LOVERS- Ginny & Blaise (HP)

Only the heavens knew why Ginny Weasley had returned to Blaise Zabini. Perhaps it was the weight of the child growing inside her, a life that bound them now, inextricably tied to both of their fates. Or maybe, she thought wryly, it was just sheer madness—fate's dark humor in the form of an ill-timed pregnancy. Or maybe, a traitorous voice in the back of her mind suggested, it was something deeper that she couldn't admit to herself. But here she was, sitting in the lavishly decorated room Blaise had claimed as her own, a prisoner of both her past and an uncertain future.

How could anyone love a killer, let alone the one responsible for her brother's death? The very notion was preposterous, a cruel twist of fate that her younger self would have laughed at in disbelief. And yet, here she was, trying to reconcile that impossible truth. Every fiber of her being had resisted him at first, the anger, the grief—all-consuming. But grief was a funny thing, she realized, one that shifted over time, morphing into something more complex, sometimes even tangled with the things you never thought you'd feel.

Blaise didn't understand her—of that, she was certain. He was dangerous, darkly charismatic, and used to taking what he wanted without a second thought. Killing came to him as naturally as breathing, and she knew she'd never be able to understand that part of him. And yet, he was oddly tender with her, in his own way. He never said much, never apologized or explained. Instead, he surrounded her with a strange sort of care, doing what he thought would make her happy, trying to win her over with material things as if diamonds and dresses could fill the gaping wound in her heart.

At first, it had been laughable—the endless stream of gifts he'd arranged, as though beautiful things could patch up the ugly truths between them. There were necklaces encrusted with emeralds and sapphires, dresses sewn from the finest silks, perfumes with exotic names she couldn't even pronounce. Each item was carefully selected, beautifully presented, and yet utterly empty to her. She had grown up in a family where love wasn't measured by jewels but by laughter and shared meals, the quiet warmth of being understood. His wealth meant nothing to her now, but she saw how he struggled to bridge that gap, trying to give her something he thought she'd appreciate, even if he didn't know what she truly wanted.

Sitting alone in her room, she picked up one of the delicate perfume bottles from the vanity, her fingers trailing along its cool surface. She uncorked it, letting the scent waft up, rich and heady, yet foreign. Everything in this room was beautiful but unfamiliar, a gilded cage that Blaise had made for her with all the care he could muster. She supposed she should be grateful; after all, he was trying. He didn't have to, she knew that much. He could have tossed her aside, or worse. But he hadn't. He had kept her here, built this sanctuary for her, surrounded her with gifts as if they might somehow express feelings he would never speak aloud.

And in some twisted way, that thought struck her as sad. He wasn't cruel to her; he wasn't even unkind. He was simply... distant, like he was doing his best from behind a wall he didn't know how to tear down. And in his own, cold way, she suspected he cared for her. A soft, bitter laugh escaped her lips. How was she supposed to feel about that? About the fact that the man who had shattered her life, broken her heart by taking her brother, was now trying to piece her back together in the only way he knew how?

But what haunted her most were the moments when she caught herself softening toward him. Those rare, fleeting moments when she would see a trace of vulnerability in his gaze, a fleeting hint of something almost human beneath the mask. She would find herself looking at him too long, her mind grasping at memories that weren't real—of what he could have been if he hadn't been shaped by darkness. She didn't love him; she was certain of that, and yet... the very fact that her heart dared to soften made her feel guilty, as though she were betraying her brother's memory by letting herself feel anything but hatred.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and she instinctively straightened, adjusting the silken robe that had been one of his countless gifts. The door opened, and he stood there, silhouetted in the frame, his presence filling the room with a quiet intensity. His dark eyes regarded her, taking in her posture, her guarded expression. For a moment, neither spoke, and the silence stretched between them, heavy with all the things they'd never said.

His gaze flicked to the small pile of unopened gifts on the vanity. "You didn't open the last one," he said, his voice smooth but with a hint of something that might have been disappointment.

Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. "It's another necklace, isn't it?" Her tone was laced with sarcasm, and she saw his jaw tighten slightly. "Or maybe something with more diamonds? You can stop now, Blaise. You can't buy forgiveness."

