"Nothing," you managed to say, tearing your eyes away from his face and focusing on the glowing embers.

James shifted closer, invading the safe boundary you thought you had established between you. The faint scent of that perfume he had used for years suddenly filled your senses.

"Come on, you can tell me everything, you know," he said, carrying that persuasive tone that used to make it impossible to keep a secret from him.

You shook your head, offering an unconvincing smile as you pulled your knees closer to your chest. "I know, but I don't have anything to say."

"Okay, okay," he murmured, though the playful glint in his eye told you he didn't believe a single word.

And just like that, he pounced.

His hands found your ribs, catching you completely off guard. You gasped, a startled shriek turning into a helpless laugh as he attacked with the precision of someone who had known your every ticklish spot. You twisted away, thrashing against the thick rug, trying to bat his hands away while doubled over in helpless giggles.

"James… stop! Stop it!" you choked out, your voice laced with breathless laughter as he pinned you lightly against the floorboards, completely shattering the tension that had hung between you all evening. The warmth of the fire and the howling wind outside suddenly vanished.

He was relentless, a triumphant grin spread across his face as he cornered you against the rug. "Admit it! Admit you were staring!"

"I wasn't… stop, I'm serious!" you laughed so hard your voice cracked, twisting away from his reach.

For a few seconds, as you were pinned against the floor with James hovering above you, there was only the way his hand gently brushed against your waist as he tried to keep you pinned, his laughter suddenly catching in his throat as the playfulness shifted into something else.

His grin faded, replaced by that intense look in his eyes. His hand lingered against your side, neither of you moving away.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice dropping, though he didn't make any move to get up. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again. "Did I... go too far?"

The air rushed out of your lungs as you pulled him down by the collar of his shirt, closing the microscopic distance between you. There was no hesitation left. Your lips crashed together, a confession of everything you both tried so hard to bury.

James let out a rough sound against your mouth and his hands immediately found you, sliding up from your waist to cup your face, his thumbs pressing into your cheekbones as if to convince himself that you were really here. Your fingers tangled frantically in his hair, pulling him closer, needing to bridge the space that once stood between you.

You tasted the lingering trace of whiskey and smoke, sharing breath and saliva. The fire crackled in the background, but the heat radiating from the fireplace was nothing compared to the burning friction between your bodies.

As his weight shifted, pressing you further down into the wool, one of his knees slid upward, pressing between your thighs. A shiver racked your spine, making your fingers grip tighter into his shoulders. His hand left your face to slide down the curve of your spine, pulling your flush against him, leaving zero doubt about how badly he had ached for this, too.

The storm outside beat relentlessly against the cabin walls, howling through the pines, but inside, reality simply ceased to exist. There was only the friction of skin against skin and the sound of your breathing mingling with his.

A groan broke from the back of James's throat against your lips as you rocked your hips against his knee.

At your movement, he gripped your thigh firmly, his fingers digging into your skin through the fabric of your pants, and hoisted your leg up, wrapping it securely around his waist.

James broke the kiss for a second, his forehead dropping against yours, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His glasses were slightly crooked, fogged, and his eyes were dilated.

"God," he whispered, his voice cracking at the edges before his mouth crashed down onto yours again. His hands roamed wild over your body as if trying to memorize you.

Your hands clawed at the hem of his shirt, bunching the fabric up and hauling it over his head. James instantly obliged his hands moving to your back and hooking under your shirt to strip it away as well.

James groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to cup your bare breasts, his thumbs brushing across your sensitive nipples as a shudder tore through your frame. He broke the kiss to trail a blistering line of open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, and straight down to the valley between your boobs, making you arch off the floor with a breathless cry.

"James..." you moaned, your voice a breathless plea as your fingers tangled deep into his hair, pulling him against your chest.

He didn't stop; the sound of your voice only made him more feral. His mouth slid hungrily from one nipple to the other, soaking your bare breast with his saliva. Every flick of his tongue sent a violent jolt straight to your core, making your hips jerk instinctively against his leg.

The heat in the room felt suffocating, the contrast of the freezing blizzard outside only making the friction and sweat between your bodies more intense. James gripped your waist tighter, his breathing coming in ragged, broken gasps as he worshiped every inch of your skin, leaving you completely undone beneath him.

He pulled back, though the heat still radiated intensely from his skin. His chest rose and fell in rapid stutters, his glasses slightly askew on his nose, and his eyes locked onto yours.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

You swallowed hard, your own breathing shallow as you looked up at him, entirely consumed by the moment. You nodded firmly.

A tender smile broke across his face. "I need you to use your words," he murmured, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jawline.

"Yeah, James, I'm sure," you breathed out, your voice trembling slightly with anticipation.

The second the words left your lips; any remaining hesitation vanished. James wasted no time, his hands dropping to the waistband of your pants, working the button and zipper down. He helped you lift your hips to slide them completely off your legs, tossing them aside.

He paused then and with agonizing slowness, his warm fingers brushed against the delicate fabric of your panties, sliding the material down your skin while never breaking eye contact, watching the way your breath hitched and your body arched in response to his touch until you were completely bare beneath him.

With trembling hands, James quickly unbuckled his pants and shucked them down along with his boxers, freeing his throbbing length. He wrapped his large hand firmly around it.

Before moving any further, he hooked two fingers and pressed them gently against your lower lip.

"Open for me," he murmured hoarsely, his voice scraping against your nerves.

You parted your lips obediently, taking his fingers deep into your mouth. You wrapped your tongue around them, sucking and coating them thoroughly with your saliva, tasting the salt and heat of him. He watched you with heavy-lidded eyes, chest heaving, absolutely transfixed by the sight. Slowly, he slid his slicked fingers out of your mouth, bringing them down to stroke the weeping head of his cock, smearing your saliva over his skin as he began to jerk off.

The sight of him, flushed, and stroking himself, sent a violent shockwave of heat straight to your core. Driven by need, you slid two of your own fingers into your mouth, sucking them to coat them in your saliva before sliding them straight down between your thighs, pressing them firmly against your soaking, swollen folds. You began to rub your clit, syncing your movements with the slide of his hand on his shaft, a broken gasp tumbling past your lips.

James groaned, his hips twitching in response to the sight of you touching yourself for him. He dropped to his knees, positioning himself right between your thighs, his cock pulsing as he aligned at your entrance.

His chest heaving as the firelight cast long shadows across his shoulders and his face. He lowered his weight and pressed the head of his cock against your swollen entrance, sliding it up and down your wet folds, making your back arch off the floor with an involuntary gasp. Every brush of his dick against your sensitive clit sent a violent, electric shiver straight up your spine, your fingers clutching frantically at his shoulders, your nails biting into his skin as you chased the friction.

With agonizing slowness, James began to push inside.

The stretch was exquisite and overwhelming, filling you completely as his dick parted your wet walls. You could feel every single contour of him sliding past your flesh. He held himself back, his muscles trembling from the sheer exertion of moving so slowly, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek as he watched your face for every expression.

"You feel... God, you feel so incredible," he breathed out, a sigh escaping his lips as he sank deeper.

The snowstorm battering the cabin windows outside felt entirely eclipsed by the friction of his body merging with yours until he was finally buried to the hilt, completely filling you up and sealing the space that had kept you apart for far too long.

For a second, he stayed completely still deep inside you, his chest rising and falling heavily as he let you adjust to the sheer fullness of him. The fierce warmth of the crackling fireplace radiated against your side, casting a flickering glow over your entangled bodies.

He slowly began to pull back, sliding almost all the way out before driving back into your pussy.

You gasped, your hips bucking up to take him deeper, your hands sliding down his back to claw at his skin as the pace started to pick up.

"Look at you," he panted, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he glared down at you with hungry eyes. He reached down, his large hand cupping your boob, his thumb aggressively flicking your nipple while he pounded into you harder and faster. "Taking my dick so damn good... fucking mine."

He gripped your hips tighter, his fingers biting into your flesh as he leaned down, his mouth crashing back onto yours in a bruising kiss. You swallowed his groans, your tongue tangling aggressively with his as his pace accelerated.

"I've missed you so much," he panted against your lips.

"I've missed you too," you gasped out.

He pulled back slightly, resting his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, looking down at you. His chest heaved against your tits, the friction of your sensitive skin sliding together sending fresh, electric shivers straight down your spine.

James changed the angle of his thrusts, he slid out almost entirely, letting the cool air brush against your cunt for a fraction, before pressing back in.

"Say it again," he murmured as he rolled his hips in a circular grind, his cock rubbing every sensitive nerve ending inside your pussy.

"I've missed you," you repeated, your voice trembling. "I've missed you so much, James."

A triumphant smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, bruising kiss.

The steady rhythm suddenly shifted as James pulled back just enough to slide his hand down between your bodies. His fingers found your swollen, throbbing clit, and pressed his thumb against you.

A cry tore from your throat, your back arching off the floor.

"That's it," his voice dropping into a gravelly command as he watched your face melt into pure pleasure. He didn't let up his pace inside you, keeping up that measured thrusting of his cock deep into your soaking cunt while his thumb teased and rubbed your clit. "I want you to come for me."

Every stroke of his fingers combined with the fullness of his dick pushing inside you built the pressure to an unbearable peak. The edges of your vision blurred, you clutched wildly at his shoulders, your legs locking tightly around his waist as the climax crashed over you.

The sudden clenching of your inner walls around him acted like a trigger. The moment your body locked up and began to cascade into your intense orgasm, James shattered.

All his restraint vanished in a second. His hips locked forward, burying his cock as deep inside your soaking cunt as humanly possible.

"F-fuck," he stammered out, his eyes squeezed shut.

You could feel the searing pulses of his heat as he flooded you over and over, his cum rushing deep inside your walls to mingle with your own release. His fingers tightened into the rug on either side of your head, his muscles straining to their limits as he rode out the blinding peak of his climax right alongside you.

The heavy, ragged sound of your breathing slowly began to quiet, replaced only by the crackle of the fireplace and the howling of the storm outside.

For a second, your instinct was to turn right back around, not wanting to intrude nor deal with the awkwardness of small talk while your brain was already operating at half-capacity. But the ache in your temples won out.

Taking a deep breath, you sat down on the metal bleachers by the edge of the rink, pulled your skates onto your feet, and began knotting the laces, hoping he wouldn't even notice you were there.

The sharp scrape of a stop shattered the quiet hum of the arena, sending a fine spray of ice crystals flying over the top of the low boards.

You froze, your fingers still tangling in your skate laces as you looked up.

James was standing right there on the other side of the glass, leaning casually against the partition with one hand resting flat on the acrylic. Despite having just put himself through what looked like an intense solo practice, he wasn't even breathing hard. Instead, an easy grin was spread across his face.

"Hey, I've seen you around before, right?" he asked.

You blinked, momentarily disoriented. Slowly, you lifted your head enough to meet his gaze.

"Yeah, I think so," you replied, your voice sounding smaller than you intended.

James didn't immediately push off or excuse himself like you expected him to. Instead, his smile softened, tilting his head slightly as he took in the dark circles under your eyes.

"Late night for finals?"

You let out a dry laugh, offering him a self-deprecating smirk. "I look that bad?"

James let out a quick laugh, shaking his head. "No, not at all," he was quick to assure you, his hands gesturing defensively in front of him. "I'm in the same situation."

He gave a slight nod toward the empty space beside you on the metal bench. "Mind if I take a seat?"

You shake your head, offering a tired shrug as you slide slightly down the bench to give him room.

James glides effortlessly along the boards to the gate, pushing it open and stepping off the ice. He just runs a hand straight through his hair.

As he sits down beside you, the bench dips under his weight. Because of the limited space, his knees instantly press flush against yours.

"Brutal semester, right?" he says, resting his forearms on his knees. "I swear my professors are trying to ruin my life."

You let out a sigh, your hand rising to rub at the burning knot of muscles at the back of your neck.

