Harry stepped inside and sighed as the cool air of the house hit him square in the face. The door clicked shut behind him, and he locked it out of habit, his wand flicking to reinforce the wards.
He quickly took care of whatever chores he had left and padded barefoot across the stone floor, heading straight for the bedroom.
The house was quiet, save for the distant hum of crickets outside. His bedroom was at the back, overlooking the shared boundary with the Delacour property—a view he'd always appreciated for its privacy, the thick hedges and ancient oaks blocking any prying eyes. Moonlight filtered through the half-open curtains, casting silvery patterns on the bed.
Harry stripped off his swim trunks and t-shirt, tossing them into the hamper, and slid under the cool sheets naked, as was his habit in the heat. The linen was soft against his skin, and he let out a long breath, willing sleep to come.
But it didn't.
His mind, traitorous thing that it was, refused to stay quiet. Instead, it replayed the events of the evening in vivid detail: the way Gabrielle's laugh had bubbled up during dinner, so light and natural; the flush on her cheeks from the wine and the warmth; the brush of her lips against his cheek, soft as a whisper, lingering just long enough to send a spark through him.
And before that—the pool, the water beading on her skin, the sexy swimsuit clinging to her curves he hadn't let himself think about until now.
She wasn't a girl anymore. Not Fleur's little sister, not the wide-eyed child from the Triwizard Tournament. She was a woman, all sultry curves and natural beauty enhanced by her veela heritage, and try as he might, he could not stop thinking about it.
Harry shifted, punching the pillow into a more comfortable shape.
Get a grip, he told himself. She's nineteen. Practically family. And you're her neighbor, for Merlin's sake.
But the thoughts circled anyway, insistent. He couldn't help but wonder.
What would it be like to kiss her properly, not on the cheek but full on, tasting the wine on her tongue? To feel those curves under his hands, not just glimpsed through the wet fabric of her swimsuit?
He groaned softly, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling beams. His body responded traitorously, a familiar ache building low in his gut. It had been a while since he'd indulged in anything beyond a quick wank in the shower—his casual flings had tapered off lately, the effort not worth the inevitable complications they usually came with.
After ten minutes of futile tossing, Harry threw back the covers with a sigh and sat up. Sleep wasn't coming, not like this. He needed to move, to shake off the restlessness. Pulling on a pair of loose sleep shorts—nothing else, the night too warm for more—he wandered out of the bedroom and down the hall to the living room.
The space was dimly lit by a single lamp he'd left on earlier, its glow soft against the whitewashed walls. Bookshelves lined one side, cluttered with volumes on transfiguration and curses, with a few Muggle novels mixed in.
The large windows faced the garden and, beyond it, the Delacour home. He leaned against the sill of the central one, his forearms braced on the wooden frame, and pushed it open wider to let in the night breeze.
Harry closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to center himself.
Think about tomorrow. The garden needs weeding. Breakfast—maybe eggs from the market. Mundane thoughts, routine ones. But when he opened his eyes again, drawn by some inexplicable pull, his gaze drifted across the boundary line.
The Delacour house was not far from his. At night, most of the windows were dark, their shutters closed. But one, on the upper floor toward the east wing, glowed faintly with lamplight. The curtains were drawn back, the window cracked open—likely to catch the breeze, just as he'd done.
Harry's eyes narrowed, his curiosity flickering. That room... it had to be Gabrielle's. He'd glimpsed it before during family gatherings, the delicate lace bedding and shelves of books visible through the glass.
He knew he should turn away. Close the window, head back to bed. But his feet stayed rooted, and his gaze lingered, caught by movement within. A shadow shifted, and in no time, the figure emerged.
Gabrielle.
She stood with her back to the window, the sundress she'd worn earlier pooled at her feet, discarded in a careless heap. Beneath it, the black swimsuit hugged her form, still damp enough from the pool to gleam in the lamplight. Harry's breath hitched, a jolt of heat shooting through him.
She's just changing, he rationalized weakly. Perfectly normal. Turn around.
