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Cormac McLaggen (macmclaggen) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

"Hmm. What do you think about when you think of me?" He asked, wanting her to let go and let out the slight insanity he knew was just below her surface. He'd seen it in her when she wore nothing but a robe and had shown up at his front door, he'd dreamed of it when she'd taught Dueling Club in that delicious red lipstick.

"I can't say I fared well," he admits, "after all I didn't show up nearly knocking down your door in the middle of the night, just needing you." He ground out the last words, as if even thinking of how badly he needed her was nearly painful.

He worked her jeans down her legs, his hands trailing down her thighs and over her knees and tugging the fabric over her feet to fall on to the floor. Moving back up her body her massaged her thighs, stopping to hover over her, leaning down to trail kisses up her legs as he massaged, testing his own patience to drive her mad.