"Yeah, I don't even know what to do with this stress anymore," you murmured, your voice laced with exhaustion. "It's killing me."

James watched you for a moment, his eyes tracking the movement of your hand. Instead of looking away or offering the usual generic words of encouragement, a thoughtful expression crossed his features.

"Maybe I can help," his tone shifting to something surprisingly earnest. He hesitated for a second, clearing his throat slightly. "I... you know, with hockey and everything, athlete things. You kind of learn how the muscles work, how to release tension when your body locks up from pressure."

He didn't wait for an invitation or give you much time to overthink. James shifted slightly on the bench, turning his body toward yours. He reached out, his hand hovering near your shoulder.

"Here, turn around just a little bit," he instructed softly. "Let me see how bad it is."

For a moment, hesitation flared in your chest. You had barely exchanged two words with this guy, let alone letting him give you to massage the knots of your neck. But the agonizing ache at the base of your skull completely overrode any social awkwardness.

Without another word, you turned your body slightly on the bench, offering him better access to your shoulders.

"Careful," you murmured. "I'm basically one giant knot right now."

"Don't worry, I've dealt with worse," James chuckled quietly.

His hand settled gently against the back of your neck, right where the tension was pooled. Despite the freezing temperature of the arena, his palm radiated an immediate heat that sent a pleasant shiver racing down your spine. His thumb found the trigger point at the base of your skull and began to press in, kneading the tight muscle with firm strokes.

You let out a soft sigh of relief, your shoulders dropping an inch as the excruciating pressure began to ease under his touch.

"Right there?" he asked, his voice dropping to a soothing hum close to your ear as he adjusted his angle.

"Oh god," you breathed out, your eyes slipping shut against the sudden wave of relaxation. "Yeah, right there."

The gentle slip of his fingers working against your skin was intoxicating. With how close he was leaning in to get the right angle, you could distinctly feel his breath ghosting against the skin of your ear.

Slowly, you shifted your face to at him.

James was entirely focused on the task, his brow slightly furrowed as he worked to ease the tension from your shoulders. His expression was completely earnest, devoid of any teasing or pretense, just a guy genuinely trying to make you feel better.

As you watched him, a strange current sparked in the air between you. Your teeth caught your lower lip, your gaze drifting down, tracing the line of his jaw before resting entirely on his lips.

James' hand paused instantly against your neck.

The silence in the empty arena suddenly felt deafening, charged with an awareness that had nothing to do with the finals. Slowly, his eyes snapped up from your shoulders to meet yours, darkening as he realized exactly where you were looking.

As his gaze locked onto yours, reading the shift in tension, he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that was initially soft.

Needing to close the distance, you shifted your entire body on the bench, turning completely around to face him. Your knees parted to bracket his hips, your hands coming up to grip the fabric of his hoodie as you leaned fully into his space.

The soft pressure instantly deepened. James let out a breathy sigh against your mouth, his hand sliding up from the back of your neck to cradle the base of your skull, fingers tangling in your hair to pull you impossibly closer.

His lips parted against yours, inviting you in. As your tongue met his, the kiss turned hungry, desperate, and deeply consuming, the friction of your bodies pressed flushed together in the silence of the rink.

Feeling you melt completely into him, James' grip shifted down, his hands sliding firmly around your waist. With a swift move, he lifted you off the bench and pulled you flush over his lap, your legs straddling his hips.

The abrupt movement left you breathless, your chest rising and falling against his. As you settled heavily against him, the thick layers of fabric between you did little to mask the unmistakable erection pressing between your thighs. A gasp escaped your lips right against his mouth.

James groaned softly, his hands gripped your hips, palms spanning your waist to steady you, before his thumbs applied deliberate pressure, guiding your hips in a slow rhythm against his. The friction sent a dizzying wave of heat rushing straight to your core, the heavy fabric of your sweatpants dampening. Every breath felt ragged, and the pulsing thrum between your legs made it impossible to think of anything else.

Even with the adrenaline pumping through your veins, the lingering survival instinct of being in a public space finally flickered in the back of your mind.

You broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, your forehead resting against his as you caught your breath, your chest heaving. "Someone could see us," you whispered frantically between hurried kisses.

James let out a confident chuckle, his hands never slackening their grip on your waist. He didn't even slow the lazy roll of his hips beneath you.

"Yeah," he murmured, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Why? Are you shy?"

"A bit," you breathed out, your voice trembling slightly as his hips brushed against yours, sending another delicious jolt straight to your core.

James let out a knowing hum against your skin. "It doesn't look like," he teased just before he dipped his head.

His lips trailed hot kisses along your jawline, sliding down the sensitive column of your neck until he found the spot right below your ear. You let out a shaky gasp as he pressed a firm, lingering kiss there, his teeth grazing and biting softly at the sensitive flesh just enough to make your toes curl.

While his right hand kept a firm grip on your hip, keeping you locked flush against his rigid length, his left hand didn't waste any time. His fingers slipped under the hem of your hoodie and slid straight up until his warm palm made direct contact with your skin.

You shivered violently as his hand cupped your bare breast, his palm rough against the sensitive flesh. With a low, appreciative groan, he molded your tit in his hand, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your hardened nipple. The intense friction sent a sharp wave of pleasure straight to your wet core, making your hips instinctively buck down against his lap.

"God, you're so sensitive," James murmured against your throat, giving your boob a squeeze that wrung a loud moan right out of your chest.

The air in the arena felt entirely sucked away, replaced by the heavy, intoxicating heat of your bodies rubbing together in the freezing dark. Every rational thought completely dissolved under the pressure building deep inside you.

James' breathing turned ragged and shallow, hitching loudly in the quiet space between you. The roll of his hips abandoned all rhythm, turning into erratic, desperate thrusts that drove him up hard against your pussy. Each upward jerk of his lap was heavier and more frantic, the friction of your damp sweatpants against his erection sending blinding shockwaves of pleasure straight through your system.

His fingers gripped your bare breast hard, his thumb teasing your nipple as his other hand locked onto your hip to anchor you down.

James let out a guttural groan, his head dropping onto your shoulder as his movements grew wilder. The strained tension in his body and the pounding of his hips made it blatantly obvious he was right on the razor's edge, seconds away from reaching his orgasm.

The roaring in your ears slowly faded, replaced by the distant, mechanical hum of the ice rink's cooling system. As the immediate, blinding haze of adrenaline and heat began to recede, the freezing air of the arena crept back over your flushed skin, sharp and sobering.

He kept his hips moving, driving upward with an unyielding intensity, but his head lifted. His locked entirely onto your face. He watched every gasp that parted your lips, the way your head fell back, and how visibly undone you were, taking a greedy kind of pleasure in watching how much you were enjoying every single second of it.

The heavy, ragged sound of his breathing echoed off the empty stands as he chased the edge, his thumb ruthlessly dragging over your nipple one last time.

With a choked groan, James' thrust stuttered and then locked tight. His entire body went rigid beneath you, muscles cording in his arms and back as a wave of pleasure ripped through him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his ragged cries as he spent himself in his clothes, his hips grinding up against you until the last pulse of his orgasm faded away.

You blinked, your hands still resting on his broad shoulders, and suddenly, the sheer absurdity of the situation crashed down on you like a bucket of ice water.

This was weird.

You had just dryhumped James Potter on a freezing bleacher in the middle of the night. You didn't know his major, his middle name, or even if he liked coffee or tea, yet here you were, straddling his lap with your clothes completely rumpled and your heart hammering.

The rational part of your brain that had been hijacked by stress and hormones booted back online. You pulled your hands back from the messy tangle of his hair, suddenly hyper-aware of your intimately compromising position.

Clearing your throat, you shifted your weight and carefully slid off his lap, returning to your spot on the bench beside him. You hastily tugged down the hem of your shirt and hoodie, your cheeks burning with a completely different kind of heat now.

James let out a shaky exhale, leaning his head back against the cold glass partition behind the bench. He ran a hand over his face, pushing his hair out of his eyes, his chest still rising and falling heavily.

For a long moment, neither of you said a word. The silence in the arena stretched between you, thick with the glaring reality of what had just happened.

You stared down at your skate laces, completely at a loss for words.

James was the first to break the quiet, offering a sheepish grin, breaking the tension with a wry chuckle.

"So..." he started, his voice slightly raspy as he looked at you, trying to figure out how exactly one makes casual conversation after that. "Are your muscles feeling more relaxed now, or...?"

You let out a disbelieving chuckle, your fingers still nervously worrying the fraying hem of your sleeve. "No, yeah, totally, I mean..." You shake your head slowly, a reluctant smile breaking through your embarrassment. "I guess you could say it's a remarkably effective way to take the edge off stress."

James’s shoulders shook with a low, easy laugh, the playful glint returning to his eyes. He propped one elbow on the cold metal of the bleacher behind you, tilting his head with a smirk.

"Yeah? Does that mean you'd leave a five star review for my services?" he teased.

You let out soft snort, rolling your eyes as you leaned back against the bench, crossing your arms over your chest to feign a look of serious deliberation.

"Ummm, let me think about that..." you murmured, tapping a finger against your chin and squinting into the middle distance. "The benefits were undeniable, sure. But the customer service? A little forward. Inappropriate you could say."

James gasps lightly, pressing his hand over his heart, his chest still heaving slightly from the residual adrenaline.

Frowning, your hand dropped to the brass doorknob. You gave it a gentle twist, expecting it to hold firm, but with a soft click, the latch gave way.

An amused huff escaping your lips. He probably hadn't even realized he'd left the door unlocked when he came home. Figuring he was slumped over his desk with his headphones on, or zoned out in front of the television, you pushed the door just enough to slip inside.

You stepped into the apartment, kicking off your shoes and holding the takeout bag carefully so the containers wouldn't rattle.

"James?" you called out softly.

The apartment was messy in that unique way that only James could manage.

Then, cutting through the quiet, a low, strained sound down the small hallway leading to the rooms. Another sound drifted down the corridor, undeniable moans spilling out from his bedroom, muffled only by the distance.

The thought crashed through your mind. "What if he's with someone?"

Your chest tightened painfully. Of course, life had moved on. While you had been drowning in work, surviving on text messages and desperate to claw back a shred of normalcy, James had his own life, his own routine, his own private world. The realization hit you, you were just his best friend dropping by uninvited, completely oblivious to the fact that he was busy.

You squeezed your eyes shut, mortification burning hot beneath your skin. You needed to turn around right now, slip back out the front door, and pretend you had never come.

Suddenly, James' voice rang out from down the hall again, breathless and desperate.

And right on the heels of it, he groaned your name.

Your body moved before your rational mind could grab the reins, your feet carried you across the living room and down the corridor. The door to James' bedroom was slightly open.

The sight inside made your breath catch violently in your throat.

James was sitting on the edge of his unmade mattress, his broad shoulders hunched forward, his hair damp with sweat. His pants were shoved down past his hips, bunched around his thighs, leaving his erection completely exposed.

His right hand was wrapped firmly around his shaft, pumping in erratic, frantic strokes from base to tip, pre-cum glistening at the weeping slit. His wrist moved with urgency, every friction drawing a wet, slick sound from his grip that made your stomach flip.

In his other hand was his phone.

You stared, paralyzed, as your eyes flicked from his bucking hips to the device in his grasp. The screen displayed a picture of your face.

James threw his head back. His hips jerked forward into his fist, muscles straining taut across his stomach and thighs.

"God..." he choked out, his voice practically begging. He was using you as his fantasy, stroking himself while calling out your name like a prayer.

Your fingers tightened so hard around the takeout bag that the cardboard crinkled sharply in the quiet apartment, but you couldn't pull your gaze away. Every stroke of his hand, every glistening bead of pre-cum smearing along his shaft, and every gasp that tore from his throat hit you.

Seeing James like this unlocked something feral deep inside your chest.

The friction of your underwear suddenly felt too tight. Your breath hitched, shallow and trapped in your throat, as a shiver rolled down your spine, leaving you damp and aching for a friction you couldn't give yourself right there.

