?"
"A year ago, if someone had told me I'd be sitting in a French château, drinking coffee with Narcissa Black, and discussing our mutual... involvement with one Harry Peverell, I'd have checked them into St. Mungo's."
"And now?"
"Now it feels like the most natural thing in the world."
"Because it is natural. For us, anyway."
"You really believe that?"
"I do. Harry brings out something in people, something that was always there but maybe buried or hidden. With us, he brings out the parts of ourselves we were afraid to acknowledge."
"The ruthless parts."
"The honest parts. We've always been ruthless, Amelia. We just pretended we weren't."
"And now we don't have to pretend."
"Exactly."
Amelia picked up her magazine again, flipping through it absently. "What do you think happens when the French delegation realizes their little plan has backfired. That instead of Clarisse seducing Harry, Harry's seduced Clarisse."
"They'll probably try to salvage the situation somehow. Maybe claim it was all part of their plan."
"Think they'll succeed?"
"Not a chance. Harry's too smart to fall for political double-talk, and Clarisse is about to be too smitten to care about French interests."
"Poor bastards. They really picked the wrong wizard to mess with."
"They did indeed. Though I have to admit, I'm looking forward to watching them realize it."
"When do you think that'll happen?"
"Probably not until after the tournament. They'll keep hoping they can salvage something right up until Harry crushes their champion when they face each other."
"And that's going to send a message."
"A very clear message. That Britain is back, and we're not to be trifled with."
"Think that'll cause problems with our allies?"
"Our allies will adjust. It's our enemies who should be worried."
"Speaking of enemies, what do you think Lucius is going to do when he finds out about Harry's tournament performance?"
"It's too much to hope for, but I want him to challenge him to an honor duel out of jealousy and wounded pride."
"So that Harry gets the legitimate chance to not only kill him, but humiliate him in public."
"And no one would be able to complain about it," Narcissa agreed placidly.
"You really are okay with that."
"Amelia, I've been waiting for years for someone to rid me of Lucius. Killing him is new, but not something he doesn't deserve. The fact that it's going to be Harry just makes it better."
"Because you care about him."
"Because I love him. And because he loves me enough to do what should be done."
Amelia looked at her friend—because that's what Narcissa had become, she realized, a friend—and saw complete honesty in her expression.
"You really do love him," she said softly.
"I do. Do you?"
Amelia was quiet for a long moment, considering the question seriously. "I think I might come to, you know… Which is terrifying, because I've never been in love before."
"It is terrifying. But it's also wonderful."
"Even when the man you love is planning to commit murder for you?"
"Especially then."
They sat in comfortable silence again, both processing their admissions. Outside, clouds had started to gather, and it seemed it would rain later in the day. The château felt even more peaceful now.
"What do you think Harry and Clarisse are getting up to right now? I mean, specifically."
Narcissa laughed. "You have a dirty mind, Amelia Bones."
"Says the woman who was letting him deep inside her arse only a few hours ago, let alone talking about loving the same man who's also planning political assassination."
"Fair point. And to answer your question—I imagine Harry is currently demonstrating exactly why French veela shouldn't try to manipulate British wizards."
"In graphic detail?"
"In very graphic detail."
Amelia tried to listen for any sounds from where she and Narcissa had left them. "Think we'll hear any... evidence of Harry's demonstration?"
"Eventually, when he really gets down to it. We both know Harry's not particularly quiet when he's making a point."
"And this is definitely him making a point."
"Oh, absolutely. And as I said, by the time he's done with her, Clarisse is going to be completely devoted to him instead of to French interests."
"Mission accomplished, then."
"Mission accomplished."
They looked at each other and burst into laughter. Outside, the first drops of rain began to patter against the windows, and somewhere in the château below, Harry Peverell was undoubtedly rewriting the rules of international magical diplomacy one conquered veela at a time.
-Break-
And speaking of veela…
Clarisse knelt before Harry, her knees pressing into the cool stone floor of the training room. The air around them hummed with the residual magic of his spells, feeling like a faint crackle that seemed to dance across her skin. Her heart pounded, each beat a reminder of the intoxicating power radiating from the man standing over her.