He stepped further into the room, his gaze darkening. "I'm not asking for forgiveness, Ginny. I know I'll never have that. But I want you to be… comfortable here."

"Comfortable," she repeated, the word almost tasting sour. "You think these things make me comfortable? Blaise, you can dress up a prison cell all you want, but it's still a prison."

A flicker of pain crossed his face, so quick she wondered if she had imagined it. He turned, pacing toward the window, his back to her as he looked out over the sprawling estate. "You think I don't know that?" he murmured, his voice so low she had to strain to hear. "I know what this is. I know what I am."

For a moment, her heart softened, her anger momentarily dulled by the trace of regret in his voice. "Then why?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Why keep me here, Blaise? Why pretend you can make up for everything with a few gifts?"

He turned to face her, and she saw a glint of something raw in his eyes, something that made her stomach twist with an emotion she didn't want to name. "Because I don't know any other way," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "This… this is the only way I know how to care for someone."

She looked away, her fingers curling into the silk of her robe. "Caring," she murmured, the word sounding hollow. "I can't be with a man who thinks he can just—"

"I know what I did," he cut in sharply, his voice edged with a bitterness that almost matched her own. "I took your brother from you. I know. And I live with it every day. But if you're here, if you stay, maybe… maybe I can give you something better, something more."

Her gaze met his, and for a moment, she saw through the layers of armor he wore, to the man beneath—the one he kept hidden from everyone, even himself. And she wondered, just for a heartbeat, if maybe, in some twisted, broken way, he was trying to save her as much as he was trying to save himself.

But then, as quickly as it had come, the vulnerability vanished, replaced once more by the cold, detached mask that he wore so effortlessly. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing toward the pile of gifts with a faint, almost regretful smile. "If you'd rather I stop, I will. I just… wanted you to know that I'm trying."

The silence between them was thick, almost suffocating, and she found herself nodding, more to fill the silence than out of any real conviction. "Fine. Do whatever you want, Blaise."

He gave her a long, searching look, as though weighing her words, then turned and left, his footsteps echoing down the hallway until they faded into silence.

She stared after him, feeling as though something had slipped through her fingers—something she might never fully understand. She let out a shaky breath, glancing down at her hand resting protectively over her abdomen, feeling the quiet flutter of life beneath her palm. This child was the only part of her future that felt real, grounding her in a way she couldn't explain. And, for better or worse, it was bound to Blaise.

She whispered into the stillness, not sure if it was meant for herself, the child, or even him. "Maybe one day, we'll figure this out." But even as she said it, she wasn't sure if she believed it.

~~~~~~

Hermione arrived at the Zabini mansion, her heart pounding in her chest. The once elegant house was now a chaotic battlefield. Furniture was overturned, shards of broken china littered the floor, and an eerie silence hung in the air. It was as if a storm had raged through the house, leaving destruction in its wake.

She found Ginny in the garden sitting on a bench. 

She found Ginny sitting alone on a garden bench. Her voice was firm as she began, "Ginerva, listen to me. I've had enough. You're going to listen, whether you like it or not. I know you're incapable of doing that on your own, so I'm going to cast a silencing charm on you."

"Ron forbade me from attending social events, especially if he couldn't come. He intercepted my letters, scrutinising both Magical and Muggle communications, cutting me off from my support system. His possessiveness deepened, alienating me from friends by accusing you all of being bad influences or trying to lure me away. When confronted, he flatly denied his controlling behaviour, insisting I was exaggerating or delusional. He blamed me for his outbursts, claiming my behaviour provoked him or that I was the problem. He eroded my self-confidence by questioning MY intelligence, memory, and judgement, making me doubt my own sanity. He would shower me with affection and attention, creating a false sense of security that made leaving impossible. And then, he imprisoned me, Ginerva. Your brother is no saint." 

she revealed the harsh truth.

"Your brother was a monster. I was ecstatic to break free. It seems he's found solace in Lavender's arms."

Exhausted and vulnerable, her chest heaved. The truth, once locked away, now hung heavy in the air. A swift movement of her wand cast a silencing spell over Ginny.

"Blaise found out everything about your brother. He told Draco, and now Ron is dead. This is why all of this happened." she had a cold mask on. 

The area was heavy with tension. Her voice, when it came, cut through the silence like a knife. "I am not going to surrender myself to you. You used my accident as a weapon. You keep attacking my husband because all he has done this entire time is to keep me safe." Her words were laced with anger and defiance. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears.

Her voice was cold, calculated. A stark contrast to the warmth of the garden. "Your own husband took part in it, yes, but all he has done this entire year or so is keep you in your princess tower. Locked away from the truth. Locked away from your brother's miserable life and the family business that all of the Slytherin's appear to do." Her eyes seemed to bore into her, demanding a reaction. 

Her expression softened, the sharp edge of her demeanor giving way to something rawer, more vulnerable. "I'm not trying to be cruel," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "But it's agonizing to see someone live comfortably in a gilded cage, oblivious to the world that's falling apart just outside. You have a responsibility—not just as a wife, but as a person—to open your eyes. To see the truth. To understand how your choices ripple outward."

Her tone hardened, resolve sharpening each word. "I care about you, Ginny. But I care about my family more. I can't stand by while you choose ignorance over accountability."

She took a step back, her voice dropping to an icy whisper. "And if you find it easy to speak ill of me, it's only because if you spoke honestly about yourself, no one would listen—or care."

Her gaze lingered for a moment before she turned away, her parting words cutting like a blade. "Goodbye."

Her eyes flashed with anger as she turned on her heel. The conversation was over. There was nothing more to say. With a sharp flick of her wand, she disappeared in a blinding flash of light, leaving Ginny standing alone in the garden, their words hanging unanswered in the still air.

