Snape didn’t know how much time they had spent there, simply recovering, but finally his sense returned to him. Taking a deep breath, he rolled off of her and onto his back, and after tucking himself back into his underclothes, he scowled unpleasantly at nothing in particular.
“That was…unwise,” he said, “very, very unwise.” His fingers were laced upon his bare stomach, and his robes fanned out about him.
Jane, who had settled herself between him and the sofa’s back cushions, was in a far better mood, and wearing a languid smile. Then she sighed, a long and very satisfied sigh that only exacerbated Snape’s pique.
“Absolutely…” She nodded with feigned seriousness. “We must never under any circumstances do it again…” Then she ran a finger across his chest, circling each of his nipples in turn.
Snape had never thought of his nipples as particularly erogenous, but her touch was feather-light, and he felt them tightening into pleasured wrinkles. She had begun a descent down his breastbone to Lord only knows where when he caught her wrist.
“What on earth are you doing?” he demanded.
Jane merely blinked at him with an innocence that most definitely was not feigned. “Touching you.”
Snape made a noise that sounded distinctly like a ‘harrumph’. “Indeed!” he said. “I’ll have you know that any other woman would have been highly insulted by my comment and run me off, probably hurling expletives!”
Jane raised an eyebrow. “Was that your intention? Do you want me to run you off?”
“Telling the truth was my intention,” he said, dropping her wrist. “But I was under the impression that in such situations telling the truth is ill-advised.”
“Why should I be insulted?” she asked, stretching again, as her spine made a couple of satisfied popping noises. “Your desire for me completely overwhelmed your innate sense of restraint. And since you are the most restrained man I know, I take that as a compliment. Thus, as your attitude has nothing to do with me or your most obvious enjoyment of the experience, I have no reason to take offense.”
Damn! Must she be so bloody reasonable?
Jane did, however, follow this announcement with a look of slight condemnation. “But I would appreciate it if you would stop frowning. A man who had just made such wonderfully passionate love has no business frowning.”
His frowned deepened. “I fail to see how you could have taken any enjoyment of the act,” he said. “I certainly wasn’t thinking about what you wanted.”
“You weren’t thinking at all, which was quite the loveliest part.” She closed her eyes and smiled again. “And stop frowning,” she added.
Snape’s voice was as admonitory as he could summon under the circumstances. “I am frowning because I take this matter seriously, and am currently quite concerned about the ramifications of our actions. After this…incident…”
“The sex, you mean,” Jane interrupted.
“Yes,” he snapped.
She was all smiles again, and sighed, “Terrific sex. Brilliant sex. Just lovely.”
“I am not suggesting otherwise,” Snape said crossly.
But her smile had turned positively beatific, now. “Beautiful, gorgeous, warm wet wonderful sex…”
“Yes I know. I was there, if you recall. And may I say that your constant babble about the excellence of the sex is not making this easier.”
Jane suddenly looked at him archly. “Is not making what any easier?”
Snape clenched his jaw and said nothing.
“Oh, I know…” she continued, “you were about to tell me how for both our sakes this had to be a one time thing, that we succumbed in a moment of weakness, and probably you were also going to add something about how we have jobs to do and thus we must forget this…incident…" and at this her voice lowered into a rather serviceable imitation of his "and plod stalwartly and dutifully through life, stiff upper lip and all that, et cetera, et cetera…”
Which was, of course, precisely true. “You neglected to mention the potential for embarrassment,” Snape grumbled.
She thought for a moment. “Oh, well that’s what I was going to bring up, actually.” Her hand had found his chest again, and Snape raised an eyebrow at her.
“I mean, carrying on an illicit affair with a colleague would hardly be good for my career,” she explained. “This isn’t exactly the positive image I want to send to young, impressionable female minds, either. When unmarried men are discovered to have illicit sex lives, it boosts their reputation. When unmarried women are discovered to have illicit sex lives, as they invariably are, well…there are some choice words that are often used. None of them nice ones.”
“Exactly…” Snape said, albeit without conviction. Her fingers were tracing little curlicues under his collarbone, now.
