Chapter 6

The mall was busy for a Tuesday, which suited Fleur fine. She moved through the crowds without breaking stride, the way she always did, like she expected the sea to part for her and it generally did. Gabrielle kept pace beside her, her bag over one shoulder, scanning the shop windows without any particular urgency.

They’d come out on Fleur’s suggestion, largely because Gabrielle had been restless all morning, drifting from room to room with nowhere to be and too much going on in her head, and Fleur had decided that the best solution to restless energy was putting it somewhere useful. Shopping was useful.

“Zat one,” Fleur said, stopping and nodding at a clothes shop with clean, minimal displays and the kind of lighting that made everything look expensive. “I want to look in here.”

Gabrielle looked at the window. “You don’t need more clothes.”

“I always need more clothes.” Fleur was already pushing the door open.

The shop was cool inside and smelled of cedar and new fabric. Fleur moved through the racks with surety, like she knew exactly what she wanted and could locate it in under a minute. She pulled a dress out, held it against herself without bothering with a mirror, and put it back. She pulled out another, tilted her head, and kept it. Gabrielle drifted along in her wake, occasionally touching things she had no intention of buying and putting it back, half watching Fleur and half watching the room.

“You should get somezing for yourself,” Fleur said, not looking up from the rack.

“I don’t really need anything.”

“Nonsense. You’re going back to school in less than two weeks and you wear ze same five things in rotation. Get somezing nice.”

“I like those five things.”

“Zat’s not ze point.” Fleur turned with a silky blouse in one hand, appraised her sister briefly, and turned back. “Ze point is getting somezing new. Treat yourself.”

“I genuinely don’t need anything, Fleur. I have plenty of clothes.”

“You have practical clothes,” Fleur said. “Zat’s different to actually ‘aving clothes.” She set the blouse back and started walking toward the back of the shop, where a discreet sign indicated a different section. “Come.”

“Where are we—“ Gabrielle started, and noticed where they were heading about two steps in. “Fleur.”

“Don’t start.”

“I wasn’t starting anyzing, I just—“

“You’re already making ze face.”

“What face, I’m not—“

“Ze same face you made when I told you to try ze oysters. You ate ze oysters and you liked zem.”

“Zat is not remotely ze same situation.”

Fleur pushed through into the lingerie section without responding. It was well-stocked and well-lit, organized by color, the kind of section Gabrielle usually walked past with her eyes forward. Fleur moved through it the same way she’d moved through everything else, with complete authority, holding things up and putting things back, looking entirely in her element.

“I don’t need any of zis,” Gabrielle said, from a safe two feet behind her.

“You ‘ave cotton knickers zat look so prudish.”

“How do you even know zat!?”

“You live wiz us, Gabby. I’ve seen zem.”

“Zey’re comfortable.”

“Zey are practical. Zere is a time for practical and zere is a time for somezing else.” Fleur held up a lace bralette in deep burgundy, squinted at it, held it next to Gabrielle’s face without warning, put it back, found the same style a size up, and held it again. “You’re eighteen. Your body is done doing what it was doing. Time to dress it like you know zat.”

“Zat is a very strange reason to go lingerie shopping.”

“It is actually a completely sensible reason.” She added the burgundy set to the pile growing over her arm. “You’re going to start ‘aving a private life soon, Gabby. When zat ‘appens, you want to feel good about what’s underneath. It makes a difference to how you carry yourself, even when nobody else can see it. Trust me.”

Gabrielle followed along and said nothing, which was basically agreement.

“Zis one,” Fleur said, holding up a deep green set with a simple cut.

“Ze green is a bit much.”

“Ze navy zen,” Fleur said, finding the same style immediately. She held it up. Gabrielle looked at it, took it, and held it against herself at the small mirror near the display.

The color was actually very good on her.

She put it in the pile.

“Not zat one,” she said ten minutes later, when Fleur held up something in pale mint. “Ze color’s wrong for me.”

“You’re right,” Fleur agreed, putting it back without discussion.