But he didn't. He couldn't. He stood, watching transfixed, as she reached gently held the straps of her swimsuit between her fingers and deftly pulled them over her shoulders. The fabric loosened, sliding down her shoulders in a slow, sensual manner that made Harry's pulse thunder in his ears.
He continued to watch her. She shrugged one arm free, then the other, the top half of the suit peeling away like a second skin.
And there they were—her breasts, revealed in the soft glow of the lamp. Full and pert, the pale curves glowing like marble under moonlight, her nipples already pebbled from the cool air drifting through the open window. They swayed gently as she moved, easily big enough to fit in his palms, and Harry found himself imagining the weight of them in his hands, how they'd spill over his palms if he cupped them just so.
He imagined him hands kneading them slowly, his thumbs circling those soft pink nipples until they tightened further, drawing a gasp from her lips.
There was a faint flush on her skin, perhaps from the wine or the heat of the evening as he continued to watch her, utterly transfixed.
She didn't turn, oblivious to his gaze, and bent slightly at the waist to work the suit down over her hips. The fabric caught for a moment on the swell of her arse, then released with a soft snap, sliding down her thighs.
Harry's eyes locked on her arse that he'd only glimpsed earlier, now bare and breathtaking. Round and firm, the cheeks divided by a shadowed cleft that begged to be explored. Her skin was flawless, creamy-white and unmarked by anything but the faint dimples at the base of her spine, leading down to where her thighs met in a tantalizing V.
As she stepped out of the suit, one leg lifting gracefully, the globes shifted, a subtle jiggle that sent a throb straight to his cock. He wanted to grab them, hard, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled her back against him.
The swimsuit hit the floor, and she straightened, fully nude now, her elegant silvery-blonde hair cascading down her back in loose waves, reaching the dimples above her arse, and he trailed his gaze down to her calves toned from whatever pursuits young witches indulged in at Beauxbatons.
She was a vision, the kind of body that made witches and wizards alike drool over veela, and Harry wanted to worship it all with his hands and mouth.
She turned slightly, not fully facing the window but enough for him to catch sight of her breasts, and the gentle slope of her hip flaring out to that perfect arse. His hand drifted down unconsciously, palming himself through the thin fabric of his shorts.
He watched as she moved toward the bed and sank onto the edge with a sigh. Her legs parted slightly as she leaned back on her elbows, her head tipping back to expose her throat. One hand came up, trailing idly along her collarbone, her fingers dancing over the swell of one breast. She cupped it absently, her thumb brushing the nipple, and Harry's breath caught as it hardened even more under her touch.
Fuck, he thought, his own hand slipping inside his shorts to wrap around his length, stroking once.
She didn't stop at teasing though. Her other hand joined the first, and she began to cradle both her breasts, kneading gently as if testing their sensitivity. A soft sound escaped her—too faint for Harry to discern words, but the parting of her lips, the flutter of her eyelids, told him enough.
Her face was flushed, and her blue eyes were half-lidded in growing pleasure, her full lips parted on a silent moan. Strands of hair clung to her damp forehead, and she bit her lower lip, a gesture so innocently erotic it made Harry's grip tighten on his cock.
She pinched her nipples, rolling them between her thumb and forefinger, and her back arched off the bed, her arse lifting slightly, giving him a fleeting glimpse of the shadowed valley between her thighs.
The sight and his thoughts fueled him, heat coiling low in his belly. Part of him screamed to stop, to back away—this was an invasion, a betrayal of trust. She was Gabrielle, sweet and younger than him, someone who had poured her heart out to him not even an hour ago.
Alas, the rational voice drowned under the roar of desire. He couldn't tear his eyes away any more than he could stop the hand moving faster now.
She released her breasts with a gasp, her hands trailing down her sides, over the dip of her waist. Her fingers splayed over her stomach, and as she spread her thighs wider, her knees bending to plant her feet on the mattress, she revealed it all: her pussy, nestled in a neat thatch of silvery curls, her lower lips flushed and already glistening in the lamplight.
Harry's breath hitched.
Swollen outer folds parted slightly to show the pink inner petals, slick with arousal, her clit peeking from its hood. Harry's mouth watered at the sight, his cock twitching in his fist.
