A/N — The last of the lemons!

Chapter 10:

Ron came with all the explosive force of the Hogwarts Express running at full throttle.

He had felt it coming on after only a minute of two of her attentions to his cock and somehow was able to gasp out a somewhat coherent warning — "Gods, Mione … it's … I'm going to … oh, love, I'm … *ffffffuck* yes" — before the waves of pleasure overtook him and he slammed his head back into his pillow, moaning so loudly that Hermione was glad she'd reinforced Ron's Muffliato charm earlier in the evening.

Hermione had watched, fascinated and nearly drunk on the power she felt as Ron writhed and groaned beneath her. Her touch — *her* touch — had drawn this impassioned response from Ron. Powerful magic indeed.

Kneeling beside him, she studied him in the warm glow of the flames he'd Conjured. His eyes were still shut, his chest still heaving from his release. He'd collapsed against the mattress and soon stretched himself languidly, a small smile gracing his lips.

He inhaled deeply then sighed dramatically. "Sorry about that, love," he said as he tucked one arm beneath his neck, opening his eyes and reaching out with the other to stroke her thigh.

Hermione, meanwhile, had pulled her wand out and was tidying him up with a few quick flicks. "Sorry? Sorry about what?" she asked as she stowed the wand back beneath her pillow.

Ron chuckled. "Well, it doesn't usually happen that fast," he said sheepishly. "Reckon I was just too turned on to take it slow."

She smiled and stretched out next to him, humming contentedly as he wrapped his arm about her shoulder and pulled her snugly against his chest.

"There's nothing to apologize for, darling," she said, tipping her face up to kiss his neck as she caressed his freckle-spattered chest, tickling the few ginger hairs she found there with her fingertips. "I daresay we have all the time in the world for you to teach me," she added, a cheeky note in her voice.

All the time in the world. As she said it, the thought hit them both with a sudden pang: The war was well and truly over. They'd sustained terrible losses — friends, loved ones and family. They'd never be the same. Their childhoods were over. And yet, a vast stretch of time laid before them now, for the first time unobstructed by worry, doubt, impossible missions and the threat of violence and death.

They had a future — and they were going to share it.

Hermione reached across Ron's chest and pulled herself even closer to him, tears stinging her eyes, and Ron took advantage of her momentum to swing her up until she was sitting astride him. Reaching up to clasp her face in both hands, he pulled her face down to his and crushed his lips against hers. Hermione opened her mouth to him, darting her tongue alongside his as he plunged it between her lips. The throbbing she'd felt between her legs earlier returned in force, and she ground her flannel-covered bum against Ron's midsection, craving contact.

"You're right as always, love," Ron murmured against her lips. "We've got all the time in the world," he added as he slid his hands from her face to her neck and then down to her shoulders, shifting to plant kisses on her cheeks, her jawline, her throat and behind her ear. "We've got forever, Mione. I want you forever."

"Oh, darling," Hermione sighed, her throat tightening as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "I'm so thankful. I'll never stop being thankful. You made it. You came back to us — to me. Please, please promise …"

He knew what she was alluding to without even having to ask. The hunt. His departure. His return. He chased away the familiar surge of guilt — if they did indeed have all the time in the world, he could deal with that matter later — and instead focused on her words. She was thankful he'd come back. She was thankful he'd survived. For now, he decided, that was all that mattered.

"I promise, love, I promise," he said in a low voice. "I'll never leave your side again, Hermione Granger. Never."

He was so busy continuing to pepper kisses up and down the column of her neck that he hadn't noticed the slight shift in her posture — that is, until she pulled back and he saw that she had grasped the hem of her shirt (actually, *his* shirt). And before he could fully comprehend what she was doing, she had raised her arms and pulled the shirt over her head, tossing it aside and uncovering a sight that left Ron speechless: Hermione, bare from the waist up.

"Do you like what you see?" she asked timidly, smiling through the tears still glittering in her eyes.

Ron, who had been smiling open-mouthed at the sight, let out a small, gasping laugh. "Like? No, I don't like, Hermione. I love. I love what I see."

She sniffled and grinned even wider. "I reckon that, as my boyfriend, you are entitled to certain rights and privileges," she said. "Such as …"

Hermione reached for Ron's hands, which he had settled on her thighs, and lifted them to her breasts, moaning softly as he greedily cupped her flesh in his palms and brushed his thumbs gently over her nipples. Her breasts, she thought with chagrin, weren't large, but she studied Ron's face for signs of disappointment and found none. In fact, he was smiling like he'd been Confunded.

"Mione," he breathed, gently tweaking her nipples yet again and sending ripples of electricity to her core. "Sweet Merlin, you're beautiful, love. So beautiful."

And she was, of course. He knew she would doubt his sincerity, but he meant it. She was gorgeous, her honey-colored skin so velvety in the firelight, her golden-brown curls draping over her shoulders. And her breasts — gods. He'd dreamt of them so may times. And yet, here they were, even more delectable than he could have imagined, round and firm, tipped by dainty, erect nipples the color of maple syrup. He longed to taste them.

