57Hellooooo. Welcome to a new fic from me! Please read this note as it will contain warning for the fic. I promise this will be the only long note!
The main pairing for this story is James Potter/Hermione Granger. Side pairings will include James Potter/Lily Potter, one-sided Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, amongst others.
This story is about a r. If this is not up your alley, don't read! I don't want you to stumble into something that isn't for you. The infidelity is heavy here. However, if that is your thing, welcome!
Warnings: explicit sexual content, engaging in an affair, infidelity, older man/younger woman. If you love Harry, please be forewarned that he kind of gets...shafted in this story? It's a happy ending for James and Hermione. The rest is bittersweet, I'd say. The decisions made by characters in crash into you do not line up with the author's personal views, but I do love a good affair fic. So here's my attempt.
Recently, I hosted a 'giveaway' for the 1000th reviewer on The Best of Me. jherndon2094 (soldmysoultorockandroll on AO3) won! I'm not going to copy/paste her request here since this is already long. Thank you for reading me, and interacting with me on tumblr. Seeing your name pop up always makes my day, and I'm grateful to know you! I truly hope you enjoy this story. Annnnd, I know I said I was going to write a oneshot for you, but, well, I lied.
Hope you enjoy a new story from me! It's three chapters, and updates weekly.
dreamsofdramione and mcal have my love forever for the endless support they give me. I couldn't function without them.
"So, what did you think?"
Hermione choked on her curry, and swallowed mouthfuls of water as Harry stared at her. She hoped her reaction was answer enough, but clearly it was too much to hope for. The restaurant carried on around them, voices mingling together, and she swallowed hard. "About…?"
As if Harry was going to believe she didn't know what he was talking about. He rolled his eyes and wiped his mouth with a crumpled napkin. "I'm talking about Cho. Come on, you can't have already forgotten, 'Mione."
Her knuckles knocked against the underside of the table, but it went unnoticed. If Ron could just come back from the bathroom in a timely fashion for bloody once, she could probably steer this dreaded conversation to him. "She's nice." The compliment was forced.
Harry's brows lifted. "Nice?" he echoed. "She's fantastic."
Fucking God, this is not what I want to deal with today.
It had been enough just applying for internships and jobs that would fit an overnight schedule so she could pay the rent. She didn't need this today, too. "I don't know what you're looking for, Harry. This is what always happens. You sleep with a girl, and then you're serious about her for a few weeks."
Her best friend has incredibly bad dating etiquette. It wasn't that he had bad taste, per say. Cho was gorgeous with long black hair, and pretty lashes that Hermione was a bit envious of. But all the others had been pretty too. Romilda—who decidedly hadn't liked Hermione—stood out the most.
The short lived relationship with her had solidified the fact that she and Harry would never happen. If the women he dated were any indication, Hermione wasn't his type: plain in comparison and bookish—at least she thought so, but she shouldn't be so hard on herself. Surely that was all Harry saw when it came to her.
In fact, she was certain he still thought of her as that eleven year old with an awkward smile that he rarely actually saw from behind the stack of books she'd been carrying. It was infuriating.
Of all the men she could pine for, it was him.
She'd have been better off pining after Ron, even if he did have the emotional range of a teaspoon on most occasions.
"That's really negative." Harry's expression soured and she wanted to let her head fall to the table.
However, that required her to move her curry, and it was too much effort for her at the moment. "Do you want my honest opinion?"
He shifted awkwardly as Ron joined them again. "What did I miss?"
"Harry asked me my opinion about Cho is all."
Ron bobbed his head. "Yeah?"
"She's not very supportive."
Their friend snorted. "Can you blame her? What woman wants to listen to how you sleep through women—"
"I date them!"
Another snort. "Yeah, you date them. That's what I'd call it. Anyway, Hermione's been plenty polite when it comes to telling you she likes them fine, but no woman wants to listen to it over and over again. Especially when Hermione already knows how it's going to end."
Harry's jaw fell slack, and it was incredibly irritating that he thought he had the right to be upset.
If he'd just fucking open his eyes.
"Hermione isn't a woman—"
She made a sound of indignation that sounded too much like a squawk. "I beg your pardon!"
"She's my best mate, and you're both supposed to be supportive."
Ron looked at her, his gaze dropping and he glanced directly at Harry. "No, she's definitely a woman, who just so happens to be your best mate. Pull your head out."
He pushed his curry around the dish, not bothering to look at either one of them.