 ~~~~~~

For a month, Ginny was inconsolable. The once fiery girl, fierce in spirit and quick to defend those she loved, was now a hollow shell, her spirit fractured. Her days and nights melted into one endless stream of silent tears and aching regret, her heart drowning in a tide of betrayal she hadn't wanted to see. She had believed so fervently in her family, in her love for Blaise, in the unbreakable bond with Hermione. But each piece of her carefully constructed world had shattered, leaving her alone among the ruins of all she had trusted.

Every day, she woke with the raw, unrelenting realization that she'd lost her brothers. She mourned them not just in the literal sense but also for the idealized versions she'd held of them. They were supposed to be her protectors, her constants. But the truth weighed heavily on her: Fred had died too young, and Ron had been more broken than she'd ever allowed herself to admit. How could she have been so blind?

Ron wasn't a good man. She replayed every memory of his explosive anger, the way he'd been quick to react, quick to see the world as a challenge, an enemy. The insecurities he hid behind his temper felt painfully clear to her now, like a dark thread running through each moment they'd shared. She remembered the bruises she'd seen on Lavender, the way her sister-in-law had smiled through them, dismissing her worried glances with an easy shrug and an empty reassurance. She had convinced herself it was something minor, a misunderstanding. But now, those bruises felt like evidence of her willful ignorance, signs she'd chosen to ignore in favor of preserving her illusion of Ron as flawed but still a hero. The truth hit harder than any story she could tell herself.

And then there was Blaise. Blaise, who had drawn her in with his effortless charm, his mysterious allure, the quiet strength that she'd once thought was invincible. He had been her sanctuary, the love she thought would make her life whole. She had trusted him blindly, wrapped herself in the thrill of their bond without ever questioning the darker corners of his world. Now, the illusion was shattered, leaving her grasping at fragments that no longer fit together. Blaise was no knight in shining armor. He was a man bound by his own darkness, secrets buried so deep she couldn't reach him even if she tried. And maybe, she realized with a pang, she didn't want to.

But Hermione's betrayal hurt the most. Hermione, her truest friend, her sister in all but blood. They had shared secrets, dreams, fears—all the moments that sisters shared. Hermione had been her confidante, the one person she thought would never turn her back. But Hermione had kept secrets too, guarding them with a cold resolve that she now recognized as survival. It was as though she'd been living alongside a stranger all along, unable to see the walls Hermione had built to protect herself, to shield herself from a world that had nearly broken her.