Gabrielle found something herself, unprompted. A high-waisted brief and matching bralette in black cotton-silk, simple but with the weight and finish of a fabric that screamed expensive. Fleur looked at it, looked at her sister, and nodded.

“Good eye,” she said.

“I do actually know what I like.”

“I never said you didn’t. I said you had cotton knickers. Completely separate statements.”

“Ze same zing.”

“It is absolutely not ze same zing.”

They argued about this in a comfortable way while Gabrielle gathered her selections. Then Fleur steered her toward the fitting roomswith the items Fleur had picked out for her, ignoring Gabrielle’s protests that she already knew what size she was and didn’t need to try anything on.

“I want to see how zey sit,” Fleur said, settling outside the curtain. “Different fabrics fall differently. Just try zem.”

“Zis is totally unnecessary, I know my own—“

“Gabrielle,” Fleur sighed.

There was a moment of pause, and then the curtain pulled shut.

Gabrielle emerged after a minute in the burgundy lace set, one hand on the curtain rail, her expression somewhere between self-conscious and defiant.

Fleur looked at her the way she’d looked at her in the bedroom conversation earlier that week, frank and practical. She reached out and made a small adjustment to one strap, checked the other side, and stepped back to regard her.

“Oui,” she said simply. “Zat’s it.”

Gabrielle turned to the fitting room mirror.

The bralette sat high and firm over the generous curve of her chest, the lace sitting over the full curve of her boobs without doing anything distracting, the bottoms high-cut enough to make her legs look longer than they already were. She turned slightly before she turned back, and spent longer looking than she’d intended.

“It’s a bit much,” she said.

“It’s exactly right. It suits you very well.” Fleur looked at her sister with obvious appreciation in her eyes. “You ‘ave a really beautiful figure, Gabby. You should let yourself wear zings zat show zat.” She paused. “Ze navy one next.”

They went through four sets this way. Fleur brisk and focused, Gabrielle progressively less awkward in front of the mirror. By the time they were done she had four new sets and was trying not to look pleased about it, which wasn’t working.

“I still don’t know when I’m supposed to wear any of zis,” she said, back in her original clothes, gathering the bags.

“Whenever you like,” Fleur said. “Wear zem under your robes to class. Wear zem to bed. Wear zem to sit around ze flat on a Tuesday morning. Ze point isn’t zat someone else sees zem. Ze point is you wearing zem and feeling a certain way about yourself because of it.”

“You really do sound like a magazine sometimes.”

“Magazines are right sometimes.”

Gabrielle laughed and followed her back out through the main floor, the air between the sisters easy-going and relaxed. They had no obligations for the day and could kill however much time they wanted until evening when Harry would arrive.

They stopped at a cosmetics counter where Fleur tested three different lipsticks on the back of her hand and bought one that Gabrielle could’ve sworn was the exact color she already owned. Gabrielle found a mascara she’d been meaning to replace. They kept moving.

It was on the way to the exit, cutting through a section neither of them had been heading for, that Gabrielle stopped.

The shop window showed nightwear on display. There was a range of practical cotton ones at the front, and then further back, center of the display on its own mannequin, something else entirely. It was a babydoll, silk in a deep rose shade, with a panel of sheer mesh across the chest and a lace hem that ended somewhere well above anywhere that could be described as modest. The matching bottoms beneath it were almost purely symbolic.

Gabrielle stood there and looked at it for a moment.

Fleur had gone two steps ahead before she realized she was alone. She came back, followed Gabrielle’s eyeline to the display, and said nothing for a moment. A small smile appeared on her face.

“Go ahead,” she said.

Gabrielle looked at her. “I wasn’t going to do anything.”

“You’ve been staring at it.”

“I was just looking.”

“You’re never just looking when you go that still.” Fleur nodded toward the shop entrance. “Go on. You know your size. Don’t overthink it.”

Gabrielle opened her mouth, didn’t find a good argument, and went in.

Fleur stayed outside and watched her sister move through the shop, straight to the right rack, already lifting the rose babydoll off the hanger before she’d had time to reconsider anything. She looked back at the display with a fond, knowing expression on her face before turning back to Gabrielle.