Harry's green eyes glinted with amusement, his lips curled into a smirk that was equal parts challenge and invitation. She could feel the intensity of his gaze, like a physical touch, and it sent a shiver down her spine.
"You know, Clarisse," Harry said, his voice low and laced with a bit of mockery, "I've got to say, you're awfully eager for someone who thought she could outsmart me. What happened to that proud veela confidence? Gone the moment you felt a real spark of magic?"
Her cheeks flushed, but the jab only stoked the heat pooling in her core. She tilted her head up, meeting his eyes with a defiant spark of her own. "You're not wrong," she admitted, her voice husky. "Your magic is… something else. But don't think for a second I'm doing something I wouldn't have done anyway."
Harry chuckled, his eyes lingering on her tits that strained against her top for a moment. He shifted slightly closer, his boots brushing against the edge of her knees. The faint scent of cedar and something distinctly masculine filled her senses, making her head swim.
"Oh, I don't think you're doing this against your wishes," he said with a smirk. "I know you're exactly where you want to be. On your knees, looking up at me like I'm your king."
The words stung her pride, but they also sent a jolt of desire through her. Clarisse's lips parted, her breath hitching as she fought to keep her composure.
"You're not my king," she whispered, but the words lacked conviction. Her hands twitched at her sides, itching to reach for him, to prove she could still take some control.
"Not your king?" Harry raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with skepticism. He reached down, his fingers brushing under her chin, tilting her face up further. His touch was light, but the pulse of magic that followed was anything but, a teasing spark that made her gasp.
"Then why are you trembling, Clarisse? Why do your eyes keep darting to my belt like you're starving for something only I can give you?"
She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she tried to ignore the truth in his words. Her gaze flicked downward again, lingering on the bulge in his trousers. The sight made her mouth water, and she cursed her veela instincts for betraying her so thoroughly.
"You're insufferable," she muttered, but there was no venom in it. Instead, her voice was thick with need, and a part of her hated how obvious it was.
"Insufferable?" Harry's grin widened. He released her chin, his hand moving to rest on his belt, his fingers toying with the buckle. The clink of metal was loud in the quiet room, and Clarisse's eyes snapped to it, her breath catching. "And yet, here you are, practically begging for a taste. Go on, veela. Show me how much you worship your 'insufferable' lord."
The taunt hit her like a whip, but instead of anger, it sparked a fire in her veins. Her pride screamed at her to stand, to walk away, but her body, her arousal, the veela inside her had other ideas.
Slowly, almost reverently, she lifted her hands, her fingers brushing against the leather of his belt. The texture was smooth under her touch, and she took her time, savoring the moment. She glanced up at him, her eyes half-lidded, and murmured, "You're going to regret underestimating me, Monsieur."
He let out a low, rumbling laugh that made her stomach flip. "I've heard quite a bit about you veela, and trust me when I say I'm waiting to be impressed," he said, leaning back slightly, his hands resting casually at his sides. "Prove how good your kind is, but even beyond that, prove how capable you are that you thought you could ever manipulate me with this body of yours."
Clarisse's fingers worked the buckle, the metal cool against her skin. She pulled the belt free, the leather sliding through the loops with a soft hiss. Her movements were calculated, as if she was silently declaring her intent. She set the belt aside, her hands moving to the button of his trousers. Her knuckles brushed against the hard line of his manhood straining against the fabric, and she bit her lip, a thrill shooting through her at the evidence of his arousal.
"Careful," Harry said, his voice a lazy drawl. "You're looking a little too eager there. Don't tell me the great seductress Clarisse is already losing herself over a little tease."
She glared up at him, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. "Shut up," she muttered, popping the button free and tugging the zipper down. The sound was loud in the stillness of the room, and her pulse quickened as she parted the fabric, revealing the dark fabric of his boxers. The outline of his erection was unmistakable, and she felt a rush of heat between her thighs.
"Such a sharp tongue," Harry said, his tone mocking. "Let's see if you can put it to better use."