Gabrielle's hand dipped lower, her fingers tracing the edges of her folds, parting them. She moaned, loud enough for him to hear, and the breathy, needy moan shot straight to Harry's core. Her face contorted in pleasure, brows furrowing, lips slick and bitten-red. One finger circled her clit slowly, hips rising off the bed, arse clenching as she chased the sensation.
She was lost in it, her eyes squeezed shut, and her head thrown back against the pillows. The other hand returned to her breast, tugging the nipple sharply, and her thighs trembled, her toes curling into the sheets.
Harry's shorts were shoved down now, pooling at his ankles, forgotten. He leaned heavier against the windowsill, his free hand gripping the frame for balance as he pumped his cock. His world had narrowed to her—the arch of her back, the quiver of her thighs, and the way her pussy clenched around nothing, her entrance fluttering invitingly.
His thoughts ran wild as he watched. He imagined himself filling her up, first with his fingers then with his cock, pounding her until she screamed, making her come apart in his arms.
Just as he was thinking what he'd do to her, she reached toward the bedside table with a fumbling hand. Her fingers closed around something slim and sleek, and Harry's eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A vibrator, wand-shaped and purple, hummed to life with a low buzz that Harry could just hear across the distance. He stared, transfixed, as she teased it along her inner thigh first, tracing lazy circles that made her gasp and squirm, her arse lifting higher, giving him an unobstructed view. The tip brushed her folds, parting them further, and she dragged it up to her clit, circling teasingly.
Her face—Merlin, her face was scrunched in ecstasy. Her cheeks were flushed crimson, eyes fluttering open briefly to stare unfocused at the ceiling, her mouth agape. Harry hastily cast a subtle listening charm, and he was immediately assaulted by a series of breathy whimpers. Sweat beaded on her throat, trickling down between her breasts, which heaved with each ragged inhale.
"Fuck—yes," she murmured, her voice husky and broken, making Harry's balls tighten. She plunged the vibrator inside then, shallow at first, letting it vibrate against her walls while her fingers worked her clit in frantic circles. Her pussy stretched around it beautifully, her lips gripping the toy, juices coating its length and dripping down to her arse.
She fucked herself with it in earnest now, her hips bucking up to meet each thrust, and the obscene wet sounds made his cock throb. Her free hand mauled her breast, pinching the nipple to the point of pain mixing with pleasure, and her thighs quivered, tensing as she neared the edge.
Harry was right there with her, his hand a blur on his cock, and his thumb swiping over the leaking slit to spread the slickness down his shaft.
The voyeuristic thrill warred with guilt, but desire won, every fiber of him glued to the sight of her pleasuring herself. Her movements grew erratic, the vibrator plunging deeper, faster, fingers grinding against her clit. Her back arched off the bed, her arse clenching rhythmically, and her breasts bouncing with the force of her thrusts. The look on her face was one of pure, unfiltered bliss, her lips parted.
"Oh—Harry—"
His name. His name. The shock of it tipped him over, his vision blurring as his orgasm crashed through him. He came with a strangled groan, spilling hot and thick over his fist, splattering the windowsill in ropes. Pleasure ripped through him in waves, his cock pulsing in his grip, his knees nearly buckling.
In her room, Gabrielle shattered too, her body convulsing, her thighs clamping around her hand as her pussy spasmed around the vibrator. She cried out his name once again, her face contorted in release—her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth wide, and her cheeks streaked with tears. Her breasts heaved, her nipples rock-hard, and her arse ground down into the mattress, chasing every aftershock. Juices slicked her thighs, the toy slipping free with a wet pop as she rode the orgasmic high, her fingers rubbing gentle circles on her clit until she collapsed, boneless and spent.
Harry sagged against the windowsill, chest heaving, hand sticky and trembling as he stared at her.
She said my name. Was she thinking of me? Or just...
