Chapter 37

Author's note:

I just want to warn everyone that there will be some smut towards the end of the chapter. I will put astricks at the point where it begins and the point where it ends. While the characters are slightly drunk when this smut happens, I'd like everyone to know that I've written the scene to be entirely consensual. Both characters are slightly intoxicated, but not to a point where they are not able to give knowing consent. Consent is given multiple times on both ends, and I wrote them to be very engaged with, conscious about, and excited about what is happening.

Of course, consent can never be given when one or both people are too intoxicated to make an informed decision (in both fiction and real life situations). However, that is not the case in this chapter.

Anyways, enjoy!

***

Zoe

Dear Zoe,

It made me so happy when I saw I'd gotten a letter from you in the mail -- or should I say from the owl? Ha-ha! I've been missing you, too. One thing I really miss is having your extra set of hands around at the flower shop -- business is really 'blooming' now that springtime is starting to come around.

I'm very happy to hear things are going better at Hogwarts, now. I knew you'd love it if you just gave it some time. I sure miss having you at home, but if you're happy, then so am I!

I can't wait to see you again when your school year is over, and hear about everything that's happened since Xmas break! You've got to show me all of the new magic tricks you've learned, too. Ha-ha!

Love from Grandpa Abraham

As I read over the round penmanship that I know belongs to my grandpa, I feel myself glowing with bittersweet warmth.

I'd decided to send him an owl two mornings ago, attaching to its scrawny leg a quick letter to remind him that I haven't forgotten him. It'd only taken him the length of a day and a night to write me back. In the eye of my mind, I can picture how thrilled he must've been when he'd realized it'd been my name listed in the return address. He must've dropped whatever it was he'd been doing, grabbed a pen out of the pink coffee mug in which we store them, and stowed away to the office at the back of the flower shop to write a response.

This is one of the many reasons why I love him. Anytime I've penned him a message while away at Hogwarts, he's never taken more than two days to get back to me -- even if my words are unimportant and nonsensical. He loves me in a way that my biological parents never could.

As far as I'm concerned, he is my real father. Always has been, and always will be. Nothing in this great big world could change my mind about that.

I dig my hand into my book bag, fishing around for a spare piece of parchment on which I'll scrawl out a fast, yet thoughtful, response. When I'm finished, I carefully slide it into an envelope and send it off to Copenhagen with a burly tawny owl. 

A soothing sense of happiness -- one that strongly reminds me of the peaceful tide and salty air by the pier at home -- rolls through me. As I make my way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, I find comfort in the fact that by tomorrow night, I'll probably have already heard back from him.

It's a Saturday, so the hall is filled with the late-morning buzz of talkative students. The light from the enchanted ceiling casts a happy glow on the room. It's beautiful outside -- I suspect only the most diligent of students will be working today.

As I make my way across the long stretch of stone floor, I steal a glance at the Slytherin table, hoping to spot the familiar face of Blaise. No such luck, though -- he doesn't appear to be up yet. However, I am positive he's in the castle. I saw him last night, so I mustn't worry myself. He's probably just tired, and not too fond of the idea of getting out of bed right now. 

I sidle myself beside Eric and Stevie at the Hufflepuff table, both of whom are hunched over an animated copy of the Daily Prophet. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a ministry figure bustling about on the front cover.

"Morning, hot stuffs." Eric chirps, pinching my cheek when he notices my presence.

"Morning, Eric."

I scoop a pile of assorted breakfast foods onto my plate, my stomach feeling bare.

"Merlin -- look here." Stevie edges the prophet further beneath Eric's nose, her eyebrows furrowed as she points out a boldly-inked heading. "There was an attempted break in at Gringotts -- 'a group of unidentified witches and wizards attempted to break into the world-renowned wizarding bank, Gringotts, yesterday evening, using a combination of Polyjuice potion and Veritaserum. Though the group was ultimately unsuccessful in their crime, authorities were unable to obtain their identities before they escaped, and are unsure of which vault they were attempting to loot and why. More details to come at a later time.'"