He thought she must have read his mind for, not more than a minute later, she leaned forward and offered a nipple to him, grazing it tenderly against his lips. She hissed slightly at the buzzing sensation that coursed through her when his mouth touched the tender nub of her breast, and she didn't even attempt to rein in the moan that rose from deep within her chest when he took her nipple between his lips and sucked on it, flicking it with for good measure with the tip of his tongue. "Oh, Ronnnnnnnnnnnnald," she groaned from the back of her throat, sinking her hands into his hair and nudging her chest even closer to his mouth.

The sound of her moans, coupled with the feel of her sweet, soft breasts in his hands and in his mouth, sent energy pulsing through Ron's veins, and after a few more minutes of suckling, he surged forward, toppling Hermione onto her back. He laid next to her on his side, one leg astride her middle, as he continued to run his mouth from one breast to the other, then up to her neck — where he planted little nibbles that he knew might leave marks, but he didn't care — and then he traced his way back again to her breasts, so ripe and inviting.

"Mione, love," he murmured as he went. "Gods, you're so sweet, Hermione. So beautiful."

He returned his mouth to her lips, kissing her long and hard. She was so distracted by the feel of his probing tongue that she hardly noticed the hand that had tucked itself ever so gently beneath the waistband of her pyjama shorts — that is, not until Ron's finger found its way between her legs.

He smiled against her lips when she *did* notice — her sharp intake of breath was a dead giveaway.

"Let me make you feel good, Mione," he whispered. "Let me do what you've done for me."

She was in no mood to resist. In fact, she was hungry for his touch. Tremors and pangs had rippled through her core all evening, and now she craved release. "Mmm," she hummed against him with a small nod. "Please, darling," she added. "Please."

Ron smiled into her mouth, knowing that years of unsolicited sexual advice from his older brothers — not to mention his previous experience with Lavender, which he very much preferred *not* to mention, come to think of it — was about to become far more useful than he could have guessed.

Angling his fingers within her folds just so, he felt a feeling of satisfaction well up in him as his caresses slowly began to have their intended effect. Hermione, laid out beneath him, stretched and pointed her toes, her eyes squinting as her breath grew more shallow. "Oh yes, Ron," she panted. "Oh, gods." She could hardly believe the feeling — yes, she was turned on, but it was more than that. It was Ron. *Ron.* Making her feel things she'd only felt in the privacy of her four-poster. He was soooooooooooo good at it, too — but before she could let her mind wander to how he came to be quite so knowledgeable, she felt a jolt between her legs and soon she was concentrating, concentrating with all her might on a fixed point somewhere in her mind. A wave of heat was washing over her, starting between her legs and then engulfing all of her body, as she straightened her legs and called out — quite loudly — "Oh, Ronnnnnnnnn!"

A minute or so later — though it felt like hours — she was coming down from her high, able once again to perceive Ron lying next to her, looking down at her with a sweet and undeniably smug expression. "Liked that, did you?" he said with a grin.

She slapped his arm teasingly. "You shouldn't ask questions you already know the answer to, Ronald," she said, rolling onto her side and resting her palms on the flat planes of his chest.

"A bloke just likes to be sure he's done the job right is all," Ron added.

She looked up at him and kissed his chin, the tip of his nose, and then his lips. "Oh, you've done quite well, Ronald. Quite well indeed."

There was more to say … so much more … and both of them fought to keep their eyes open to say it. But it had to be four in the morning at that point if not later — or earlier, depending on one's perspective. Exhaustion pulled at them both once again as Ron laid on his back and they settled into one another's arms.

"Oh, darling," she murmured, caressing his arm from his elbow to his shoulder and down again. "I so want to stay awake and talk …"

Ron laughed, though his eyes were closed. "I so want to stay awake and *not* talk," he said, earning himself a teasing slap on the forearm.

Hermione fitted herself closer against his side and nestled her head between his shoulder and his neck. "I love you so much, Ronald."

"I love you, too," he mumbled, squeezing her gently in his arms. "There is indeed a lot to discuss, isn't there." She nodded, and he continued. "The good news is, we can sort it all out tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. Deal?"

She smiled, eyes shut. "Deal, darling."

oooOOOooo

A/N — Well, folks, that's it. They're finally where they belong — in one another's arms.

I hope you enjoyed this fic. Some reviewers had expressed a hope that I might continue to tell their story all the way up to the epilogue. Well, obviously, there's no way I could do that and move at the ultraslow pace that this story demanded. No, my goal all along for this fic was to do an in-depth exploration of this one critical night in Ron and Hermione's relationship. I think it worked out. I hope you enjoyed it.

Who knows … maybe I'll add some more at some point in the future!

In the meantime, I want you to know how much I appreciate your taking the time to read this. Please review and let me know what you thought of this story. Read my other fics if you haven't already — and please share with your fellow Romione lovers!

All the best to you and yours …

Holly.

P.S. - I am now toying with an entirely AU story idea that would be pretty darned angsty. Are you in the mood for angst? If so, let me know and I'll see what I can do.