“Get me ice cream while you’re at it,” Fleur called through the door. “Zere’s a place near ze main exit. I’ll meet you once I’ve sorted ze bill.”

Gabrielle lifted a hand in acknowledgment without looking back, the babydoll already draped over her arm.

Fleur watched her sister’s retreating figure, the confident way she walked, and let the small smile stay on her face as long as she wanted.

XXXXX

They came back to the flat with bags in both hands, the sisters humming with satisfaction of an afternoon well spent on nothing that mattered. Fleur set her bags down at the foot of the stairs and said she was going up to put things away before they’d meet in the kitchen for some tea and snacks.

She was halfway up the stairs when Gabrielle called her name.

Fleur stopped and turned.

Gabrielle was standing in the hallway with her bags, looking up at her. From the expression on her face, Fleur could tell she was working up to saying something she wasn’t sure how to start.

“Did you mean it?” she said finally. “What you said ze other night.”

Fleur came back down two steps and sat on the stair. “About you watching me and ‘Arry?”

“Oui.”

Fleur took a breath. “Oui,” she said. “I meant it.”

“You actually talked to ‘Arry about it? Properly?”

“We did.” Fleur rested her arms on her knees. “It took a bit of convincing for him to agree, honestly. He was worried about, I don’t know, making zings weird, making you uncomfortable.”

“And now he’s not?”

“And now he’s not worried. He said it was alright. His words were something like, ‘if Fleur thinks it’s fine and Gabrielle wants to and no one’s getting hurt, zen I don’t have an objection.’” She smiled. “Very ‘Arry.”

Gabrielle's mouth curved. She set her bags down and came to sit on the bottom step, staying quiet for a moment. “You know I’ve always fancied him,” she said, simply stating a fact.

“I know,” Fleur said, just as evenly. “I’ve always known.”

"And zat doesn't," Gabrielle made a gesture, "bother you?"

Fleur thought about it genuinely for a moment before answering. “I expected it to bother me more than it does,” she said. “When I actually zink about it, when I really sit wiz ze idea, you fancying him and him noticing you, honestly, I don’t feel what I thought I would.” She swirled a strand of her hair around her finger slowly, thinking. "He's," she tilted her head, "he's very easy to fall for, 'Arry. You know what he's like. He's kind and he's funny and he carries everyzing quietly and he looks at you like you matter. Of course you fancy him. It would be strange if you didn't."

Gabrielle looked at her. "Zat's a very generous way of looking at it."

“It’s an honest way of looking at it, Gabby,” Fleur smiled. “You’re not in love wiz him in a way zat would blow everyzing up. You’re not trying to take him from me. You’re eighteen, you’ve liked him for years, and now you’ve matured and those feelings are,” she waved a hand, “bigger and more physical zan zey used to be. Zat’s just where you are.” Fleur shrugged.

"And you're really alright with all of it."

"Surprisingly, yes." Fleur looked at her sister for a moment. "I love you. You're my little sister. I want you to be happy. And if part of zat is zis, and it's done carefully and nobody ends up hurt, zen," she shrugged again. "I'd rather you were included zan sitting next door alone doing what we both know you've been doing."

Gabrielle’s cheeks went pink but she didn’t look away. “I’m zat obvious.”

"You are extremely obvious." Fleur's voice was fond. "Ze veela magic doesn't help."

“Non,” Gabrielle agreed ruefully.

They sat quietly for a moment.

"He's very good, you know," Fleur said, conversationally. "At all of it. Very attentive. He genuinely cares whether you're enjoying yourself, which," she shook her head slightly, "is rarer zan it should be, I zink."

Gabrielle stared at her. “You’re selling him to me.”

“I’m giving you accurate information.”

"Zat is absolutely selling him to me."

Fleur laughed brightly. “I’m just saying. You’ve been building zis up in your head for years. I just want ze reality to match ze expectation.” She paused, and the slow private smile she reserved for thoughts about Harry crossed her face. “And it will. It more zan will.”

“I cannot believe we’re ‘aving zis conversation.”

