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Harry lingered in the doorway, surveying the hotel bar approvingly.
Exclusive luxury whispered from every leather-lined booth and dark wood panel, while white-aproned staff delivered impeccably mixed drinks accompanied by a smooth-jazz soundtrack. However, it wasn’t only the understated opulence that made it the perfect location; as a Muggle establishment it offered vital anonymity.
Tonight of all nights, Harry did not want to be recognized.
His palms were clammy and his pulse raced, yet a thrill chased up his spine because, despite his reservations about what he was about to do, he still found the idea intriguing—exciting, even. The heady combination of anticipation and apprehension left him light-headed. He took a deep breath to steady himself, absent-mindedly twisting his wedding ring as he tried to decide whether to dive right in or call the whole thing off.
And that was when he saw her.
She was sitting alone at the bar, perfectly lit by a spotlight, like a priceless museum exhibit. Her emerald-green dress fitted her like a glove, high at the neck and slashed to the thigh, and her exquisitely pale skin was dusted with a galaxy of freckles. It was her hair that most captivated him though—boldly and unapologetically red and pinned in a twist that exposed the elegant length of her neck. She was a study in perfection and temptation, and the moment he laid eyes on her he knew he had to have her.
Perhaps feeling the weight of his gaze, she glanced up, spotting his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Her lips twisted into a smirk as she cocked an enquiring eyebrow in his direction. Suitably encouraged, he approached her, footsteps silent on the inch-thick carpet.
“Waiting for someone?” he asked, easing onto the neighbouring stool.
She seemed amused. “Not anymore.”
Up close, she was utterly stunning. Witty rejoinders died on his tongue, and for a moment, he could only stare at her, like the awkwardly clueless sixteen-year-old he used to be. It was ridiculous, all things considered; another symptom of the exhilarating strangeness of the situation.
Eventually, she took pity on him. “I’m Ruby.”
That caught him by surprise. “Erm… James,” he replied, wishing he’d thought of a decent alias beforehand.
“You seem nervous,” she observed, lazily running her finger around the rim of her cocktail glass. “You don’t need to be.”
Harry shoved his hand through his hair, feeling sheepish. “Sorry. It’s because I’ve never done this before—picked up a stranger in a bar, I mean.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Is that what’s happening here?”
He blinked, hard. Had he blown it already? “Sorry, I just presumed…” he stuttered. “But if you don’t…”
“Hey—it’s okay. I’m nervous too,” she admitted, resting her hand over his, and her touch both reassured and electrified him. “This is something I’ve fantasized about for a very long time.“
Confidence restored, he shot her a lop-sided grin. “So I’m making your dreams come true? How am I doing so far?”
Ruby smiled knowingly. “Trust me—you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”
She shifted in her seat, and Harry caught a glimpse of a jet-black wand in a thigh holster—as if he needed another reminder of how sexy she was. “You look incredible in that dress, by the way.”
Ruby dipped her head to acknowledge the compliment. “I’ve always loved green.” She gazed up at him, eyes wide with suspicious innocence. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Anything.”
Her grin was wicked. “Are you ever going to buy me a drink? A girl could die of thirst around here.”
Harry exhaled a puff of silent laughter as he signalled for the bartender. “What would you like?”
“Another martini. And James?” She leaned close, dragging the tip of her shoe slowly up his calf. “I’d like you to make it dirty, please.”
It very nearly succeeded in rendering him speechless again, and he barely managed to choke out an order for two dirty martinis.
“Certainly, Sir. Gin or vodka?” asked the bartender.
Harry glanced at this companion. “Gin. Always.” The noise she made in response, somewhere between an approving purr and a bubble of laughter, went straight to his groin.
Once their drinks arrived, conversation flowed easily, a mix of verbal jousting, inconsequential smalltalk and filthy jokes, though Harry couldn’t have told you a single thing either of them actually said. He was barely aware of anything other than the press of her knee against his thigh, her gloriously unrestrained laughter, and the way she watched his mouth with those molten chocolate eyes. He could drown in those eyes, he was certain.
When their glasses were empty, Ruby leaned forward, placing her hand dangerously high on his thigh. “Want to get out of here?” she whispered, her breath warming his ear. “I have a room upstairs.”
Harry rested his temple against hers, breathing in her intoxicating floral scent. His gaze fell on the rings on the fourth finger of her left hand. “Won’t your husband object?”
“On the contrary. I think he’d be extremely enthusiastic about the prospect.” She trailed a fingertip down his forearm to the wedding ring on his left hand. “Why do you care? You’re married too.”
Without taking his eyes off hers, he twisted his ring off his finger and dropped it into his jacket pocket. “Not tonight.”
Her only response was to slip off her bar stool and lead him towards the lifts. As the floors ticked upwards, carrying them away from the bar, away from anyone but each other, all Harry’s anxiety melted away. Only breathless anticipation remained, growing steadily until they reached her room.
The second they were through the door, his lips were on hers. She returned his kiss enthusiastically, a frantic collision of bodies and tongues, fuelled by the raw, uncompromising need they’d been building all evening.