It was too much to deal with when she could spend her time on applications rather than dealing with her pathetic, unrequited feelings, but she tried anyway because it was Harry, who she still dropped everything for even if he didn't always deserve it. "Tell us how you met Cho then."
Hermione had decided to keep an open mind, but her heart ached when Harry told them it had been a one night stand after a party—which was his normal.
While he didn't catch the hurt that flashed across her face, Ron did, and he gave her a reassuring smile.
Once Harry had finished his story—which could have been much shorter—Hermione pushed away from the table and left her part of the bill. "I need to finish my applications. I'll see you Thursday."
Ron caught her wrist. "For your internship? If you like, I can take over your application for jobs."
She smiled. At least there was one person she could count on. "Depends, do you remember my birthday is in September and not August?"
"It was one time."
"Why are you applying for jobs?" Harry asked around a mouthful of food.
She'd told him this. Even worse, she'd told him multiple times while panicking about how she would manage it. "I have to pay for my flat still, Harry. It's an unpaid internship." Not sticking around to hear him explain how ridiculous it was for the umpteenth time, Hermione told Ron he was welcome to help whenever he finished eating.
For her sake, she hoped Harry didn't come to her flat at all.
But then again, she hoped that he would.
~o~
Hermione thought she'd lucked out finding a short staffed overnight diner that called her within two days of receiving her application. She'd dressed nicely for the interview while remaining casual with a pair of nice jeans and a blouse she'd bought for a guest lecture by Gilderoy Lockhart. Of course, it was raining, and all the work she'd put into her hair was bound to be rendered pointless.
Her mobile rang, vibrating against the top of the counter and steadily moving towards the edge. She didn't recognise the number but swiped her finger across the screen to answer it anyway. With her luck, Hermione worried it might be the restaurant calling to cancel the interview and she'd be back to square one again.
"Hello?" Hermione stepped into her flats and bent down to adjust the backs.
"Hello, is this Hermione Granger?" The raspy voice that filtered from the speaker wasn't the owner she had spoken to the night before. She actually had no idea who it was.
Crooks walked between her legs and she shooed him away before he could shed hair on her. "Yes, this is she." She had put in multiple applications elsewhere, but this voice sounded familiar.
"Perfect. This is James Potter." She nearly dropped the phone.
Harry's father? "Is Harry okay? I can be there—"
He chuckled. "Harry's fine. At least, I assume he is. One never knows when he's going to get himself into trouble but I'm not calling to talk about my son. I'm calling to talk about you."
Hermione barely knew James in any sense. He was the father of her best friend. The extent of their former interactions were limited to her and Harry to James' office to drop off lunch. So, knowing just how casual this man was, Hermione could clearly imagine him leaned back in his leather chair with his feet kicked onto the edge of his desk as he twisted the cord of the phone around his finger.
"Oh, I see." Hermione swiped her keys from the table with a frown. "Could I call you back in an hour? I have an interview this morning."
"That's actually what I called to talk to you about. Harry mentioned you'd secured an internship with Albus. It's unpaid, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is."
There was a steady exhale. "I always did think it was rubbish that most internships were unpaid while schooling is far from cheap. Are you planning to work nights?"
Hermione's stomach churned as her hand rested on the doorknob. She had an inkling where this conversation was going, but she didn't want to do something silly like hope. "Yes, there's a twenty-four hour diner not far from my house."
"Tell me, when do you plan to sleep?"
Her hackles rose. She'd already debated this with Ron—even Molly had chimed in. "Whenever I can. I've dedicated myself to this and I'm not going to let something as insignificant as sleep hold me back from it." Perhaps it had been a little more spiteful than it needed to be, but the words were out there—tone and all—and she couldn't take it back.
James was silent for a moment. "What do you think of coming to work for me?"
She sucked in a breath. There was no way he hadn't heard it, and God, that was mortifying. "I've already accepted my internship—"
"I want to pay you to work for me," James drawled, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "You're the type I'd want in my office, Hermione."
She slumped against the wall, unable to think. An internship with Albus Dumbledore was something she'd wanted for a long time. It had always been her aim, but she knew that James Potter was nearly unrivaled in a courtroom.
"I'm not saying it'll be easy for you. You might wish you'd gone ahead with your internship with Albus over there, but if you're willing to work..."
"Yes, I'd love to." Her fingers curled against her chest and her heart thumped wildly beneath her hand.
"Can you come by today to fill out paperwork?"