“We’re Delacour women. We’re veela. We can ‘ave any conversation.”

Gabrielle looked down at her hands for a second before she looked up. "Zank you," she said. "For talking about it like zis. I know it's a strange situation."

"Stranger zings have happened in wizarding families," Fleur said dryly, and stood up, picking up her bags. She looked down at her sister. “It’s fine, Gabby. Really. All of it. You don’t ‘ave to carry it like a secret anymore.”

Gabrielle nodded. Something in her settled, some tension releasing visibly, like a breath she’d been holding in for several days. She nodded. “Still, Fleur. Merci. For being normal about all of zis.”

“Put your zings away,” Fleur smiled, already heading up. “I’ll get ze snacks sorted soon.”

XXXXX

It was past eleven when Gabrielle lay in the dark listening to the sounds from the room next door.

She was in her new set from the afternoon, the navy one, which she’d put on after her shower and stood in front of the mirror wearing for longer than was strictly necessary. She’d kept turning slightly, taking in the way the fabric sat against her body. It fit exactly as well as it had in the shop, sitting smooth and close against her body. She’d felt good. She felt good now, lying in the dark in it, which was the whole point Fleur had been making, she supposed.

The sounds had started about twenty minutes ago. She'd been reading, or trying to, and the sounds had threaded their way through the wall. She'd set the book down after the first five minutes and stopped pretending.

She lay there now, with one hand on her stomach, staring at the ceiling, just listening.

Fleur’s voice drifted through the wall, muffled but unmistakable. Harry’s voice was lower and less frequent, but it was there. She could also hear the specific creak and rhythm of the bed and the occasional sharper sounds from Fleur, breathless and sudden, which paused and then the steady rhythm would begin again.

Gabrielle pressed her lips together.

She thought about Fleur on the stairs that afternoon.

You don’t have to be somewhere else pretending you’re not.

She thought about what Fleur had said in the kitchen, all the specific vivid things she’d described without flinching, and the expression on her face while she’d said it all. She thought about how she’d been lying here for weeks with silencing charms that never quite held, how she’d been waking up frustrated in the grey morning, and how she’d been carrying around those unfulfilled desires with nowhere to take them.

She thought about Harry looking at her and saying all those things to her, and the way his eyes had moved over her when he said it.

She sat up.

She sat on the edge of the bed with her feet on the floor and her hands in her lap. From next door, she heard Fleur’s voice again, and then Harry’s low response. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could definitely read the tone. A silence followed that meant they’d found something better to do with their mouths.

She stood up, and stayed in the middle of her room for approximately fifteen seconds, dressed in her lingerie, before she finally walked to the door and went out into the hall without giving herself time for a debate about it.

The sounds were louder here. There were no silencing charms, she already knew that. She would’ve chided Fleur for it, but after that rather obvious invitation, there was no need of those charms anymore.

She walked over to their bedroom corridor, and noticed that their door wasn’t fully closed. A thin line of amber light lay across the floor.

She stopped just outside, one hand on the doorframe. Her heart was beating faster than usual, and she was aware of her own heavy breathing. Through the gap she could hear Fleur clearly now, saying his name in such an erotic way that sent heat dropping straight through Gabrielle’s stomach to her aroused core.

Fighting both her excitement and arousal, she put her palm flat on the door and pushed it open.

The room was warm, the bedside lamp burning low and amber. But it was the sight that met her on the bed that rooted her to the spot.

Fleur was on top, gloriously bare, her silvery veela hair cascading over her shoulders and down the elegant curve of her back. Her full, heavy breasts swayed with every roll of her hips, her pink nipples tight and glistening from the sheen of sweat already coating her skin.

She was completely naked, her lithe body gleaming in the warm lamplight, her thighs straddling Harry’s hips as she sank down onto his thick, throbbing cock inch by inch. The wet, obscene sound of her slick pussy swallowing him echoed softly in the room—schlick, schlick—as she took him to the hilt, her inner walls clenching greedily around his girth.

