The morning light crept through the heavy curtains, casting a golden glow across the lavish suite. Bellatrix shifted beneath the silk sheets, her dark hair a wild mess against the pillows as she stretched.
A slow, sultry smile spread across her face as she whispered huskily, "Good morning, my Lord."
Harry was already sitting up against the headboard, watching her with amusement in his eyes. His bare torso was illuminated by the sunlight, and Bellatrix's eyes trailed over the sharp lines of his body, a glimmer of mischief flickering within them.
He chuckled, his fingers tracing the curve of her jaw, "Good morning, Bella. You know I've told you, it's just Harry in the mornings."
Bellatrix pouted, her lower lip sticking out in a way that was both playful and enticing. "But I like calling you my Lord or Master. It reminds me of my place... and yours." Her hand snaked out, tracing the muscles of his chest. She brushed her fingertips against his pecs, slowly descending to his abs as her eyes followed suit, caressing and teasing him with light touches.
Harry caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. Bellatrix moaned low when he took her fingers in his mouth and rolled his tongue around the digits, his smoldering eyes trained on her.
"And what place is that, Bella?" He asked huskily as he eyed her.
Bellatrix's response was to slowly slide the covers off her naked body, presenting her sensual self to his appreciative gaze. Her eyes sparkled as she whispered, "Your servant, your lover, your… plaything."
She purred as she pushed herself upright so that she was sitting on her knees that were folded up beneath her, her eyes dark with lust. She leaned in, almost pressing herself up against him, her breath hot in his ear. "I'm whatever you wish, my Lord."
Harry let out a chuckle as he kissed her fingers. "Always so eager to please. You're insatiable, Bella."
He took her other hand that was slowly stroking the muscles on his abdomen, drifting downward with every stroke until it was beneath the sheets. Bellatrix pouted when he stopped her.
"You're leaving again," she said, shifting closer, pressing her warm body firmly against his side. "You always do."
Harry exhaled, tilting his head to glance down at her. "You know I have business in France. More than one, in fact."
Bellatrix huffed, dragging her fingers across his chest in slow, teasing patterns. "Business, business," she muttered, her voice laced with exaggerated frustration. "And what of me? Left alone, bored and restless, waiting for my lord to return."
His lips twitched, and he reached down, trailing his hand along her arm. "You'll survive."
"Will I?" she murmured, pressing herself closer, mashing her sizeable tits against his torso as her lips began grazing the side of his neck. "Perhaps you should stay. I could make it worth your while."
Harry chuckled, watching as she tilted her head, her expression sultry and expectant. "Oh, I don't doubt that," he mused, gripping her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. "But tempting me won't change my plans."
Bellatrix whined softly, though the delight in her eyes betrayed her. "You're so cruel to me, my lord," she teased, her fingers continuing their lazy exploration of his skin. "You expect me to simply let you go when you've barely satisfied me?"
His laugh was low and indulgent, and it only fueled the heat in her gaze. "You seemed quite satisfied last night."
She smirked. "Last night was then. This is now."
Without waiting for permission, Bellatrix shifted, pushing the covers aside to expose him. Her eyes took in his erection and with a grin, she looked at him. She nipped at his neck, her hands pressing against his shoulders as she moved to straddle him. She leaned in close, her breath hot against his lips. "Let me convince you to stay," she whispered.
Harry merely leaned back against the headboard, watching her with an expression of pure amusement.
His hands automatically came to hold her by the waist as she aligned herself against him and sank down with a breathless gasp. She let out a delighted squeal as she buried his cock deep inside her. Her eyes wild with lust, she leaned forward and mashed their mouths together, her legs coming to wrap around his waist. Harry's hands slid down, and he cupped her firm round rear, sinking his fingers into her pillowy flesh as he mauled her.
Bellatrix moaned in approval, feeling his glistening cock piston into her swollen pussy. She kept moaning into the kiss with each thrust as he devoured her, his tongue exploring every nook and cranny of her mouth.
He slammed home again and again, gripping her ass tightly as he fucked her senselessly. He kept pulling her back onto his massive rod, impaling her over and over again.
Bellatrix pulled away from the kiss to look him lustfully in the eyes when she let out a loud cry. Her eyes widened and a feral grin lit up her face when Harry delivered another resounding slap on her perky rear in time with his thrusts. She moaned when he spanked her once again, knowing that the pale skin of her tight ass must be sporting a bright red mark resembling his hand. The feeling was so intense that it drove her quickly to her climax, shocking her.