He couldn't finish the thought, his mind too fogged. Gabrielle lay there for a long while, her chest rising and falling in deep, sated breaths, a lazy smile curving her lips as she withdrew the vibrator and set it aside. Her body gleamed with sweat, and Harry took in the vision she was—the swell of her breasts, the way her thighs were parted, her pussy still flushed and glistening.
Eventually, she stirred, sliding off the bed with shaky steps. Her legs wobbled and she steadied herself on the post before padding toward the en-suite bathroom. The door stood ajar, and Harry caught a glimpse of her silhouette as she twisted the faucet, steam beginning to billow. She stepped under the spray without a backward glance, the window still open.
He let out a long sigh, pushing away from the windowsill at last. He kicked his shorts off and cleaned himself hastily with a murmured Tergeo, the spell whisking away the sticky evidence of his orgasm but not the memory. The living room felt too exposed now.
Harry closed the window firmly, drawing the curtains with a flick of his wand, and retreated to the bathroom off the hall. The shower was quick and scalding, water pounding against his skin as if he was doing some sort of penance after witnessing something he felt he shouldn't have. He scrubbed until his flesh pinked, but the images stayed with him—her moans, her curves, the way she'd gasped his name like a prayer as she came.
He returned to bed, his mind still churning with her thoughts, and especially his name that she'd uttered in throes of pleasure. Sleep came eventually, but it was fitful and filled with blue eyes and erotic moans of his name.
xXx
Morning came too soon for his liking. Harry got up with a yawn, blinking sleepily, and he stayed in the bed for a while, his mind replaying the events of the previous evening. Finally, he rose, brewing his coffee stronger than usual, and stepped onto the terrace.
Gabrielle would likely seek him out today—polite breakfast conversation, perhaps a shared walk in the gardens. Innocent things. And he'd smile, play the neighbor, the friend. But beneath it, the undercurrent of raw, sexual desire would simmer, unspoken. What happened in the night was a secret, his alone to carry. For now.
Yet as he sipped his coffee, his gaze drifting inevitably to the Delacour house, hearing some soft clattering noises, he wondered how long "for now" could last.
He dressed simply, putting on a white linen shirt with rolled sleeves and beige chinos, and busied himself in the garden to keep his hands occupied. Weeding the herb beds, pruning the hedges that had overgrown, and tending to the soil. It was all physical work, and he needed it. Yet, his mind wandered, inevitably, back to the window, the lamplight, his name on her mouth, and her body.
By mid-morning, as he straightened with a basket of fresh clippings, he spotted movement across the boundary. His eyes followed Gabrielle as she emerged from the Delacour garden path, a light shawl draped over her shoulders despite the heat, and a basket of her own swinging from one arm, maybe wildflowers or berries. She had a penchant for foraging.
She looked rested, even more radiant than she usually looked, the night's exertions leaving no visible trace beyond a subtle glow to her skin. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid, tendrils escaping to frame her face, and she wore a simple cotton sundress that accentuated her figure without clinging. After what happened the previous night, he couldn't help but stare.
"Harry!" she called, waving as she approached the low stone wall that marked the property line. Her smile was bright, and something in his chest twisted. "Good morning. I hope I didn't wake you too early with my clattering about."
"Not at all." He set down the basket and crossed to meet her, leaning on the wall casually. Up close, she smelled of soap and lavender—fresh from her shower, he realized, and the thought brought back the vision of her nude flesh. He ruthlessly suppressed his arousal. "Sleep well?"
"Like a stone." She said with an enigmatic smile as she tilted her head, her eyes sparkling as she watched him. "After last night, I needed it. Dinner was... restorative."
Restorative. That was one word for it, and it seemed so innocent on her lips but was anything but in his mind. He cleared his throat, gesturing to her basket.
"Foraging?"
"Just a bit. The blackberries are ripening early this year." She held up a plump berry, juice staining her fingers purple. "Want one?"
Before he could answer, she popped it into his mouth, her thumb brushing his lower lip in the process. The fruit burst sweet-tart on his tongue, but it was her touch—light, lingering, and carrying a faint allure—that made his pulse stutter.
"Delicious," he managed, swallowing. "You missed your calling as a chef."
