Alright, the fact is: I can't tell him no when he's sucking on my neck.

"James," I warn as his hands pull my shirt loose from my skirt. "James," I say a little firmer when those same hands travel up my sides dangerously. "James, stop." I tell him when his fingers slip under the lining of my bra. His mouth has been on mine this whole time and while his kissing has always put me in a bit of a trance, I can't all-together let him undress me in a common room that our teacher could waltz into at any given moment. In the past I figure they never saw real need to because Head students are supposed to be the most trustworthy, but this is James Potter we're talking about. Trusting him is like trusting a hungry bear when you're dipped in honey.

And then his mouth slithers downwards. It starts at my jaw, which makes me tense up in a way that encourages him in ways it shouldn't. And then it skips down too my shoulder for a quick peck at my bare skin. When did that become bare? And then his parted lips touch my neck and a whimper escapes my betraying lips. Sodding hell. From there, I know I'm a goner. I say his name again but this time it's between moans and that encourages him in all the right ways. He yanks me closer so our hips crack together and his fingers dip into my flesh. I know there will be marks there later but for the life of me, I don't care.

I hear his shirt hit the floor and know consciously that I took it off of him but can hardly remember doing it. See what he does to me? There's a click and a rip that I recognize as the opening of a button and the pulling of a zipper. His slacks are on the floor and he suddenly has my feet off the ground and my back against the wall. He makes some kind of comment about my legs being long that makes me feel good about myself. I lock my lips onto his and his hands explore freely, traveling under by skirt and tugging at my knickers. A gasp escapes me at the feel of his fingers grazing my nether reasons. We've snogged countless times, fooled around only a little bit less than that, but it still surprises me when I find myself underwear-less. What would my mother say? I feel something around my ankles and know that he's successfully gotten my panties off once again. It's kind of remarkable when I think about it. Prude Lily Evans dropping her modest cotton for the boy every girl that doesn't want Sirius Black wants a piece of. Soon the clasp of my bra is open and I'm flinging it away, pushing our bare chests together. He groans silently and I feel it rumble in his sternum. My nails dig into his shoulder blades and I know it'll itch later, but he seems to like it now by the viscous way he's pushing me into the wall with his hips, which grind against mine and hurt so good.

He's moving me again as his tongue explores my mouth in a way that makes my knees shake and a moment later I feel the soft cushion of the couch beneath me. His lips are trailing down my stomach now, making me suck in my belly, the way I do when I'm nervous. He knows it to, which I assume is why he takes my hand and pauses for a brief moment to kiss my knuckle. It makes me smile.

His head disappears beneath my skirt and my legs fall further apart, stretched one up over the back of the couch, the other with my toes touching the floor. My back arches, bum pressing into the cushions beneath me, and my head tilting back. I realize that we're wizards and everything is magic to us, but his mouth is that heavenly kind of sinful where the line is so thin there's no possible way to tell the difference. He delves deeper and I swear my eyes roll back in my head and then, like - fucking - always, he pulls away right before that wave hits me and I'm sunk twelve feet beneath the most luscious water ever. His mouth is on mine again and my hands are so fervent as I - attempt to - rip down his last remaining item of clothing that he actually laughs. He pulls away and pulls me up to my feet. I'm looking at him like he's crazy because - what in the world? He's been trying to get this far for months and now he's pulling away? Is that even logical? "I want to look at you," he tells me, and my insides melt into a puddle of molten lava.

He slips down his boxers and my eyes travel his naked body for the first time ever. My stomach is doing flips as I take in his perfection. He really is, by the way. Perfect, I mean. He's so sweet to me, and he's such a good Head Boy, and he's so funny, and he's beautiful too. Most boys probably don't want to be referred to as beautiful, but it's true. James Potter is perfect. He might not have been at one point in time, but now he really is and I am thrown by that. Where is the young boy who used to throw innuendo's at me and I used to throw hexes at him? I don't miss him, to tell you the truth. This James is my James. I wouldn't have him any other way. He's still mischievous, of course. I catch him doing stuff all the time, but it's more innocent now. He doesn't hurt people for fun. He makes actually funny stuff happen. Just a week ago Slughorn opened the potions cabinet and was covered head to foot in irremovable blue powder. He laughed, huffed, and exclaimed, "I'm retiring!" It was great.

