The first hour of the potion had been a lesson in discipline, a rigid structure of clockwise stirs and precise temperature control. Now, the second hour was unfolding with a different kind of tension, one that felt less like a textbook and more like a physical weight. Draconia watched the way the liquid in the cauldron simmered, the surface unbroken and perfect, while Harry stood just a fraction too close to her. His warmth was a constant presence against her side, a heat that seemed to radiate through his robes and into her skin. She kept her eyes on the stirring rod, pretending to be absorbed in the rhythm of the movement, but she was acutely aware of the way his gaze lingered on the curve of her neck.
"The liquid is turning a darker shade of jade," Harry said, his voice low and slightly rough. He was watching the cauldron, but he was also watching her. "It is exactly one hour since we started."
"It is," Draconia replied, her voice steady despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs. "Precision is the only thing that matters in this lab. If the timing is off by even a minute, the entire batch is lost."
"You are never off by a minute," Harry murmured. He moved closer, his shoulder brushing hers as he reached for a jar of dried beetle eyes. "You are never late, and you are never wrong."
"That is a heavy compliment to give a woman who is currently covered in soot and potion residue," she said, turning to face him. She did not pull away from his touch. Instead, she leaned into the small space between them, letting the heat of him settle into her.
Harry did not look at the jar. He looked at her mouth, which was still slightly damp from the conversation they had held an hour ago. He reached out, his fingers brushing the underside of her jaw, tilting her head back so she had to look up at him. His touch was hesitant, a stark contrast to the bold way he had handled the ingredients.
"You are playing a game with the timing," he whispered. "Everything in this room is measured, but you feel like you are waiting for something to break."
"Nothing is going to break, Harry," she lied, her breath catching as his thumb traced the line of her lower lip. "The potion is stable. Everything is under control."
He moved his hand from her jaw to the back of her neck, his fingers tangifying with the loose strands of her hair. He pulled her forward, and then his mouth was on hers, a hard, hungry collision. Draconia let out a small, muffled sound against his lips, her hands coming up to grip the front of his robes. The taste of him was sharp and heady, a distraction from the sterile scent of the dungeon. He pushed her backward, her spine meeting the edge of the wooden workbench, and he stepped between her thighs, forcing them apart.
He reached down, his hand fisting in the fabric of her skirt, and pushed the cloth upward until he found the silk of her knickers. He didn't wait, his fingers sliding inside the wet heat of her cunt, finding her clitoris with a brutal efficiency. Draconia gasped, her head falling back against the stone wall as he began to fuck her with his fingers. He drove two fingers deep into her pussy, the friction making her hips jerk upward in a desperate search for more.
"Harry," she breathed, the name a plea and a command all at once. "The cauldron... it needs a stir every ten minutes."
"Let it burn," he groaned, his voice a low vibration in his chest. He began to pump his fingers in and out of her, the wet, slapping sound of his hand against her soaking wet slit filling the quiet space. He was fucking her with his hand, his fingers curling inside her to find the sensitive walls of her cunt. Draconia felt the pressure building, a tight, frantic coil of sensation that was winding tighter with every stroke.
He leaned down, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of her throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He moved his hand lower, his thumb rubbing circles around her clitoris while his fingers worked deep inside her. Draconia felt the first wave of the climax approaching, a shimmering, frantic heat that threatened to consume her. Her muscles tightened around his fingers, the walls of her pussy pulsing around his knuckles.
"You are so close," he whispered against her skin, his voice thick with a sudden, sharp desperation. He increased the pace, his fingers driving in and out of her cunt with a rhythmic, punishing speed. "I can feel you shaking. Fuck, Draconia, you are so tight."
She reached for his trousers, her fingers trembling as she fumbled with the fastenings. She needed the weight of him, the solid, blunt reality of his cock to ground her. She managed to pull the fabric down, freeing his thick, turgid member. It was hot and heavy in her hand, the head of his cock slick with pre-cum. She guided him to her, the blunt tip of his cock pressing against her soaking wet slit, before he drove himself inside her with a single, powerful thrust.
The sensation was overwhelming. The fullness of his cock stretching her open, the way it hit the deep, sensitive spot inside her, made her vision blur. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her p licked skin sticking to his. He began to fuck her with long, heavy strokes, his hips slamming against her pelvis with a dull thud. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of her pussy was a wet, rhythmic slapping that echoed in the small workspace.
"Harder," she choked out, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Don't stop. Just... keep going."
He obeyed, his movements becoming frantic and primal. He was lurching into her, his cock a hot, heavy rod that seemed to reach all the way to her stomach. Draconia felt the peak approaching, the sensation of his cock rubbing against her internal walls driving her toward a shattering release. She could feel her cunt clenching around him, the muscles of her pussy spasming in anticipation.
"That's it," Harry growled, his eyes dark and blown wide. He was working her with a fierce, single-minded intensity, his thumb working her clitoris even as his cock filled her. "Come for me. Give it to me."
The tension snapped. A violent, pulsing orgasm crashed through her, her pussy clamping down on his cock in a series of tight, rhythmic contractions. She cried out, her body arching as the pleasure exploded behind her eyes, a white-hot flare of sensation that made her entire world narrow down to the feeling of his cock inside her.
But then, just as the first wave of the climax reached its zenith, Harry abruptly pulled out.
The sudden emptiness was a physical ache. Draconia felt the air hit her wet, sensitive cunt, the sensation of being suddenly hollow and unfulfilled. She gasped, her breath coming in ragged-edged sobs as the orgasm died in her throat, leaving her unraveled and aching. He didn't finish; he didn't let her reach the end. He simply withdrew, leaving her shivering and half-spent on the bench.
The silence of the dungeon rushed back in, heavier than before. The cauldron continued to simmer, the green liquid bubbling steadily as if nothing had happened. Harry stood over her, his chest heaving, his eyes watching her with a look of both triumph and confusion. He looked down at her, at the way her legs were still trembling, at the way her pussy was leaking a slow trickle of moisture onto the wood.
He reached out, his hand hovering near her thigh, but he did not touch her again. He looked at her as if she were a riddle he could not quite solve.
"Why?" he asked, his voice a low, wounded rasp. "Why did you stop?"
Draconia reached up,