She laughed, her blue eyes twinkling in mirth. "Don't tempt me. I'd burn a kitchen down." Her gaze flicked over him, appraising, before settling on his face. "What about you? Plans for the day?"
"Not really," Harry straightened, brushing dirt from his hands. "Had a tutoring session scheduled but they can't make it today, so the day's free. Fancy a walk? The path up to the old oak has a good view."
Her eyes lit up, shawl slipping from one shoulder. "I'd love that."
They fell into step along the shaded trail that fell between their properties, the conversation easily flowing between them. Harry finally got his mind off the distracting topics, focusing on their little chat as they walked.
She talked about her plans now that she had all but graduated—perhaps apprenticing in charms work, or traveling to study veela lore in Eastern Europe. She told him the conclave in Bulgaria's Rhodope Mountains was famous for the study.
He shared stories from his tutoring, exaggerating the teapot-cat incident for her amusement. The conversation flowed, and so did the laughter, and Harry truly didn't feel she was much younger than him. He even forgot the previous night entirely, lost in the ease and pleasure of her company.
However, there were moments when he felt an acute sexual tension between them. When their hands brushed reaching for the same low branch, neither pulled away immediately. When she stumbled over a root, his arm shot out to steady her waist, his fingers splaying over the curve of her hip through the thin cotton. She leaned into his touch for a beat too long, her breath warm against his shoulder.
"Thanks," she murmured, not moving.
"Anytime." His voice was rougher than intended, and he felt her shiver.
By the time they reached the oak, the sun was high, and the heat was pressing down on them. They settled in its shade, their backs against the trunk and their knees nearly touching. Gabrielle took off the shawl and fanned herself with her hand, her sundress clinging to her legs from the humidity.
"This weather," she sighed. "It's relentless."
"Tell me about it." Harry's shirt stuck to his back, and he tugged at the collar, exposing more of his chest than necessary. Her eyes dipped on the sweaty skin, lingering on the line of his collarbone, the faint scar from the Horntail peeking above the fabric. She flushed, looking away quickly, but not before he caught her quickened breath.
Silence fell between them, but something had shifted. He could smell her again, and she was a sight to behold. His mind inadvertently flashed back to the window—her breasts heaving, her nipples peaked, her thighs spread, and her pussy slick and inviting as she pleasured herself while moaning his name. His cock stirred, half-hard already, and he shifted subtly, praying she wouldn't notice.
"Harry?" Her voice was soft and tentative. She turned to face him, one knee drawing up, making her sundress ride higher on her thigh.
"Yeah?"
"About last night... I meant what I said. You're different. You see people, not just... surfaces."
The words hit deep, and he felt both guilt and desire twisting in his gut. "Gabrielle—"
"I used to feel jealous of all those girls," she said softly. "They were all grown up, having fun with their boyfriends while I looked like a kid no one thought about. And suddenly, everything changed. I became an object, not a person. Desires I can understand, attraction too. Those are important. But so is seeing beyond them." Her cheeks burned, but her eyes held his steadily. "And now... being around you, it's like waking up. I feel seen. In a real sense. So thank you, Harry, for showing me that."
He swallowed hard, the berry's sweetness souring in his memory. "You're a really incredible person, Gabrielle. Beautiful inside and out. Only idiots won't see it all."
She reached out, her hand covering his on the grass. "You're really sweet when you're like this, you know."
Her smile was radiant, and she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek—higher this time, near the corner of his mouth. Lingering, like last night but bolder.
The reminder of last night conjured images once again, of her beneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her, then her on top, her breasts swaying as she rode him, and then the shower, water cascading over them both as he took her against the tiles. He squeezed her hand as she pulled back, his thumb stroking her knuckles.
"It's another hot day today," he said with slight gruffness in his voice. "How about we head over for another swim? I'll get the grill going again and we can have a nice lunch outdoors."
"I'd like that," she smiled. "I'll bring some fruits over."
"Nice," Harry grinned. "Won't say no to some more of those berries."