Harry kept slamming hard into her, his cock slick with her vaginal fluids as it kept pistoning in and out of her, and Bellatrix kept moaning and crying out loud, clutching onto him desperately. She felt her head begin to spin and her legs go lax around his waist as a pressure began to develop deep within her gut.
"Ohhh Master! Fuck me! Fuck me, my lord!" She cried out, breathing heavily as she clung to him with a death grip.
Harry grunted, leaning back and watching her large tits flopping right in front of his face. He leaned forward, taking her nipple in his mouth and biting down gently, making her cry out in jubilation.
"Oh yesss! Fuck!"
Harry drove into her relentlessly, forcing her closer and closer to her impending climax. He could feel that she was close, her pussy walls were hugging his manhood for all he was worth, and he knew it would be any second now.
He didn't have to wait for long as Bellatrix arched her back in a wide arc, her eyes open wide and her mouth open in a silent moan as she began to buck wildly on top of him, fucking herself against him desperately, humping back in tandem with his thrusts. She had gone wild, her pleasure building to a crescendo until she couldn't take it anymore.
Suddenly, her pussy clenched hard onto his cock and Harry grunted as Bellatrix shook so violently on top of him that he had to grip her ass even more firmly, or else she would've toppled over. Her face was buried in his neck, her arms wrapped around his torso and holding on desperately as her orgasm washed over her, as intense and as raw as it could get.
Harry grunted as he felt the vice grip of her pussy on his rod and he kept fucking her through her orgasm, slamming into her relentlessly with almost blinding speed and power.
Bellatrix came harder and harder, her pussy gushing around his cock. Her nipples, hard and pebbled, pressed hotly against his chest as she clutched onto him, her head now thrown back in a silent scream of pure ecstasy. She kept shaking over and over, her thighs quivering around his waist as she rode out her impressive climax.
Harry chuckled breathlessly as he finally slowed down, allowing her to ride out her climax. He had allowed her to try, allowed her to press her body to his, to draw every reaction she could.
But in the end, he remained unmoved.
A few minutes passed after their intense morning sex and Bellatrix lay breathless beside him, gazing up at the ceiling. Slowly, she turned her head to glare halfheartedly at him. "You're still leaving," she accused.
Harry smirked, brushing his fingers along her jaw before tucking a strand of wild, sweaty hair behind her ear. "Of course. But I said I'll return."
Bellatrix frowned, her fingers curling against his arm. "When?"
"As soon as my business in France is done."
Her expression darkened. She knew he had more than one. "And that will take how long?"
"A few days, perhaps a week," he replied. Smirking and watching her carefully, he added, "But when I return, I'll be taking you with me."
Bellatrix blinked, recalling this declaration, and slowly, a delighted grin spread across her face. "You meant it? Really?"
Harry hummed in affirmation, tracing circles around her nipple, poking and flicking it gently as he leaned over her, his face mere inches from his. "I did. Unless…"
"Yes!"
The excitement in her eyes flared, and she wasted no time in showing just how pleased she was with the promise.
"You didn't climax, Master," she said coyly, getting on all fours and presenting her perky round rear to him. "I'd be such a bad servant if I didn't satisfy you fully."
Smirking, Harry got up and took up his position behind her, and he slowly reached out, pressing on her back until she lay on the bed. He pushed a pillow under her belly to hike her rear up, and Bellatrix looked over at him with a grin.
"Speedbump? No doggy?"
"I'm in the mood for it," Harry smirked, aligning himself up with her wet, red entrance.
By the time they lay tangled together once more, the room was filled with the scent of satisfaction and the quiet sounds of their steady breathing. Bellatrix nestled against Harry's chest, her fingers absentmindedly tracing along his side while his hand roamed lazily over her curves, squeezing and caressing as he lost himself in thought.
After a moment, he broke the silence. "Who will take care of this place once you're in England?"
Bellatrix smirked against his skin. "I've already arranged a few trustworthy caretakers," she murmured. "They're more than capable."
Harry raised a brow. "And if something goes wrong?"
"I can always make the trip over," she said simply. "The place is connected to the International Floo Network. A quick step through the flames, and I'm here."
Harry considered this, his fingers trailing lazily down her spine. "Good," he murmured.
Bellatrix tilted her head up, watching him with open adoration. "You'll see, my lord. Everything will be as it should."
He smirked. "I expect nothing less."