With another agreement, she hung up and stayed against the wall for a long moment. Harry had done this. There was no reason for his father to call her unless he'd told him that she planned to spread herself too thin.
That had to count for something. He had to care. Right?
~o~
Hermione had interacted with Lily more often than James, but when a sharp, feminine voice filtered through the office door, she froze, standing just outside. It was her voice, but it didn't sound anything like the woman that had helped at school events.
"Bloody ridiculous—"
"I'm working, Lily. This isn't something I can talk about right now." Exhaustion blanketed his voice and Hermione flexed her fingers around the bundle of files she held in her hand. "We can talk about it tonight."
A chair slid across the floor, the sound piercing the air, and Hermione imagined it had been ripped backward. "That's shite, James. You know you'll avoid coming home like a coward. You always do." Footsteps neared the door.
Panicked that it would look like she'd been eavesdropping, Hermione curled her fingers around the handle and entered the room with a mask of indifference. "Oh!" Unfortunately, she slammed right into Lily and the files in her hands dropped, papers scattering the room. "I'm so sorry, Mrs Potter."
Lily's lip uncurled from its sneer and she smiled at her. Still, the smile didn't quite fit her face. "Oh, what a surprise to see you, Hermione. You should be more careful." Lily swept out of the room, going out of her way to step on as many papers as she could. Several of them ripped.
James leaned against the front of his desk, his fingers swiping across his forehead as he sighed.
Disbelief curled in her stomach. "I'll make more copies." Hermione bent down to gather the loose papers and he knelt down in front of her.
"I'm terribly sorry you had to see that." He stretched his hand out, palm open. "Let me make the copies. She meant to make more work for me, and I'm not going to allow your day to be derailed by her temper."
Hermione stood in the middle of the office as James left, trying to make some sense out of what had just happened. For all her effort, Hermione couldn't reconcile what she knew about them with what she'd just seen.
~o~
In the weeks that followed, Hermione quickly learned to fall in line with the rest of the office when Lily Potter visited. The majority of them made themselves scarce in ways that couldn't be questioned. People stepped into their office, the secretary stopped gossiping with her daughter over the phone—which she only did when she was caught up, Hermione thought that was important to note—and Hermione kept her head down.
Usually, she used that time to make her copies if they were needed, and sometimes even when they weren't.
Today was different, however.
Today she was sitting at the round table in James' office, reading over trial witness statements for a beating that had turned her stomach from the first page. It was horrifying, something she'd mentioned in passing, and James had offered a grim smile before turning his attention back to the paperwork in front of him.
Lily entered his office and Hermione wished she could disappear. "Hermione," Lily's lips pressed together as Hermione greeted her. "James, would you mind stepping out with me for a moment?"
"I can leave." Hermione insisted, but James shook his head.
"Continue what you're doing," he muttered, following his wife.
Hermione had no idea what was going on between James and Lily, but it seemed that it had been happening for a long time. Their marriage was clearly suffering. Harry couldn't have known, but Hermione had no intention of delivering that blow herself.
~o~
December bled into January, and as wind whistled past the thick glass windows of the office, Hermione thought about what the business had come to mean to her. She considered the office something of a second home, but she was forced to confront how true that statement was for her boss, too. Arriving early to work was her prerogative, but as she stood in the entry, hurriedly catching the door before it could slam shut, Hermione drew her lip between her teeth.
Her eyebrows rose as she saw a lump on the sofa in the corner and she sighed. It would be better for her—less awkward, anyway—if she turned around and came in at a time when he was already awake. Hermione wasn't sure what possessed her to ignore that solid bit of her own advice, but she dropped her bag into the chair in front of the desk as she inadvisably entered.
Hermione glanced at her cup of tea and sighed. She'd made a special trip to the shop just down the street, the one that was always busy. She wiped away the lipstick smudge on the plastic rim. With her heels clicking against the floor, Hermione made her way to the sofa and laid a hand on his shoulder.
James wasn't a light sleeper. He didn't stir an inch when she touched him, nor when she shook him slightly.
Like father, like son, she snorted.
"James," she whispered, shaking him a bit harder. When there was still no reply beyond a soft snore, she weighed her options. Judging by the files scattered around the room, there was no telling when he'd finally fallen asleep. He might even need the extra hour, but his secretary was an early riser just like her, and she was sure he wouldn't want anyone else to see this.
It wasn't as if he could merely pass it off as working late when both Hermione and his secretary had been privy to a scathing phone call from his wife just the night before.