"You've got to be a real dunce to try and break into Gringotts. Even I wouldn't do that." Eric says. He turns to face me, his caffeinated eyes bulging out of his head like a bug. "And I'm a crazy bitch."

I choke on my orange juice.

"Hey, guys -- you should take a look at this, too." Stevie pipes up, her gaze now glued down at the second page of the Daily Prophet. 

"Mysterious gathering of witches and wizards spotted in the Caucasus Mountains. The identities of the group have not yet been discovered, but lead Aurors suspect they may be engaging in illegal activity." Eric reads, hovering over her shoulder at the first mention of news worthy of his attention. "Spooky."

He grins a little bit. 

"Why are you laughing, Eric? It's not funny -- "

The voices of my friends seem to drift further and further away as I stare at the moving picture in the prophet.

Clearly taken from a distance, the black and white photo shows the blurred faces of several hooded figures. Their tense demeanor, the way their hoods are pulled low over their faces to avoid identification, all points to the fact that whoever these people are, they must be hiding. They must not want to be discovered.

But why? Have they simply grown tired of the pressures of the world? Do they wish to live a life away from the rest of the civilized magic community? Or are they doing something sinister -- something so dark that they had to vanish into a collection of remote mountains just so no one would find out? The thought makes me feel strangely cold inside.

I'm focusing on one of the cloaked figures in particular.

Even from far away, I can tell that this person is young . The face is smooth, unlined. It's the dark hair that I notice next, emerging in smooth tendrils from beneath the hood, followed by the slender build, and the undeniably sharp features that I swore I've seen before.

For a split second, my heart ceases to beat.

"Guys --" I say.

They aren't listening. Eric is cackling with laughter, surely at something stupid, and Stevie's voice is gradually climbing octaves as she demands him to stop.

"Guys."

I say it louder this time. They turn towards me.

I point to the face in the Daily Prophet that I'd been staring at, my throat feeling unnaturally stiff.

"Is it just me, or does this look like Julian?"

***

I edge my toes closer to the green flames, wondering how close I can get them before they start to burn.

It's a fun game, the one I'm playing with myself. It's dangerous, too -- but isn't that what makes it fun in the first place?

I've been doing it for the lesser part of an hour now, in hopes of distracting myself from what'd happened in the Great Hall earlier. Every time that fuzzy photo of the group of hooded witches and wizards flickers through my mind, my heels propel forward, pushing my flesh dangerously close to the flames. The slight shock of heat serves to momentarily wipe the image from my brain.

When I'd pointed out one of the figures' resemblance to Julian, both Stevie and Eric had taken a close look. Neither had agreed with me -- neither had seen what I'd seen. They'd insisted that I was just seeing things, that I needed more sleep. They'd told me that the things Julian had said to me before, the nightmare I'd once had about him, had all come together to make me paranoid about him. 

I suppose I can see where they're coming from.

The last time I'd spoken with Julian, I'd just been released from the hospital wing following my dementor attack. I'd insisted on leaving early to go to class, which had pissed off both Madame Pomfrey and Blaise. I'd been crouched in the midst of a deserted corridor, Blaise attempting to lead me through a panic attack, when Julian had approached us.

"In the future, you'll mind your own business." He'd said to me. "Or else, you'll get what's coming to you."

Of course, he'd been referring to the fact that I'd snitched on him to Professor McGonagall for what he'd done to the little boy called Theodore at the beginning of the year. I'd caught him torturing the child in broad daylight, carving into him with a knife like a piece of meat he was preparing for dinner.

I remember being surprised that he hadn't had a go at me yet for that -- after all, Julian is known for exacting disproportionate revenge on any student at Hogwarts who he thinks has done him wrong. Perhaps the idea of that had aided in creating my sense of fear when it comes to him. Perhaps I was frightened, because I was expecting an attack from him at any moment. Perhaps that's why he'd popped up in one of my most horrific nightmares, his face pasted onto the body of a dementor as he spoke about how I was "not the chosen one" and how I was "unwanted".

However, something deep within me had pushed me not to believe this theory of Stevie and Eric's. Some instinct had whispered to me that I wasn't just imagining Julian's face in the photo -- that it was actually, really him.