-Break-
The Hall of Magical Concords was a demonstration of French supremacy in every way imaginable, and they had gone all out to send the message that their nation was a mighty one.
Tall marble columns lined the circular room, each etched with the symbols of the nations in the International Confederation of Wizards. Above, a large enchanted dome reflected the ever-changing colors of the sky over Paris, dotted with constellations that glowed faintly with magic. Silver and blue chandeliers floated overhead, casting a soft light that shimmered off the golden banners displaying the world's most powerful magical nations. At the center, a grand banner of France, larger than all the rest, proudly hung, sending a clear message of strength and influence to all who entered.
A hush fell over the room as the grand doors at the far end swung open with grace. The murmurs of quiet conversation ebbed as heads turned, eyes narrowing with interest. Harry Potter, the British representative to the ICW and Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, strode into the hall with an air of quiet authority. Dressed in deep navy robes, trimmed subtly with silver, he carried himself with the confidence of a man accustomed to both respect and scrutiny. His green eyes, sharp and ever watchful, took in the gathered officials as he made his way forward, the slightest inclination of his head acknowledging familiar faces without breaking his stride.
The sheer weight of his presence was tangible. He was not merely a representative of Britain but a living legend in his own right. Many of those seated within the chamber had grown into their roles knowing his name, whether from personal acquaintance, political discourse, or the lingering echoes of his past deeds. Some still saw the Boy Who Lived; others recognized the hardened war veteran who had played a defining role in shaping the modern magical governance of Wizarding Britain. Opinions were divided, as they always were, but none in the room could deny the respect he commanded.
"Director Potter," a voice called as he approached the central dais. A representative from the French delegation, an older wizard with a neatly groomed beard, stepped forward, extending a hand. "It is always a pleasure to see you among us. Britain remains fortunate to have your leadership."
Harry accepted the handshake firmly, gracing the statuesque blonde accompanying the man with a smile. "Monsieur Allard, good to see you again. I trust your Aurors have had success with that smuggling ring in Marseille?"
Allard let out a dry chuckle. "Your insights on their operations and the aid of your auror force were invaluable. Our thanks once again."
Harry nodded, and shortly, they parted ways. Harry made his way over to his seat as more greetings followed. The Indian delegate, an old man with piercing brown eyes and an air of quiet authority about him, nodded in approval as he passed. From across the hall, the Japanese official offered a respectful bow. A murmured conversation between two South American envoys ceased as Harry walked by, their eyes tracking his movement with measured interest. Everyone knew he was not simply a fellow representative—he was a force to be reckoned with, one whose words carried weight far beyond the borders of Britain, much like the former Chief Warlock.
As he moved toward his seat near the front, his gaze swept the hall. Each delegation was arranged in a semicircle, their respective banners hovering beside their seating areas. The French Ministry, as hosts, had positioned themselves prominently, their scarlet and gold crest displayed proudly behind the Chief Warlock's elevated chair. The Hall itself seemed alive with magic, wards woven into its very foundation to ensure security and civility. No one could duel within these walls; no charm of deception could take hold. Here, the truth was expected to stand plain and simple.
Taking his seat, Harry let his fingers brush the smooth mahogany of the desk before him, the sigil of the British Ministry embossed into the polished surface. He sat calmly, although keeping his attention firmly on a certain individual.
Across the chamber, a man sat in quiet observation—one of the Spanish representatives, a tall, lean wizard with neatly combed black hair and a sharply tailored robe. He had been glancing toward Harry since his arrival, though he had yet to make any formal approach. Harry made note of it but did not let his curiosity show.
The air grew still as the Chief Warlock, a wizened wizard of great stature and dignity, stepped forward. His emerald-green robes, threaded with gold, shimmered as he raised a hand to call for order. The murmurs ceased.
"Esteemed representatives," the Chief Warlock's voice echoed through the chamber, imbued with an enchantment that carried it evenly across the vast space. "We gather once more to discuss the affairs of our world, to shape the course of our shared future. Let us begin."
The initial discussions proceeded with the expected formalities. There were the usual reports on international magical cooperation, treaties regarding potion trade regulations, and the ever-present concern of maintaining secrecy in an age of increasing Muggle surveillance. Harry listened attentively, contributing where necessary, though much of it was procedural groundwork—important, but not requiring his immediate focus.
Yet, throughout these exchanges, he remained aware of Mateo Calderón, the Spanish representative's occasional glances. The man's expression was unreadable, his posture composed, but there was a peculiarity to his observation that piqued Harry's interest.