Jane was staring off into space, lost in thought, almost as if she were attempting to explain the situation to herself as well as to him. “But…well…I don’t suppose in the end that people can account for this sort of thing,” she said. “Sometimes one just must just be unwise, I guess. I can’t remember wanting any man enough to be such a fool about him before. But I can’t say I’m sorry, either.”
Now her fingers were at the cup of his ear, following its curves, and then following the line of his jaw. The odd part was that she seemed to be doing this absently as she talked. It was not an act of seduction at all. Her tone as well was completely conversational, and she wasn’t even meeting his eyes.
Snape could not have prepared himself for such an assault, and his service under the Dark Lord had prepared Snape for nearly anything. Lies. Pain. Treachery. Death. Voldemort had been a consummate dissembler, with a highly trained aptitude for providing pain. Thus Snape was entirely ill-equipped to deal with Jane’s utter openness, and most especially ill-equipped to deal with her seemingly instinctual need to give and receive pleasure.
“I swear if you hadn’t made love to me I would have tracked you down and forced myself on you,” she said, “and when you…when we…well…it was…it was…” she struggled with the words to describe it. Snape, who was capable of waxing poetic himself when the occasion called for it, was lost for words himself.
“Well I thought I’d fly apart at the end,” she said softly at last, slinging a thigh over him.
Snape thought that was exactly how it felt, and he found himself warring with the impulse to pull her under him and make love to her again, slowly this time, slow enough to make her beg. She would writhe and plead under him as he held her down, as he savored her with excruciating precision. Then he would watch her face flood with pleasure as he gave her everything she’d been begging for.
But he did not do this of course. Instead he decided to scowl, which was his all-purpose response to practically everything. Then her finger traced down his breastbone to his belly, tracing circles around his navel, the fingernail barely grazing the skin.
In a last-ditch attempt to avoid what was beginning to look like the inevitable, he forced himself onto his elbows. And he was actually preparing to swing his legs out onto the cold stone floor and stand when, even in the half-light, he noticed that in the extremity of his passion he had left some rather telltale signs of his ardor. A garland of red marks was blossoming on her throat, and the bite mark on her shoulder…it would bruise fairly badly, he thought. Hell if he hadn’t broken the skin, just a bit. And her hips and her thighs…there would be bruises there as well.
“I’ve hurt you,” he said matter-of-factly, and he did sit up then, but only to pull out his wand. He was about to murmur an incantation, when she put her hand on his arm.
“I’m not a hothouse orchid. I don’t want you to heal them.”
“But you will bruise, and the bite on your shoulder…”
“I hope there’s a lovely scar…” she said, giving him a half-smile, and running her fingers tentatively over the marks.
“But I did not mean to…”
She had taken his hand now. “Of course you didn’t,” she said softly, tracing the lines on his palms with her index finger, “which is why I want to keep them.”
Snape’s voice was almost a whisper. “I don’t understand that at all.”
“Yes you do, Severus,” she said, looking into his eyes, “of course you do.”
And in her eyes all there was stay stay make love to me again stay, and all the while her index finger mapped the soft pad at the base of his thumb, the place Snape had once read was called the “Mount of Venus.” It was aptly named. But by now Snape thought there was not one patch of skin on his entire body, no matter how small or neglected, that she could not call to exquisite attention.
“If I stay I will regret it,” he said, his voice sounding husky in his own ears, “and so will you.”
She laughed then, a clear, genuine laugh, which was quite a surprising sound to him indeed.
“I’ve no doubt of that,” she agreed, “but if you don’t stay we’ll regret it as well, won’t we?”
Snape looked at her. His lack of a denial was as good as an affirmation, and he knew it. Her thumb began massaging his Mount of Venus gently now, an entirely different sensation, less teasing, more insistent, and even more erotic.
“And if we’re going to regret it either way,” she said playfully, “well…then why not choose the way with all the orgasms?”
Snape actually smiled at that, almost laughed, even. And after thinking for what seemed like quite a long time (but was probably only thirty seconds or so), he could not think of any argument to counter her.
So he did the only logical thing. He yanked her to her feet, quite roughly in fact, and kissed her until she was trembling from it, until his mouth on hers simply wasn’t enough for her anymore.
This took approximately another thirty seconds.
“I assume you have a bed,” he breathed in her ear at last.
She did indeed.