You were supposed to turn around, to slip back out the door, pretend you never saw this, and text him tomorrow like nothing happened.

Instead, your free hand drifted slowly down, pressing flat against the front of your jeans as a shuddering sigh slipped past your lips. And before you could blink, James' head snapped toward the doorway.

His eyes locked instantly onto yours through the gap in the door. For a fraction of a second, absolute horror flashed across his face. He froze, his dick still exposed before his brain caught up with his body.

"Fuck," he choked out, his voice cracking violently as a wave of panic and shame hit him. He scrambled backward, fumbling wildly with the waistband of his sweatpants, dragging them up his thighs and yanking them into place with frantic, clumsy haste. "I didn't-I didn't know you were coming."

Except he knew you were coming, in fact, this moment had been planned.

While you had been drowning in stress and burying yourself in work over the last few weeks, James had wormed his way into the confidence of your closest girl best friend, playing the role of the worried friend. Under the guise of just wanting to check on you, he had convinced her to feed him every single detail of your schedule.

Your friend thought she was just venting to a fellow friend who cared. But James had weaponized every piece of intelligence, he knew you wanted to surprise him with takeout, and he purposefully let his apartment door unlock just to trap you.

He let out a ragged breath, his chest still heaving as he stood up from the bed, closing the distance between you, masking the triumphant satisfaction humming beneath his skin.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, husky register as he stopped just inches away from the door, looking at you with heavy-lidded eyes. "I guess... I just missed you a little too much."

You forced your voice to stay steady. Keeping your gaze locked on the collar of his shirt rather than his eyes, you gave an awkward, defensive little shrug.

"It's okay, James, I'm the one who arrived uninvited," you said, offering an apologetic smile as you raised the takeout bag. "Just tell me where I can leave this, and I'll get out to let you finish."

A predatory shadow of a smile touched the corners of his mouth, gone before you could register it, replaced by the picture of pure innocence.

He closed the remaining distance between you, reaching out to gently pluck the plastic bag from your trembling fingers. He tossed it carelessly onto his desk.

"Are you leaving already?"

"Yeah," you muttered, stepping back. "I didn't want to interrupt you."

"No, baby, you could never," he murmured.

Before you could take another step, his hands shot out, catching you by the waist. With a pull, he dragged you straight against his body.

The impact knocked the breath right out of your lungs. Through the thin, soft fabric of his sweatpants his length was still rigid, throbbing hard against your stomach.

The searing friction sent a fresh, dizzying wave of heat flooding straight to your center, making your knees instantly weak.

"You don't have an idea of how much I've been missing you," he murmured, his breath warm against the crown of your head as his hands slid slowly down your lower back, pressing you even tighter against him.

The heat of his body radiated straight through your clothes, and with every movement, the hard ridge of his cock rubbed against you.

"I miss you too," you whispered against his chest, your fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his shoulders to steady yourself as your knees threatened to give out completely.

You tilted your head back, looking up at him. Your eyes were wide and luminous, holding all the raw ache of the weeks you'd spent apart, silently begging for something you were too proud to ask for out loud.

James caught the look instantly. His eyes darkened because he knew he had you right where he wanted you.

Slowly, deliberately, his thumb reached up to trace the line of your jaw.

"You're killing me," he whispered, his voice dropping to a rough rasp against your skin before his head dipped down to capture your lips.

The collision of your mouths wiped away every trace of hesitation. James groaned into the kiss, his lips parting yours with authority that left you gasping. His tongue swept inside your mouth, tasting you with a frantic heat. He kissed you like a man dying of thirst, his hands sliding down from your waist to grip the curves of your ass, lifting you so your hips locked flush against his.

Through the layers of fabric, his cock slid right against your soaked pussy, parting your lips and grinding deep into your aching slit. You let out a muffled, desperate whimper right against his mouth, a shiver racking your frame as your core pulsed.

"God, you're so wet," he rasped against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you.

He backed you up against the hallway wall, the cool plaster contrasting with the heat radiating off his skin. His hands moved between you, fumbling eagerly with the button and zipper of your jeans, tearing them open and dragging them down your hips along with your underwear.

The cool air hit your bare skin before James’ hot palms replaced it, cupping your ass cheeks and lifting you so your legs wrapped around his waist.

You locked your ankles behind his lower back, gasping as your bare, dripping pussy slid directly against his sweatpants.

"Please," you breathed out, your fingers tangling frantically in his hair, tugging at the strands as an overwhelming wave of heat flooded your lower belly. "James, please, I need it, I'm so fucking empty."

"I know, baby, I know," he muttered, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he hooked a thick finger down the waistband of his sweatpants, freeing his cock.

The shaft sprang free, hot and slick with pre-cum, radiating a pulse that you could feel before he even touched you. He grabbed his dick, stroking himself twice to coat the head before pressing the blunt tip against you. The friction of his skin sliding over your sensitive folds made your eyes roll back, a loud moan ripping straight from your throat.

James drove his hips forward, burying his cock deep inside your pussy in one stroke.

You cried out, your back arching hard against the wall as he filled you completely, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. He held you tight against him, his hands gripping your flesh hard enough to bruise, pounding into you scrambling every thought in your head.

"Fucking hell," James panted, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he buried himself deeper. "You feel so good... did you miss me this much, huh? Were you touching yourself thinking about my cock inside your cunt?"

"Yes… oh god, yes, James, right there!" you sobbed out, your nails digging into the muscles of his back.

As his cock hammered relentlessly inside your walls, a sudden, acute wave of realization cut through the fog of your pleasure.

He wasn't just good, he had gotten terrifyingly good.

Back when you had last been together, before the crushing weight of graduation and life pulled you apart, James had been eager, a little frantic, and wonderfully enthusiastic. But this? This was the work of a man who had spent weeks rehearsing every single angle, every friction point, and every subtle shift of weight needed to unravel you. Every driving thrust hit a depth you didn't even know you had. He knew your body better than you knew yourself right now.

"Don't you dare zone out on me," James growled into the shell of your ear.

He hooked his arms tighter underneath your thighs, lifting you a fraction higher before slamming his hips up into you.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice utterly intoxicating.

You forced your watering eyes open to meet his gaze. His eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated with a possessive hunger that made your core clench involuntarily around his dick. He watched you fall apart under him.

The transition from the blinding strobe lights and sticky floors to the dark alley happened in a blur, your back hitting the brick wall before you even registered the shift in space.

James was right there with you, pressing in close so there wasn't space left between your bodies. One of his hands slid around your waist, his fingers pressing into your hips and pulling you flush against him, while the other tangled into your hair, tilting your head back to give him better access.

You gasped, and he took immediate advantage, his tongue sliding past your lips to stroke and tangle with yours. The heat between you spiked instantly. His touch grew bolder, his palm sliding up from your hip to cup your breast, his thumb brushing against the underside of your boob before slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips burned against your bare skin, tracing the line of your spine.

You gripped the fabric of his jacket, pulling him tighter, needing more of the friction as his hips pressed hard and demanding against yours. James' grip on your waist tightened, anchoring you as he pulled you a little off the ground.

"This is not going to hurt, doll, I promise," he murmured against the sensitive skin just below your jawline.

He shifted slightly, pushing his hair back with one hand before reaching up to push his glasses up over his nose bridge.

In a fraction of a second, the playful warmth vanished, before you could say something, his head dipped. You felt the sharp graze of his teeth against your pulse point, and then, pain.

It was blinding, hot, and electric, tearing through your nervous system as his fangs punctured the delicate skin of your neck. A breathless gasp ripped from your throat, your fingers instantly flying up to fist in the thick fabric of his jacket, ready to shove him away, ready to turn and run for your life.

"Run." The thought flashed through your mind. "His fangs are going to tear my skin apart if…"

And then, the pain vanished as quickly as it came, wiped out by a sudden, heavy wave of absolute warmth. It was like being flooded by a narcotic, numbing every nerve and melting your bones from the inside out.

Your mind fogged over instantly, thoughts dissolved into a haze of pleasure. The panic in your chest evaporated, replaced by euphoria that made your eyelids droop. You tried to anchor yourself to reality, but your fingers relaxed their grip on his jacket, sliding down his chest.

James let out a satisfied hum that rumbled straight from his chest into yours, tasting you deeper. The venom blooming through your veins acted like a lock and key, turning your terror into surrender. You tilted your head, offering him more, completely lost in the intoxicating fog of the bite.

The venom blurred the edges of the alley until the rest of the world simply ceased to exist. Yet, even as the world narrowed down entirely to the press of his fangs, his hands refused to stay still.

His fingers slid down your spine, mapping the tremor in your muscles before sweeping back up to cup the back of your neck.

When your voice finally broke the thick, quiet air of the alley, it was nothing more than a broken sigh.

"Don't stop..." the words barely audible, laced with a helpless plea for him to never let this feeling end.

Against the column of your throat, you felt him smile. He had no intention of stopping, if anything, the surrender in your voice only sharpened his hunger, his grip tightened around your waist as he drank.

The heavy fog from his bite didn't just numb the pain, it numbed everything, wrapping a thick, warm blanket around your consciousness until the frantic beating of your heart slowed.

You didn't feel the dangerous drag of blood loss pulling the warmth from your limbs. You didn't register the way your weight completely abandoned your legs, leaving you entirely dependent on his arms to keep you from slumping against the pavement. To you, it just felt like sinking into the deepest sleep of your life.

James noticed the exact second your body went completely slack in his hold.

With a reluctant sigh, he lifted his head from your neck, his lips slipping free of your skin with a wet sound. A single drop of blood traced the corner of his mouth. He adjusted his glasses again, peering down at you with glowing, dilated eyes as your chin dropped limply against your chest, completely out cold in his arms.

"Careful, doll," he murmured softly into the quiet alley, a fond smile touching his lips as he easily shifted your unconscious body, pulling you flush against his chest.

Sunlight streamed harshly across your face, pulling you upward through layers of heavy, sluggish sleep. Your eyelids flicked open, and for a long moment, your brain refused to connect the dots.

You were staring up at your ceiling, tangled in the sheets of your bed.

Panic spiked, shooting adrenaline through your veins. You bolted upright, clutching the blanket to your chest, your heart hammering against your ribs. You looked down, you were still wearing the same outfit you wore at the club last night.

Did you hallucinate the whole thing?

Your mind raced, frantically piecing together the memories of the night before. The flashing lights, the crowded bar, the stranger who introduced himself as James Potter. It felt entirely too vivid, too painfully real to be a figment of your imagination, the heat of his hands, the texture of the brick wall against your back, the intoxicating rush of his fangs sinking into your neck.

Or did someone slip something into your drink?

That would explain the sudden, dizzying fog, the way your knees turned to jelly, the surreal, drug-like euphoria that melted your common sense away. People got drugged in clubs all the time; it was a terrifyingly common reality.

Or... did you just drink way too much?

Maybe you blacked out from a dangerous combination of cheap alcohol and exhaustion, letting your overactive imagination run completely wild while you stumbled home on autopilot, somehow managing to get yourself into bed.

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.

You were straddling him, your hips rolling, forcing every inch of his cock deep inside your dripping pussy. The heat between you was suffocating, thick enough to choke on. Every time you sank down, swallowing him whole, a ragged, guttural groan tore from his throat, his hands locked fiercely around your hips, fingers digging hard enough to bruise the soft flesh of your ass cheeks as he drove up to meet every thrust.

You couldn't keep quiet. You didn't want to. Every time your cunt clenched around his dick, a loud, filthy noise slipped past your lips. His head was positioned awkwardly at the foot of the bed, which meant your view was entirely open down the narrow hallway toward the main entrance of your dorm room. You always kept your bedroom door open when it was just you and your boyfriend; there was never any reason to close it with James out.

Your eyes drifted lazily toward that open doorway while your body rode him. His balls slapping against you with an obscene sound, your boobs swaying with the frantic, dirty pace of your movements.