He waited as the proceedings went on as usual, witches and wizards from across the world putting forward their grievances that affected either their respective regions or the world at large. Hours passed with discussions going on as usual until finally, the Spanish representative rose to his feet.
"If I may be heard," he said, his voice smooth and measured. He cast a brief glance around the hall before his dark eyes settled once again on Harry.
Harry leaned slightly forward, his expression impassive, but his mind already sharpening with anticipation. He was curious as to what the wizard had to say, and he didn't know why, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't like it much.
The Spanish representative cleared his throat. "We must address the growing crisis that affects not only our own borders but the entire magical world. The influx of magical refugees—many from Eastern Europe, many fleeing the remnants of the Dark Lord's ideology—has placed an unprecedented strain on our communities."
A murmur of agreement spread across the chamber. Representatives from Portugal and Spain exchanged brief glances before they nodded.
"While we recognize the need for compassion," the Spanish representative continued, "we cannot ignore the rising tensions among our own citizens. There have been reports—confirmed reports—of sympathizers of Voldemort's ideology inciting unrest within our borders. Some of these individuals fled Britain, others from Durmstrang-influenced nations, and their presence cannot be overlooked."
Several eyes turned to him and Harry took this moment to interject. "Closing borders entirely is not a solution. Many of these people are victims, not perpetrators. Britain has taken in a considerable number of these displaced individuals, and while concerns about Dark sympathizers are valid, we must tread carefully. Condemning an entire group based on fear will only create more enemies."
The delegate from Hungary scoffed. "Easy for Britain to say, when your Aurors are not the ones dealing with a rise in magical crime in our streets. If you are so confident, Director Potter, will Britain open its doors wider?"
Harry met his gaze steadily. "We are already investigating ways to improve vetting processes while upholding our humanitarian responsibilities. Security and compassion are not mutually exclusive."
Turning back to address the entire hall, Harry began, his voice steady but firm, "We need to acknowledge that these refugees are not just fleeing war. They're fleeing persecution, violence, and in many cases, the remnants of Voldemort's ideology that still hold power in their home nations. Closing our doors entirely would be both cruel and irresponsible."
"And yet, Mr. Potter, the problem is not so simple," Calderón said calmly. "Our magical communities in Spain and Portugal are overwhelmed. We have taken in thousands, but local wizards fear for their safety. Just last week, an underground group of Voldemort loyalists was uncovered operating in Valencia. They were attempting to recruit disillusioned refugees to their cause. How do you propose we deal with that?"
Across the table, the American representative, Eleanor Beckett, adjusted her glasses and crossed her arms. "The United States has already taken steps to limit migration into our territories. We cannot afford another Grindelwald-like insurgency. Some of these refugees may be innocent, but others? They bring old wounds back to life. We won't allow our magical society to be destabilized. We sympathize with your plight, but our priority remains internal security."
"And yet," Harry interjected, his green eyes sharp, "you're willing to sit back while innocent witches and wizards suffer? I understand the risks, but there are better ways to handle them than shutting our borders entirely."
Calderón sighed. "Idealism is one thing, Director Potter. Practicality is another. Spain and Portugal cannot handle more arrivals. If the rest of Europe doesn't share the burden, we will be forced to implement stricter policies."
At the far end of the table, the Russian delegate, Viktor Mikhailov, chuckled darkly. "Burden? Britain speaks of responsibility while sitting comfortably behind its own wards. Do not pretend your nation has been a sanctuary, Potter. Britain has its own problems with these refugees, does it not? I hear even your Aurors are stretched thin dealing with sympathizers."
Harry kept his expression neutral, though Mikhailov's words weren't far from the truth. "We have our challenges, yes, but that's all the more reason to work together. The problem isn't the refugees—it's the radicalization of those who feel abandoned. If we invest in integration, if we give them a place in society, we take away the power of the extremists trying to recruit them."
A murmur spread through the room. Some representatives nodded in agreement; others remained skeptical. The Portuguese delegate, Isabela Ferreira, tapped her fingers on the table. "You propose integration, Director Potter, but how? The Muggle world has its refugee programs, and even they struggle. How do you suggest we handle this in the magical world?"
"We start by creating an international framework," Harry said. "A structured process that allows refugees to be vetted, resettled, and integrated into magical societies rather than being left to fend for themselves. We can work with magical institutions to provide them education, employment, and housing. Right now, they feel like they have no options, and that's why they turn to extremist ideologies."