"James!" Hermione snapped, jerking his shoulder hard.
He shot up, his forehead slamming against hers. "Oh, bloody hell—Hermione?"
She fumbled, thankful she had the forethought to press the cup of tea into his hand before gripping her forehead as it throbbed. "Oh, God." A weak whimper slipped between her lips and her eyes watered. "It should be no surprise that you're hard-headed, but Jesus!"
Hands softly gripped her hips and James pulled down her to sit beside him. "Shite, I'm sorry. I'll get you some Aspirin."
Hermione buried her face in her hands. "I probably shouldn't have been standing so close, but you're next to impossible to wake up."
His drawer opened and James pressed two tablets into her hand. "I can get water if—"
She swallowed them before he could finish his sentence. "No, it's fine."
Sitting between his pillow and blanket was awkward—though she didn't know why—and even more so when he sat down beside her. "This for me?" He held up the tea.
"Yes, I thought you might need it more than me."
"You're probably right. I'm sorry, this isn't a good way for you to see your boss."
Hermione wanted to reassure him that it wasn't his fault. She wanted to offer him some source of comfort, but she worried that any attempt might make it worse. It wasn't as if he needed to be reminded of the reason he'd stayed the night in his office.
"I don't mind. I considered letting you sleep longer, but Maria will be here soon." Already, she missed how his features were softer as he slept. Now that he was awake, the sharp cut of his jaw stood out, and his eyes were drawn tight. "I thought you wouldn't want anyone else to see you."
Eager to change the subject and cut her ogling—even if it was slight—short, Hermione stood. She gathered his blanket, folding it, and tucked it under her arm along with his pillow.
"Hermione, you don't have to—"
She slid them into an unused cabinet and turned to him. "In case you need that again. I think I'll go pick up breakfast. I'll bring your normal if that's alright."
Honestly, she just couldn't get out of there fast enough as the image of him sleeping cropped up over and over again.
~o~
James didn't stay the night at the office again.
Not that it was any of his business if he did, but they left at the same time nearly every day. Some nights were later than others and she considered whether her presence in his life made his marriage worse. It wasn't that she fancied herself as such, but nearly immediately after she'd started, Lily's visits had grown infrequent.
And from the interoffice gossip, that wasn't the norm.
It just seemed like so much of a coincidence, and staying late into the night with James, the thought crossed her mind more than once. It wasn't something she could simply ask about. Either James would laugh at the thought, or…
Or Lily might actually be angry that a much younger woman was working with her husband.
Hermione could only imagine how she would feel if the roles were reversed, but the thing was, she didn't know the story of what caused this rift to blow wide open. She was keen to believe it couldn't be James' fault now that she'd come to know him, but that was just an uninformed opinion.
Her opinion was shaping up to get her into trouble.
Ever since waking him up, Hermione's mind had been swamped with thoughts of the man. It struck her that she'd never had experience with an older man, and suddenly she was curious.
But she needed to return to reality, to remind herself that this was real life.
~o~
Hermione desperately needed a good shag—that was all. Case. Point. No questions about it.
The night before, another thought had visited her when she laid down. Her fingers had brushed the edge of her knickers before sliding under to drive herself toward an edge that she craved. A certain too-handsome face had flashed behind her lids. A face that looked too much like the one across from her now. She'd paid it no mind since she barely had any time to herself beyond a few hours at home. Now, though, it was clear that if she didn't take a night to herself, away from him, she would drive herself spare.
After politely excusing herself from the table, citing a reason that she really had to finish some work, Hermione paid her part of the bill and hurried towards the exit. While she adjusted her handbag, fishing her keys from the front pocket, footsteps slapped against the tile behind her until fingers curled around her elbow.
Her eyes shot open when Harry pulled her backward harder than needed and harder than he'd most likely meant to. "You're leaving?"
She couldn't take the hurt on his face anymore. "I thought that would be obvious by my saying that I was."
Harry faltered. "Look, Hannah is nervous enough to meet you—"
Hermione barked a laugh. "I'm sure she is, Harry. I know I would be nervous as hell to meet someone's best mates when I planned on ghosting him in a few weeks." She'd regret the words later, Hermione knew, but fuck her if they didn't feel fantastic to finally say. "You do whatever you want. I'm just not going to stick around for it."
His face was red. Ron was nearing them, each step quicker than the last. "Why are you being such a bitch?"
A grin stretched across her face, and as petty as it felt, it didn't feel out of place at all. "I'm tired of this, Harry. If you can't see why that is, then I'm afraid I can't help you."