The command in his voice sent a shiver through her, and she leaned forward, her hands sliding up his thighs. The muscles beneath her palms were firm, and she could feel the faint hum of his magic, even through the fabric. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down slowly, her eyes locked on his. The anticipation was electric, and when his cock sprang free, heavy and thick, she couldn't suppress a soft moan.
Harry's smirk grew. "Look at you," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "All that pride, and you're practically drooling already. Is this what you dreamed of when you watched me train? My magic wasn't the only thing calling to you, was it?"
Clarisse's face burned, but she didn't deny it. Instead, she leaned closer, her breath ghosting over the tip of his cock. The scent of him was intoxicating, musky and warm, and it made her head spin. She pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his prick, her lips lingering as she savored the heat of his skin.
"You talk too much," she whispered, her voice trembling with desire.
"Then make me stop," Harry challenged, his hands still at his sides, his posture relaxed but completely in control. "Show me what that veela charm can do."
She didn't need any more encouragement. Clarisse's hands wrapped around the base of his cock, her fingers barely meeting around his girth. She stroked him slowly, her touch firm but teasing, and watched as his jaw tightened, a flicker of pleasure crossing his face. The sight sent a surge of satisfaction through her, and she leaned in, her tongue darting out to lick a slow stripe up his length.
Harry let out a low groan as he felt a genuinely otherworldly sensation on his cock, and the sound sent a thrill through her. So this is the veela magic they speak of, he thought.
"Not bad," he said, but his voice was rougher now, less controlled. "But you'll have to do better than that to impress me."
The taunt spurred her on. Clarisse's lips parted, and she took the tip of his cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head. The taste of him was salty and addictive, and she moaned softly, the vibration humming against his skin. She glanced up, meeting his eyes, and the intensity in his gaze made her heart race. He was watching her every move, his expression a mix of amusement and hunger.
"Keep going," he said, his voice a low growl. "Show me how much you want this."
She obeyed, taking him deeper, her lips stretching around his thickness. Her hands worked in tandem, one stroking the base while the other rested on his thigh, her nails digging in slightly. She bobbed her head slowly, savoring every inch, her tongue tracing the veins along his shaft. The weight of him in her mouth was felt in every plunge of her mouth, a reminder of the power she was worshipping.
Harry's hand finally moved, his fingers threading through her hair. He didn't pull or guide her, just rested his hand there, letting her know who was in control. "That's it," he murmured. "You look so good like this, Clarisse. On your knees, worshipping me like I'm your god."
The words sent a jolt of arousal through her, and she moaned again, the sound muffled around his cock. Her pride bristled at the idea of worshipping anyone, but her body betrayed her, her thighs pressing together as she squirmed. She took him deeper, her throat relaxing as she pushed past her limits, determined to prove herself.
Harry's grip tightened slightly as he felt himself buried to the hilt inside her mouth, and he let out a soft hiss. "Fuck, you're eager," he said, his voice laced with approval. "Didn't think a veela could be this desperate for a taste. What happened to all that control you're so proud of?"
She pulled back slightly, her lips glistening as she caught her breath. "You're the one losing control," she shot back, her voice hoarse but defiant. She stroked him with her hand, her thumb brushing over the tip, spreading the bead of precum that had formed all over the crown. "I can feel it."
Harry laughed, the sound dark and dangerous. "Oh, you're bold," he said. "But you're not in charge here, are you? Keep going, Clarisse. Show your lord how much you need this."
The word "lord" made her shiver, and she dove back in, her lips wrapping around him with renewed fervor. She sucked harder, her cheeks hollowing as she worked him, her tongue flicking against the sensitive underside. Her hands moved faster, one pumping the base while the other cupped his balls, her fingers gentle but firm. The sounds she made were lewd, wet and desperate, and she didn't care. All that mattered was pleasing him, proving she could match his intensity.
Harry's breathing grew heavier, his fingers tightening in her hair. "That's more like it," he said, his voice rough with pleasure. "You're fucking perfect like this. Look at you, so proud and yet so willing to kneel for me. Bet you'd do anything I asked right now, wouldn't you?"