Mikhailov scoffed. "And who pays for this? Who ensures security? You think Durmstrang students will sit quietly while their schools are filled with those who fled? You think we can monitor every single wizard with past connections to the Dark Lord?"
"We can certainly try," Harry countered. "What's the alternative? Pushing them back into countries where they'll either be killed or forced into crime? Because that's what's happening now. We all know it."
A heavy silence followed. Calderón exchanged a glance with Ferreira, while Beckett exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple.
"We need a compromise," Beckett finally said. "Perhaps an international effort, but with stricter oversight. Magical law enforcement from multiple countries working together to monitor refugee movements and ensure they aren't engaging in illegal activities."
Ferreira nodded. "And quotas. We must set limits on how many each nation takes. It cannot fall on just a few."
Mikhailov sneered. "And when one of these refugees commits a crime? When a former Death Eater's child turns on their new home? Who is responsible then?"
Harry leaned forward. "If we treat them like criminals before they've done anything wrong, they'll become exactly what you fear. If we give them a chance, we can prevent that. Isn't that what the magical world should stand for?"
Murmurs erupted across the hall as representatives began to debate. Meanwhile, Harry leaned back in his seat with his fingers steepled in front of him as he eyed them.
The ensuing crisis that had erupted during and after the Second Wizarding War as it was known in Britain had indeed worsened. It had fed into the notions already prevailing in the society, and like Britain, almost every European nation was reeling with violence and division. The refugee crisis was a consequence of those events, and Harry knew that no matter how much they debated, there were two main points: No country would compromise its sovereignty and national security to cater to foreigners, and the issue wouldn't be resolved until the root cause was taken care of, and that was an impossible task.
Evil cannot be eradicated. That was the truth.
As he sighed, his eyes met Gabrielle who was sitting in the gallery. She gave him a tight, supportive smile. Harry released a soft sigh and gave her a small nod, turning back to the representatives as the debates continued.
-Break-
The tea had long gone cold in his hands.
Harry sat by the window, his elbow propped against the armrest, and his fingers curled loosely around the porcelain cup. Beyond the glass, the Eiffel Tower stood tall, illuminated against the night sky. He watched the golden lights shimmer, but his mind was still in that conference hall, replaying every argument and every sharp word exchanged.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He didn't turn. With a small wave of his hand, the door creaked open. He heard it click shut again, and the soft sound of footsteps approaching. The presence beside him was familiar even before she spoke.
"How are you doing?" Gabrielle's voice was gentle, filled with concern.
Harry let out a quiet chuckle. "How do you think I'm doing?"
She didn't answer right away. He could feel her gaze on him, studying him, but he kept his eyes on the city. After a moment, she sighed and moved closer, close enough that he could catch the faintest trace of her perfume. Vanilla, almond, and jasmine. She had not worn it when they'd met before, and he had a feeling about what was coming.
"It was a difficult discussion," she murmured. "But necessary."
Harry chuckled mirthlessly. "Necessary? Maybe. But did we actually accomplish anything?" He shook his head. "Everyone's too busy trying to protect their own interests to see the bigger picture. We're supposed to prevent another war, not create a reason for one."
Gabrielle crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "There is no easy solution, Harry. You must know that by now."
He dragged a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know. But knowing doesn't make it any less frustrating."
Gabrielle leaned against the arm of his chair beside him. "Spain and Portugal are right to be worried. They are the ones housing the most refugees, and they are the ones facing the consequences when tensions rise."
Harry exhaled sharply. "That doesn't mean pushing people away is the answer. Half of them didn't even ask to be caught up in this. They were just trying to survive."
"And yet, the United States has a point too," she countered. "Radicals exist within these groups, Harry. You've seen it firsthand. The danger isn't imagined."
He clenched his jaw. "So what, then? Do we turn them all into suspects? Let fear decide who deserves safety?"
She tilted her head. "You ask the right questions, but no one has the right answers. Not yet."
Silence settled between them. The city outside carried on, untouched by the depth of their conversation.
Gabrielle's eyes drifted over his face, taking in the lines of exhaustion that hadn't truly faded since the war, no matter what. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly over his forearm.
"You're tense." Her voice dropped slightly, softer now.
Harry blinked and glanced down at where her hand rested against his skin. He hadn't even noticed how tight his muscles had been until her touch made him aware of it.
"Yeah, well, debating the fate of the wizarding world will do that to you," he muttered dryly.