Her fairytale view of the people she loved had crumbled, leaving a reality more bitter than she could have imagined. For the first time, she felt as though she saw the world with open eyes, unclouded by the dreams and ideals she had clung to so tightly. And it was lonely—achingly, devastatingly lonely. Her family, her friends, her love... they were all gone, or at least the versions of them she'd once cherished. In losing them, Ginny felt as though she had also lost herself, as though each of them had taken a piece of her with them, leaving her feeling fragmented, unmoored.

She had no one. 

The thought repeated in her mind, filling the quiet emptiness of her days. She wandered through the halls of the mansion like a ghost, haunted by memories, by promises broken and words unspoken. She was used to being surrounded by love, by the vibrant warmth of a home filled with laughter and fierce loyalty. Now, she drifted through a house that felt foreign, a life that felt like it belonged to someone else. She was left with only herself, and in those quiet, lonely moments, she came face-to-face with the truth she'd avoided for so long: she had always relied on others to define her, to fill her with purpose, to give her a sense of belonging.

Now, there was only the silence, stretching on endlessly, forcing her to confront the emptiness inside. She had thought love would save her—that her family, her friends, Blaise, and Hermione would be enough to keep her whole. But in their absence, she realized that she had been searching for validation outside herself, looking to others to provide the worth she hadn't found within.

The days passed, and slowly, she felt her tears drying up, replaced by a hollow ache that she carried with her. She began to reflect, turning over each painful memory like a stone, searching for some lesson, some piece of herself that could withstand the storm. She felt as if she were peeling back the layers of her own heart, each one raw and tender, revealing scars she hadn't known were there.

One day, as she sat in the dim light of her room, the shadows long across the floor, she whispered into the emptiness, "Who am I without them?"

The silence gave no answer, but for the first time, she felt a flicker of resolve. She didn't know who she was without them—without Ron's overbearing protection, Blaise's magnetic pull, Hermione's steady friendship. But maybe, she thought, she could find out. She had lost the illusions, the false certainties that had once comforted her. But maybe, in their place, she could find something real—something no one could take away.

And so she began, slowly, painfully, to rebuild. To find strength in her own solitude, in the quiet, unyielding truth of herself. She wasn't the girl who needed saving, who clung to others for purpose. She was the girl who had faced heartbreak, betrayal, and loss, and had found, even in the darkest moments, a reason to keep going.

Maybe she had no one now, but perhaps, in the silence, that was okay. She was learning to be enough on her own, to find a steady strength she hadn't known existed within her. For the first time, she felt herself standing on her own two feet, without the constant need to look to others for reassurance, approval, or love.

But then, that thought faded slightly. Because while she might have lost so much, she did still have maybe one person.

Her psychopath husband.

Blaise was still there, like a dark, solid presence anchoring her to something she couldn't quite name. He was her rock, her constant. Her everything. He had been there through the storms and the nightmares, through her screams and cries when she was lost and floundering. And despite the cracks in their marriage, despite the secrets and betrayals, she couldn't deny that he was the one piece of her world that hadn't fallen apart.

She still loved him. And perhaps that love was complicated, perhaps some would call it twisted or even wrong, but it didn't matter. It was a truth that ran deep inside her. Maybe it was some form of Stockholm syndrome, clinging to him even after she had uncovered so many of his dark truths, but it didn't make her feelings any less real. She loved him with a desperation that sometimes frightened her. He was not perfect; he was far from it. But he was hers, and for now, that felt like enough.

He had done so much for her. He had protected her fiercely, shielded her from a world that had proven to be far darker than she'd ever imagined. He had been ruthless, yes, even brutal in his own ways, but she knew he had done it all to keep her safe. There was something in the way he looked at her, that unspoken promise that he would stand between her and any danger, even if it meant staining his hands and soul in ways that could never be undone. He had saved her, time and again, sometimes from threats she didn't even realize were there.

And he had loved her. In the midst of all their chaos, he had always found a way to show her that she was cherished, that she was the one light in his shadowed world. She remembered his small gestures—how he would watch her quietly, as if afraid she might disappear; how his hand would linger just a second longer when he brushed her hair back or took her hand in his. He loved her fiercely, with a kind of raw intensity that matched her own, a love that felt more like a force of nature than anything soft or gentle.