Then, right as a particularly vicious wave of pleasure spiked up your spine, you heard it.

Over the loud, sloppy squelch of your bodies and your own moans, a metallic click echoed through the flat. The principal door was opening.

Your heart instantly slammed against your ribs like a caged animal. No. That was entirely impossible. James had explicitly stated hours ago that he wasn't coming back until the next morning. He was supposed to be across town, crashing God-knows-where, leaving the apartment completely vacant.

For a terrifying second, you froze, your core still clenching tightly around your boyfriend's cock. Your breath hitched in your throat, your eyes locked in onto the dark doorway leading out to the living room.

"Fuck," you whimpered under your breath, your body going rigid as you strained your ears to listen.

Your boyfriend, lost in the haze of lust and pleasure, didn't seem to notice the sound at all. His eyes were half-closed, his chest heaving as he thrust upward blindly, his hands gripping your waist tighter. "Keep moving, baby," he groaned, oblivious to the sheer panic freezing your veins. "Don't stop... fuck, ride it out for me, let me feel that cunt squeeze me..."

You swallowed hard. It couldn't be James. It had to be nothing. Maybe the wind, maybe a neighbor slamming their deadbolt down in the hallway, or maybe you were losing your fucking mind, entirely paranoid because of the thrill of being loud in a shared space. James wouldn't just materialize out of thin air at two in the morning.

Staring out into the dim, empty hallway where absolute silence had settled once more, you let out a shaky, nervous exhale. Your boyfriend gave a sharp, demanding thrust that buried his cock all the way to the hilt, knocking the breath right out of your lungs and drawing another moan from your mouth.

Convinced it was just your conscience playing tricks on you, and desperate to chase the high right back, you arched your back, sinking your pussy back down with a renewed, reckless rhythm, letting the terrifying thought fade away as his hands tangled in your hair and pulled you down into a deep, desperate kiss.

The lingering paranoia vanished in a second.

Just as your hips settled back into their frantic rhythm, a shadow shifted in the dim light of the open doorway. You blinked, your gaze snapping toward the frame, and your breath caught entirely in your throat.

It was James.

He was leaning casually against the molding with his arms loosely crossed over his chest. But the easy expression on his face was entirely contradicted by the bulge straining against the front of his pants.

Your eyes locked with his instantly. He didn't look angry, or surprised, or apologetic. He looked hungry.

A wicked, reckless thrill shot straight down your spine. The fear of getting caught evaporated, instantly replaced by a filthy rush. Without breaking eye contact with James for even a split second, you made a deliberate, conscious choice.

Your hips began to roll faster, your pussy sliding up and down your boyfriend with loud, obscene squelches. You threw your head back slightly just enough to arch your back, forcing your tits into full view, and let out a loud moan that was designed to James's ears.

"Oh, fuck..." you whimpered, your eyes snapping right back to James' face as you sank down onto your boyfriend with a hard bounce.

Your boyfriend groaned, completely oblivious to the third person standing just feet away, his hands gripping your waist harder as he thrust up to meet you. "Fuck, yeah... look at you, taking every inch of my cock..."

You bit down on your lower lip, your breathing turning ragged and heavy, and leaned into the movement. You started going harder and faster, putting on an absolute show for your roomie.

You kept your eyes locked on James', watching the way his jaw tightened, and the way his hand twitched toward the tent in his pants. You wanted him to watch your body writhing and begging over another man.

James leaned his weight off the doorframe, taking a step forward into the threshold of the room, bringing himself into sharper view. Without a word, he unbuttoned his trousers, pushing the fabric down his hips just enough to free himself. When his hand wrapped around his thick, weeping cock, a shiver wracked your body. He was massive, completely hard, and leaking pre-cum as his fist began to stroke up and down.

Every single drop of rational thought in your brain burned away. Knowing that James was standing right there, stroking himself off to the sight of you being fucked, pushed you over the absolute edge of sanity.

You let out a high whimper, your core clenching around the dick buried deep inside you.

"F-fuck..." you gasped out, your voice trembling as your eyes darted from James' hand pumping his cock to his burning gaze.

Your boyfriend, still completely oblivious, misinterpreted your erratic movements as pure ecstasy. A growl vibrated in his chest as his hands dug deep into the flesh of your hips, anchoring you to him.

"That's it, baby," your boyfriend groaned, his eyes rolling back as he drove his hips upward in a vicious, blindingly fast thrust that rattled your teeth. "Look at you... squeezing me so tight... you're taking my whole dick like a greedy whore..."

Hearing those filthy, degrading words while your eyes remained locked on James, who was stroking himself faster now, his breathing turning ragged as he watched your tits and the wet mess between your thighs, shattered your last shred of restraint.

You threw your head back, letting out a loud shriek of pleasure. Your hips completely lost all control, bouncing up and down on your boyfriend's shaft.

James' hand moved faster along his shaft, his knuckles white as his grip tightened, a low, guttural curse slipping past his teeth as his eyes devoured the sight of your sweaty body.

The sheer sensory overload of the moment, the frantic friction of your boyfriend's cock pounding deep inside your pussy, combined with the filthy sight of James standing in the doorway jerking himself off, pushed your nerves past its absolute limit.

Your core locked down hard, every muscle in your body spasming violently around your boyfriend's shaft as wave after wave of shattering pleasure ripped through you. Your back arched hard, your tits bouncing with every tremor, and you threw your head back, your mouth flying open to scream.

Right at the peak of the climax, as the first loud, ecstatic cry tore from your throat, the name slipped past your lips completely unfiltered.

"J…"

You bit down on the rest of it, swallowing the end of his name into a choking gasp, but the damage was already done.

Your boyfriend didn't even process the slip. His brain was entirely fried by the grip of your cunt milking every last drop out of him. With a guttural sound, he buried his cock all the way to the hilt inside you, his hips locking tight as he shot his hot load deep into your womb.

And the exact second your boyfriend's body went rigid in climax, James lost his last shred of control.

James' hand pumped furiously up and down his heavy shaft. His eyes rolled back as his own streams of cum erupted out of him, shooting in white ropes across the floor and over his own trembling fingers. He slumped heavily against the doorframe, his chest heaving, breathing like a marathon runner, completely drenched in sweat.

The remaining strength left your limbs entirely. With a soft sigh, you collapsed forward, your damp forehead and chest pressing directly against your boyfriend, his arms wrapping weakly around your back to hold you flush against him as he tried to catch his breath.

For a long moment, you lay there in the quiet aftermath, eyes half-closed, listening to the synchronized sound of your breathing filling the silent room.

The fog of the climax began to clear, replaced by an unsettling chill.

You lifted your head, blinking away the sweat stinging your eyes, and turned your gaze toward the doorway.

The doorframe was completely empty.

The hallway outside was pitch black, dead silent, and utterly alone. There was no puddle of cum on the floor and no lingering trace of James anywhere in the apartment. Your stomach plummeted into a cold, sickening freefall.

Had you imagined everything?

When it comes to James, I've always felt like his preferences lean heavily into the nuances of power dynamics. In my opinion, he is totally into breeding and free use, not just for the physical aspect, but bc there's something so intensely consuming about him wanting to completely overwhelm his partner, marking and claiming them.

With a lot of dirty talk, but it's usually way less about degradation and more focused on praising his partner, worshiping how they feel, and letting them know exactly how amazing they are.

While I think he’s definitely a dom, he's more than willing to flip and be a sub if his partner asks for it, purely because he wanted to make sure they feel incredible and completely satisfied.

And I think he's 100% the type to be into agoraphilia, exhibitionism, and katoptronophilia (enjoying mirrors and watching reflections). Why? Just bc James loves to show off, and he gets an absolute rush out of the thrill of almost getting caught.

As for my fav to write for him? Maybe exhibitionism🙂‍↕️

Getting past the venue security that night had been pure luck. The bouncer at the entrance had been momentarily distracted by some manager shouting about missing rider cases, leaving the side door wide open for just three seconds. That was all it took.

James had spotted you within ten minutes of walking into the suite.

You had been standing near a corner bar, nursing a drink and trying to look like you belonged. It wasn't the first time your eyes had locked but tonight was different.

James had smoothly detached himself from a group of people, crossed the room with unhurried steps, and leaned down close to your ear.

"I'm getting out of here," he had murmured, his voice low and vibrating with a sharp, magnetic intensity that made your breath catch. "My room is up on the fourteenth floor. Think you can find your way there?"

You had barely made it through the door before James had you pressed against it, his mouth bruising against yours, hands already gripping your hips, desperate, like he had spent the entire evening watching you from across the room and wanting nothing more than this.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest heaving, hair wrecked, and that smirk plastered across his face.

"You want to know what else these incredible hands can do?" he rasped, his voice rough and dipping low as his fingers slid instantly down between your thighs, finding you slick.

With one fluid motion, he pushed two fingers deep inside your wet pussy, stretching you open as a ragged gasp tore straight from your throat. Your hips hitched upward instinctively, chasing the pressure of his knuckles, but he held you against the wood of the door, his thumb dragging over your swollen clit.

His dark eyes locked onto yours as he curled his fingers inside you, working them in and out. Every flex of his palm against your sensitive flesh sent a wave of pleasure up your spine, leaving you completely undone against his touch, at the absolute mercy of what those hands could do to you.

Pinned to the hotel room door, every part of you was hyper-aware of his presence, the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and vodka, and, above all else, the devastating skill of his hands.

His fingers moved with a practiced, ruthless precision inside you, curling and sliding against your inner walls, driving you completely out of your mind. You could feel every shift of his palm, and the hypnotic cadence of his touch. It was as if he was playing your nerves like the thick strings of his bass, plucking, pressing, and building the tension higher and higher until your knees felt entirely hollow.

A breathless, ragged gasp tore from your throat, swallowed instantly by his mouth as he kissed you hard. Your fingers clawing desperately into the muscles of his forearm, not trying to push him away; you were holding on for dear life, gripping him as an anchor to keep from completely losing your balance.

He knew exactly how fast to stroke, exactly when to hook his fingers upward to rake against your most sensitive spots.

If you had been crazy about him before tonight this was a whole new level of ruin. Standing there in the dimly lit hotel suite, completely unraveled and dripping wet around his hand, you knew there was no going back. From this moment on, you weren't just crazy about James Potter; you were going completely mad.

The contrast of the rough pads of his fingertips against your velvet flesh was maddeningly intense. Every time he pushed deep, filling your pussy to the absolute limit, he’d slide his knuckles outward just enough to stretch your lips wide before plunging back in with a wet, echoing slap of skin against skin.

"Is this better than you've imagined?" he murmured against your mouth, his voice dropping into a gravelly hum.

You forced your eyes open, your vision blurring around the edges as he sped up his pace, driving his fingers in quick, punishing thrusts that had you arching off your feet. He wasn't gentle; he tracked the rhythm of your breathless moans, using his other hand to grip your hip, locking you in place so you couldn't escape.

With every stroke, his middle and index fingers stretched your wet heat wider, riding the slick, hot folds of your vulva until you could feel the heat radiating straight from his palm against your entrance. He pressed his thumb down harder on your clit, flicking it in circular motion that sent a violent shockwave straight up your spine.

"Tell me honestly," a pleased grin breaking across his face as he felt you begin to tremble and tighten around him. "Are you getting everything you wanted out of this, or do you need me to use more?"

Your chest heaving as the intensity of his touch threatened to tip you right over the edge. You couldn't even form a coherent sentence, your mind entirely hijacked by the slide of his fingers and the brutal, sweet pressure on your clit. All you could do was nod frantically against his shoulder, your fingers digging deeper into his forearm while a ragged, broken sob of pleasure slipped past your lips.

"Thought so," he chuckled, his thumb grinding against your sensitive flesh right as he hooked his fingers deeper. "You look so fucking good falling apart for me like this."

