Scattered (Book 1)

Summer Heat (14)

"Making mud pies today, are we?" Snape's sarcastic drawl pulled her attention away from the greenery outside, and she whirled around, and gave him an unappreciative glare for his comment.

"Gardening." She corrected him, not daring to meet his eyes. She turned her back on him, pretending to focus on the yard through the glass as she took another drink, and listened to him open the muggle fridge, and close it. Seeing the muggle appliances that littered the house had given her great joy, and she couldn't deny her anticipation for chilled lemonade, especially if this heat wave kept up.

"You look a bit flushed, you should probably take a moment to cool down." Snape's deep voice came from right behind her, and she braced one hand on the counter, refusing to turn and face him, even as she felt him brushing her hair aside, baring her sweat-dampened back to the cool air of the house.

A freezing wet lump pressed into the bare spot between her neck and shoulder, and she yelped in surprise, finally deigning to turn and glare at Snape, and the offending ice-cube he'd pressed into her skin. He smirked, and lowered the ice again, letting her watch until it was below her line of site as he slid a cold wet trail down the pulse at her neck, and along the collar of her shirt. The look in his eyes threatened to melt the ice with it's heat, and she felt her breath catch as his free hand came forward, lifting her shirt so he could touch the ice to her belly, making her jerk slightly in shock again. She could see the playfulness of his thoughts, and with the pleasant feeling of the ice, it was all too easy to lean back against the counter, and let him run the ice down a line to her navel.

It DID feel rather pleasant. He lifted the ice to her lips, and she felt them part at he traced her bottom lip with it. He led it in a wet line down her chin, neck and right along her cleavage. His thoughts were pulsing a bright ruby, and she could almost feel the erection straining at his trousers and mind. The thought of him being so aroused, right here in the kitchen, made her nervous. If it weren't for his billowy black robes, it'd be a visible condition, and instantly noticeable if Shroge were to come inside. As it was, a quick glance at his hips told her that his state was well hidden by his clothes. Clothes that looked suspiciously like his teaching robes. He must've transfigured his clothes into what he preferred, now that there was no worry of being spotted. She looked over the many buttons of his frock coat, and wondered idly if it'd done the job of hiding his arousal while he was a professor.

The cold wet droplets that ran down her skin were being left along one side of her breasts, and then the other, leaving her to ponder his clothes with no answer, his eyes fixed firmly on the wet trail he was leaving on her, a hungry look leaving no doubt that he'd like his tongue to replace the ice. Hermione gasped as a mischievous smirk graced his face, and he dropped the small frozen block right down her shirt. She instinctively grabbed for it, holding her shirt away, and let it drop to the floor, offering him a glare.

She growled wordlessly at him, contemplating vengeance, only to come up short. She had no idea how to get him back for that, and the galling smile on his face said he knew it.

"You should finish your water." He suggested glibly, heading out the door without a backward glance. She muttered under her breath, and picked her glass back up, glaring after him as he wandered out to speak to their host.

She turned over the last thought she'd managed to catch before he'd stalked off. His strange and irritating performance had been nothing more than an attempt to get a reaction from her. She'd seen a sort of relief that her skittish retreat the previous night wasn't permanent. He'd been worried that when she left, she wouldn't be coming back. She kicked the melting piece of ice under the cabinet, and glowered out at him. Couldn't he just leave her to fret for a few days about the growing closeness between them, without needing to make her admit that when it came right down to it, her worry would lose out against her enjoyment? Couldn't he afford her SOME small smidgen of privacy in which to at least TRY to reason with herself? No, the man had to go an destroy all sanity with his stupid lecherous advances, and his sexual thoughts. Now she was turned on, irritated, and had to go back outside and finish gardening alongside an elderly wizard, while trying not to think of that stupid ice cube trailing along her skin, or his lips following after it.