"Oh, is that so?" She asked mischievously, and before Harry could speak, she shoved another blackberry in his mouth, giggling.
xXx
Harry stood by the grill, adjusting the heat when he heard the garden gate open. He glanced up to see Gabrielle walking toward him, a smile on her face. She wore a simple white t-shirt and denim shorts, her hair loose around her shoulders, and she carried a small basket filled with fruits.
"Hey," she called out, her eyes bright.
"Hey yourself," Harry replied, returning her smile. "Perfect timing. Just getting everything ready."
She set the basket down on the patio table and turned to face him. "Got some good ones," she said, holding up a blackberry and popping it into her mouth with a playful smirk.
"Nice," he grinned and went back to the grill.
He was soon distracted when she reached for the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up and over her head. His breath caught as the fabric pulled off her body, revealing the bikini top beneath. The deep blue material contrasted beautifully against her pale skin, and it was... considerably smaller than what she'd worn yesterday. The triangular cups barely contained her breasts and they strained against the fabric, pushed together to create an impressive cleavage that drew his eyes immediately. Thin strings tied behind her neck and back, leaving most of her torso exposed.
He tried not to stare, but Merlin, it was a losing battle. The bikini left little to the imagination, her creamy skin exposed from her collarbone to the dip of her waist, and her tits bounced as she moved.
She kicked off her sandals and unbuttoned her shorts next, hooking her thumbs into the waistband and sliding them down her legs. The fabric clung to her arse, riding high on her thighs, showing off the firm, rounded cheeks he'd fantasized about last night.
Harry swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the knife he held as he took in the tantalizing V between her thighs.
"New suit?" he managed, his voice coming out slightly rougher than intended.
Gabrielle glanced down at herself, then back up at him with an innocent expression that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Do you like it? I bought it last week but haven't had a chance to wear it yet." She stretched her arms above her head, the motion lifting her breasts, making the bikini top shift just enough to hint at the soft flesh beneath. "What do you think?"
"It's… nice," Harry said, dragging his gaze back to her face. Internally, he cursed himself. Nice? It looked fucking sinful. "It looks... really good on you."
And it did. The blue brought out something in her complexion, made her skin seem to glow. The cut of it emphasized every curve—the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, and the flare of her hips. She looked confident standing there in front of him, not self-conscious at all, and that confidence only added to her appeal.
"Thanks," she said softly, and walked over to where he stood by the grill. "What can I help with?"
They worked together for a bit, and Harry had to stifle his reactions whenever she moved in ways that made her assets more pronounced in that tiny bikini. He seasoned the meat while Gabrielle prepared a salad with the vegetables he'd picked earlier, her hips swaying slightly as she hummed a tune.
Harry couldn't help but keep stealing glances, noting the way her breasts jiggled faintly whenever she laughed.
Every so often, their arms would brush, or she'd lean past him to reach something, and he'd catch the scent of whatever perfume or lotion she wore—something light and floral that made him want to lean closer.
Once the food was on the grill, they had a few minutes to wait. Gabrielle glanced up at the sun, bright and hot in the cloudless sky, then looked back at Harry.
"I should probably put something on my skin," she said, reaching for her bag. "Otherwise I'm going to end up looking like a lobster by dinner time."
Harry chuckled. "Yeah, wouldn't want you turning into one. Go for it."
She pulled out a bottle and walked over to one of the sun loungers. She settled onto it, stretching out her legs in front of her, and Harry found himself watching her even though he tried to focus on the grill. She squirted some of the cream into her palm and slowly began spreading it over her shoulders.
Her hands glided down her arms, covering every inch of exposed skin. She rubbed the lotion into her collarbones, then down to the swells of her breasts visible above her bikini top. Harry's grip tightened on the knife he was holding as he watched her fingers work the cream into her skin, dipping into the valley between her breasts before moving lower to her stomach, her fingers splaying over the soft flesh, dipping just beneath her bikini bottoms.
She leaned forward to reach her legs, starting at her ankles and working her way up. Her hands moved along her calves, over her knees, and up her thighs. The higher her hands went, the more Harry found himself following their path.