She was being vague because she was a coward, but it didn't bother her like she'd imagined it would.
"I fucking like her," he spat. "If you're such a shitty friend that you can't even fake some support after I asked my dad to give you that job—"
Ron swept in and stepped between them. "Too far." His voice was low, and she could barely hear it over the pounding in her ears. "Hermione—"
"I can't believe you're comparing giving me support to pay my fucking bills with me supporting you shagging a different girl every week."
Harry began to backtrack, but it was already too late. "Wait, that's not—"
Hermione hurried out of the restaurant and locked herself in her car before hot tears slipped down her face.
While she'd thought she was over this unrequited infatuation for her best friend, she was clearly wrong.
She'd reached a boiling point.
~o~
That night, Hermione had sat in her car while hastily downloading Tinder, an app that she'd scoffed at whenever she saw it on Ron and Harry's phone. However, drastic times—for her, anyway—called for drastic measures. She wasn't willing to go to a pub and take a random stranger home, but for whatever reason, she'd do the exact same thing on the internet.
Bloody ridiculous.
She selected a photo that was her best one, and then cropped it so her lips were the focus of the photograph. Truly, she didn't need anyone to recognise her if possible, and if a photo of red painted lips didn't say fuck me, Hermione wasn't sure what would.
Granted, her shoulders and the swell of her cleavage was also visible, but from the matches that filtered in, it was clear most men were focusing on her lips.
There were several matches, Hermione noted, but the only one she paid any mind to came in on the third day since she'd dumped herself into a mess of her own design.
Her stomach swirled as she stood at the copier, shifting her weight from side to side as her phone dinged with a message. This man's photo was seemingly cropped close, just like hers. All she could see was how well he wore a suit.
Hermione had already enlarged the photo several times to look at his hands, and she'd imagined those hands on her over and over again. Of course, she reasoned, it could have been a stock photo, or a photo pulled off the internet, but hers could be considered that too.
Is this a photo of you?
Dots bounced and a reply came quickly: It is.
Her teeth dipped into the plush of her lower lip. I see.
Is that a photo of you?
It is.
They were on the cusp of the conversation tilting toward something else entirely, and now they couldn't depend on simple answers.
You lips are quite pretty.
Unnoticed by her co-worker, Hermione preened at the compliment. Her stomach twisted and she hastily typed a reply.
Seems like most people on here do, but their compliments have been less than impressive.
Honestly, Hermione had no idea why she mentioned that. If he thought she was talking to multiple men at once, he might think her a slag and stop replying. That thought, for whatever reason, made her stomach turn in a rather different way than the unpleasant twist before.
How does mine rank?
Well, you called me pretty instead of telling me that you'd like to see my lips wrapped around a certain part of you.
In the spirit of honesty, I can't say that I didn't think about that, but there's a time for filthy words.
Hermione had reached her desk before realizing she'd left her paperwork in the copier and turned around, her eyes still glued to her mobile.
She hardly got any work done for the rest of the day as they continued to message back and forth.
~o~
Why are you on this?
It was cheesy, but Hermione took the plunge. I need a night to myself. Are you up for the task?
She didn't expect for the relationship between her and Harry to be anything other than platonic, but she thought he owed her some sort of apology. Thursday afternoon, after yet another day passed without Harry reaching out to her, Hermione scheduled a time and place with her mystery messenger.
They made plans to meet at a posh hotel just outside of London, one that catered to wealthier clientele, which reminded her that she had absolutely no idea who she was meeting. She knew his age—he was nearly twenty years her senior.
At the time, Hermione hadn't stopped to consider why he didn't want to be seen by anyone he might know. All she'd thought was that she didn't want to run into anyone.
She wasn't ashamed, but Hermione didn't want to answer any questions either.
Hermione pocketed her mobile as James stood from his chair and closed his briefcase. "I don't think we've ever left this early." She laughed and he flashed her a grin. "I'm glad. I have plans tonight and I was worried I wouldn't have enough time to get ready."
He smirked. "You know you can leave at five any time you like, Hermione."
"And leave you with all the work? Never." They walked out together, still the last to leave and she beamed at him. "Have a great weekend."
"Hopefully it'll be as good as yours."
~o~
She'd shaved, plucked, lotioned—Hermione had spent an ungodly amount of time prepping for a hook-up, but none of that did anything to calm her frayed nerves. After checking in at the lobby, giving them the room number, and receiving the key, she hurried into the lift.
