The steam rose in thick, white plumes from the mouths of the brass taps, filling the vast room with a humid heat that clung to the skin. Draconia stood by the edge of the great marble basin, watching the way the moisture gathered on the golden fixtures. The air felt heavy and wet, making every breath a conscious effort. Water trickled from the running taps, splashing into the deep, steaming pool of the bath below. The sound of the water was a constant, rhythmic drumming against the marble, a sharp contrast to the silence that usually occupied the corridors. She felt the heat settling into her bones, a dull ache that matched the tension in her shoulders.
He moved through the mist like a ghost, his silhouette blurred by the density of the vapours. Harry did not approach her immediately; instead, he stood by the edge of the pool, his hands resting on the rim of the bath. His skin looked pale against the dark, polished stone. The heat of the room made his hair damp, a few strands sticking to his forehead. He watched her with an intensity that made the skin on her neck prickle. Every movement he made was slow, deliberate, and entirely focused on her.
"You came," he said, his voice low and roughened by the dampness of the room.
"I did not think you would stay," Draconia replied, stepping closer to the edge of the water.
"I told you what would happen if you stayed silent," he reminded her. "The choice was yours."
"I am not good at choosing," she admitted, her voice sounding small against the roar of the running water.
"Then choose now. Do you want me to be a secret, or do you want me to be gone?"
"Both," she whispered, though she knew the answer was a lie.
"You cannot have both," he said, stepping into her space until the heat of his body competed with the heat of the steam.
He reached out, his fingers brushing the damp skin of her arm. The contact was electric, a sharp jolt of sensation that made her breath hitch in her throat. He pulled her toward the edge of the bath, his hands moving to the fastenings of her robes. The fabric was heavy and damp, sliding off her shoulders to pool on the marble floor. He did not stop until she stood before him in nothing but her thin chemise, the white fabric clinging to her breasts in the humidity.
Harry knelt before her, his eyes fixed on the way the moisture made her skin glisten. He reached for the hem of her chemise, pulling the silk upward until it was bunched around her waist. He pushed the fabric higher, exposing her thighs and the dark, wet curls between them. He watched her closely as he slid two fingers into her pussy, testing the slickness of her heat. He found her cunt was already wet, dripping with a clear, sweet fluid that coated his fingers. He pushed deeper, stretching her as he moved his hand in a steady, rhythmic motion.
"Tell me what you want," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "Do not just stand there and let me do it."
"I want you to fuck me," she said, the words coming out in a rush of heat.
He stood, stripping his own clothes away with efficient, hungry movements. His cock was already hard, a thick, pulsing length of flesh that stood straight against his lower belly. He was pale and lean, his muscles taut as he stepped toward her. He grabbed her hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of her waist, and hoisted her up. Draconia wrapped her legs around his waist, her thighs gripping his hips as he guided his head toward the junction of her thighs.
He pushed the head of his cock against her slit, rubbing the tip against her wetness. The sensation was sharp and dizzying. He pushed harder, forcing his way inside her. Draconia gasped, her head falling back as he buried his length inside her pussy. He began to thrust, his hips striking her with a dull, wet sound. He fucked her with a brutal, rhythmic intensity, his cock sliding in and out of her tight, hot interior. The friction was immense, the heat of her cunt wrapping around him like a glove.
"Look at me," he hissed, his fingers digging into the meat of her buttocks as he drove into her.
She opened her eyes, staring into the dark intensity of his gaze. He was fucking her hard, his movements heavy and unrelenting. He pushed himself deep inside her, his cock hitting her cervix with every heavy lunge. Draconia felt the build of a climax deep in her belly, a tightening that made her want to scream. He pulled back almost entirely, only to plunge back in, his cock slick with her juices and his own sweat. The sound of him fucking her was loud in the vaulted room, a wet, slapping rhythm that echoed against the marble.
"More," she whimpered, her nails scratching at the muscles of his back. "Harder, Harry."
He obeyed, his pace quickening until he was a blur of motion. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against her breasts, his mouth finding the curve of her neck to bite and suck. He drove his cock into her again and again, the sensation of his thick shaft filling her completely. She felt the pressure mounting, the build of the orgasm making her muscles quiver. He reached down, his hand finding her clitoris, rubbing the swollen nub through the wetness of her skin as he continued to fuck her.
The friction was perfect, a sliding, sliding heat that drove her toward the edge. He was fucking her with a desperate strength, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps. Harry’s eyes were wide, his expression one of pure, unadulterated hunger. He thrust one last time, burying himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing inside her. The sensation was too much, and Draconia felt her cunt convulse around him, the walls of her vagina squeezing his cock in a tight, rhythmic grip.
He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, as he began to come. He thrust deep, his hips slamming against her, and then he went still as he pumped his cum into her. She felt the hot, thick jets of his semen hitting the back of her throat, a sensation of fullness that made her weep. He stayed inside her, the warmth of his cum spreading through her as he finished, his breath heavy and ragged against her skin.
They stayed there for a long time, the steam swirling around them as the initial heat of the act began to settle into a dull, heavy warmth. The water continued to splash in the bath, the sound a rhythmic reminder of the passage of time. Harry pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her damp back, his face buried in the crook of her neck. He was breathing steadily now, the tension having left his body as much as it had left hers.
The silence of the room returned, but it was different than before. It was no longer a void, but a space filled with the aftermath of their collision. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes searching her face for a reaction, for a sign of regret or a sign of triumph. He waited for her to speak, for her to name the feeling that was currently unravable in her chest.
The word *please* is nearly used and is not.