Chapter Five

“You can stop now,” she murmured, her voice thick with something unspoken. “I feel better.”

Ron’s hands stilled on her swollen flesh, his fingers slick with milk, but before he could pull away, Hermione tightened her grip on his cock, her nails grazing the sensitive underside.

Ron shuddered, his muscles tensing as her fingers worked him with slow, deliberate strokes. "Hermione—" His voice was ragged, torn between protest and need.

She pressed closer, her damp breasts brushing his chest as she tightened her grip, thumb swirling over his leaking tip. "It's okay, Ron," she murmured, breath hot against his neck. "Let me help you."

His hips jerked forward instinctively, his cock pulsing in her palm as another thick bead of pre-cum welled up. She could feel the tension coiled in his thighs, the way his breath hitched when she dragged her nails lightly down his shaft.

Ron’s hands trembled as they slid from her breasts to grip her hips, his blunt nails digging into her soft flesh as she worked his cock with slow, maddening strokes. His breath came in ragged bursts against her neck, his entire body taut as a bowstring.

Ron’s hips stuttered—a broken gasp tore from his throat as the first thick pulse of cum erupted from his cock, splattering hot stripes across Hermione’s wrist and the makeshift bed beneath them. She gasped at the sudden heat, her fingers instinctively tightening around his shaft as another rope shot free, this one arcing higher, painting a glistening trail up her forearm.

“Oh—fuck—” Ron’s voice was wrecked, his thighs trembling as his cock jerked violently in her grip, pumping wave after wave of sticky release. Hermione’s breath hitched as a stray spurt landed just above her collarbone, the warmth seeping into her skin.

Ron’s hips jerked in shallow, helpless thrusts as the last pulses of his release spilled over Hermione’s fingers, his cock twitching against her palm. A shudder wracked his body—his grip on her hips tightened, blunt nails pressing half-moons into her skin as he panted against her collarbone, his breath hot and uneven.

Hermione’s own breath caught as she watched the thick, pearly strands drip slowly down her wrist, the warmth of it startling against her flushed skin. Her fingers flexed around him instinctively, milking the last few drops from his swollen tip, and Ron groaned—a broken, breathless sound—his thighs trembling where they pressed against hers.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and milk as Ron practically collapsed beside Hermione, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. For several minutes, the only sound was the distant crash of waves against the shore and the ragged rhythm of their breathing. The weight of what had just happened hung in the air, unspoken but palpable.

Finally, Ron broke the silence, his voice low and strained. "I've been trying to stop the swelling for hours," he admitted, his words barely above a whisper. "It didn't matter how many times I came, I couldn't stop it."

As the warmth of Ron's breath lingered against her skin, Hermione couldn't shake the turmoil brewing inside her. The weight of what they'd just done pressed heavily on her conscience, yet the primal connection between them pulsed like a living thing, refusing to be ignored. Ron's hands, still slick with her milk, rested tentatively on her hips, his fingers tracing the curve of her waist with a reverence that made her heart ache. She knew he'd always loved her, his feelings never truly extinguished, and now, in this isolated paradise, those emotions simmered just below the surface, waiting to erupt.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her mind racing with the weight of what had just transpired. "We should probably clean up," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, breaking the heavy silence that hung between them. Ron nodded, his face still flushed, and together they set about the task. The cool night air brushed against their skin as they moved, the remnants of their intimacy still fresh. Once they were done, Ron returned to his room, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts. She lay back down, her heart pounding in her chest, the memory of Ron's touch lingering on her skin.

As the weight of their actions settled over them, Hermione couldn't help but feel the sting of guilt, her mind drifting to Harry and their children.

Hermione's tears fell silently as she lay in the darkness, the weight of her actions pressing heavily on her chest. She thought of Harry, of James and Sirius, and the life they had built together. The memory of Ron's touch lingered on her skin, a constant reminder of her betrayal. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her collarbone, the way his hands had gripped her hips, and the sound of his voice as he groaned her name. The island, once a place of survival, now felt like a prison where her desires had consumed her.

Hermione's fingers trembled as she wiped the tears from her cheeks, the salty streaks mingling with the faint residue of milk on her skin. "Stupid fruit," she muttered under her breath, her voice cracking with a mix of anger and despair.

