Our fifth and final installment! Thank you for the lovely reviews and support. I hope you enjoy.

Charlie woke Hermione up the next morning by grabbing her hips and promptly flipping her over.

"Merlin, Charlie!" she'd squeaked as he hiked her arse up. "What the—oh. Oh! Oh, gods…" She buried her head in her pillow as he— cunniligued, was it? Or maybe silver-tongued her beaver? Yodeled her valley? No matter what one called it, in record time she was screaming and convulsing against his mouth. When she finally had the strength to lift her head, he was singing away in the shower.

"Why don't we eat our lunch in the breakroom?" he asked her as they grabbed burritos from a food truck, having spent an exhausting morning wrangling the Moonhairs.

"Sure," she responded. As soon as they walked in, he took her bags to the table, turned, and locked all the doors with his wand.

Hermione tilted her head. "Charlie? What—"

And he dropped to his knees in front of her.

"What do you think you're—" She stopped as he reached into her skirt to slide her knickers over. "Charlie." Her voice was a tone of warning, but, like that morning, his tongue won over hers.

He palmed her arse the whole while, pulling her closer and closer. The orgasm took her by surprise and she nearly fell on top of his head, trying as hard as she could to keep quiet. She wanted nothing more than to curl up into a happily sated ball afterward, but Charlie had other plans.

He laid her on the dining table and proceeded to bang her so hard, one of the table legs needed mending when they were through. Hermione made certain to disinfect the whole dining room, as well. "Why?" Charlie asked. "We keepers spent half our time in dragon dung as it is."

"Because it's just good manners," she responded, ignoring the warmth in her belly from his smirk.

That night, he popped in the shower, nearly scaring the magic right out of her. Before she could get over the shock, he sat her on the edge of the tub and licked and licked and licked her, until she came with her head smacked against the tile.

Then he licked her until she came again.

"What is with you?" Hermione asked afterward. She wasn't certain if she'd feel her legs anytime soon, so she didn't even bother getting up, or even closing her thighs for that matter. "Do I taste like firewhisky or something?"

"Making up for lost time," Charlie replied. And he pulled her up, pressed her against the wall, slid his meat rod inside and gave her yet another orgasm.

That night, as he held her in bed, Hermione wondered if it was possible to get tired of orgasms.

She certainly did not think so.

x

On the sixth night, the day before she was supposed to leave, Charlie broke another rule.

He placed her on his dresser, pumping full-speed. She wrapped her legs around him and arched her breasts along the hard lines of his chest. They hadn't even done their fifteen minutes of foreplay yet, but Hermione was certain she was going to come anyway.

"Hermione," Charlie said gruffly.

She lifted her head.

"Look at me." Hermione had no trouble complying, beautiful man that he was. His eyes were so dark, his jaw tight. But as the orgasm threatened her again, her eyes fluttered. "Look at me," he repeated.

She pulled her eyes on him again. "Charlie," she whimpered. "I'm- oh, I'm— I'm—"

And when she started to convulse around him, he pressed his lips to hers, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Charlie Weasley tasted like chocolate and applewood and whisky, all mixed with the pine and orange smell of him. He was salty and sweet and just, gods. She loved kissing him, about as much as she loved fucking him. And that was saying quite a lot.

When they broke the kiss, he rested his head on her shoulder. "I have to make you come at least six more times. Per our agreement."

They weren't to kiss per their agreement, too, but Hermione thought better of mentioning it. She'd wanted it, after all— more desperately than she cared to admit.

Instead, she laughed, running her nails down his back, delighting in the gooseflesh of his skin as a result. "No. I'm one-hundred and fifty percent satisfied with the outcome of our agreement. You've done enough."

"I'm not sure I could have enough of you," he said, his voice low and gravelly.

"Come again, Charlie?"

But when he looked at her, he just shook his head. "Shower?"

She smiled. "Bath. Please. I'm sore."

In the tub, he pulled her into his lap and held her for the better part of an hour.

"I like being with you," he told her, and as she rested her head on his shoulder, Hermione thought that this— being wrapped up in Charlie Weasley's arms in his bath, not needing to say anything at all— might be even more intimate than sex or oral or kissing.