“So,” she murmured, between kisses, “this is my room.”
“Fantastic,” he muttered, lips against the smooth skin of her throat.
Her hands were in his hair, her body pressed close against his, and it unleashed something feral in him. He traced her arms from her shoulders to her wrists until without warning, he shoved her against the wall, roughly pinning her hands above her head. His reward was a moan that made his heart pound and his cock throb.
“It really is. The view is… ah….” Her breath hitched as he parted her thighs with his knee, rocking against her to let her feel exactly how hard he was. “....amazing.”
The germ of an idea appeared in his brain. He released her wrists as suddenly as he’d captured them, ignoring Ruby’s whine of disappointment. “Show me.”
She glanced at him curiously, but didn’t object, leading him towards a full-length window that overlooked the Thames and the lights of the South Bank beyond. Many floors below them, the pavements thronged with crowds of revellers, all tiny as pixies. “See? Isn’t it incredible?”
He stood behind her, and she shivered as he nipped at the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Hmm. Not bad. But I think it could be improved.” Without waiting for her response, he unzipped her dress. It slipped from her shoulders and puddled at her feet. “Much better.”
“Hey! Someone might see!” she protested, as he unhooked her bra.
Harry shrugged. He pulled her wand from her thigh holster and flicked it at the glass, silently casting a concealing charm. “Now be a good girl,” he told her, sliding her knickers down her hips to join her dress on the floor, “and put your hands on the window.”
Her eyes flashed dark as black coffee as she obeyed him. Harry paused for a moment, drinking in the sinuous stretch of her back and the curve of her rump, before trailing kisses from the nape of her neck along the length of her spine.
Her skin was like silk beneath his lips, her floral perfume giving way to something earthier and far more enticing underneath. His hands roamed with abandon, exploring every inch of her, the soft swells and firm planes, the places that made her sigh and those that made her tremble, sinking steadily lower, and pivoting until he was on his knees before her.
He could feel the tension in her body, braced against the window, straining towards him, and considered teasing her, making her wait while he explored the fascinating constellations of freckles on her inner thighs, but the temptation was too strong. Instead, he immediately buried his face at her centre, assailing her with his tongue, with his fingers, and above all else, with enthusiasm.
“I dunno Gi… Ruby,” he murmured, “I think I prefer my view to yours.”
Her reply was an incomplete and incoherent stream of fucks and Merlins. She bucked and squirmed against him but Harry held her firm, offering her no quarter, kissing and lapping and sucking until she screamed her release with a violent shudder, clamping her thighs around his head.
As she pulsed above him, Harry became aware of the very real risk he might actually die if he didn’t have her, right that second. He hurriedly released himself from his trousers, and the moment she relaxed her grip, he was on his feet, spinning her around and lifting her hips so he could impale her against the glass. Ruby locked her ankles behind him, meeting his desperate, relentless rhythm, chasing away reason, control and conscious thought.
Through the window, far below, the city continued its bacchanal, but Harry only knew the sensation of being lost inside her, chasing euphoria with every thrust. It was urgent, exhilarating, and over way too quickly, but he didn’t regret it. As he carried her to bed, laying her reverentially on the crisp cotton sheets, he was already imagining next time; slow and languid and sensual.
After all, they had the whole night ahead of them.
They never quite got around to closing the curtains, so when Harry woke the next morning, happy, relaxed and sated, bright sunlight spilled across the bed.
The world came back into focus once he’d retrieved his glasses, and the first thing he did was admire his companion, still asleep beside him. She looked even more stunning in the morning light, face down on top of the sheets, every taut line and perfect curve of her body exposed to him, her fiery hair splayed across the pillow.
Smiling, he slipped out of bed. As he retrieved his wedding ring from his jacket pocket, a voice startled him.
“Harry?” She’d pushed herself onto her elbows, voice rough with sleep, eyes barely open.
He sat on the bed next to her. “Morning, Gin. Sleep well?”
“Amazingly.” She flopped onto the mattress with a satisfied groan. “Someone wore me out.“
“Happy to be of service," he grinned. "So—was having a one-night stand with a stranger everything you hoped it would be?”
Her smile was beatific. “Yeah. I know you weren’t sure about role-playing in public. Thanks for giving it a go.”
“It was actually more fun than I’d expected,” he confessed. “And the sex was… “
Yet again, words failed him, but it didn’t matter, because as usual, Ginny understood. “Yeah, it really was,” she agreed, sighing happily. “Next time, we’ll try one of your fantasies.”
“Which one?” he smirked. Just the thought had him half-hard.
She rolled onto her side, supporting her head with her hand. “You tell me. That’s the whole point.” Then she frowned. “What time is it? We need to collect the kids from the Burrow.”
He shook his head. “I know. But not yet.”
“I told Mum we’d be there before lunchtime.”
“And we will. But there’s something else I need to do first,” he told her, looking pointedly at his rapidly hardening length.
“I see.” Her eyes darkened and her tongue moistened her lips. “And what might that be?”
He slipped his wedding ring back onto his finger, and dropped an open-mouthed kiss onto her shoulder. “First, I need to make love to my wife.”