No one was fool enough to make the two of you spend seven minutes in a tight closet together; murder could be one of the safest things to happen behind that door. Besides, this game was nothing more than an excuse cooked up by Sirius to finally corner Remus and make out with him, so no one dared to push the issue. James muttered something unintelligible under his breath, leaning back against the sofa and tossing a stray peanut shell at your head, while you casually flipped him off, settling back into your seat as the game awkwardly moved on.

The bass from the living room rattled the floorboards under your sneakers, vibrating right through the linoleum of the upstairs hallway. You leaned your shoulder against the wall, the screen of your phone glowing brightly in the dim light as you tapped out a rescue text to your roommate.

Get your car around front rn, I'm begging u, you typed.

Before you could hit send, a shadow fell over you. A hand landed on top of your head, fingers casually ruffling your hair.

"I didn't mean it that way," James said, his voice dropping into a raspy register.

"Right, because 'I'd prefer to shoot myself' is universally known as a term of endearment," you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Come on," he muttered. "It wasn't about you. It was about... us. Everyone in that room already treats us like a ticking time bomb. I just didn't want to deal with the commentary."

"So, your brilliant solution was to humiliate me instead?"

"I didn't humiliate you; you launched an attack back!" He let out a short laugh. "Besides, you told me to bring a gun. Harsh, by the way."

"You deserve it," you muttered.

James stepped closer, trapping you between the wall and his shoulder, his eyes dropping briefly to your lips before locking back onto your eyes.

"For the record," James’ voice softening, "if it hadn't been a room full of people staring at us... I wouldn't have minded the closet at all."

You let out a disbelieving huff, leaning your head back against the wall. "I don't know what kind of sick joke this is, but…"

"It's not a joke," he cut you off.

His hand moved from your head, trailing down the side of your neck before sliding lower, coming to rest right at the edge of your skirt. Your breath hitched, the casual sarcasm dying on your tongue. The pads of his fingers brushed against the skin of your thigh.

"You don't have an idea," James murmured, his gaze dropping to your mouth and then back up, "of what seeing you in these fucking miniskirts you always wear does to me."

His thumb traced a slow circle against the hem of the fabric, right where it sat high on your leg.

"James..." you started, the protest sounding weak even to your own ears.

"I've spent the entire night watching every single guy in that room look at you," he interrupted again, leaning in until his forehead nearly grazed yours, his breath smelling faintly of whiskey and mint. "And every time you cross your legs or laugh at one of their stupid jokes, I want to tear this entire house apart just to get you alone. To be inside you filling that pretty pussy with my cum."

You didn't even think before shot your hand, your fingers tangling into the curls at the nape of his neck. You yanked him toward you with desperate, hungry violence, crashing your lips against his.

The moment your mouth met his, a guttural grown tore from the back of his throat. His hands sliding from the hem of your skirt up to your hips, and he hoisted you right off the floor.

Your legs automatically parted, wrapping tight around his waist, locking your ankles together behind his back. Even through the heavy layers of denim and the thin fabric of your clothes, you couldn't miss the rigid, heavy outline of his cock pressing hard and demanding against you.

The friction alone made your breath catch, a sharp gasp escaping into his mouth. James took full advantage of the opening, his tongue plunging past your lips.

You pushed back a fraction, breaking the kiss just enough to drag in a ragged breath of cool air. "James..." you whispered.

He hummed a low sound against your collarbone. "Mmm?"

"Someone could see us."

"And that's a problem because...?" he murmured, a wicked, teasing lilt slipping back into his voice, though his hands never loosened their grip on your hips.

And before you could formulate a reply, he started backing down the dimly lit hallway without stopping kissing you, planting open-mouthed kisses across your jawline, sliding down the sensitive curve of your throat, and dragging hot, wet friction right over the neckline of your top.

He navigated the hallway entirely by muscle memory, his boots shuffling backward until his shoulders hit the heavy wooden door of a bathroom. With a swift twist of the knob, he shouldered it open, plunging the two of you safely away from the party downstairs. He kicked the door shut behind him with a dull thud, locking it with a sharp click that echoed loudly in the small space.

Without missing a beat, James set you down right on the edge of the porcelain sink, stepping seamlessly into the space between your thighs as they fell open around his hips.

You looked up at him through your lashes with wide eyes, your teeth sinking nervously into your lower lip.

"Stop doing that," his voice dropping to a rough whisper as he stepped in even closer, trapping you between his arms.

"Doing what?" you murmured, a defiant challenge lacing your tone.

"Looking at me like that," James replied, his hands sliding up your thighs, bunching the fabric of your mini skirt higher with every inch.

His mouth crashed down onto yours again, harder this time, swallowing your breath as his hands found bare skin, gripping your hips with an urgent heat.

"You want me inside you?" James pauses enough to pull back a bit, his heavy-lidded eyes searching your face.

"Yeah..." the word slipping past your parted lips like a confession.

Then James's hands moved with sudden speed to the waistband of his jeans to unbuckle his belt and popped the button open, shoving the denim down along with his boxers. He freed his cock, the heat radiating off him filling the space between you as he stepped even closer, slotting himself perfectly between your thighs.

His gaze locked onto yours as his hand slid between your thighs. He hooked his fingers into the delicate fabric of your panties, shoving the damp fabric aside. Without breaking eye contact, he brought his other hand up, pressed two fingers against his lips, and coated them with a thick drag of saliva and drove them straight inside you.

You were already so achingly ready for him that his fingers buried deep with zero resistance, stretching and filling you in a way that made your toes curl.

James groaned as he hooked his knuckles upward, finding that sensitive spot against your front wall. He began to move his fingers, curling them just right while his thumb found your swollen clit, rubbing a circle that instantly sent wild shocks racing straight up your spine.

He took his fingers out of you, making a desperate whimper slip past your lips, leaving you suddenly feeling empty. Then James grabbed the base of his cock, guiding it right to your entrance. He pressed the thick head against your slick, trembling folds, teasing you with slow strokes that rubbed his heat against your sensitive clit.

"Open for me," he muttered against your neck as he dragged the tip up and down, coating himself in your wetness.

You parted your thighs wider, gripping his shoulders. He gripped your hips tight, aligned himself with your core, and drove forward, burying his length completely inside you in one deep, seamless thrust.

The sheer fullness of him stretching you open ripped a wrecked gasp from your throat. Your heels dug hard into his back, locking him against you as his dick filled you to the absolute hilt.

James threw his head back, his eyes slamming shut as your walls clamped down around his length. For a second, neither of you moved.

Then James’ eyes snapped back open, dark and feral with hunger.

"God, you're so fucking tight," he panted. "Exactly where you belong."

He set a brutal, relentless pace, sliding in and out of you with wet, echoing slaps against your thighs that drowned out the muffled music thumping from downstairs.

"Fuck," James growled. "I want to fill you up so deep. I want you completely soaked in my cum."

The sheer, overwhelming force of his words hooked straight into the most primal part of your brain, overriding thought, reason, and every last shred of pride you had left.

"James, please, fill me," you sobbed out, the words tearing past your lips in a broken, desperate plea. "Please, God, fill me up…"

His eyes dilated until the irises were nearly black, burning.

He choked, his hips stuttering mid-thrust at the sheer devastation of hearing you beg for it. "You want my seed inside you? You want me to fill this pussy right up to the brim?"

He didn't wait for an answer, already knowing what you'd say, already needing to hear you scream it again. He abandoned any semblance of a gentle rhythm, his large hands sliding down from your hips to grip the flesh of your ass, lifting you an inch off the porcelain just so he could slam you back down onto his cock with a devastating impact.

The angle shifted instantly, his length hitting a spot so deep and agonizingly sensitive inside you that your entire body arched violently against him.

"Look at me," James commanded. "Look at me and tell me whose cunt is this?"

"Yours… James, yours," you wailed, your thighs trembling as he continued to pound into you.

"That's right," his chest heaving against yours, sweat slicking his skin and dripping from his hair to land on your collarbone. He slowed the pace down just enough to be torturous, burying himself to the absolute hilt, holding himself entirely still inside you for a agonizing second before dragging his cock back until only the tip remained, only to shove it back with a heavy slide that stretched your walls to their absolute limit.

"I'm going to breed you," his lips pressing fierce, bruising kisses down your jaw, tasting the salt of your sweat. "Every time you think about tonight, every time you pull on one of these skirts and walk past a room full of guys, you're going to remember that you belong to me. You're going to feel my cum leaking down your thighs, reminding everyone who looks at you exactly who owns this tight hole."

James was panting hard, his breath coming in gasps that ghosted over your ear as he hammered into you with an obsessive rhythm. Every single nerve ending in your lower body was screaming, stretched to its absolute limit, buzzing with tension that refused to snap, keeping you hovering right on the jagged edge of a violent breakdown.

"James… I'm… fuck, I'm right there," you sobbed, your fingers clawing blindly at his shoulders.

Hearing you was all it took to sever the final thread holding his restraint together. A ragged, animalistic cry tore from the bottom of his lungs, his entire body going rigid as his hips locked against yours, burying himself to the absolute hilt inside you.

A hot, thick wave of his seed blasted deep inside your core, shooting straight against your cervix in pulsing gushes that you could physically feel filling you up. He threw his head back, a broken groan rattling out of his chest as his orgasm tore through him, his cock pulsing and throbbing, flooding you with every single drop of his release.

Yet, even as his vision blurred and his own climax shook him down to the bone, James didn't stop. His hands gripped your hips with vice, holding you securely anchored to his pelvis so you couldn't escape. Even as he spasmed, his hips kept moving.

He had to make sure every single ounce of his seed stayed shoved deep against your womb.

"Stay still," he panted against your skin as he drove himself into you again, forcing his cum deeper. "Don't move. Let me fill you. Let me make sure you're dripping with me."

The sensation of his still-throbbing length grinding inside you while he continuously pumped his release further inside pushed you right over the edge. Your vision went completely white. Your inner muscles violently clamped down around his dick, milking every drop out of him as your own orgasm tore through you, your back bowing while you wept his name into the damp skin of his neck.

James stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, refusing to pull away even as his initial rush subsided into a dull throb. Slowly, with a reluctance that seemed physical, he began to slide out of you.

The movement was accompanied by a soft, wet sound, and the moment he withdrew, a thick line of his warm cum immediately spilled over your swollen lips, tracking a path down your inner thigh.

A dark and utterly satisfied smirk touched the corners of his mouth.

You were face buried into the sheets, your hips high in the air, your ass completely exposed to the merciless rhythm he was driving into you. Every heavy thrust of his hips slammed your pelvis down into the mattress, rattling your teeth and turning your brain to absolute mush. He had you spread wide open, his cock stretching you, sliding in and out of your pussy with smacks that sounded loud in the room.

You bit down hard into a pillow to muffle the desperate whines tearing up your throat, but a breathless gasp slipped out anyway.

James' eyes darkened instantly, his casual posture vanished. The hand resting on his hip clenched into a fist, his knuckles turning white as he yanked you back by your hips, burying his dick so deep inside you that you felt it right against your cervix.

"James? You still there, mate?" Peter's voice crackled through the phone. "Did you catch that about Manchester?"

James swallowed hard, his throat working visibly as he locked his gaze onto your back. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, but when he opened his mouth to speak, his voice came out impossibly steady.

"Yeah, Pete. I'm... I'm listening," his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. He waited a beat, letting out a slow breath, before driving his hips forward making your whole body jolt.

"So fucking tight," James hissed, his hips stuttering mid-thrust before he slammed back into you with twice the force, relishing the way your back arched under him. "You like taking my thick cock like a good little whore? Look at you, dripping wet and begging for every single inch."

You let out a muffled, high-pitched squeak into the bed, your toes curling. Your pussy clenched around him, James nearly choked on his own spit after a low groan tore from the back of his throat, slipping past his lips before he could catch it. He cursed under his breath, leaning down so his mouth was hovering just inches from your ear.