But I don't want to think about this. I don't want to think about him. So whenever one of my thoughts about the pale, cruel boy gets a little too loud for my comfort, I shove my toes towards the fire, allowing the pain of the heat to take over and silence it for me.

Suddenly, a pair of large hands clap down on my thighs like thunder.

My body spasms, and a strangled shriek tears past my lips.

"Jesus, Zoe." An all-too familiar voice says. "It's just me."

Blaise is standing before me, leaning towards me with his hands rested on my lap. A grin has broken out on his face -- likely in response to the way I'd jumped at him.

"Oh, shut it." I say a little breathlessly, calming down when I realize it's him. 

He sinks down into the couch beside me. "You looked kind of tense before I came up to you. What's up?"

I'm not sure how I should answer this. Blaise already has enough stress to deal with, what with his mother demanding him home at least twice a week now. Does he really need to know that I think Julian might be up to something fishy in the mountains somewhere?

"Just a long day." I decide to say. "Lots of homework."

"Well...would you be willing to forget about that for a night and go out with me instead?"

I swivel around to look at him.

"Like on a date?"

"Yes -- a date. I suppose we could call it that." He hums, his eyes sparkling. "So, are you going to let me take you out or not? Because it's getting late."

"You're ridiculous."

"That's not an answer."

I stare at him, challenging him with my eyes. He is unwavering. He's so clearly excited about this, I don't think I could say no even if I didn't want to go.

"Alright. Yes. You can take me out." I give in, my heart feeling bubbly. I never would've expected him to ask me something like this, but I love it. 

Blaise grins. "Wonderful. Go to your dorm and grab your coat, and meet me by the portrait hole in five minutes."

***

By the time Blaise and I have made our way down to the front doors of the castle, I've completely forgotten about Julian.

All of my stress has vanished, and I've sunken into a state of joy solely from being in his presence.

As we trek down the path to Hogsmeade, a soft yet frigid breeze pushing against us, everything Blaise does seems to make me laugh.

He dances through the thick blanket of snow covering the cobblestone, shouting ridiculous things at confused passerby strangers. At one point, he even starts balling together wet clumps of snow from the side of the road. I only figure out what he plans to do with them once he starts throwing them at me.

I shield my face with my hands pathetically, bursting with laughter despite the stinging cold sensation that comes with each hit. I even try to roll up a few of my own snowballs and fight back, but he is far too fast and strong for me; the only one I manage to feebly toss his way, he catches and throws directly back at me. It hits me square in the behind.

Blaise finally decides to stop his attack when I start shivering.

He removes his thick green scarf, draping it over my shoulders and giving me a warm kiss on the cheek. Then, he scoops me up and carries me the rest of the way to Hogsmeade, just so I don't have to walk in the snow any longer.

We finally stop outside of the Three Broomsticks. Blaise lowers me to my feet.

"Merlin, it's freezing. Do you think we could get something to eat, Blaise?"

He reaches around me, pushing the door open with the tips of his fingers. A gush of warmth floats out onto us.

"What kind of date would I be if I didn't buy you something to eat?"

My cheeks burn pink, although it isn't from the cold. "A pretty lousy one, I guess."

"Exactly." He nudges me forward, gently pushing a hand to the small of my back. "Now get in there."

The cozy pub is packed tonight, chock full of witches and wizards seeking shelter from the unforgiving cold. Some faces, I recognize (particularly a group of chatty Hufflepuff girls that I sometimes see Eric sharing a laugh with in the Great Hall). Others are unfamiliar, belonging to strangers who are just here to seek out the same thing as Blaise and I: warm drinks and spontaneous fun on a Saturday night.

Somehow, Blaise manages to weed out two spots for us at the bar. He pulls out a stool for me.

I quietly thank him, folding my hands between my jittery thighs in hopes of warming them. For some odd reason, I've begun to feel slightly nervous about our date.

Blaise and I haven't really done something like this before. Besides the party hosted by Professor Slughorn after holiday break, our time together has consisted solely of late-night talks in the common room, petty arguments in potions class or during tutoring sessions, and other things informal in nature. Of course, that doesn't mean I don't consider the time we've spent together to be valuable. More recently, he's been able to open up to me about his home life, his mother; to me, this newfound ability to be vulnerable with me is more valuable than any date night he could come up with.