Clarisse moaned, the vibration making him groan. She pulled back just enough to speak, her lips brushing against his cock as she whispered, "Maybe I would. For you." The admission was raw, stripped of pretense, and it made her heart pound.
Harry's eyes darkened, and he tugged her hair gently, guiding her back to his cock. "Then don't stop," he said, his voice a command. "Worship me, Clarisse. Show me how much you crave this."
She obeyed, her lips sliding down his length, taking him as deep as she could. Her throat constricted, but she pushed through, her eyes watering as she fought her gag reflex. She wanted to please him, to show him she could handle everything he gave her. Her hands worked in sync, stroking and squeezing, her fingers tracing the sensitive skin of his balls. Every groan, every hitch in his breath, was a victory, a sign she was getting to him.
Harry's control was slipping, she could feel it in the way his hips twitched and the way his fingers tightened in her hair. But he didn't let go completely. "Fuck, you're good at this," he said, his voice strained. "Didn't think a veela's pride would let her get this messy. Look at you, all flushed and desperate. Bet you're soaking through your panties right now."
The crude words made her whimper, and she squirmed, the truth of his statement hitting her hard. She was soaked, her knickers clinging to her pussy and her thighs slick with her own arousal, and the thought only made her suck harder, her lips working him with a frantic edge. She wanted to push him over the edge, to make him lose that infuriating control.
But Harry wasn't done teasing. "Slow down," he said, his voice sharp. "You don't get to rush this. I'm not some quick fling you can finish off. Take your time, veela. Make it last."
She obeyed, slowing her pace, her lips gliding over him with immense care. She savored every inch, her tongue tracing slow circles around the head before sliding down again. Her hands followed suit, one stroking lazily while the other massaged his balls, her touch gentle but teasing. The change in pace made him groan, and she felt a surge of pride at the sound.
"That's better," Harry said, his voice low and approving. "Show me how much you love this. How much you love kneeling for your lord."
The word "lord" hit her again, and she moaned, her eyes fluttering shut as she lost herself in the act. She worshipped him with every movement, the way her lips and hands moved all over his cock showing her devotion to the act. Her pride was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it was drowned out by the overwhelming desire to please him, to hear his recognition, and to bask in his power.
Harry's breathing grew ragged, his hips rocking slightly as he neared the edge. "Fuck, Clarisse," he groaned, his voice raw. "You're gonna make me come. Is that what you want? To taste your lord's release?"
She moaned her assent, the sound vibrating against him. She sucked harder, her tongue flicking against the tip before sloshing all around his girth, and her hands working in perfect rhythm. She wanted it, needed it, and the thought of him coming undone because of her was intoxicating.
With a low growl, Harry's control snapped. His hips bucked, and he came with a shudder, his release spilling into her mouth. Clarisse took it all, her throat working as she swallowed, her lips still wrapped around him. The taste was intense, salty and warm, and she moaned softly, savoring every drop.
When he was done, she pulled back slowly, her lips glistening as she looked up at him. Her chest heaved, her face flushed with exertion and arousal. Harry's eyes were dark, his expression a mix of satisfaction and amusement.
"Not bad," he said, his voice rough but teasing. "For a veela who thought she could outsmart me."
Clarisse licked her lips, a slow, sensual move on her part as she gazed at him with her eyes full of lust. "I'll do better next time," she said, her voice husky but defiant. "You'll see."
Harry laughed warmly as he eyed her. "Oh, I'm counting on it," he said, tucking himself back into his trousers. He offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet with ease. "But for now, you've earned a moment to catch your breath."
She stood, her legs shaky, but her eyes never left his. The fire in her chest burned brighter than ever, a mix of pride, lust, and devotion for this man slowly taking root within her. "This isn't over," she said, her voice steady despite the tremble in her body.
Harry's smirk returned, and he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he whispered. "Now go clean yourself up, Clarisse. We'll see how much more you can handle next time."
TBC.
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