She moved in a slow, deep, rolling rhythm, grinding her clit against the base of his shaft with every downward stroke. Her hands were planted flat on Harry’s chest, her fingers digging into the hard muscle there, her nails leaving faint red crescents on his skin.

Harry lay stretched beneath her, completely at her mercy, his hands gripping her flared hips so tightly his knuckles were white. His head was tipped back against the pillow, his jaw clenched as low, guttural groans tore from his throat.

“Fuck… Fleur…” he hissed, the sound raw and broken.

His chest heaved, his abs tightening visibly with every slam of her pussy. The lamp cast golden light across them, highlighting the way his cock disappeared inside her again and again, slick with her arousal, veins pulsing along the shaft.

Gabrielle stood frozen in the doorway, her heart hammering, a rush of heat flooding straight to her core. The sight hit her like a Bludger—Fleur’s perfect ass flexing as she rode him, the slick shine of her pussy lips stretched around Harry’s cock—Merlin, he was huge, and the way her sister’s back arched so beautifully with every grind. Gabrielle’s thighs pressed together instinctively, her navy lace bra and matching thong suddenly feeling far too tight against her aching nipples and swollen clit. She could smell them vividly, the musky, sweet scent of sex thick in the air.

Fleur lifted her head, her silvery hair tumbling, and locked eyes with her little sister without a hint of surprise. Her lips parted in a slow, wicked smile, flushed and satisfied, her eyes dark with lust. She didn’t slow her rhythm at all. If anything, she rolled her hips deeper, fucking herself harder onto Harry’s cock with a wet slap.

“Zere she is,” Fleur breathed, her voice husky and her accent thick with pleasure. “Come in, Gabby. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Gabrielle stepped inside on shaky legs, her eyes fixated on Harry’s cock as it kept disappearing inside her sister’s cunt. Harry turned his head, green eyes blazing as they raked over her. There was no shame, no hesitation, just raw hunger. His gaze lingered on the way the navy lace cupped her full breasts, the thin straps digging into her shoulders, then dropped to the soaked scrap of fabric between her thighs, tracing the length of her long, toned legs. His cock twitched hard inside Fleur, making her moan sharply.

“Ze set,” Fleur purred, still rolling her hips in those devastatingly slow circles, her pussy gripping him tightly with every motion. “It looks so fucking good on you, doesn’t it, ‘Arry? I told her it would. Didn’t I, Gabby?” She reached back with one hand, pushing her hair over her shoulder, exposing the full swell of her breasts as they bounced.

“You did,” Gabrielle whispered, her voice already breathy.

Fleur’s eyes sparkled with wicked delight. “Doesn’t she look good, ‘Arry? Tell her. Tell my little sister how fucking sexy she looks in zat lace while I ride your cock.”

Harry’s voice came out rough, gravelly, and edged with the strain of holding back. “Really good,” he growled, his eyes locked on Gabrielle, never leaving her even as Fleur’s pussy clenched around him. “So fucking good. Those tits… that ass… I can see how wet you are already, Gabby. That thong’s ruined.”

The words dissolved the last of Gabrielle’s hesitation. Heat pooled low in her belly, slick flooding between her legs. She crossed the room on trembling thighs and sank into the armchair angled perfectly toward the bed, tucking one leg beneath her. The movement spread her thighs, the lace pulling tight against her clit, and she bit her lip to stifle a whimper.

“Good girl,” Fleur praised, her voice dripping with approval. She turned her full focus back to Harry, leaning forward so her breasts brushed his chest. Her hips picked up a fraction more speed—still slow, still teasing, but now with purpose. The wet sounds grew louder: the slick glide of her cunt taking every thick inch of him, followed by the obscene squelch as she bottomed out and ground her clit against him.