All of our experiences, no matter what they might've been, have brought us closer together, and somehow, they've all led up to this current moment in time, where we're sitting in a packed pub with our barstools so close together that our knees are touching.

"My mother hasn't asked for me to come home in a few days now." Blaise says, breaking the quiet between us. I glance up at him, and the look on his face makes my heart swoon. I can tell he was excited to share this news with me.

"That's wonderful." I say. I mean it. "We need to celebrate, then."

"Obviously we do. Why do I think I brought you to a bar?"

My hand claps to my mouth when I realize what he's insinuating.

"Um -- Blaise! They are not going to give us -- alcohol. We don't even have IDs with us."

Blaise makes a 'tuh' sound. "If you think you need an ID to get a drink around here, you have a lot to learn." He says. "Now, just follow my lead."

Blaise removes his coat, and tugs off the green and silver scarf which he'd draped over my shoulders.

"What are you doing?" I hiss.

"Just -- trust me, will you? You can't look like a student when I do what I'm about to do."

"I swear to god, Blaise -- "

"Follow. My. Lead. Unless you'd like to get us kicked out, that is."

I huff out a nervous breath of air, folding my arms across my chest. Whatever he's got planned, I don't feel good about it. 

Blaise pulls a bronze knut out of his pocket and points his wand at it. The coin transfigures into a tiny piece of jewelry. It's a silver ring -- something delicate and meant for a small finger.

My eyes widen. "What are you -- "

"Just go with it." He snaps.

Blaise takes a deep breath, glances quickly around the pub, and then lowers himself down onto one knee in front of me.

"Zoe."

I am surprised by how loud his voice is when it comes out -- it's as if he's trying to draw attention to us. It works. Several of the nearby bar goers turn their heads our way, curious.

"When I met you in this bar two years ago, I had no idea just how much you would end up meaning to me. We've gone through so much together, and we always emerge stronger than before. If I had to relive all of the heartbreak I've ever experienced one million times over just to be with you, I'd do it without a second thought."

The bar has gone quiet around us, and all that can be heard now is Blaise's broad, confident voice. I am frozen in my stool as I stare down into his eyes, which are silently willing me to play along with him.

"No one will ever hold my heart the way you do. If I can't spend the rest of my life with you, my love, I'm not sure that I want it. So, Zoe -- will you make me the happiest man in the world, and do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?"

As Blaise finishes, a table of women nearby gasps in adoration. He gazes up at me, fake desperation swimming in his eyes, and I'm not sure whether I want to slap him or burst out laughing.

I press a hand to my lips and forcefully widen my eyes, acting out my best impression of a woman who's just been proposed to based off of what I've seen in the movies.

"Yes...yes!" I cry.

The entire bar erupts with applause. Blaise grins beneath me, even dabbing at the corners of his eyes with his fingertips and pretending to wipe tears away as he slips the jewelry onto my ring finger.

The overjoyed cries of those around us only grow louder as Blaise rises to my level, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug.

"Congratulations! Drinks on the house!" The thrilled bartender shrieks from somewhere behind his shoulder.

He presses his lips into my hair. I can feel him smirking. "And that's how it's done."

A grin breaks out across my cheeks. "I hate you."

***

Blaise and I spend the remainder of the night throwing back free drinks and acting like complete idiots. The burn of the alcohol in my throat dissipates with each refill of my glass.

We sloppily toss darts at a board on the wall and roam the village of Hogsmeade aimlessly, the alcohol-induced heat in our chests numbing us to the cold. I make fun of how horribly cliche his fake proposal was, and he keeps me laughing the entire night. I don't think the smile on my face fades once.

He decides it's time to take me home when I trip and fall face-first into a thick bank of snow. I lean into him heavily as we make our way back to the castle, my feet clumsily dragging against the pavement as if I'm a toddler who's just learned how to walk.

"What are you still laughing at?"

