#bbf!jp

You looked back at him, the book feeling suddenly heavy in your hands. You knew you should probably kick him out or tell him to go find his own fun, but the truth was, you didn’t want to do anything.

"What did you have in mind?" you asked softly, unable to hold back a small, reluctant smile of your own.

"I don't have a single idea," he murmured, his voice dropping to a velvet rasp. As he spoke, his hand came to rest on your thigh. "Give me some options, baby."

His touch was so easy, yet it felt heavy with tension that hadn’t been there a moment ago. He didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he was perfectly aware, how his thumb brushed your skin.

The air in the room felt like it had thickened. You swallowed hard, forcing your gaze away from his lips to focus on the wall, desperate to regain some shred of composure.

"Options?" you managed to repeat, your voice sounding a little more breathless than you intended. You tried to shift your leg, but his touch lingered, grounding you to the mattress. "Well, if you're going to act like you're dying of boredom, we could try the attic. I'm pretty sure Peter left his old collection of records up there, and I haven't listened to them in years."

James tilted his head, his curls falling into his eyes as he smirked. He didn't pull away; instead, his fingers traced a slow, distracting line up the hem of your shorts. "Records? That's your big plan for saving me, sweetheart?"

"It's better than sitting here and listening to you complain," you retorted and looked back at him, emboldened by the way his eyes darkened.

"Or," he countered, his voice dropping into a murmur, "we could just stay right here. Forget the records, forget Peter, and let you finish that book while I... occupy myself."

His hand remained steady on your skin, his thumb tracing small, lazy circles that made it nearly impossible to focus.

"You're a menace," you whispered, the book slipping from your lap onto the floor.

"Silly you," he murmured, his voice dropping into a playful, teasing lilt. He reached down, his arm stretching across your lap, and retrieved the novel. His fingers brushed against your knee as he sat back up, the friction sending another wave of heat through you. "You can't read without your book, can you?"

He didn't hand it back immediately. Instead, he studied the cover for a fleeting second before shifting his weight, sliding effortlessly until he was lying right next to you on the bed. The mattress dipped under his frame, bringing him so close that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with a lopsided, expectant grin, before finally placing the book back into your hands.

"And I need you to read to me," he said, his tone shifting from teasing to something softer. "You can do that, right?"

The request was so simple. His fingers, which had been trailing along your leg, now rested on the edge of the mattress, right beside your hip.

You felt a flush creep up your neck, but you didn't look away. You opened the book to the page you had marked, the words blurring slightly.

"You're actually going to make me read aloud?"

"I am," he confirmed. "I'm all ears, and I'm not going anywhere."

You realized then that he wasn't interested in the story at all, he was interested in the way your voice would sound, the way you would stumble over the words because you were too aware of him lying right there, listening.

"Fine," you breathed, forcing your eyes to focus on the text. "But if you interrupt, I'm kicking you out."

James let out a laugh that vibrated against your shoulder. "Deal. Start reading."

You cleared your throat, the sound unusually loud in the quiet of the bedroom. As you began to read, your voice started out a little breathy and hesitant. You focused intensely on the ink on the page, trying to keep your tone steady.

As you moved into the second paragraph, James shifted; his eyes were hooded, tracing the movement of your lips as you spoke.

You were halfway through a sentence when his hand, the one that had been resting near your hip, moved. His palm pressed against your inner thigh, the heat of his touch searing through your skin, before his fingers slid upward, purposefully finding the sensitive space between your thighs.

Your voice hitched, a sharp intake of breath snagging the words right in your throat. You stopped reading, the book trembling slightly in your grip.

James didn't pull back, neither did you, his fingers pressing firmly against you. He simply watched you, his thumb tracing a slow circle that made your head spin.

"You stopped," he murmured, his voice sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from your shoulder, breath warm against your neck. "Keep reading, sweetheart. I'm still listening."

