ϟ Yer a Wizard, Harry

Her eyes slip shut at the feeling of his hand exploring her skin, places where no one else had ever touched and, she knew, no one but him would. As wonderful and delicious it felt, she couldn’t shake the feeling like something else needed to happen, that she needed more of him just as much he needed more of her. The desire for more, at the same time she didn’t want it to ever end. Pansy didn’t know how to express it, her hand moved to rest on the back of his neck and their lips met again. Every time their skins brushed against each other, she felt sparks flying everywhere, beautiful colors, a sweet melody only their bodies together could create. Something only for them to hear, so special, such perfection consuming her being.

His trousers were becoming a major obstacle, but he was too self-conscious to undress himself and appear too forward. Harry decided to content himself with whatever Pansy was most comfortable with. He slid against her, bringing some ease to the growing ache.

More curious about what makes the difference between wizards and witches, Harry, more trepidatiously allowed his hand to wander, slipping down her pert bottom, to caress downward against the outside of her thighs. Swallowing, he caught her eye, and then with more bravado, stroked up her inner thigh to glance against the very place his achey parts wanted to meet themselves.

The back of his knuckles were met instantly with softness, moist and inviting. His hand moved upwards to explore the very mystery of her.

(Source: pansydaenerysparkinson)