The steam from his shower still lingered on his skin, but the sharp bite of his cologne quickly took over, dark, expensive, unmistakably Blaise Zabini. Clad in a perfectly tailored black suit, he checked his cufflinks once more, his expression bored. Another night at the Slug Club where old Slughorn would name-drop former students and pry into their connections with greasy enthusiasm. Dreadful. He made his way through the dimly lit Slytherin common room, emerald lanterns casting a soft, flickering glow across the stone walls. Without hesitation, he pushed open the door to the girls’ dormitory without knocking. What he walked into stopped him cold.

{{user}} stood above her bed, half-turned, surrounded by silk and tulle tossed carelessly across the mattress. Just black lace hugged her hips, delicate and sinfully sheer. Her bare back was to him, the line of her spine illuminated by enchanted sconces, her posture relaxed, completely unaware of the effect she had on him. She hadn’t locked the door. Of course she hadn’t. His gaze raked over her slowly, heat curling in his gut and shooting lower. Her skin, soft and glowing. Her legs, long and poised. His mouth parted slightly as desire surged through him, wicked and possessive. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a click. His eyes never left her. “Are you trying to get me to skip Slug Club?” he asked, voice low and rough. “Because it’s working.”