So when it's my tern to take off the last thing covering me, I swallow and know that if I had an Adam's apple it would be bobbing like mad. I'm now so nervous I can't even feel my throat, let alone swallow. My fingers are shaking as I undo my skirt. I dip my head, letting my hair fall in my face as the useless clothe falls down around my ankles. There is an intake of breath that I'm not entirely sure wasn't mine, but a moment later his strong, experienced fingers are encircling my wrists and he's pulling me forward, "Baby, look at me."

I look up into his beautiful face and he's smiling down at me. The way he's looking at me - lovingly, adoringly, like he's never seen anything so beautiful in all his life - makes my cheeks flush. I don't know how he does it, but no one else can make me feel so... good. "You're perfect," he tells me in a low voice that makes something in my chest tingle. He's picked me up again - bridal style this time - and is looking into my eyes as he carries me towards his room. So help me, I can't look away from him either.

He lowers me onto his bed, the soft down puffing up around me. His strong arm holds onto my waist as he drags us both up to the head of the bed. He's kissing me tenderly, lovingly. I can't help but smile against his lips. He moves his arm from around me and slides his hands down my sides and over my legs, pulling them up around his waist. "Take a deep breath," he tells me in that same low voice, meant only for me to hear, and as I do he pushes into me slowly. I gasp through my exhale and I'm fairly certain it gives me the hiccups. Not that I would know because I hold my breath a moment later anyway as he starts rocking his hips against mine slowly.

I know that he's going slow for my benefit. I can tell that he wants to go faster, harder. But the pain is so heightened that I may cry if he so much as touches me the wrong way. We continue this achingly slow pace for quite a while, and after long it turns from pain to irritation to a dull ache. There is something sticky on my leg that I know for certain is my own blood and I'm so embarrassed I squeeze my eyes shut as my face boils red.

He takes my hand again, kisses my knuckles in that soothing way and starts peppering kisses all over my face. And I laugh because he's proving just how perfect he is again. Soon the dull ache turns into pleasure and I gasp as he hits something that sends a wave of heat through my body. "Oh," I say sliding my hands along his shoulders. "Do that again," I whisper in his ear in what I attempt to be a seductive tone. It must've worked, because he pulls his arms out from under me and places his hands on the bed up near my head. My legs lock around his as he pushes in and out of me, my body arching every which way underneath him. The melody of it is amazing. Our bodies hum together in a never ending tune. And then, when I think it can't feel any better, it starts to get hot.

There is a sheen of sweat breaking out all over my skin and when my legs fall open on either side of him because I just don't have the strength to clench anymore, I know that he's sweating too. I moan and he groans, I gasp and he clenches his jaw. In and out, in and out. The rhythm takes me higher and higher until a wave higher and better than I ever could've imagined washes over me. It's like a tsunami. I arch my back, pressing my chest into his, my hands claw at the headboard and my legs tighten around him again. My toes curl. A fire is ignited in my abdomen and it spreads all over my body.

Our names are said together.

And then it's over.

Instead of laying there like I assumed we would do, James gets up and picks me up a moment later. He carries me to his bathroom where he turns on the shower and steps under the water with me still in his arms. And then we repeat the process, only this time it's a million times hotter. My back slips up and down the glass, his hands grip my hips like his life depends on it and his lip bleeds from biting it so hard. There are nail marks down his arms and a bite mark on my shoulder. And the second time that wave hits me, it's even better than the first.

An addiction quickly pursues, and he is my prescription.