Yes, she had lost so much. But he was still here. In his arms, she found a kind of solace, a sanctuary, even as she began to confront the harsh truths of her world. It wasn't the perfect love she had once imagined, and perhaps that was for the best. She had spent her life clinging to idealized versions of love, of people, and now she realized that true love—real love—was often flawed, scarred, and imperfect.

The more she thought about it, the more she understood that love wasn't always easy or clean. Sometimes, it was messy and complicated, forged in the fire of shared secrets and burdens too heavy to bear alone. He had seen her at her lowest, had witnessed the unraveling of her illusions and the devastation in her eyes, and he had still chosen to stay. He didn't pretend to be her hero; he didn't try to fix her or soothe her pain with hollow words. He simply stood by her side, and for that, she was grateful.

In the quiet moments, when the world felt cold and lonely, he was there, his presence warm and steady. She realized that he, too, was learning to let her stand on her own, learning to trust that she could navigate the darkness without him needing to shield her entirely. It was a different kind of love, one rooted in resilience and understanding. He was the only one who knew the truth about her family, about Ron, and about the twisted lies she'd been raised to believe. And in knowing that truth, he didn't judge her; he simply accepted her, scars and all.

She found herself thinking that maybe this was the love she had been searching for all along. It wasn't the fairytale romance she'd once dreamed of, but something far more real. It was a love that had been tested, battered by secrets and betrayals, but had somehow emerged stronger for it. She could feel it in his touch, in the way he looked at her with that quiet intensity, as if she were the only thing grounding him in his own turbulent world.

No, she wasn't alone. She had him. And for now, that was enough. She was learning to be strong, yes, to be enough on her own. But there was no shame in leaning on him, in allowing herself to find comfort in his presence. Their love, flawed and fierce as it was, had become her anchor, the one thing she could rely on when everything else felt lost.

In time, maybe she would find her way back to herself completely. But for now, in the dark, she clung to the one person who had stayed when everyone else had faded away. She might still be shattered, still healing, but in his arms, she felt a glimmer of hope, a promise that maybe, one day, she could be whole again.

