Obsession

Chapter 10

When Lord Voldemort blinked his eyes open, things were... odd.

He was not exactly accustomed to awakening beside another person. He was especially not accustomed to having another person tangled with him, her legs scissored between his and her arm cast haphazardly around his chest. He was not even slightly accustomed to the way he liked it all, to the way it was vaguely soothing and certainly comfortable to be snarled up with her like this.

Bellatrix. His Bellatrix, now that Rodolphus Lestrange was out of the way. The boy was probably in bed with Edwina Fawley right now, which made Voldemort smirk a little. He breathed in deeply, the warm scent of cinnamon and vanilla washing off of Bellatrix as he did. He flicked his eyes across the moonlit bedroom to the clock on the wall. Half-past two. He'd woken in the middle of the night. He shut his eyes and tried to sleep, but after a few moments, the feel of Bellatrix against him was a bit much. He felt blood flushing between his legs, and he squirmed a bit as he started to go hard.

"Mmph," he heard Bellatrix mutter against his flannel pyjama shirt. Would her Draught of Peace have worn off by now, he wondered? Probably. When she woke, she'd be upset about Rodolphus again. Voldemort huffed a little sigh and willed himself soft again, but it didn't work. All he could think about was that she was his now, that he'd taken possession of her from her husband through Obliviation.

Only, Bellatrix couldn't be possessed by anyone. Not really. She could throw herself at Voldemort's feet and swear herself to him, die for him, but she was too wild to be contained or owned or anything else.

And that thought made Voldemort harder than ever.

"My Lord?"

Her voice was quiet, gravelly, deep. Voldemort shut his eyes again and murmured,

"I'm sorry for waking you. Let's go back to sleep, eh?"

Her fingers found his growing firmness, and he heard her suck in breath hard. Voldemort tried to make himself pull her hand away, tried to tell her it was the middle of the night and she should sleep, but instead he just choked out,

"Bellatrix..."

She pulled his flannel trousers down a little and extracted him, using both her hands to caress him as he pulled back the blankets. He tried to tell himself that she wouldn't want him right now, that she would still be mourning the love she'd borne Rodolphus. Instead, he mumbled,

"Climb atop me, Bella."

She was slithering out of her knickers then, pulling herself up to kneel beside her lord and master. He stared up at her in the darkness, reaching beneath the hem of his tunic she had on. His fingertips touched between her legs, and her lips fell open a little. She was still mostly dry, but as soon as Voldemort's fingers started to move, he felt a rush of damp heat. Bellatrix raked her insane ringlets away from her eyes and tipped her head back a little, pushing her hips down against Voldemort's hand.

His breath quickened alongside his heart, and he turned his gaze to his own cock. It was large enough that it often took a while to get truly rigid, but tonight it was aching. He could feel the throb from the inside out, could see the way his tip had gone purple with want. He gulped hard and said again,

"I want you atop me, Bellatrix."

"Yes, Master," she whispered, and she carefully arranged herself with a leg on either side of him. Her thighs trembled visibly as she lined his tip up with her entrance, and she shut her eyes as her anxious breath quaked. She started to sink down but stopped, reaching frantically for Voldemort's hands. He held her, squeezing at her fingers, knowing it was stretching and pulling at her just to take his tip. He reminded her,

"I can take the pain away."

"No." She shook her head firmly, and when she opened her eyes, they were dark and sharp and cold like they'd been once she'd made up her mind about Rodolphus. Suddenly she forced her body down, gasping and making a little gagged noise of effort as she pushed herself past his tip.

Tight. Warm and snug around him. Beautiful. Voldemort was almost overcome, and he found himself fondling her chest and her waist through his cotton tunic. Her hands splayed against his chest, her fingers cinching as she sank down further. She rose up an inch or two and then pushed deeper than ever, but then she stopped and shook her head as she admitted in a desperate voice,

"I c-can't..."

Voldemort seized her waist and moved them, staying inside of her as he rolled them until she was on her back.

"Knees up," he commanded, but even after she tucked them toward her chest, Voldemort knew he needed a steeper angle. He shoved his pyjamas down further and took Bellatrix's calves in his hands. He squeezed her legs tightly and pushed them toward her head, knowing she was young and flexible. She gasped when he shoved himself into her, and when he started to pulse his hips, his cock entered her far more deeply than her body would have allowed on its own.

"Oh... oh, My Lord..." She fisted her hands against her shut eyes and cried out loudly. Someone might hear. Voldemort didn't care. He tried to keep his motions slow, careful, gentle, but he couldn't. He found himself trying desperately to bury himself to the hilt, knowing her body wouldn't be able to take all of him and fighting for it anyway. He burrowed himself roughly against her and then kept pushing, and Bellatrix shrieked wildly. He bent to kiss her, silencing her cry with a mouth he knew tasted of sleep. She moaned against him, her voice turning into a frenzied squeal as Voldemort moved again.

He lost himself before he knew what was happening. She hadn't come yet, and he'd barely felt the way his pleasure had tightened and coiled. But he found himself snapping, spilling himself as he kissed her, and as he yanked his mouth away, he whispered,

"Sorry. It... I..."

"Mmph!" Bellatrix arched her back up, and Voldemort realised she liked the feel of his hips against her nub. He was starting to soften, his seed leaking out of her onto the sheets, but he ground himself back and forth, over and over again as he stroked her hair and touched his lips to her cheek.

"Come for me. Bella, come for me."

"Yes," she whispered, and he knew from the heat on her skin beneath his lips that she'd flushed through and was close. She held onto his shoulders and whispered again, "Yes, Master."

"Oh. Good girl." He stilled his hips as he felt her clenching around his softened, thick shaft. He pulled himself out of her body as the last remnants of her climax washed over her. Suddenly, for some reason, Voldemort pushed into her mind with nonverbal Legilimency, feeling compelled to do so.

Throbbing burgundy satisfaction. Little quivers of remaining arousal. Want. Need. Happiness. His, his, his. Rodolphus gone, all his, only his. Desire and gratification all at once. It would never be enough, it would never be too much. Serving him, adoring him, sleeping beside him. His, all his now.

Voldemort extracted himself from the tangle of Bellatrix's chaotic mind, and he pushed himself up to hover above her. He smiled just a little and nodded down at her, nestling his fingers in her curls as he murmured,

"Yes. Mine. My good girl. Now, Bella... let's at least sleep until the sun comes up again."