Voldemort knew she was eavesdropping.
This was the worst-case scenario. She had to find an excuse. Tell the Lord something that wouldn't provoke his wrath.
Alas, there was no time for her.
Narcissa felt the blood drain from her face as she saw Voldemort take a step toward her. There was this dangerous look on his face. Panic surged through her as she involuntarily took a step back, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. Her voice, barely a whisper, escaped her lips, "My Lord..."
Voldemort continued to approach her, closing the distance between them. Narcissa backed away, but her back collided with the cold, hard wall, trapping her. There was nowhere else to go.
She was trapped.
Voldemort was finally in front of her, but he didn't stop. He kept walking until his hips pressed against hers, pinning her against the wall. Both his hands rested on each side of her shoulder.
"Eavesdropping, Narcissa?" The menacing tone was clear. "I did not expect that from you."
"My Lord," Narcissa's voice trembled. "I... I didn't mean to..."
Narcissa expected a violent reaction from Voldemort, even expecting some Cruciatus Curses thrown at her, but the next actions of Voldemort were the complete opposite.
Voldemort slowly slid his hands down from her shoulders; his touch was uncharacteristically soft, almost tender. His hands traced a slow path along her arms until they reached her own. He grasped her wrists gently, his long, cold fingers intertwining with hers.
Narcissa was unable to comprehend what was happening.
Where was the punishment? Why was the Lord so gentle to me? His hand was so soft. She remembered that time she spent with Voldemort.
Deep inside, an intense desire stirred, a craving for more of whatever Voldemort was doing to her.
With deliberate slowness, Voldemort began to lift her hands. The entire time, his crimson gaze never left hers. Narcissa felt defenseless. She was at the mercy of Voldemort.
Narcissa found her hands slowly rising until they were finally pinned above her head against the wall, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
Voldemort used only one hand to keep hold of both her wrists. His other hand, free from the task of restraining her, moved down and began sliding down her hair to her cheek, sending a surge of electricity through her.
Lost in the sensation, Narcissa had her eyes closed. She felt Voldemort's hand finally coming to a rest on her chin while keeping her pinned against the wall.
Voldemort's hips moved rhythmically against Narcissa, his hand tightening on her wrists above her head.
With a rough but deliberate motion, Voldemort pressed Narcissa's cheeks together, forcing her lips into a pout. The pressure was harsh, almost bruising, yet despite the roughness, there was a strange thrill in the sensation, an involuntary response that Narcissa couldn't deny.
The sensation was enhanced further when Voldemort leaned in, and Narcissa felt his hot breath against her skin. His lips approached her ear with slowness, occasionally brushing against it, causing a soft, ticklish sensation that made her heart race.
"I know why you were eavesdropping," Voldemort whispered seductively. "You are jealous of Daphne."
The words sent a jolt through Narcissa, her eyes snapping open to meet his crimson gaze. She wanted to deny this. How could she be jealous of such a girl? Why did she come to listen to what was happening between Voldemort and Daphne?
Narcissa did not find any response upon asking herself this question. All she knew was that at the dinner, instead of looking at her with the usual lecherous gaze, Voldemort was looking at Daphne.
With her cheeks still pressed together and her lips forced into a pout, Narcissa tried to speak, "m... lor...," but only muffled sounds emerged.
"Shh, no need to speak, Narcissa. I know everything that goes on in your mind. You were hoping to hear something... intriguing... maybe like the moaning of Daphne."
Narcissa's cheeks flushed.
"Such a pretty blush," Voldemort was amused. "First, you were jealous of your own sister, Bellatrix, because I'm going to breed her. Now you're jealous of Daphne, aren't you? You want what they have. My attention. My touch."
Narcissa's eyes widened. She tried to shake her head, but Voldemort's grip tightened slightly, holding her in place.
Voldemort's grip on Narcissa's cheeks tightened momentarily before his fingers relaxed, one finger trailing along her lips. The touch was soft, almost teasing.
"It seems that even though your body wants me," Voldemort continued, "that mouth of yours keeps lying to me."
Then a sly smile appeared on his face. Narcissa noticed it and knew something was coming.
"I will have to teach it."
With that, Voldemort's finger pressed against her lips, parting them gently. Narcissa's eyes fluttered shut involuntarily, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she felt his finger slide into her mouth. The intrusion was slow, almost unhurried, as if he was savoring the moment.
Narcissa's weak attempt to shut her lips and stop the invasion was pointless.
He shoved his finger deeper, feeling the soft flesh of her cheek against his knuckles, her mouth wet and warm. He pulled back slightly, only to thrust forward again, forcing her to take him in.
His finger probed deeper, tangling with her tongue, twisting and curling like a serpent exploring its prey.
He twisted his finger, feeling the wetness of her mouth, her spit coating his skin.
She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, the flush of embarrassment and arousal that she couldn't control. Her tongue involuntarily moved against his finger, a submissive response that made her cheeks burn with shame.
"Good girl," Voldemort whispered.
Voldemort's finger withdrew from her mouth, leaving her lips tingling with the aftertaste of his touch.
Voldemort's eyes never left hers as he slowly brought the finger, glistening with her saliva, to his lips. His tongue darted out, tasting the mixture of her submission and his control.
Narcissa's body betrayed her as the sight of him drinking her saliva sent a wave of heat coursing through her. She could not deny the wetness between her thighs, soaking her panties.