Her thighs parted slightly as she applied the cream to her inner thighs, her fingers brushing dangerously close to the fabric's edge, and Harry's cock stirred again, half-hard now. He shifted, hoping his shorts hid the evidence.
"Harry?"
Her voice snapped him out of his trance, and he looked up to find her watching him with an amused expression.
"Yeah?"
"Would you mind doing my back? I can never reach it properly."
He swallowed hard. "Yeah, sure. No problem."
Setting the knife down, he walked over to where she sat. She shifted on the lounger, turning so her back was to him, and gathered her hair in both hands, lifting it away from her neck and draping it over one shoulder. The movement left her back completely bare except for the thin strings of her bikini top.
Harry stared for a moment, taking in the expanse of pale skin on display, begging to be touched. She glanced back over her shoulder at him, waiting.
"Right," he muttered, reaching for the bottle she held out to him.
He squirted some of the cream into his palm, and rubbed his hands together to warm the lotion slightly. He hesitated for a split second before pressing his hands to her shoulders.
Merlin, she was soft. Her skin was smooth and warm beneath his palms, and he found himself taking his time, making sure to cover every inch. He worked from her shoulders down, his fingers tracing along her shoulder blades, then lower to the middle of her back. The strings of her bikini created a small barrier, and he carefully worked the lotion around them.
Gabrielle sighed, the sound soft and content that sent a jolt through him. "Mmm, that feels good," she murmured, her voice low, almost a purr.
Harry's hands faltered for just a second before continuing their path. He moved lower, to the small of her back where her skin dipped slightly, then out to her sides. His thumbs pressed gently along her spine, working the lotion in thoroughly.
"Really good," she murmured, and there was something almost like a moan in her voice that sent heat straight through him.
He cleared his throat. " Don't get used to it. I'm not your personal masseur," he said, trying to keep his tone light despite the heat coiling in his gut.
She giggled. "Pity. You're pretty good at this."
His hands worked lower, spreading the cream over the small of her back, his fingers brushing the dimples just above her arse. Her skin was so warm, so smooth, and he couldn't help but notice the way her muscles relaxed under his touch, the way her breath hitched when his thumbs pressed gently into her lower back. He was careful not to linger too long, but Merlin, he wanted to. The urge to slide his hands lower, to cup her arse, was almost overwhelming, but he reined it in.
He finished applying the lotion, making sure he hadn't missed any spots, and reluctantly pulled his hands away.
"There," he said. "You're all set."
She turned around on the lounger, twisting to face him, and gave him a shy smile, her cheeks flushed.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"No problem," Harry replied, his voice coming out rougher than he intended.
He stood and walked back to the grill, needing the distance and the distraction. The meat was cooking nicely, giving him something to focus on besides the sensation of her skin beneath his hands. A few minutes later, Gabrielle joined him, having wrapped a thin sarong around her waist. It didn't hide much—the fabric was sheer enough that he could still see the bikini bottoms beneath—but it felt like a small mercy anyway.
"What else needs to be done?" she asked, peering at the food.
"Just about ready to plate everything," Harry said, gesturing toward the dishes he'd set out earlier.
She nodded and arranged the salad while he pulled the meat off the grill, and within minutes they had two full plates ready. Gabrielle grabbed the basket of fruit and added some berries to each plate as a finishing touch.
They settled onto the sun loungers side by side, balancing their plates on their laps. The food was good, simple but satisfying, and they ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, just enjoying the warmth of the sun and the taste of the meal.
Harry glanced over at her as she popped a berry into her mouth, her lips closing around it in a way that really shouldn't have been as distracting as it was. She caught him looking and smiled, completely unaware—or at least appearing unaware—of the effect she was having on him.
Was she really that oblivious? he wondered, taking a bite of his own food. The smaller bikini, the way she'd asked him to put lotion on her back, those little sounds she'd made—was it all just innocent, or was there something more intentional behind it?
Gabrielle seemed so genuine, so natural in everything she did. Maybe she really didn't realize what she was doing to him. Or maybe she knew exactly what she was doing and was enjoying every second of it.
He honestly couldn't tell, and that uncertainty was almost as maddening as the attraction itself.
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