Harry’s groans deepened, turning into desperate, broken sounds. “Fuuuck… yes… just like that…”

Gabrielle couldn’t look away. She watched every detail: the way Fleur’s pussy lips gripped Harry’s cock on every thrust, shiny and stretched, a creamy ring of her arousal forming at the base. The flex of Harry’s powerful thighs as he thrust up to meet her. The way his balls tightened, heavy and full, slapping against Fleur’s ass with every deep grind. Fleur was lost in it, her head thrown back now, and her lips parted on a constant stream of breathy moans. “Ohhh… ‘Arry… your cock feels so good… so deep… filling me up…”

Her hand dropped between her own thighs without thinking. Gabrielle pushed the soaked navy thong aside, two fingers sliding through her drenched folds and circling her swollen clit. The first touch tore a sharp, needy moan from her throat, loud and shameless.

Fleur glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes hooded and her lips curled in satisfaction. “How are you doing over zere, Gabby? Touching zat pretty pussy while you watch me fuck him?”

“Good,” Gabrielle gasped, her fingers moving faster. “So good…”

“Looks like it,” Fleur purred, her gaze dragging over Gabrielle’s body with blatant hunger, lingering on the way her breasts heaved in the lace bra, nipples straining against the fabric, then lower to the slick sounds of her fingers plunging into her own cunt. “Doesn’t she look good, ‘Arry? So fucking wet for us already.”

Harry turned his head again, his eyes burning into Gabrielle’s as Fleur continued to ride him with filthy, rolling thrusts. “She really does,” he rasped, his voice rough. “Look at her… fingers buried in that tight little pussy… fuck, Gabby, you’re dripping down your thighs.”

Gabrielle whimpered, pushing two fingers deep inside herself, curling them just right. The wet sounds joined the symphony coming from the bed, Fleur’s pussy and her own both making those filthy, slick noises.

Fleur leaned down, breasts pressing against Harry’s chest, and whispered something hot and low against his ear. He laughed, dark and rough, then pulled her into a deep, devouring kiss. Their mouths moved together, their tongues sliding, wet and obscene. Fleur’s hips never stopped, grinding, circling, fucking herself on his cock in long, luxurious strokes that made Harry’s toes curl.

Gabrielle watched the kiss, watched the way Fleur’s ass flexed and bounced, and fucked herself harder, her thumb rubbing tight circles over her clit. She stopped trying to stay quiet. Moans spilled from her freely now—high, needy, and desperate.

Fleur broke the kiss with a wet pop, her lips swollen and shiny. She looked back at Gabrielle, her eyes glassy with lust. “Tell me what you’re zinking about, Gabby. Tell me while I fuck him.”

“No,” Gabrielle moaned, her fingers thrusting faster. But her hips were rolling into her own hand, chasing the pleasure.

Fleur smirked. “I already know anyway.” She rolled her hips forward in a slow, grinding motion that dragged a rough, animalistic groan out of Harry. “You’re zinking about what zis feels like… my tight, wet pussy wrapped around his thick cock… how full I am… how he stretches me so perfectly…”

She shifted her angle slightly, taking him even deeper, and Harry’s grip on her hips tightened even further. “Fuuuck, Fleur! Right there—”

“Especially right zere,” Fleur gasped, her voice cracking as she rode that perfect spot. Her breath hitched, her breasts bouncing harder now. “In case you were still wondering, Gabby… it feels… completely… extraordinary.” She punctuated each word with a deep, filthy thrust, her pussy making wet, squelching sounds that filled the room.

Harry’s free hand slid across the sheets, palm up, and Fleur laced her fingers through his without even looking, effortless, intimate, and unbearably hot. The sight made Gabrielle’s chest tighten with need even as her fingers plunged deeper.

Harry turned his head again, his eyes soft but burning. “You actually doing alright, Gabby?”

“Very alright,” she panted, three fingers inside her pussy now, stretching herself open. “Don’t stop… please don’t stop on my account…”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a wicked grin. He murmured something filthy against Fleur’s lips, and she laughed breathlessly before kissing him again, harder this time, all tongue and teeth. The rhythm between them changed. What had been slow and teasing turned purposeful, urgent. Fleur braced both hands on his chest and started bouncing on him in earnest her ass clapping against his thighs.

Slap-slap-slap.

The headboard began to knock rhythmically against the wall. Harry met every downward slam with a powerful upward thrust, driving his cock deep into her dripping cunt.