"Fuck… James, stop, please…" you whimpered into the mattress, your fingers clawing desperately at the duvet.

"Stop what?" James taunted, his hand dropping from his hip to snake around your waist, his fingers digging brutally into your flesh. He sped up, each wet, heavy slap of skin against skin sounding like thunder in the room. "You wanted this, sweetheart. Now you're taking every drop of my cum deep inside your guts, and you're gonna stay quiet while you do it."

On the speaker, Remus paused mid-sentence. "James? Was that... are you with someone? Sounded like a noise."

James looked over at the phone, his eyes flashing with thrill, before he looked back down at your body.

Instead of answering, James reached down between your legs, his fingers wrapping around your clit and pressing down while he shoved himself all the way to the hilt inside your soaked pussy.

You let out a loud, unrestrained cry, your back bowing violently as your vision went completely white.

"Nothing, Remus," James managed to say. He had to clear his throat twice, his free hand gripping the headboard so hard the wood groaned under his grip as he accelerated into a furious, unbroken rhythm. "Just... dropped something. Go on. I'm right here."

"Right, well," Remus muttered, sounding slightly confused but moving on. "Anyway, about the equipment truck..."

James tuned them out completely. He grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking your head back just enough so you had to look at him as he drove into you harder, faster, completely losing his mind.

Through the speaker, Remus' voice droned on, "...so if we can get the transport sorted by midnight, we won't have to deal with the morning traffic, James? You still there, mate?"

James didn't answer, he couldn't. His hand was clenched tight in your hair, holding your head back at an angle that forced your flushed face to look at him. His chest heaved with ragged, shuddering gasps, his glasses sliding halfway down the bridge of his nose.

"James!" Sirius suddenly barked through the speaker. "Are you ignoring us? Answer your damn phone!"

The sudden interruption made James' jaw clench. Instead of backing off, James shifted his weight, his thick thighs pressing your legs wider apart. He hooked his arm under your stomach, hoisting your hips up even higher so he could get a deeper angle.

"I'm here," James bit out, clearing his throat, forcing a conversational tone as he looked right at the phone across the room while simultaneously burying his cock to the absolute hilt inside your soaked, clenching walls. "Just... multitasking."

You let out a choked-off gasp, your hands flying up to grip the edge of the mattress as you squeeze your eyes shut.

"Multitasking?" Sirius snorted over the line. "Right. Look, just tell us if you're coming down to the lobby for dinner or if we should order now. We're starving."

"Order... whatever you want," James panted, the steady facade cracking just a fraction as his breathing turned shallow and ragged. He leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over your ear, his voice sinking into a filthy whisper meant only for you. "I'm busy... with my favorite groupie taking every inch of my heavy cock like a greedy little whore... aren't you, sweetheart?"

"J-James, fuck..." you whimpered into the sheets. "They're gonna hear you... please..."

"Let them," James hissed darkly, he didn't care about the call anymore; all that mattered was the heat of your body squeezing him. "Let 'em hear what happens when you play games with me. You wanted my attention, didn't you? Now you've got it, cunt."

"James?" Remus cut in again, sounding distinctly suspicious this time. "Was that... did someone else just speak? What is going on in that room?"

James didn't even bother looking at the phone. He drove his hips forward with a brutal thrust that wrung a loud cry right out of your lungs, the sound echoing unmistakably through the speaker.

The words hung in the air between you for a second.

You stared at him, your brain scrambling to piece it together. James Potter because that, as you would find out moments later, was his name, did not look like the type of guy who watched porn.

As he shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other, catching the scent of stale beer and cheap liquor rolling off him, it all clicked into place. The drinks had clearly given him the reckless strength to actually walk up and speak to you, a feat he probably would have died of mortification attempting while sober.

"Right," you murmured, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as the reality of the situation washed over you. "Small world."

James had been so impossibly flustered when you asked for his Instagram right there, his hands shaking slightly as he handed over his phone. The real kicker had come a second later when you looked at the screen and saw his account already sitting right there on your profile's follower list.

You had waited a whole day before messaging him. That single text had snowballed into weeks of endless late-night conversations.

What had truly captivated your attention during your talks was discovering that he enjoyed both taking control and relinquishing it. In a world where so many guys box themselves into rigid stereotypes, finding a man comfortable enough to embrace that duality was rare. It added a delicious layer of anticipation.

Now, exactly a month later, your apartment looked like a professional production studio.

Ring lights and softboxes stood like sentinels in the corners of the room, casting warm, strategic glows across the space. The bed was neatly made with fresh sheets, and your primary camera was mounted firmly on its tripod, angled precisely to capture the best angles. Every detail had been carefully prepped, down to the wireless mics resting on the bedside table.

10:05 PM. He was five minutes late.

You let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the edge of the mattress as a quiet wave of disappointment settled in your chest. Despite all your weeks of texting and planning this exact collaboration, the stark reality of James's crippling shyness rushed back to you. The bold, confident flirtations he managed through a phone screen were a far cry from walking into an apartment with a camera setup and a professional creator waiting to film content together.

The nerves must have finally gotten the better of him, you thought, watching the hallway door out of the corner of your eye.

Thirty agonizing minutes had ticked by. Convinced he had chickened out and retreated back; you had abandoned the setup altogether. Too exhausted and annoyed to tear down the ring lights or put away the tripod, you had simply flopped onto the living room couch in a shirt, completely giving up on the evening's plans.

You were mindlessly doomscrolling through TikTok, when the abrupt, sharp chime of the doorbell sliced through the quiet apartment.

You froze mid-scroll, your thumb hovering over the glass screen. You stared blankly toward the entryway, your heart giving a sudden, unexpected jolt.

You toss your phone onto the cushions, letting out a breath and pad across the hardwood floor to the entryway. You twist the lock and swing the door open, ready to either scold him or comfort him depending on how terrified he looked.

Before you can even get a word out, James blurts out, "I'm so sorry, traffic was a real hell."

He’s standing there clutching the strap of a heavy backpack, his dark hair even messier than usual, anxious hands and cheeks flushed pink.

A smirk slips past your lips, dissolving the lingering irritation.

"You're lucky you're handsome, come in," you tease, stepping back and holding the door wide to let him pass.

James steps across the threshold, but he halts dead center in your living room like a deer caught in headlights. He stands there rigidly; the strap of his backpack clutched tightly in both hands as if it were a shield.

"You can breathe, James. The interrogation room is further down the hall," you murmur with a soft, amused huff.

He offers a sheepish smile, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch, though he still looks frozen in place. "Right. Sorry."

You lean back against the closed door, crossing your arms lazily over your chest as you study him.

"Well, traffic wasn't the only thing that made you a half-hour late," you point out gently, a teasing edge to your tone. "Are you going to tell me you sat in your car for twenty minutes trying to psych yourself up?"

A deeper flush spreads up the back of his neck, creeping past the collar of his t-shirt, and he has the grace to look away, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Maybe," he admits. "I panicked. Not about... you know, us, or what we talked about doing. Just the reality of it all hitting me once I pulled into the driveway. It felt weirdly real."

"It is real," you reply, your voice softening just a touch as you push off the door and take a few unhurried steps toward him. "Which is why we aren't rushing into anything. You're allowed to take a breath."

You stop just a few feet away from him. He looks down at you through those frames, his chest rising and falling beneath the soft fabric of his shirt.

"You want something before we head back there?" you ask, tilting your head toward the hallway leading to your bedroom. "Water? A drink to settle the nerves? Or do you just want to stand here and let your heart rate go back to normal?"

"Water? It's fine, I just need to calm a little," James says, his voice carrying that familiar, breathless edge as he finally lets his backpack slide off his shoulder and drop to the floor.

He runs a hand through his hair, pressing his palms against his eyes for a second as if trying to physically reset his nervous system.

You step a little closer, the distance between you closes until you can hear the slight hitch in his breathing. It’s endearing, watching a guy who spent the last month talking a very smooth, very commanding game over text completely unravel the second he's standing in your space.

"Take all the time you need," you murmur, reaching out to gently catch his wrist, pulling his hands away from his face so you can meet his gaze. "No pressure. We go at whatever speed keeps you from fainting."

A small, genuine smile breaks through his tension, the deep flush in his cheeks fading to a softer pink. He lets out a long, ragged sigh, his shoulders finally dropping as the reality of the moment starts to settle in.

"Okay," he whispers, his eyes locking onto yours.

You slip away to the kitchen, filling a glass with cold water from the fridge before heading back down the short hallway.

When you re-enter the living room, James is still standing in the exact same spot, practically glued to the floorboard.

A low chuckle escapes your lips as you hold out the glass toward him. "You can sit down, you know?"

James blinks, looking down at his feet as if he only just realized he hasn't moved an inch. A self-deprecating groan slips out of him, and he rubs the back of his neck, finally letting his rigid posture collapse into something a little more human.

"Right, sorry," he mutters, taking the glass from your hand. He sinks down onto the edge of the couch. "I swear I'm usually functional in public. My brain just decided to short-circuit the second I walked through your door."

"Honestly understandable," you say with a soft laugh, taking seat on the coffee table right in front of him so you're at eye level.

You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees as you watch him take a slow sip of the water. Up close, the panic in his eyes softened, replaced by a quiet, simmering focus that feels entirely intentional.

"We don't even have to touch a camera tonight if you aren't ready," you add, your tone teasing yet genuinely reassuring. "We can just hang out, order some food, and let you get used to the fact that I'm a real person."

James lowers the glass, a faint, lopsided smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. The shyness is still there, but under the surface, the confidence is starting to wake up.

"As tempting as free food sounds," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave as he holds your gaze, "I didn't drive all the way out here just to stare at your living room rug. Give me another minute, and I'll show you I'm not entirely useless."

You nod, a litle smile playing on your lips as you lean back and retrieve your phone from the cushions. You swipe open your socials, letting a few minutes drift by in silence to give him the space to decompress.

After a short while, the movement beside you stops.

"Can I see the setup?" James asks, his voice steadying out.

You look up from your screen, surprised by the shift, and find him watching you.

"Sure," you say, setting your phone aside and standing up. "Right this way."

You lead him down the short hallway and push open the door to the bedroom you've transformed into a studio. The glow from the softboxes spills out into the corridor. The camera on its tripod stands ready, the ring light casts a clean, flattering halo, and the fresh sheets on the bed look crisp and inviting.

James steps inside, his gaze sweeping over the equipment and the space with genuine appreciation.

"It's... impressive," James murmurs, his voice a low, appreciative hum as he straightens up and glances back over his shoulder at you. The tentative shyness is practically gone now. "You weren't kidding when you called this an interrogation room."

He turns fully to face you, leaning his hip casually against the edge of the dresser.

"So," James continues, a slow, predatory warmth creeping into his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest, "Now that I've passed inspection... do I get to know how you usually direct things around here, or are you going to make me work for it?"

A slow, deliberate curve of your lips replaces your amusement, the air in the small studio thickens instantly as the playful banter snaps taut. You don't break eye contact with him as you reach for the hem of your shirt. With a fluid motion, you pull the fabric up and over your head, tossing it onto a nearby armchair.

Beneath it, your skin catches the warm wash of the softboxes, framing a meticulously chosen set of pastel pink lingerie. You step closer, closing the distance he had so carefully maintained, until you are standing right in his personal space.

Your gaze tracks upward, locking onto his eyes, watching the exact moment his breath catches in his throat. His chest rises sharply, and his hands, which had been loosely crossed over his chest, tense against his sides.

You lift a hand, your fingers tracing lightly up his forearm before resting against his collarbone, feeling the hammering thud of his pulse beneath his skin.

"Start to take your clothes off," you murmur, your voice dropping to a low, commanding register.

For a fraction of a second, the sheer weight of the command hangs suspended in the quiet room. Then, James's throat barks a dry swallow. His gaze darkens, burning with an intense hunger as he reaches up, his fingers suddenly steady and deliberate, and grips the hem of his shirt to pull it off over his head.