And as she lay there, curled up beside him in the quiet hours of dawn, she finally allowed herself to let go of the past, to release the weight of her illusions, and to begin building something new. Not a fairytale, but a life. One where she could stand beside him as an equal, as a partner, and as a woman who, finally, was learning what it meant to be truly strong.

~~~~~~

After two weeks of silence, reflection, and feeling the vast emptiness of loneliness in her own home, she finally came to a decision. She would choose happiness—the kind that existed in the real, messy world she now lived in. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't the fairy tale she'd once imagined, but it was real, and it was hers. And with that decision came the choice she was finally ready to make: she would choose her husband. Whatever their future held, she wanted to face it together.

With quiet resolve, she made her way to the master bedroom. It felt like such a small action, but with each step, she felt the weight of her decision settle into place. When she opened the door, he was just stepping out of the shower, steam trailing behind him. His dark hair clung to his forehead, and water droplets glistened on his skin. He turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, the silence heavy with words unspoken and emotions unresolved.

"Hello," she said softly, feeling her heart pound in her chest.

"Hello," he replied, his voice gentle yet guarded, as if unsure of what she might say next.

She took a deep breath, the weight of her vulnerability pressing down on her, but she managed to say, "I'm lonely."

His eyes softened, a flicker of something she couldn't quite read flashing across his face. "So am I," he admitted, his voice laced with the honesty they both had been avoiding. "Now that we're making statements… Tell me, how can I help you?"

Her lips quirked in a soft, hesitant smile, and she whispered, "Cuddle me."

He hesitated, just for a moment, as if weighing the significance of this simple request. But then he nodded, his gaze holding hers. "Come, get in bed."

She settled onto the bed, making herself comfortable, yet aware of how much hung in the air between them. They were both carrying wounds, both trying to bridge the chasm that had grown between them. Finally, she asked, almost shyly, "Can you… cuddle me?"

"As you wish," he replied, his voice soft, but she could hear the tension beneath it. He moved closer, slipping his arms around her, and she nestled into him, feeling his warmth but also sensing the distance that still lingered. They lay there in silence, his arms around her, yet it felt as if they were miles apart.

Slowly, she reached down, taking his hand and moving it to her belly. His eyes widened, and she felt him stiffen in surprise. This was the first time she'd let him touch her like this since they found out about the baby. She hadn't even realized how much she'd held back until now, how much she'd kept him at arm's length, afraid of letting him in. But as his hand rested on the curve of her belly, she felt something begin to shift.

At first, his touch was tentative, almost as if he feared she might change her mind. But as he felt the subtle movements beneath his hand, he relaxed, his fingers tracing gentle, reverent circles over her skin. He shifted down the bed, positioning himself so he could lean closer, his lips hovering just above her belly. And then, as if he couldn't hold back any longer, he pressed a tender kiss to the small swell of their child.

She watched as his face softened in a way she'd rarely seen. He looked almost vulnerable, his eyes filled with wonder and something else she couldn't quite place. Slowly, he leaned down again, murmuring words she couldn't quite hear, his voice a low, soothing whisper meant only for their baby. He kissed every inch of her belly, his lips brushing over her skin like he was making a promise with each touch.

She lay there, watching in awe. She hadn't known what to expect when she let him close like this, but seeing him now, so unguarded and filled with a quiet devotion, stirred something deep inside her. She realized, perhaps for the first time, just how much this child meant to him. How much they meant to him. He hadn't simply accepted fatherhood—he had embraced it with a love and reverence she hadn't fully understood until this moment.

He seemed lost in his own world, his focus entirely on the life growing within her. His hands caressed her belly, gentle and reverent, like he was holding something precious and fragile. He pressed his cheek against her skin, closing his eyes, and she could feel the warmth of his breath, the steady rhythm of his breathing as he whispered to their child, his words filled with promises, hopes, and dreams.

He stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, murmuring soft words to the baby, his fingers tracing soothing patterns across her belly. He whispered stories, dreams of the future, and reassurances she could barely make out, but she didn't need to hear every word to understand. She could feel the depth of his love in every touch, every whispered syllable. She could see how much he wanted this, how much he wanted them.

Her heart swelled, and for the first time in a long time, she felt tears in her eyes—not from sadness, but from something close to happiness. She hadn't expected this, hadn't anticipated feeling this close to him after everything that had happened. But here he was, holding her, holding their child, his love laid bare in a way words could never fully capture.

Finally, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers, and in that gaze, she saw everything he couldn't say out loud. It was a silent promise, an unspoken vow. She knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, and he would be there by her side every step of the way. This wasn't just his child or her child—it was their child, a bond that would forever connect them, a new beginning they both desperately needed.

She reached out, gently cupping his face, and he leaned into her touch, his hand resting protectively over her belly. They stayed like that, in each other's arms, finding comfort in the quiet, unspoken understanding that had grown between them. The past was filled with hurt and mistakes, wounds that still lingered, but in this moment, that weight softened, lifted just a little by the silent promises between them.