The next few days were awkward to say the least, Ron noticed Hermione didn't seem angry but she seemed almost in a daze most days, barely replying to his voice and staring off into the vast ocean a lot. Knowing she probably felt terrible about what happened he chooses not to push her, one specific night though he wakes up to hear her crying just outside of the shelter, heart breaking a little to hear that noise again he pulls on a pair of shorts and sits with her out by the fire.

Hermione's face was deathly pale, her eyes bloodshot from days of suppressed tears. She sat by the fire, her shoulders slouched in defeat, the weight of her guilt pressing down on her like an invisible ****. Ron approached her quietly, his concern evident in his cautious steps. "Hey, do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly, his voice a gentle intrusion into the heavy silence. Hermione shook her head, her lips trembling as she fought to hold back another wave of sobs. The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows on their faces, emphasizing the turmoil etched on their features.

Hermione's voice trembled as she broke the heavy silence, her words barely audible over the crackling flames. "Ron... do you think Harry will ever forgive me?" The question hung in the air like a challenge, weighted with the burden of her guilt. Ron's eyes, reflecting the flickering firelight, met hers, filled with a deep, unspoken understanding. He reached out, his calloused hand brushing against hers, the touch sending a shiver down her spine. "Harry loves you, Hermione," he said softly, his voice a gentle balm to her fractured soul. "He'll always forgive you, because that's what he does."

Ron's voice carried a gentle sincerity as he continued, "Plus, it wasn't your fault, not really. You were in pain, and that fruit... it messed with both of us. I know you're hurting, Hermione, but you can't blame yourself for something we both couldn't control." His words hung in the air, soft but weighted with truth. Hermione's gaze remained fixed on the flames, her silhouette illuminated by the flickering light, her expression a mask of guilt and sorrow. Ron's hand found hers, his touch warm and comforting, a silent reminder of their unspoken bond.

Hermione’s breath hitched as Ron’s thumb traced slow circles over the back of her hand, the roughness of his quidditch calluses a familiar contrast to the warmth of his skin. The firelight painted gold across the sharp angles of his jaw, shadows deepening the hollow of his throat as he swallowed hard.

“You really believe that?” she whispered, her voice frayed at the edges. A tear slipped free, carving a glistening path down her cheek before Ron caught it with the pad of his thumb, his touch lingering just a second too long.

Ron’s thumb stilled against her cheek, his breath hitching as her lashes fluttered against damp skin. The fire popped, sending embers spiraling into the salt-heavy air between them.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice rougher than he intended. His fingers twitched against her jaw—callouses catching on the delicate skin behind her ear. The scent of her milk still clung to them both, sweet and thick under the brine of the ocean.

Hermione shuddered when his knee brushed hers, bare and warm. The shorts he’d thrown on did nothing to hide the tension coiling in his thighs.

Hermione tilted her head back, her damp lashes catching starlight as she searched the constellations—Orion’s belt, Sirius twinkling mockingly bright. A fresh tear spilled over as her throat tightened. James’s birthday. The date slithered through her mind like a curse. Had it passed already in this timeless purgatory? Would he blow out candles without her, small face crumpling when Daddy’s Patronus couldn’t conjure her voice?

Ron’s fingers tightened imperceptibly against her jaw, his breath ragged as he watched the tear track down her throat. The firelight caught the hollow of her collarbone, still glistening with the salt of earlier sobs.

Hermione’s breath hitched as she wiped at her cheeks with trembling fingers. "It's—it's James's birthday today," she whispered, the words fracturing as they left her lips. "Or... or near enough. I’ve lost track of the days." Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her makeshift skirt, knuckles whitening. "How many more will I miss? How many times will he look at Harry and wonder why I didn’t—"

Ron’s hand slid from her jaw to cradle the back of her neck, his grip firm enough to ground her. The firelight caught the sheen in his own eyes as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

Hermione's body shook as sobs racked her frame, the weight of her guilt and longing pressing down on her like the crushing waves against the shore. Ron's arms enveloped her, pulling her close as she buried her face in his chest, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the chill of her tears. "I'm so sorry, Ron," she whispered, her voice muffled against him. "I feel like I'm betraying Harry, betraying the kids... I wasn't supposed to be here, not like this." Ron's hand stroked her hair, his touch gentle yet firm, as he murmured softly, "You're not betraying anyone, Hermione. You're human, and you're hurting.