When he fucked her for the final time that week, he did it so slow and hard, staring into her eyes the entire time. He made sure to come with her, stroking her clit just how she liked, leaving the softest kiss on her lips before they fell asleep.

x

Charlie Weasley was pretty sure he hadn't had that much sex in a week... ever.

After she came to him with her request that first time seven days before, she had no need to initiate it again. He was nearly embarrassed by how eager he was for her, how he couldn't wait until they were even through the door most of the time.

But then he'd think of the way she'd gasp when he reached for her knickers. How she'd bite his shoulder if her orgasm was particularly strong. Or the way she'd kissed him when he finally got the nerve to go there. She kissed him like she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.

Worth it, he thought. Worth his dignity in every respect.

He knew he'd miss her— and not just for the fucking— but he wasn't prepared for how quiet his cabin was now that she'd portkeyed back to London.

Nearly all evidence of her was gone. Charlie wasn't sure how he felt about that.

And then he found a pouch of galleons on the edge of the guest bed, labeled 'Reparations.'

"Jesus, Granger," he growled. Shoving the pouch in his pocket, he turned to floo-call Harold.

"I'm gonna need a couple days," Charlie said.

"You alright?" Harold responded. "You haven't taken time off in— Godric, Charlie. I can't remember the last time you needed time."

"Just a thing," Charlie responded gruffly.

"Not a problem, Weasley. Just make sure you're here Saturday for the new recruits, yeah?"

"Got it."

x

Hermione thought she'd be ecstatic at the end of her experiment. Her goal. Objective. Whatever. Were she to be successful, (which she was, more so than she could've ever hoped to be), she thought she'd be bouncing off the walls like a Wizarding-Wheezes-charmed cauldron.

Instead, she felt worse… even worse than before. And she had no bloody idea why.

She could enjoy sex! She had, in fact, enjoyed the best sex of her life all week long. It was the best birthday gift she had ever given herself.

But Charlie. The look on his face that morning, as she left for her international port key. He was so gloomy.

So was she.

But they weren't supposed to grow feelings. Per their agreement! It was just a series of shags for the betterment of Hermione's life. That was all.

Just a series of shags. Hermione repeated this to herself as she went about her travels. As soon as she got home, she drank a great deal of tea to calm herself down.

And after that, she switched to firewhisky.

x

Hermione was nearly ready for work the next morning when she heard a knocking on her door. Well, it was more like a banging. A severe banging.

Wand out, she cautiously approached the source of the nearly-cataclysmic beats. She opened the door to find...

"Charlie?"

Charlie looked particularly delicious— muscles bulging out of a pale blue shirt, his jeans tight enough that Hermione made a mental note to check his arse momentarily. His expression, however, told a different story. His face was red, his jaw tight. "What the fuck is this?" he said, lifting the sack of coins she'd left at his place.

"What do you mean?" Hermione shook her head. "It says 'reparations' on the front. That explains it, doesn't it?"

"You paid me for sex?"

"Merlin, Charlie! Come inside, would you!" She ushered him in, faintly registering the warmth in her whole body at the sight of him. She shut the door quickly. "It wasn't for the sex, idiot." Hermione smacked his arm. "It was for me taking up your space! And eating your food! And drinking your booze."

Charlie's eyebrows dropped. "Oh." He blinked and shook his head. "I still don't want it." He thrust the satchel in her hands.

She took it, idly dropping it on a nearby table. "You could've just owled it, Charlie." She crossed her arms. "What are you really doing here?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She ran her hand on his arm. "It's alright. I mean, whatever you need to say—"

He leaned down and kissed her.

It was rough. It was glorious. Hermione opened her mouth to his tongue and shoved hers in his, moaning as his erection jutted into her hip.

Charlie pulled back abruptly. "I want you."

Hermione nodded. "I want you, Charlie."

He swallowed. "Mum wants me to apply for a position in Portsmouth."

Hermione laughed. "Does she, now? I don't know about that, considering she's only mentioned it to me about six dozen times since learning about the reserve we're building there."

He grinned, nuzzling her neck. "Would you like to be with me, Hermione? If I were to move…"

Her heart felt so large, she could only gasp. After a few moments, she nodded her head. "Fuck, yes, Charlie."

He grinned and kissed her again. And carried her to the bedroom.

Eight orgasms later, Hermione was able to finally call into work and let them know she was rather occupied for the day. And she may not make it in for another seven.

The End