Blaise says from high above me as we sneak through the portrait hole into the Slytherin common room. I can hear the smile in his voice.

"I'm just dunk -- I mean -- drink." I spit out the words between giggles.

I can tell that he's starting to sober up now, and while I'm not as intoxicated as I was a half an hour ago, I still have a ways to go.

*SMUT STARTS HERE*

I stumble through the doorway to Blaise's dorm, filled to the brim with bubbly laughter and hiccups.

"Shhhh." He whispers, and though I can hear his voice, I'm not sure where he is behind me. "Shhh. You have to be a little bit quieter, or we might wake people up."

I move towards him through the darkness and launch my weight at him when I find him. My hands grip his biceps. I gaze up at him, the sight of his sweet face combined with the small amount of alcohol still in me making me feel fuzzy inside.

"Jesus, Zo." He says, although I can see that he is fighting off a grin. His hands find their place on my lower back, supporting my weight as I lean into his chest.

"Kiss me."

The words float off of my tongue, a drunken desire.

He looks unsure for a moment, his eyebrows knitting together as he holds me steady. "You're a little drunk still, aren't you? Maybe you should take a shower, or I can get you a glass of water --"

I shake my head no, my hair flying about my face. "I don't want that."

My hands are sliding up his chest, over his shoulders, across his back and up his neck, and I can clearly see the effect my touch has on him. He exhales through parted lips, his gaze on me turning soft.

"I want you to kiss me." I say again.

His eyes remain trained on me, not breaking away or even blinking.

"Kiss me, Blaise."

He grips my waist a little bit tighter, his fingers slowly massaging their way beneath my shirt. I know he can't resist me right now. I know how much he is itching to touch me, to feel my body in his hands.

And then his lips are on mine. 

They touch so lightly at first that I barely feel them. A warm shiver vibrates through my chest, and I press my body even closer to his. 

He kisses me softly, each movement of his lips making my body twitch in his arms. His hands remain in constant motion, slowly exploring my skin. He curls the palm of one hand around the back of my neck and lets the other rest on my hip, his fingers grazing my belly.

Blaise reaches beneath my thighs, effortlessly lifting them up to wrap around his waist. I can feel my heart racing dizzily, picking up speed, as I grow more and more intoxicated by him.

His lips trail slowly across my skin, planting kisses on both of my cheeks and gently sucking at the base of my neck. When they touch to the area beneath my ear, my legs tighten around his hips, and he moans into my skin, his hands fisting around the fabric of my shirt.

He pulls back for a moment to look at me. "You wanna lay down?"

I nod my head -- I'm incapable of speaking right now.

"Okay."

Blaise navigates through the darkness of his room, one hand supporting my bottom and the other feeling around for his four-poster bed. I cling to him, my head curled against his shoulder and heart swooning with affection inside my chest.

The way I feel with him -- and about him -- is inexplicable. I am exhilarated, breathless, addicted to him in the wildest of ways. Yet at the same time, I feel so safe in his arms, because I know that while I am in them, nothing can hurt me. 

Blaise lays me down so gently on his mattress that I think he's afraid I might break. The way he looks at me, as if he's entranced, makes my heart glimmer. I pull at the collar of his shirt, reeling him in towards me. I'm hungry for the feeling of his lips on mine again, and the absence of his touch for even a moment makes me feel starved.

And then I'm pulling at the fabric, gently tugging it upwards, because I want it off of him. He tugs it over his head, tossing it to the side. Even through the dark, I can make out that chiseled, bulky figure of his that always makes me feel so small.

Unable to resist him, I try to pull him back down again. 

This time, he hesitates. His eyes flicker downwards.

"Is something wrong?" I breathe, my heart still pounding from the past several minutes.

Blaise hovers over me, gently squeezing the duvet on either side of my head. He still won't look at me.

"Zoe..." He trails off. I can feel the warmth on his breath. 

"What?"

Finally, he looks at me.

"Can I touch you where I want to?"

Oh.

Oh.

As I realize what he wants, I feel the air in my lungs whoosh out. He wants to put his hands down there -- in between my legs. I've never let any boy do that before.