Without the rumpled cotton hiding his frame, James isn't just conventionally attractive; he is built with sculpted muscularity. Broad shoulders taper down to a sharp, defined chest, framed by taut abdominal muscles and the clean lines of a V-line disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

"Well," you breathe out, your eyes tracing the sharp expanse of his shoulders and the flex of his arms as he lets his hands drop to his sides. A low, appreciative hum vibrates in your throat.

A dark, knowing smirk touches the corners of his mouth. He steps forward, closing the remaining inches between you until his chest nearly brushes against your frame, looking down at you with an intense heat.

"Like what you see?" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, losing all its previous hesitation. He reaches out, his large hand wrapping firmly around your waist, his thumb tracing the delicate lace of your lingerie as he pulls you flush against him.

"Don't run, pretty boy," you murmur, a low, wicked challenge slipping past your lips.

You don't give him a second to recover before your fingers find the metal button of his jeans. With a quick flick, you unbuckle his belt and slide the zipper down, your touch deliberate and heavy. He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands immediately coming up to rest on your shoulders, fingers gripping the delicate straps of your lingerie just tight enough to ground himself.

"Off," you command softly, stepping back just an inch to give him space.

With his jaw clenched and his eyes locked entirely onto yours, he kicks off his shoes and pushes his jeans down, stepping out of them and his remaining clothes with swift, fluid efficiency.

Before he can take control, you step in close again. You reach up, lacing your fingers firmly between his, locking your palms together so he has nowhere to put his hands except where you want them.

With a slow, purposeful tug, you pull him backward toward the bed, guiding his weight down until the edge of the mattress hits the back of his knees. He sinks down onto the sheets, looking up at you with dilated eyes.

You release your grip on his hands, taking a step back to let the cool air rush into the space between you. James sits on the edge of the mattress, his chest still rising and falling heavily, his eyes tracking your every move.

Without breaking eye contact, you turn on your heel and move. First, you step up to the primary camera on the tripod, tapping the screen to ensure the framing is wide and clean, capturing the entirety of the bed. Next, you walk over to the small, discreet side-angle camera mounted near the bookshelf, checking the lens to make sure it catches the headboard. You press record, the tiny red light blinking softly. Finally, you adjust the foot-of-the-bed camera, fine-tuning the focus so every detail is crystal clear. You hit record on the third and final device.

You turn back around slowly, leaning your lower back against the edge of the dresser. You cross your arms loosely over your chest, letting your gaze sweep over him from head to toe.

"All rolling," you say, your voice carrying a smooth, honeyed edge that cuts cleanly through the quiet hum of the studio. "Now... let's see how well you handle being the center of attention."

You close the distance between you. James stays completely still on the edge of the mattress, his broad shoulders squared and his chest rising and falling in sharp, erratic stutters. He looks up at you through those round, fogged-up glasses, his eyes wide and blown out with pure desire.

You stop right between his knees, your thighs brushing against his hips.

"Good boy for waiting," you murmur, your voice a low, honey-sweet whisper.

You lean down, capturing his lips in a deep, bruising kiss. It’s hungry and heavy, tasting of the lingering water and the raw, racing adrenaline of the night. James lets out a low, ragged groan into your mouth, his hands shooting up instantly to grip your hips, his fingers digging desperately into the lace of your underwear. He tries to tilt his head, trying to pull you closer, to take the lead, but you pull back, leaving him breathless and chasing the friction.

"Ah-uh," you whisper against his trembling lower lip, a fond, wicked smile curving your mouth. "Not yet. Hands where I can see them."

With a soft, apologetic stroke of your thumb against his cheek, you slide your hand down his chest. Your palm drags across the hard planes of his stomach, tracing the sharp, defined line of his V-line, right down between his legs.

Your fingers wrap firmly around his cock.

James’s head instantly falls back, a choked gasp tearing straight from his throat. The sheer contrast of your sweet, adoring smile paired with the rough, greedy way your hand immediately starts pumping him sends a violent shiver straight down his spine.

"Fuck," he chokes out, his hips jerking upward to chase the friction of your palm, his body craving the rough treatment even as his mind spins. "God, you feel so fucking good, fuck, don't stop."

"So needy," you tease softly, your thumb pressing down hard against his sensitive tip, smearing his pre-cum across his shaft as your hand strokes him. "And all hard for the cameras."

Hearing those words tumble from your lips while your fingers stroke him shatters whatever control he has left. James’ eyes roll back behind his glasses, his chest heaving as he grips the edge of the mattress so hard his knuckles turn stark white. His cock twitches inside your fist.

"Yes… I'll do anything," he pants, his voice cracking into a broken whisper as he stares up at you. "Use me however the fuck you want."

You watch the way his jaw clenches, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief. His cock throbbing in your grip as the pre-cum slicks his entire shaft.

And right as the desperate whimper catches in his throat, right as his body tenses like a coiled spring, ready to snap and spill all over your fingers and the pristine sheets, you instantly pull your hand away.

James gasps aloud, his eyes flying open behind his fogged-up glasses, wide and disoriented. He arches off the mattress instinctively, chasing your hand with a frustrated groan, his cock twitching uselessly in the empty air.

"Wait… no, please," he stammers.

You offer him a soft, incredibly sweet smile, your fingers gently brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from his damp forehead.

"Ah-ah. Not yet," you murmur, your voice dripping with honeyed cruelty. "We've got three cameras rolling, and you don't get to finish until I say so. Understood?"

He swallows hard, his chest heaving as he nods frantically. "Yes."

"Good boy," you whisper. "Now... lay for me, could you?"

James doesn’t hesitate for a second. He immediately drops his shoulders back, sliding down the mattress until his entire frame is completely flat against the bed. You crawl up his body, moving over his torso. You straddle his hips, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his thighs, before sliding forward until your pussy hovers directly over his face. The heat radiating off him washes over your skin, sending a delicious shiver straight down your spine as you look down at the man who, an hour ago, couldn't even walk through your front door without panicking.

The moment your swollen folds hover just inches above his mouth, a low, ragged groan vibrates deep in his chest. He wants to reach up, wants to grab your hips and pull you down to devour you like a starving animal.

"All obedient for me," you reach down, your fingers tangling roughly in his dark hair to anchor him in place, tilting his chin up. "Let's see how much you want it."

You lower your hips just an inch, letting your slick brush teasingly across his lips.

He instinctively darts his tongue out, catching a single drop of your fluid before you pull back slightly, denying him the full taste.

"Hey," you scold softly. "Don't rush me. Open wider."

His chest heaves, his cock twitching wildly against his stomach. He opens his mouth wide, his tongue trembling and ready.

A soft, approving hum vibrates in your throat.

You lean down and gently slide his glasses off the bridge of his nose. You set them carefully on the nightstand beside the bed. Without them, his hazel eyes look even more wide, vulnerable, and completely exposed.

You don't give him a second to adjust, you drop your weight entirely, pressing your pussy against his mouth.

His hands flying up from the sheets to instantly grip your hips. His tongue sweeps up, parting your slick folds and mapping every inch of your sensitive flesh.

You lean back slightly, bracing your hands against his thighs, the friction of your hips grinding against his mouth becomes heavier, your weight pinning him entirely to the mattress as the pressure builds.

"Keep going, pretty boy," you whisper.

His tongue flicks faster, tracing your most sensitive nub with precision while he sucks hard, drawing you into his mouth as if he can drink you down entirely. Your internal muscles clenching and unclenching in frantic, involuntary spasms.

The pressure inside your core reaches a boiling point, tightening until the air feels thin and your vision blurs at the edges. With a breathless gasp that catches right in your throat, you shatter completely.

Your entire body seizes, waves of intense pleasure radiating outward from your core as you ride out the peak of the orgasm. Warm, fragrant fluid floods directly over his lips and chin, soaking into him as it spills across his face in a hot, messy torrent.

James takes it all without a single flinch of hesitation, his eyes squeezed shut as he swallows. He laps greedily at the flood, his tongue swirling against you to catch every single drop of your release.

You look down at him, his chest heaving, his face slicked and glistening with your juices, his cock throbbing heavily and completely ignored against his stomach, and let out a slow, breathless, wicked laugh.

"Look at you, all messy and ruined," you purr, your fingers gently tangling back into his dark hair, offering him a sweet, adoring smile. "So perfect for the cameras."

You pull yourself off his face, your skin slick and hot, and slide your weight back down his body until you are straddling his waist. You lean down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, tasting yourself on him before pulling back. You reach down, your fingers wrapping around his heavy shaft and giving it a slow, deliberate stroke that makes him hiss through his teeth.

"You've been so good and obedient for me," you murmur as you look right into his eyes. "Now... let's see how well you handle being in charge."

You let go of him entirely, shifting your weight back and sitting squarely on your heels near his thighs. You raise your chin, crossing your arms loosely under your breasts to push them up, offering yourself to him.

"Show me what you've got. Take me."

The moment you give him the reins; his hands shoot out with terrifying speed. Before you can even draw a full breath, his hands grip the delicate fabric of your bra. With one brutal yank, the seams tear apart, sending the delicate straps snapping against your collarbones. The last barrier of fabric is instantly obliterated, leaving your breasts completely exposed.

He lunges forward, his hands slamming onto your waist with bruising force, hauling you flush against him. His mouth crashes down onto yours stealing the air straight from your lungs. His teeth nip sharply at your lower lip, tasting the defiance in you just before his palm sweeps up, cupping your tits roughly and rolling your hardened nipple hard between his fingers.

He flips you onto your back, his shoulders and frame pressing you deep into the mattress.

"All talk when you're in control," he growls. "But look at how fast you break when I take over."

Without waiting for a response, he drops his weight down, pinning your hips between his thighs so you have nowhere to move. He positions himself between your thighs, his cock pressing hard and hot against your entrance, he curls his hands around your thighs, hauling them up and over his shoulders. The angle forces your hips up off the mattress, entirely exposing you to the red blinking lights of the three cameras.

Before you can even draw a sharp breath, he drives forward in one deep, merciless thrust. The sheer size of him stretches you instantly. He pauses for a second, his chest heaving as he watches the way your eyes roll back and your fingers claw into the bedsheets.

"So tight," he murmurs, a dark, wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he looks at you. "You like this, don't you? You like it when I take what I want."

He pulls back almost to the hilt and slams back into you, harder this time.

Every single thrust is deep and punishing, driving you further into the mattress while his hands grip your hips leaving marks against your skin. Every muscle in his shoulders and back flexes and strains with each brutal drive, sweat dripping from his chin to land on your chest.

You were trying desperately to match his frantic energy as the pleasure builds into a blinding, white-hot haze once more.

" Look at the camera," he pants. "Show everyone whose bitch you are right now."

He leans down, his chest crushing against your boobs, his breath fanning across your ear as he pours a steady stream of filth straight into your mind.

"Look at you, shaking apart," he sneers, his voice dripping with a vicious, intoxicating mockery that completely erases the sweet, doting persona he wore just moments before. "You thought you were in charge, didn't you? You thought you could play with me, tell me what to do, and put me on display for your little cameras."

He pauses only to withdraw almost entirely before slamming back inside you with a brutal thrust that draws a high-pitched, helpless shriek from your lips.

"Look at the lens," he commands, his fingers digging into your jawline, forcing your head to turn toward the blinking red light of the primary tripod camera. "See how pathetic you look underneath me? You're nothing right now. Just a wet, greedy little cocksleeve begging for a real man to fill you up."

The humiliation is a blinding, white-hot narcotic. Every derogatory word he spits out acts like fuel on a fire. The cameras are capturing every single second of it, the tear slipping from the corner of your eye, the way your chest heaves in defeat, the red marks blooming across your hips where his hands grip you.

"Please," you gasp out, your voice cracking into a pathetic, desperate whine as you stare directly into the camera. "I'm your bitch… fuck me harder, use me..."