You forced yourself to look back down at the page, though the lines of text blurred before your eyes. Your pulse was a frantic thrum in your ears. You opened your mouth, forcing a syllable out, but it came out as a shaky breath.

James was relentless. He knew exactly what he was doing, his fingers bunching the fabric and rubbing against your clit with a slow, deliberate pressure that made your entire body arch toward him.

"The… the king… he decided to…" you stammered, your voice cracking.

James let out a satisfied hum, his hand grinding against your pussy, the friction sending a jolt of pure, electric need straight to your core. You were already wet, the evidence soaking into the denim, and he seemed to relish the realization, his touch becoming more insistent.

"You're doing so well," he whispered against the shell of your ear. He pushed his fingers harder, dragging them up and down, making sure you felt the full weight of his hand.

You gasped, the book dropping on your stomach as your knees instinctively parted further for him. The heat between your thighs becomes an ache that only he could soothe.

"James," you whimpered, your head falling back against your pillows.

"Keep going," he commanded softly. He was teasing you, punishing you, pushing you to the brink while forcing you to maintain your composure. "Tell me what happens next, baby."

The abrupt withdrawal of his touch left you feeling suddenly cold and desperate. You opened your mouth to protest, to beg him not to stop, but the words died in your throat as you heard the zip of your shorts.

James didn't pull the denim down, he simply parted the fabric, his fingers diving beneath the waistband of your shorts and slipping beneath the lace edge of your panties.

His skin was warm and rough against your own. His long fingers sliding directly against your damp, swollen pussy. He found your clit almost instantly, his touch far more intimate. He began to stroke you, his middle finger sliding inside your heat.

"Much better," he rasped, his voice dropping as he felt just how wet you were. He began to work you, his movements deep and deliberate, his thumb rubbing circles against your clit, your hips hitching upward of their own accord.

You were panting now, the book long forgotten. Your head tossed back, your hair tangling against the pillows as his touch sent waves of pleasure.

The sensation of his fingers sliding rhythmically in and out was driving you to the brink of losing all control. Your breath came in hitching gasps, and you felt the tension coiling deep in your stomach, tightening with every stroke. You were so close to the edge that the room seemed to blur, your body arching off the mattress, begging for the release.

A broken, needy whimper rose in your throat, louder and more desperate than you intended. You were just about to abandon all restraint, ready to let a full-throated moan fill the room, when James abruptly pulled his hand away.

You gasped, your eyes snapping open, your vision unfocused and heavy with desire.

James was watching you, his own breathing ragged and his eyes clouded with suppressed hunger. He quickly pressed a firm hand over your mouth. His gaze darted toward the door.

"Shh," he hissed, his voice rough and strained, pressing his chest close to yours so you could feel the frantic thud of his heart against your ribs. "Not so loud, baby. Peter's right down the hall."

You could hear the muffled sound of a chair shifting in the room nearby, and your blood ran cold at the reality of how close you had come to being heard. Your heart was still racing, your core throbbing and aching for the touch.

James leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "You want to scream, don't you?" he whispered, a smirk ghosting across his lips. "Keep it quiet for me."

Without breaking his gaze, he shifted his weight, climbing over you until his knee was planted firmly on the mattress between your thighs, pinning you in place.

As you looked up at him, trapped beneath his frame, his fingers splayed against your jaw to ensure you stayed silent.

With his other hand, he reached down again. He didn't tease this time; he pressed two fingers deep into your folds. The feeling of him buried inside you combined with the pressure of his knee pinning your legs apart, was overwhelming.

You let out a muffled, frantic sound against his palm, your body arching instinctively to meet his hand. He began to move his fingers, grinding against your clit and sliding deep. Every time he pushed in, you felt a wave of pleasure so sharp it made your toes curl.

James watched you intently, his eyes tracing the way your eyes fluttered shut and the way you bucked against his hand, fighting the urge to cry out. He loved the control, the way he could dictate the exact level of your pleasure. He hummed low in his throat, his thumb rubbing aggressively over your swollen cunt, bringing you closer. You were completely at his mercy, dripping for him, trembling in his hold.