"It's okay if you aren't ready for this yet." Blaise speaks up again. He lowers himself onto his elbows, taking a strand of my hair in between his fingertips. "We don't need to do anything that you don't want to, okay?"

I still can't speak. Words are failing me, not for the first time around him. All I can do is breathe in and breathe out, my body frozen and heart racing as I imagine how it would feel to have him touch me.

"It's okay." He says. "Let's just call it a night, okay? We can lay down and I'll -- "

"No." I cut him off. The sound of my own voice surprises me -- I wasn't trying to say anything. "I want you to."

The room is silent for a moment.

"Are you sure?" He says. "And, I don't want to try this with you right now if you still feel too drunk for it. That wouldn't -- "

"Blaise." I cut him off again, more purposefully this time. "I want you to touch me. Please."

"...Okay." His tongue darts out of his mouth, wetting his lips. "Okay. I can do that."

The idea of Blaise touching me is exciting, new. But I would be lying if I said it didn't make me a little nervous. I've never been touched before where he wants to touch me. What if somehow, something is wrong with me down there? 

I do know one thing for sure, though: his words, the thought of what's about to happen -- it's almost completely sobered me. 

Blaise is quiet as he slowly tugs down at the hem of my skirt. I feel the fabric slide down my thighs, over my knees. I gaze into the darkness above, my breath caught in my throat.

"Just try your best to relax for me, okay?" Blaise is still hanging over me, his fingers gently gliding through my hair. He leans down, pressing his lips to my cheek and holding them there for a moment. "It's just me, and if you change your mind about this, all you have to do is let me know. Okay?"

I nod my head, gulping. I try to loosen my muscles. Blaise leans down again, planting one last kiss on my cheek. Then, his lips float over to my ear.

"Spread your legs for me, baby."

I do as I'm told. My legs slide open. I try to ignore the way they are trembling.

Blaise's fingers glide down my neck, through the dip between my breasts, down my stomach, and finally, they reach my waistline.

I feel a tingling sensation as his large hand rubs slowly up and down over the cloth of my panties. My stomach is tense, yet fluttery, and Blaise breathes heavily above me, propped up on one elbow. His touch is so light, so gentle, and it leaves me desperate for him to do more.

I look into his eyes. He looks almost drugged -- eyelids hanging low, lips parted. It seems as though he is drinking in everything about this moment -- my appearance, the soft breathy noises that have begun to emerge from my lips.

Blaise pinches the fabric of my panties, pulling them down my thighs. A gasp escapes my lips as his cool fingers touch against my warm, sensitive skin.

"Oh my god..." He breathes the words out. My back arches as he places the pads of two fingertips against my clit, beginning to rub slow circles into me. "You're so fucking wet for me."

My hips twitch beneath his hand, and a gentle moan escapes my lips. This sensation is entirely new to me, and I don't understand how it can feel this good. How he can make it feel this good. Thought and rationality have abandoned me -- all I know is that I want more, more, more of this.

Blaise moves a single finger down to my wet slit, holds it there for a moment, and then presses it into me.

I bite down hard on my lip when I feel him enter, my chest flushing with heat.

"Fuck, you're tight, baby." He breathes, his eyes rolling back. Slowly, he starts to pump it in and out of me. "You like that?"

"Y-yeah." My voice comes out shakier and more unsteady than I thought it would. I sound just as weak as I feel beneath him, our chests heaving up in down in unison.

He slips another finger in me, keeping his pace steady, and curls it upwards, caressing my sensitive spot from the inside. He starts to go faster, and I squirm beneath him. I feel my wetness as it drips out onto my inner thighs and soaks his hand.

"You're so fucking pretty, Zoe." He says, still pushing his long fingers in and out of me. Electricity shoots through my chest.

I know I am getting close. My toes are crunched up at the end of the bed, my knees trembling, my hands forming tiny fists around the fabric of his sheets. The feeling between my thighs can be described as nothing other than pleasure. I am quickly becoming addicted to it. 

"Look at me." Blaise's voice is gruff as he grips my chin, forcing my head to turn his way. His eyes are clouded with dark, insatiable lust. "I want to see your face when I make you come."