The second climax hits you like a physical shockwave, tearing a ragged, breathless scream straight from your lungs as your internal muscles lock down around him. Your back arches instinctively off the mattress, your fingers clawing desperately at the sheets and digging deep red crescents into his sweat-slicked shoulders as your body completely unravels under the sheer intensity of the release.

He knows exactly what he has you reduced to, an overstimulated mess and entirely at his mercy. The second orgasm isn't a relief; it's a sensory overload, leaving your nerve endings raw, buzzing, and aching.

Instead of slowing down or giving your exhausted body time to recover, he weaponizes your oversensitivity. He catches your hips in a brutal, iron-clad grip, anchoring you completely beneath his heavy frame as he shifts his weight. Then he drives back into you with a slow, deep thrust that hits every single one of your raw, pulsing nerves at once.

The friction against your newly desensitized flesh is intense, a borderline-painful pleasure that makes your toes curl and your entire body shudder uncontrollably.

"Too much?" he taunts softly, his breath hot against your ear. "Are you too sensitive now, slut?"

He forces your head back toward the primary camera, ensuring the red indicator light catches every tear welling in your eyes, every desperate gasp escaping your parted lips, and the helpless way your body twitches beneath his weight. He picks up his pace again, driving into you. Every single slide of length sends waves of overstimulation crashing through your core, keeping you trapped in a perpetual, agonizing state of hyper-awareness where every inch of friction feels like fire.

"Please," you whimper, your voice broken as you shake your head against the mattress, completely overwhelmed. "I can't... it's too much, stop…"

"Stop?" James scoffs as he buries himself deeper inside you with a crushing thrust. "We're not stopping until I say so. You're going to take every single drop of this, and you're going to stay right here looking pretty for the camera while I ruin you."

He doesn't just ignore your plea; he completely dismantles the last of your resistance by changing tactics entirely. Instead of the rhythm he was holding, his hips go completely still for a second. The sudden absence of friction leaves your raw, hyper-sensitive nerves screaming. Before your brain can even process the shift, he reaches down, sliding a hand between your bodies to find your clit.

Your eyes roll back in your head, your back involuntarily bowing off the mattress. He starts moving again, slow grinds that stretch you to your absolute limits, paired with circles of his thumb against your overstimulated flesh.

The three cameras capture the brutal perfection of your unraveling; the way your jaw goes slack, the desperate, silent plea in your tear-filled eyes, and the helpless, rhythmic twitching of your thighs as you try, and fail, to pull away.

"You're completely fried," he murmurs, sounding utterly intoxicated by your ruin.

Your vocal cords feel shredded, capable of little more than a pathetic, broken whimper as you stare blankly at the red recording light, entirely powerless beneath the weight of a man who has completely broken you down.

The sadistic pace he is keeping up is entirely designed to break you down. Every millimeter of his thick length dragging against your over-sensitized walls feels like friction burn, yet your body betrays you, clenching desperately around him with every agonizing rotation of his hips.

James watches your face tracking every expression of your defeat. The sight of you completely undone, breathing in shallow, shuddering gasps, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, and skin flushed a deep, mottled crimson, only fuels his frenzied momentum.

"Look at you," he breathes out, his voice cracking with a sudden, violent surge of his own approaching climax. "So wrecked. So mine."

With a final, shattering shift in his restraint, James abandons the slow torture. He wraps both hands around your waist, his fingers digging deep enough to bruise, and he begins to hammer into you with an unrelenting fury.

He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his chest heaving wildly as his own climax reaches its breaking point.

With a guttural cry, his body locks up, and he floods you completely, pulse after pulse of his seed driving deep inside you. The sheer warmth of him filling you pushes you right over the edge into a third, hollow, echoing spasm, your fingers slipping helplessly from his back as your eyes flutter shut.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the heavy arm draped over your waist, you slipped out from beneath the sheets. The cool morning air hit your skin immediately, making you shiver. You were only wearing one of James' shirts which hung mid-thighs.

You had roughly twenty minutes before you needed to leave for your first lecture across campus, and the last thing you wanted was to run into Sirius.

Kneeling on the floor, you began your hunt for the clothes you had haphazardly shed the night before. You fished your jeans, found your socks tucked inside your boots by the door, and even managed to locate your bra draped over the back of the armchair.

But your panties were nowhere to be found.

You retraced your steps, patting down the sheets, peering under the edge of the mattress, and thoroughly shaking out the discarded trousers. Nothing.

Behind you, there was a sudden rustle of fabric, James shifted, letting out a sleepy groan as he rolled onto his side, blinking against the morning light.

"Morning," he propped his head up on one hand, his eyes tracking you as you stood there, holding your jeans. "Class?"

"James," you whispered, pointing down at the empty floorboards. "My underwear. It's gone."

James blinked, slowly waking up as he looked from your panicked expression down to the floor, and then back up to you standing in his oversized shirt. The gears in his head slowly turned, realization dawning before an amused grin spread across his face.

"Which ones?" he asked, his eyes were too bright, with an irritating, playful mischief that made you want to throw your boot at him.

"What do you mean? James, you perfectly know which ones," you hissed, crossing your arms. "You took them off last night."

With a slow movement, James didn't even bother denying it. He propped himself up on one elbow, reached his hand under his pillow, and pulled out a small, lace-trimmed piece of fabric.

"Just a souvenir," he said smoothly, holding it up by the very edge between his thumb and forefinger with a smirk.

"You're the worst," you groaned, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes.

"I know I am," he replied, not sounding the least bit apologetic as he tossed the silk back onto the mattress, keeping it safely just out of your reach.

"Give it back."

"No... I like them," he murmured, his gaze dropping down to your legs before locking back onto your face.

"Fuck, James, I have to go right now," you whispered fiercely, glancing nervously toward the bedroom door. You could hear a faint clatter coming from the hallway, the distinct sound of a cupboard door closing downstairs, meaning Sirius or Remus was definitely awake and moving around.

And, I mean, you could perfectly dress in the rest of your clothes without panties and you could technically walk out of the room. But did you want to? Absolutely not. The thought of walking all the way across campus commando was entirely out of the question, a sensorial nightmare you had no intention of enduring.

"Alright, alright," James chuckled softly, finally pushing the duvet back. He sat up, the morning light catching the lean line of his shoulders and the traces of the night before. Before you could lunge forward to grab them yourself, he caught your wrist, pulling you down onto the edge of the mattress.

"Stay five more minutes," he whispered, his thumb lightly stroking the inside of your pulse point. "Let me walk you to the door."

"I can't," you breathed, shaking your head even as the warmth of his thumb against your pulse threatened to melt away all your resolve. "Sirius is already up, I heard him in the kitchen. If he catches me leaving your room looking like this..."

"Let him," James murmured. "I can handle Sirius."

"Well, I can't," you shot back.

With a sudden, lightning-fast lunge, you abandoned all pretense of negotiation and dove across the bed, your hand clawing toward the pillow where he'd tossed the lace.

You were fast, but James was faster.

With a laugh, he whipped his hand back, sweeping the small piece of fabric up and holding it high over his head. Because he was sitting up and broad-shouldered, and you were half-straddling his lap with your weight braced against his chest, the angle was completely impossible.

"Hey! No fair!" you protested, planting a hand flat against his warm chest to steady yourself as you stretched upward, your fingers grasping at thin air just inches from his fist.

"Very fair," James teased, looking at you with triumph written all over his handsome, stupid, messy-haired face. He didn't make a move to push you off; instead, his free hand came up to rest securely against your lower back, keeping you right where you were.

Downstairs, a voice shouted something unintelligible, followed by the clatter of a kettle hitting a burner.

James rolled his hips upward, the sudden friction sending an electric jolt straight up your spine and you felt the heavy, undeniable heat of him pressing directly against your bare center, already hard.

A quiet, involuntary gasp slipping past your lips as your fingers instinctively dug harder into the solid muscle of his chest.

"We are not..." you managed to choke out, though your voice lacked any real conviction, fracturing entirely as he shifted again, a slow grind that made your knees weaken.

James didn't say a word, he just let out a low, satisfied hum that vibrated right against your stomach.

With his hand still anchored at the small of your back, he pulled you flush against him. Downstairs, the muffled sound of Sirius dropping a mug echoed through the floorboards.

"I want to make it completely fucking clear that I hate you," you muttered, the words losing all their venom the second a sarcastic smile broke across your face.

You didn't hate him. God, you didn't even come close, and he knew it.

Instead of pulling away or trying to wriggle off his lap, you shifted your weight, leaning down closer. With a slow, deliberate movement, you brought one hand up to your mouth, parting your lips just enough to spit right into your palm, the wet heat of your saliva glistening against your skin.

James' breath hitched, his eyes darkening as he watched you, his fingers tightening instantly against the small of your back.

"Fucking menace," he breathed out.

Without breaking eye contact, you slid that hand down between your bodies, wrapping your fingers firmly around his throbbing cock. You gave it a couple of strokes, feeling the hot skin bunch beneath your palm as he let out a groan that rattled right in his chest. His hips twitched upward, chasing the friction, desperate for more, but you held him in place just long enough to torture him.

Positioning the tip right against your pussy, you lined him up with your hot, aching entrance. The heat of him pressing right at your sensitive folds made your head spin, every single thought completely evaporating from your brain.

"If Sirius walks in right now, I swear to God…" you whispered, glaring down at him with a breathless smirk.

"He won't," James rasped, his gaze locked entirely on your mouth, his hands sliding to cup your ass beneath the hem of his shirt. "Drop down, baby."

You sink down onto him in one fluid, breathless motion, taking every single inch of his cock deep inside until you hit the absolute limit of your core. A loud, ragged gasp tears itself straight from James' throat, his head slamming back against the pillows as his eyes roll back.

Leaning forward with your hands against his chest, right over his frantically pounding heart, you start to move. You grind your hips down in circles, letting the friction sear every sensitive nerve ending inside your aching walls. James groans beneath you, a raw, filthy sound, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of your ass cheeks, bruising and pulling you down harder against him every time you dip.

"Fuck... yes, right there, holy shit…" he pants, his voice cracking, completely losing his cool as you pick up the pace.

Switching from the circles, you lift your weight slightly and start jumping, riding him with a rhythmic bounce that rattles the bedframe against the wall. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the quiet morning air, wet and loud, completely reckless given who is just downstairs. Every time you drop down onto his shaft, it hits you so deep, stretching your pussy wide and sending electric shocks of pure pleasure.

James is matching you now, his hips bucking upward in violent jerks that throw off your rhythm entirely, driving his cock up inside your dripping hole. He reaches up, his large hands gripping your waist so hard it's going to leave bruises, guiding you, forcing you to take him even harder, even deeper, until you are both completely out of your minds, panting and swearing.

"I think you're not leaving soon," James panted, a smirk breaking across his flushed face as he caught your hips mid-air and slammed upward, burying every single inch of his dick deep inside you.

The heavy, breathless friction completely scrambled your brain, making your toes curl inside your socks as a sharp, blinding wave of pleasure ripped straight through your core. Your tits bouncing against his chest with every roll of his hips, the fabric of his shirt doing nothing to hide the agonizingly good friction of your sensitive nipples.

"Shut the fuck up," you gasped, your voice breaking as you tried to steady yourself, riding him faster despite the sounds of Sirius clattering around in the kitchen. "I am going to fail this class because of you."

He hooked his hands under your ass, spreading you wider and taking total control as he bucked upward into your clenching heat over and over again, driving you both straight off the edge.

"I... think... this is totally... worth it," he panted, the words breaking apart as another brutal, upward thrust sent you spinning completely out of orbit.

Your pussy clenching violently around him. You couldn't even form a coherent sentence anymore, your hands gripping his shoulders so hard your fingernails bit deep into his skin as your internal muscles started to spasm.

James saw it coming, he always did, and he pinned your hips in place and drove himself deep inside you one last time, holding you flush against him as he spilled himself inside your aching walls.