The friction was maddening, a delicious torture that left you feeling completely unraveled. He could feel you clenching around him, the muscles of your pussy spasming as you neared to come. Your hips bucked uncontrollably, his eyes never leaving yours.

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmured against your temple. "Come for me."

He pressed his thumb down hard against your clit, circling and flicking until your vision went white. You felt the orgasm coiling in your lower belly. You tried to let out the scream that was clawing at the back of your throat, but his hand simply pressed harder, muffling your voice.

He sped up, his fingers sliding in and out, grinding against your G-spot while his thumb teased you. You were dripping, and when the wave finally crashed over you, it was all you could do to keep from shaking the entire bed. You bowed your back, your body shivering violently, your fingers digging into his forearms as you climaxed, your silent screams pouring into his palm.

James didn't stop the moment you came; he kept moving, drawing the sensation out, pushing you through wave after wave of aftershocks. Only when your body finally went limp, exhausted and flushed, he ease up, though he didn't pull away. He just watched you, his own breathing heavy, a triumphant smirk curling his lips as he saw exactly what he had done to you.

Your chest was still heaving, your skin flushed and slick with a fine sheen of sweat. The world was still spinning in the aftermath.

He pulled his hands away and slid down from his position over you, settling onto his side right next to you again and looked at you with a casual gaze, as if he hadn't just completely shattered you.

He reached down to the book in your lap, he hooked his index finger through the spine of your book, retrieving it.

"I think you can keep reading now," he said, his voice smooth carrying a hint of a challenge. He rested his head on his hand again, looking at you with that same attention, his knee resting against your thigh.

You looked at the book in his hand, your heart still struggling to find its normal rhythm, and then up at his smug, handsome face. You felt a blush stain your cheeks, the realization hitting you that he was entirely aware of just how incapable you were of focusing on anything other than him right now.

"You are..." you started, your voice coming out as a shaky, breathless whisper. You reached out to take the book, your fingers trembling as they brushed his. "You're absolutely impossible, James Potter."

He let out a short chuckle and leaned in, his eyes dropping to your lips before locking back onto yours.

The attic was quiet, a contrast to the heat coiling deep in your gut. You were bending over the surface of an old table your parents abandoned years ago, the hard wood pressing mercilessly against your belly. One leg was hiked up, awkward and straining, balanced on the tabletop as James stood braced behind you.

His grip on your hips was bruising, his fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to brand you as his. Every time he slammed into you, the force of it shuddered through your entire frame, rattling your teeth. You were soaked, slick and desperate, his balls slapping against your pussy with every savage thrust.

Your brother was just one floor down, oblivious to the fact that his best friend was currently using you like a piece of meat in that godforsaken attic.

James was fucking you hard, relentless and demanding, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you until your vision blurred. You could feel every inch of him, thick and throbbing, stretching you out until you were mindless with the friction.

His hand was shoved firmly over your mouth, his palm cutting off your breath and muffling the sounds you were trying to choke back. Your moans died in the back of your throat, turning into breathy gasps that he seemed to relish. Every time you tried to scream, every time the pleasure hit that maddening, unbearable peak, he pressed harder to your mouth to silence you. James was listening, too, his eyes fixed on the attic door, his muscles coiled and tense.

"It's okay sweetheart, be quiet for me," he growled into your ear.

You were so desperate for him to keep going, to keep pounding you until there was nothing left but the feeling of his dick buried to the hilt. Every thrust was a gamble, a dirty, dangerous secret playing out in the dark, and the risk of your brother hearing only made the way he was stretching your cunt feel even more intense. You writhed against him, arching your back, unable to hold back the desperate, muffled whimpers that forced their way through his fingers.

He started fucking you faster, his hips snapping against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he whispered filthy, degrading shit that made you clench around him.