My body rocks back and forth on the mattress as he pumps into me more aggressively. He adds a third finger, stretching me out so much that I gasp.

"You like that?" He growls, the fingers of his opposite hand digging into my cheeks. "You fucking like that, don't you?"

"Mmm -- hmm." My voice is a breathy whine. When I glance down, I can see his hand pounding in and out between my thighs.

Out of nowhere, he withdraws from me. A shock of confusion and disappointment runs through me, my tense, hot body still riding the high that he'd put me on. 

Why did he stop?

"Get your ass over here."

Blaise is standing at the foot of the bed now. He hooks his hands beneath my thighs, yanking me down towards him.

"I want to taste you."

His words make me throb. My swollen bundle of nerves is stinging from the sudden exposure to the cold air, and soaking wet from where he'd been touching me only moments ago.

His hands snake beneath my knees and up around my thighs, rubbing them slowly as he lowers himself in between them.

"You don't know how long I've wanted this." His voice is low, raspy, and laced with desire. I feel his warm breath splaying out onto my sensitive skin. "To have your sweet little clit in my mouth...to hear what you sound like when I make you come."

He's kissing my inner thighs now, making my nerves sing as he grows closer and closer to my heat. My heart is positively banging in my chest -- with each second that passes, I grow more and more hungry for him to press his lips just where I want them.

Blaise glances up at me from in between my legs. His strong arms are still hooked around my thighs, holding them in place.

Slowly, while keeping his eyes locked on mine, he lowers his lips onto my clit, just barely touching. Then, he puckers them into a kiss. The small gesture causes my lids to flutter shut, and I whimper loudly. My hips jerk beneath him, but he holds them in place, forcing me to be still.

"You don't get to move." He says darkly. 

He drags his tongue up the length of my slit. He is driving me crazy right now -- absolutely crazy -- and he knows it.

Blaise then fastens his lips around my clit and begins softly sucking, drawing sweet circles on it with the pad of his tongue.

Another moan escapes me, louder than the last one. I jam the tips of my knuckles in my mouth, biting down on them and desperately trying to stay quiet as I watch him suck on me like a piece of candy.

Two long fingers slide into me again, and he starts to pump them in and out, all the while keeping his hot mouth suctioned to my clit. The combination sends a powerful jolt of pleasure cascading down my legs, and I'm sure that he must be able to feel me throbbing on his lips.

"Fuuuck, baby. That's it." He moans into me, the vibration from his voice against my sensitive spot sending me over the edge. "Come for me."

His words, the way he holds me down, the feeling of his fingers pulsing inside of me -- they're all enough to do me in.

A wave of pleasure rocks through me, causing my entire body to shudder and legs to snap shut around his head. My eyes roll into the back of my skull, my vision going dark, and I know that when I moan it must be loud, because he quickly reaches up to clap a hand over my mouth, muffling the sound.

Several euphoric moments pass by, so intense that I lose consciousness.

Then, I return to my senses. My body is still pulsing with pleasure. At the end of the bed, Blaise is pulling his fingers out of me. I feel myself dripping onto his sheets.

He rises up from in between my thighs, pulling himself level with me again. One of his hands slides behind my head, propping me up. Very slowly, he pushes the pads of the two fingers that had just been inside me against my lips, as if to make sure that I am okay with this. 

I respond by pulling them into my mouth. I suck them clean, holding his wrist steady with both of my own hands. Blaise watches me hungrily. 

*SMUT ENDS HERE*

"How'd you feel about that?" His voice is barely above a whisper. 

"Good. Really...good." I exhale the words. I'm limp on his bed, my head lolled to the side. 

I'm being honest -- it was the first time I'd been touched like that, and the sensation had been out of this world. I hadn't known it was possible to feel that amount of ecstasy. 

"Are you okay?" 

I give a weak nod in response. 

"Good...that's what I was hoping to hear."

Blaise scoops his arms beneath my knees and lower back, gently lifting me and returning me to the back-end of the bed. I allow my head to fall against a soft stack of pillows, my chest still rising and falling heavily. 