It was odd that they hadn't requested a name to confirm the room, but she assumed her mystery man had told them not to. Still, it was strange.
She'd shown up and let herself into a room paid for by a stranger, and that was the weird part?
Before she could talk herself into leaving, Hermione helped herself to the mini-bar that came fully stocked. God, why had she shown up twenty minutes early?
Minutes later, pleasantly buzzed, but not so inebriated that she would do something she regretted, Hermione took a seat at the foot of the bed. She bounced on it once, grinning at the softness, and then her stomach tightened when she remembered why they needed a bed.
She wasn't embarrassed.
Just nervous.
Surely that would go away quickly once they got started. It wasn't as if they were going to spend any time talking, and she didn't want to be caught off guard just because she was nervous. She felt so silly. Adults—especially her age—did this all the time.
Hermione idly fidgeted with the edge of her dress, repeatedly telling herself that she'd stop the nervous tick the moment the door opened.
Maybe she ought to take another drink, but before she can stand, the door creaked. Hermione didn't look up, though she should have if she wanted to quell her frazzled nerves.
There was a distinct choking sound and Hermione's head snapped up. "Oh, my God." She shot to her feet.
James stared back at her, equally surprised, and her eyes widened.
Jesus fucking Christ.
This was Harry's father, her boss—
He was fucking married.
No wonder he hadn't wanted to meet anywhere they could be seen. Pieces dropped into place. She felt like she'd perfectly played the role of an utter fool. Hermione wrung her hands in front of her, no longer concerned with whether her legs were completely void of hair, and swallowed hard, only to find her mouth dry.
He opened and closed his mouth, but James didn't say anything. He could probably barely wrap his head around the situation, much less speak—she knew she couldn't.
Hermione would have found the entire thing more believable if someone jumped out and told her it was an elaborate prank.
But that didn't happen.
She blinked. James was still standing in front of her and she watched him kick the door shut.
The only sound in the room was a faint click.
"You're on tinder?" He pulled at his tie and his voice was raw.
Hermione gaped at him. That was the first thing out of his mouth? "It's perfectly socially acceptable for me to be on tinder!"
He remained solidly in place, dragging his tie away from his throat.
She tracked the movement. Hermione was aware of several things at once, like the fact that she had no idea how she could ever face Harry again without blurting something out that he would never believe, or the fact that she'd been talking to James for days.
Sweet mother of God, the things they had talked about.
Her anger bubbled and Hermione clenched her teeth.
"Hermione—" James stepped forward and all of her carefully constructed—polite—barbs died in her throat.
"Is this the reason your marriage is falling apart?" Hermione whispered, watching him freeze in place. His hand dropped away from her. "I felt sorry for you!"
James clenched his jaw. "No," he said slowly, and then he took another step.
And another.
He placed one foot in front of the other until he towered over her. Her brain felt like it might short circuit.
"I've never done anything like this. It's the first time."
She was going to throw up on his shoes. Hermione shook her head, barely able to think beyond short term solutions, which was mainly to somehow quit her job—a dream come true—without questions being raised, and finding another.
She didn't pay attention until he curled a finger under her chin.
Until warmth sank into her skin and her lips involuntarily parted.
Each step was small, she noticed, and it was probably an effort not to scare her away. She meant to ask what he was doing. Really and truly, Hermione had meant to ask instead of whimpering when he backed her against the wall.
There was a split second of hesitation, and James looked from her eyes to her lips before slanting his mouth over hers.
A ragged gasp tore free of her throat, and Hermione curled her fingers into the front of his shirt, sliding her hands under his jacket and up his chest. Her elbow knocked against the decorative frame on the dresser as he wedged his knee between her thighs.
Hands framed her face and his tongue slid against hers.
A husky groan vibrated through her mouth, and in that moment, she remembered just who was kissing her.
Hermione braced her hands against his chest and pushed him backward, shaking her head. "I can't do this"—but, God I want to—"I have to go." She pressed past him, snatching her handbag and coat from the chair, all but sprinting to the lift.
She was positive it meant something that James chased after her, his shirt wrinkled, completely fucked, but she didn't know if it was because he wanted to make sure she didn't tell his wife—or his son—or if it was because he wanted this.
She told herself it was the first, but Hermione couldn't help but hope it was the latter.
Please let me know what you think! Also, I'm testing out new line breaks, so please let me know if they're not appearing correctly for you. See ya next week!
