Forget Me Not || George Weasley

Chapter 44

Her smile slowly fades and for a moment he's scared he's said the wrong thing. But then her eyes glimmer with unshed tears, forcing a husky laugh from him only cut off by her lips. He groans at the contact, eyes fluttering shut as she cranes her neck to kiss him deeper. Slow. She kisses him slow, purposefully. Her lips are still slightly cold from her cooling charm, but her tongue is warm and soft and tentative.

George surges upright, his arm snaking completely up the back of her shirt until his fingers brush the nape of her neck. The worn tag at the collar of the threadbare tee tickles his wrist. He wants to be closer, impossibly closer. His other arm crawls up to wind around her waist, thumb pressing into her ribs as he palms her neck to guide her closer.

He bites back another noise of pleasure when she slings her leg completely over his, settling into his lap and squeezing the outside of his legs with her knees. The first roll of her hips nearly kills him, stuttering his breathing and causing him to grow harder beneath her. He aches for her, burns for her. Her languid kiss, the gentle tilt of her head and targeted sucks and licks and bites have him moaning lowly, "Ollie. Ollie."

He slides his mouth down her chin, gliding his teeth over the raised skin before sucking on the expanse of skin below her jaw. "George," She breathes, voice airy and coated in pleasure. Fuck. He sucks and tugs on her skin, biting down hard until the whimper that sounds from her causes him to grind up against her. Delirious, Euphoric. He wasn't sure how to describe the way she made him feel. She moves her hips slowly, he drags his parted lips down her neck slowly. Slow, slow, slow.

"George?" She pants quietly, fingers tangled in the sleeves of his shirt. He reluctantly looks up from where he's tasting the dip in her collarbones, rasping, "Yes, Ollie?"

She flushes, eyes half lidded. She tugs gently on his shirt, saying even softer, "Can I touch you?"

Emotion locks up his throat tight, choking out any potential verbal response. She gently pulls on his shirt again, telling him what she wants, while still asking him if it's okay. She'd done that when he passed out in her shop. She asked first. Even when she didn't speak, she always asked. He reluctantly pulls his hands free from where they'd been roaming her back, grabbing the collar of his own shirt and pulling it up over his head.

Olive's eyes eagerly roam his chest, studying the swells of muscle and the hard lines carved out by time and exercise. Her fingers brush over his collarbones, dipping lower to press against his chest before her knuckles graze over his stomach. George can't take it, her touching him. Her looking at him like that. Like he's beautiful, whole. He brushes his lips over hers, biting at her lip before diving in to kiss her again. And again. He kisses her slow, tasting and flirting with his tongue until her little fingers curl around his arms and squeeze.

His head falls back when she kisses below his right ear, dusting her lips across the lobe before playfully biting. He hears her clearly when she whispers, "I forgot how much I like waking up to you."

His heart swells and he slips his hand down to palm her arse, squeezing and kneading while his thumb tangles in the thin, purple strap of her knickers. His voice comes out husky, longing, "Yeah?"

"Mhm," His eyes roll back when her lips drift lower, tongue tracing his skin before she bites and sucks and tattoos a bruise on his neck. She returns to his good ear, her own voice raspy, "In fact, I think I would like to wake up to you exclusively."

"Exclusive, huh?" He can feel her smile against him, his hands reluctantly leaving her smooth backside to grab her waist. He pauses though when he feels her shifting, sees her hands moving to the shirt hiding her upper half from him. He grabs her hands, bringing them to his lips to halt her motions before explaining painfully, "I can't take it, Ollie."