Merope placed a hand on Tom's belly, glancing up at him from beneath her lashes. He was half-awake at most, beautiful face relaxed, eyes closed, dark hair tousled against the white pillow. "Good morning," she whispered, running her hand down his thigh.

His mouth curled into a smile. "Good morning." When he opened his eyes to look at her, they were dark and deep with love.

She kissed his shoulder. "Did you sleep well?"

"When you're with me, I always do." He touched a finger to her cheek, very gently.

Merope swallowed down the insane, joyful laugh that was bubbling up in her throat, gazing back into his eyes with perfect earnestness and calm. "You know I will always be with you," she said. "I won't ever leave you."

A shudder went through him; he put both his arms around her and pulled her closer, so that she was lying with her head on his chest. "Don't even mention those words. The very thought..."

She nuzzled against him, kissed the warm skin under his right nipple. The taste and smell delighted her. Everything delighted her, from Tom himself to the large hotel bed to the fine furniture to the Muggle noises from the street outside.

It had been scary at first, of course; she had arrived in the city barely daring to glance out from under Tom's protective arm. The Muggle world had changed quite a bit compared to the days of Mother's old books, it seemed. But in short time she'd got used to it all. She'd let herself fall into this life – this lovely life – without regret, sinking into it like a tired body in a bath of hot water, allowing it to wash away all the hateful grime from before. And how pure she felt now!

She stretched out her tongue and lapped at his nipple, then breathed at it lightly. Tom made an appreciative noise, stirring under her.

"Did you like that, darling?"

"Mhmm." He'd closed his eyes again, but the smile was still there. "Don't stop."

Merope kissed his nipple, then moved over to the other one. He was sensitive there; she'd learned as much already during their first time together. Very responsive, he'd been, letting her know the secrets of his body one by one, rewarding her efforts with the soft moans and gasps of her name. She'd felt truly powerful for the first time in her life, empowered by the sheer intensity of this passion: the greatest magic of all.

Her father and Morfin had thought her quite incapable of doing magic. The thought made her smile against Tom's skin.

One of his hands came up to stroke her hair. "God," he said in a choked voice, "you're perfect."

"So are you." She bit lightly at his nipple. "Everything I could have wished for."

As he squirmed expectantly under her, she kissed her way downwards, over firm planes of muscle and dusky hair. His sex was already hard and straining – not just because of the early hour, she thought. She stroked it gently, her fingers running up and down.

"Merope," said Tom, desperate longing in his voice. She moved back up to him, her mouth finding his. They kissed deeply, hotly, lovingly.

How different this was from everything back home!

Breaking the kiss again, she smiled at him. Father had always mocked her ugliness, but in Tom's gaze there was nothing but adoration. "Let me," she said, moving back down again.

He spread his thighs to give her access, his head falling back, exposing the long line of his throat. She drank in the sight of him, the feel of his hips under her hands.

Only this, she thought, only love. Only me. He doesn't want me for my blood.

She licked down his length, tasting the salt. Tom sobbed. She drew back, admiring the way his arousal strained to meet her. It reminded her a bit of the picture in one of Mother's old books, the one with the snake and the flautist. She smiled at the thought. You're mine, she whispered to it in the old tongue, punctuating each syllable with a kiss to the tip. All mine.

"Merope," Tom groaned again. He was close now; she could sense it.

Merope took him in her mouth, closing her eyes as she did so. With her right hand she caressed his balls, with the other one she reached up and took hold of one of Tom's. He clung to her like a drowning man as his body shook and his hips jerked and he gave her all he had to give.

When she looked up, wiping her mouth, she saw him slumped against the pillow, eyes closed.

"Darling?"

His breath came heavily; when he opened his eyes, she saw tears in them.

"It's only..." His voice was shaking with love and awe. "So much, so intense. And then I thought about what you said before, about never leaving me... I'm so happy my heart is about to burst."

"Oh, Tom," she whispered, reaching for his face. With her thumbs she gently wiped his carved cheekbones and kissed them. The taste of salt, so unlike and yet so similar to the taste already in her mouth, made her draw a sharp breath. When he looked at her, eyes still shiny with tears, she felt a peculiar thrill go through her body.

Mine, she thought, all mine.

"Let me, now," Tom said, running a gentle hand down her hip, and oh, it was tempting, so tempting, with her heart all bursting with joy and his teary eyes filled with adoration and the heat that was now pooling between her own legs. So beautiful, he was, her dark-haired saviour, and so ready to please her and give her everything she had ever wanted.

And Merope wanted him.

But she looked at the clock and smiled ruefully. "Later, darling," she said, kissing his brow and carefully untangling herself from his arms. A new day was upon them. Soon, she was going to be Mrs. Tom Riddle. A tailor was going to call on them, to take measurements for her dress. The hotel staff was waiting for her to order breakfast. And it was almost time for his tea.