She smiled, a slow curve of her lips. "Would you like some help?"
He didn't answer. He didn't pull away. He just tilted his head slightly to the side, giving her the smallest indication of permission.
Gabrielle took it with a smile, stepping right behind him.
Her hands moved to his shoulders, pressing in with slow ease. She kneaded carefully at first, testing, and then with more pressure as she worked through the tension knotted in his muscles. Her touch was warm and soothing—but there was something else beneath it. A hum in the air, a whisper of magic that curled through him like a slow-burning ember. Harry easily recognized it as her allure.
He let his eyes drift shut as she worked, his body instinctively leaning into her touch. He felt her shift behind him, leaning forward, her fingers gliding over his upper arms, pressing firmly down his biceps, and then back up again in slow, steady strokes.
"You carry too much weight," she murmured, her breath warm against his ear.
He exhaled deeply. "Someone has to."
Her hands slid lower, over his forearms, and then back up, tracing the tension in his shoulders again. Her magic pulsed beneath her fingertips, sending a slow, curling heat through his skin. He could feel himself relaxing, the rigid set of his muscles unraveling under her touch.
And then, without hesitation, she reached for the top button of his shirt.
His eyes opened just slightly, but he didn't stop her.
One button was followed by two more. The fabric of his shirt parted under her hands, exposing the lines of his collarbone and the faint scars that crossed his upper chest. Her fingertips brushed over them, her touch featherlight as she spread the shirt open further.
Harry breathed, his pulse ticking up under her sensual touch, her veela magic working wonders to take care of his tense muscles and knots.
Smiling to herself, Gabrielle leaned in, her lips grazing the shell of his ear as she whispered, "You should not worry so much. You have done your part. You have suffered enough. It is no longer your responsibility."
Her voice was like velvet, sinking into his skin as her hands moved over his bare chest, pressing, soothing, and calming him. She took her time teasing his nipples, never quite touching them fully but brushing them softly enough to keep him wanting. This woman knew how to do it, alright.
His eyes closed, Harry let his head fall back slightly, resting against her lower belly as she stood behind him. His breath was slower now, his body pliant under her hands.
Then, her lips found his earlobe. It was a slow kiss that was over before it began. It was followed by a flick of her tongue.
His fingers curled against the armrest.
"Gabrielle…" he said, his voice low and rough. "What do you think you're doing?"
Gabrielle didn't answer right away. Instead, she smirked against his skin, her breath hot on his neck as she murmured, "Do you really not know?"
Her lips moved lower, brushing along the side of his neck. She took her time, totally unhurried as she kissed his skin softly. Her hands never stopped moving, exploring every inch of his torso with slow, measured intent.
Her fingers worked the buttons of his shirt with practiced ease until the last button slipped undone.
She gently pushed the fabric off his shoulders, letting it slide down his arms until it pooled at his elbows, leaving his upper body bare.
Her hands roamed freely over his torso, her touch both firm and featherlight. She traced the lines of his ribs, massaged the muscles of his stomach, and then returned to his chest, her fingers toying with the small tufts of hair there. Her lips continued their slow, sensual exploration of his neck and shoulders, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. All the while, she was working with her veela magic to calm him.
Harry's breath hitched as her mouth found the curve where his neck met his shoulder, her lips pressing and teasing him. Harry felt himself sinking into the sensation, surrendering to the pleasure. He tilted his head back further, giving her more access to his neck. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be completely enveloped by her touch.
Finally, her hands slid off his body and he turned his head slightly, just enough for their eyes to meet.
Gabrielle's face was mere inches away from his. Her gaze was dark, hooded, and filled with an emotion so raw that he didn't need words to understand.
Their eyes flickered down at the same time—to each other's lips.
Neither moved at first. And then, as if pulled by the same force, they crashed together.
The kiss was searing, all heat and hunger and something unspoken beneath it. Harry's hands found her cheek as he kissed her, and Gabrielle easily stepped by the chair, guided by his hand on her waist. Harry helped her, pulling her closer, and Gabrielle pressed herself against him, her body molding to his as she climbed on his lap, straddling him. Her fingers tangled into his hair as they kissed heatedly, their lips moving frantically against each other. It felt almost as if they couldn't get enough of each other.
The world outside faded into oblivion—the city lights, the politics, and the weight of everything that had been said in that conference hall.
None of it seemed to matter. What truly mattered now was what lay ahead.
TBC.
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