A place for Fantasy

He tugged open the delicate row of clasps on her corset like he had every right to—because he did. He was kissing the column of her throat now, just beneath her ear, and she felt her body responding shamelessly. A slow ache pooling between her legs.

“We can’t,” she whispered, though she was already tilting her hips back into him. “The guests will be arriving in an hour.”

“Then you’d better come quickly.”

That bastard.

She let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a moan.

Lucius turned her in one fluid movement, his mouth crashing against hers. She opened for him instantly, tongue meeting his, her fingers clawing into his shirt to drag him closer. He was already hard — god, always hard for her — and she pushed her thigh between his legs, grinding just enough to make him groan.

Her corset slid to the floor. His hand found her breast. Her teeth grazed his lower lip in retaliation, and he grabbed her hair for it, just enough to make her gasp.

“You’re such a spoiled fucking thing,” he growled into her mouth.

“And you love it,” she gasped, arching into his touch. “Now shut up and fuck me.”

She hiked herself up onto the dressing table, silk stockings parted, lips swollen, breathing ragged — and he looked at her like he wanted to devour her.

Lucius knelt.

He knelt.

The first brush of his mouth against her already-throbbing cunt made her cry out, fingers digging into the edge of the aged wood. His tongue was slow at first, measured — circling, flicking, pressing just where she needed it, but never quite enough.

“Lucius, don’t—” she gasped. “Don’t you dare tease—”

He moaned against her, and the vibration nearly sent her spiralling. She was right on the edge — hips rolling, breath breaking, a knot of pleasure tightening so sharply she could taste the high coming—

And then he pulled back.

Just.

Fucking.

Stopped.

She blinked down at him, stunned. “What—”

Lucius stood, lips glistening, jaw darkened with scruff, smirking.

“If I let you come now,” he said silkily, brushing a thumb down her slick centre, “you’ll be too soft all evening. And I have guests to entertain.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. Rage bloomed in her belly. “You utter prick—”

He bent to kiss her neck. “You’ll survive. Barely.” His voice dropped lower. “And you’ll remember this ache every minute I ignore you.”

She shoved him back with a glare, sliding off the dressing table with the grace of a vengeful goddess.

“Oh, I’ll remember,” she hissed, fastening the silk at her waist again. “I’ll remember everything.”

Lucius turned back to the mirror to adjust his collar.

And he missed the look in her eyes — the promise written in the curl of her lips as she planned his ruin.

There was heat there. Tangible, growing, daring her.

Narcissa finished her drink. "You're too young for me."

Charlie’s gaze dropped slowly to her mouth. “You’ve never looked younger.”

That earned him a sharp glance, the kind she used to silence Death Eaters. He didn’t flinch.

"You wear arrogance well," she murmured.

"And you wear silk like sin."

Another silence. And then—

"Come with me."

She blinked.

He was already standing, offering her his hand. This time, she took it.