“’Arry—fuck—yes—” Fleur cried, her voice sharpening. Her moans grew louder, wilder. “Right zere—don’t you dare stop—'arder—”

“I’ve got you,” Harry growled as he pushed himself up, his voice strained, sweat beading on his forehead. One hand left her hip to tangle in her silvery hair, yanking her head back just enough to expose the elegant line of her throat. He bit down, sucking a mark into her skin as he planted his feet on the bed and fucked up into her harder.

Fleur’s cries turned into sharp, keening wails. “Ohhh—merde—‘Arry—I’m so close—your cock—fuck—I’m gonna—”

Gabrielle was right there with her, her fingers flying over her clit, the other hand pinching a nipple through the lace. Her own moans mixed with theirs, high and breathy and desperate. The sight of Fleur losing control, tits bouncing wildly, pussy creaming all over Harry’s cock, was pushing her closer and closer.

Fleur’s back arched violently. “’Arry—now—cum with me—fill me up—”

Harry’s hips snapped up one final time, burying himself to the hilt as Fleur shattered around him. Her orgasm crashed over her like a wave, her body seizing and her pussy clamping down rhythmically around his cock, a gush of wetness soaking his balls. She screamed his name, raw and broken.

“’Arry—oui—merde—‘Arryyy!”]

Her thighs shook, her nails raking down his chest and her head thrown back in pure ecstasy, her hair wild around her.

The sight of her sister coming apart so violently pushed Gabrielle over the edge. Her own orgasm ripped through her, sharp and blinding, her thighs clamping around her hand as she came with a loud cry.

“Ahh—fuck—yes—”

Her pussy pulsed hard around her fingers, slick with her orgasmic juices that dripped onto the armchair.

Harry followed them both with a deep, guttural groan that vibrated through the room. He slammed up into Fleur one last time, burying himself deep as he came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded her clenching pussy. His hips jerked with every spurt, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave fingerprints.

“Fleur—fuck—take it—all of it—”

They stayed locked together, trembling through the aftershocks. Fleur collapsed forward onto Harry’s chest, her large tits squishing against him, his cock still buried inside her twitching pussy. Cum leaked out around his shaft, their combined release dripping down to soak the sheets. Harry wrapped one arm around her, the other still stretched toward Gabrielle like a silent invitation. Their breathing slowed gradually, Gabrielle’s first, ragged and satisfied, then Fleur’s soft sighs, and then Harry’s deep, content exhales.

Fleur lifted her head just enough to smile at her sister, warm and fond, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. “Welcome,” she murmured, her voice husky, “to not ‘aving to listen from your room anymore, Gabby.”

Gabrielle laughed, real and warm and a little dazed, still catching her breath. “Merci,” she whispered. “I zink.”

Harry looked at her with that attentive gaze, his cock still softening inside Fleur. “You good?” His eyes drifted to her inflamed pussy, slick with release, and he had to work to keep his reaction in check.

“Really good,” Gabrielle breathed, her thighs still trembling.

He nodded as he pulled Fleur closer, and let his eyes drift shut for a moment, utterly relaxed. Gabrielle sat there a little longer in the warm, sex-scented quiet, watching how the lamplight painting their tangled bodies in gold.

Roughly ten minutes later, she stood on shaky legs, straightened the navy lace that was now thoroughly ruined, and walked to the door. “Bonne nuit.”

“Bonne nuit, Gabby,” Fleur sighed happily, her eyes already closed, nuzzling into Harry’s neck.

“Night,” Harry murmured, his voice sleepy and sated as he glanced over at Gabrielle who had turned away. His gaze drifted over her scantily clad body, taking in how the fabric pushed between those fabulous ass cheeks. Try as he might, he could not stop himself from yearning to sink his fingers into them.

Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder and her eyes met his one final time. She gave him a smile that widened when he returned it, turned around, and pulled the door shut softly behind her.

The hallway was dark and quiet. There was no need for a silencing charm, not anymore. She slowly padded back to her room, crawled under the duvet, and fell asleep in minutes, her body humming with satisfaction.

To be continued...