A moment later, he slips in behind me. He slides a cool piece of fabric over my head. When I realize it's one of his t-shirts, I lazily lift my arms, allowing him to slip them through the sleeve holes.

With a soft sigh, he pulls my body into his, his forearm wrapping around me protectively. He nestles his head into the soft spot between my shoulder and neck, pressing his lips to the cool skin for a moment.

As I gaze into the darkness ahead of me, I imagine the way his face might look right now, buried away in the crook of my neck. 

Does it hold tension -- his lips softly pursed and eyebrows crunched together? Or is it relaxed and gentle, fatigue freeing him of any creases and lines?

"Blaise." I speak into the darkness ahead of me, surprising myself. I hadn't been expecting to hear my own voice.

"Hmm?" He hums the word into my skin. 

"Am I...should I..." I struggle to get the words out. "Shouldn't I be doing something in return for you?" 

He's silent for a moment as he realizes what I'm trying to say. Then, he turns me onto my back, the sound of rustling blankets filling the room. 

"Don't you say that. That's not how it works." 

"Well -- I just don't feel like it's fair, I suppose. You did all of that for me, and I'm doing nothing for you --"

"Zoe." He cuts me off, his voice climbing an octave. "It was your first time. I wanted you to be able to enjoy it, and you did. It's not about you paying me back. That's not why I did it. I don't need that from you right now. And besides, you don't feel ready for it, anyways -- do you?"

I glance down at my fingers, which are fidgeting with each other in my lap. I try to ignore the sudden burning sensation in my cheeks.

"No." I shake my head honestly.

"I didn't think so." He says. He offers a small smile. "Turn over, why don't you -- I'll help you fall asleep."

I decide to go along with Blaise's suggestion, silently wondering how he was able to read me so clearly just now. 

As I settle onto my stomach, my hair splaying across the back of the pillow, I feel Blaise's hand slip beneath the shirt he'd given me. His fingers glide up and down my back, caressing me into a state of deep relaxation. 

As my eyes flutter shut, I silently wonder where he gets this soft side from. Certainly, he didn't learn it at home; his mother was the opposite of nurturing. 

I decide to myself that it's something he was born with -- something that he might've not even known he had, until I was finally able to coax it out of him. 

As I'm drifting off, I do my best to savor everything about this moment -- to press it into my mind like an ink stamp. The way Blaise's fingertips feel dragging along my spine, the rhythmic sound of his inhales and exhales, the darkness shrouding the room around us. I soak it all in, every little detail, the very best I can.

Because I know that this is a moment that I'll never want to forget.

***

One Week Later

I can't remember it anymore.

The way I'd felt that night, lying in Blaise's bed with his fingers grazing across my spine -- I can't remember it anymore. 

I want to. But it's all gone. 

I've been sitting here for hours now trying to recall it, anything about it, even the most minute of details, but my mind is completely failing me. 

Normally, I would be upset by this. But right now, I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I can't remember what happiness feels like, or what love feels like. What it feels like to laugh, even to cry. Every emotion I've ever experienced seems to have disappeared from my body without a trace, leaving behind chapped, dry veins and a heart that doesn't feel like it's beating. 

I think back on my moment with Blaise. 

Although it was only one week ago, it feels as if a lifetime has passed since then. I remember thinking that I'd had issues. I'd honestly believed that I'd had things to be stressed about back then, that I'd had severely complicated problems to deal with. 

How wrong I had been.

I'd had it good -- great, even. I'd had almost everything I could've wanted. A loving parent at home, two thoughtful best friends, and a boy with which something miraculous was blooming. 

If only I would've known what was to come in the days ahead.

If I had, perhaps I wouldn't have been so anxious about whether or not I should've returned Blaise's favor that night. If I'd known of the sheer horror that was soon to come, waiting to shatter my life forever, would I have taken more time to truly appreciate that moment with Blaise, instead of worrying about the smallest of things? Would I feel any differently now, if only I'd just taken the time to soak in that last moment of peace before my world collapsed around me? Would I have the capability to feel something right now, anything, other than hollow and numb?

I guess I'll never know.