As they held each other, she looked deeply into his eyes, searching for the words that still felt so elusive, but her heart already knew what she needed.

"I need to kiss you," she whispered, her voice barely audible, a breath of longing and forgiveness.

Before she'd even finished speaking, his lips were on hers, soft yet filled with the urgency of all they had been through. In that kiss was everything—apologies, promises, and the faint hope of a future where love might outlast the shadows of their past. They held on tightly, each kiss a silent vow, a piece of rebuilding trust, a way to bridge the gaps and bruises life had left them with.

They melted into each other, the warmth and familiarity of their bodies rekindling memories of happier times. She let her fingers trace the curve of his jaw, trailing down his neck and shoulders, each touch a reminder of the bond they were slowly reforging. He held her carefully, his hands gentle, tracing small, soothing circles on her back, and his touch brought her a sense of peace she hadn't realized she still needed.

As they kissed, her hands began to roam, exploring his body. She traced her fingers along his broad shoulders, feeling the defined contours of his chest beneath his shirt. Her touch sent shivers down his spine, and he let out a low, satisfied groan.

Her fingers deftly unbuttoned his pajama, revealing his taut abdomen and the trail of hair leading down to his groin. She paused for a moment, teasing him, before continuing her exploration. Her hands slid beneath the waistband of his pants, finding the bulge in his boxers that indicated his arousal. His breath hitched as she grasped his length, feeling the heat and hardness of his cock through the fabric.

Blaise pushed her back gently onto the bed, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, sending tingles down her spine. He nipped at her sensitive skin, making her gasp and arch her back, offering herself to him. His hands joined in the exploration, sliding up her thighs, lifting her nightgown slowly, inch by inch, revealing her smooth, toned legs.

Her breath grew shallow as she felt his touch getting closer to her core. She wanted him desperately, her cunt already throbbing and wet with anticipation. As his fingers reached the edge of her panties, he could feel the dampness that signaled her excitement. He teased her, running his fingers along the fabric, making her squirm with need.

"Please," she whispered, her voice hoarse with desire. "I need you."

He smirked, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I plan on giving you exactly what you need, Cuore."

With that, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her knickers and slowly slid them down her legs, exposing her glistening folds. She was unashamed, her body on fire for him. She spread her legs willingly, inviting him to explore her most intimate parts.

He lowered his head, his warm breath caressing her sensitive skin. He kissed the inside of her thighs, leaving a trail of wetness as he inched closer to her center. Her hands gripped the bedsheets, her knuckles turning white as she anticipated his touch.

Finally, his tongue made contact with her clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. He started slowly, licking and teasing the sensitive bud, making she moan and squirm beneath him. She tasted so sweet, and he wanted to savor every inch of her. He lapped at her folds, exploring her wetness, before plunging his tongue deep inside her.

"Oh, fuck!" She cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily as his tongue worked its magic. He was relentless, his mouth and tongue skilled in the art of pleasure. He sucked on her clit, taking it into his mouth and suckling gently, then increasing the pressure as he sensed her building orgasm.

Her hands found his hair again, her fingers entwining in the silky strands as she guided his head, urging him to continue. "Yes, right there," she panted, her voice breathless. "Don't stop, please..."

He obliged, his fingers joining in the dance, rubbing tiny circles around her clit as he sucked and licked. Her body trembled, her orgasm building to an unbearable peak. She was so close, teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

Suddenly, she shifted on the bed, her movements urgent and desperate. She positioned herself above him, her hands grasping his hard cock, guiding it towards her entrance. She didn't have any patience for slow, sensual love-making at this moment. She needed to be fucked, hard and fast.

"I want you inside me," she whispered, her voice thick with desire.

Blaise, always eager to please, positioned himself beneath her, his cock throbbing and aching for release. He guided her hips, helping her to straddle him, and then she lowered herself onto his length, taking him deep inside her in one smooth motion.

She let out a satisfied moan as she felt him fill her completely. She began to move, riding him with abandon, her hips rocking back and forth, taking control of the pace. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, her nipples hardening in the cool air.

His hands cupped her bum, helping her to find a rhythm as she rode him. He marveled at the sight of her—her eyes closed in pleasure, her lips parted, a look of pure ecstasy on her face. He reached up, pinching her hardened nipples between his thumb and forefinger, twisting and tugging gently, which caused her to cry out in delight.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice raspy. "Ride my cock, baby. Show me how much you missed it."

Her movements became more frantic, her hips moving in quick, short bursts as she neared her climax. His fingers continued to work their magic, rubbing her clit in circles, sending waves of pleasure through her body.

"Oh my.. I'm gonna cum!" She exclaimed, her voice high-pitched and urgent.

Her body began to shake, her orgasm taking control. She rode him harder, her cunt clenching and releasing around his cock, milking him as she came. He felt the hot, wet contractions of her orgasm, which pushed him closer to the edge of his own release.

As her orgasm subsided, her legs shook with the aftermath of pleasure. She collapsed onto his chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He held her close, his hands stroking her back gently, allowing her to recover from the intense climax.

But the night was far from over, and he had no intention of letting this end just yet. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he rolled them over, positioning himself on top.