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Magical Restaurant ch.3
🕑 Added 2023-04-17 23:19:40 +0000 UTCHarry Potter wanted to be home before midnight, so he didn't bother to think about what that meant, even though his alarm bells were ringing. Cho pulled him aside on the way to the woman in the back, who was still silent and waiting behind some kind of black hood. "I'll handle this," she said, referring to the kitchen.
Cho was a fucking stunning young blonde (yes, another one), and if she smiled more, she would be even more fucking stunning (although she would probably castrate him for such thoughts). Harry didn't say those things because he preferred his balls to stay attached to his body, and partially because, damn it, he didn't open up too much at work.
But her facial features were so fucking sexy - plump lips, cosmically beautiful nose, delicate cheekbones - that's usually all Harry could think about for at least a few seconds when he saw her. It seemed fucking insane to him that she wasn't the wife of some wealthy, insecure man. He was pretty fucking sure she was a lesbian, but her arousing appearance made his desire for her grow every fucking day.
And you fucking know what? Isn't it true that lesbians get married on the second date? She went out with a different woman every fucking week but never seemed to be satisfied with any of them. Tonight she was dressed in a tight white top that showcased her tits and yoga pants that highlighted the shape of her ass. Her sex appeal was at its peak, and Harry couldn't take his eyes off her.
It wasn't their fucking normal uniform, but Harry gave up trying to enforce it when all the women complained to Daphne about how sexist he was. Surprisingly, they all only dressed sexier than the standard black pants or skirt and button-up blouse with long sleeves.
"Come on, let's go." Harry pointed to the woman in the back. "Let me at least see what she wants to order."
Cho turned around, and her tits seemed even more fucking exposed. "I don't see anyone."
"Don't be like that. Come on, guys. We have a customer, so we should just fucking take care of it. She's been here for an hour."
"Is she still here?" She should be fucking paying attention.
"We should take her order," Harry muttered. "That's how we get paid."
Reluctantly, Harry tore his gaze away from Cho and headed towards the mysterious customer. Her appearance made his desires more focused on the sexual potential of the night. However, he decided to put those thoughts aside and focus on the fucking work that awaited him.
Cho crossed her arms, and her bust seemed even more fucking exposed. Although they weren't friends, there was a strong bond between them. The closest way Harry could explain it was similar to how you can talk to a relative you haven't seen in ten years, as if you were just picking up the fucking discussion you left ten minutes ago.
"Good thing she's not particularly busty, or I would definitely make a fool of myself approaching her, even though I know she doesn't like men. Large breasts are my fucking weakness, and her sensual appearance only increases my desire for her.”
The main reason Harry Potter hasn't asked out Tracey is that he can't remember ever seeing her without a fucking partner. That, and the fact that she laughed in his face when she asked how much money he has in his bank account. The truth is, he has a lot of fucking money saved up, but only for this fucking restaurant.
"Tell her we can make salads, sandwiches, and soups," Cho adds finally. "Anything else is out of the question." Is that fucking true? Harry will also start cleaning up. He has to get home, damn it.
"Okay. Sure, just stay long enough for me to take her fucking order.”
She nods, her mouth contorting into a grimace. "Don't worry, Harry. Despite everything Daphne says about you."
Fucking hell.
FINALLY, HE MEETS THE WOMAN BEFORE CLOSING THE RESTAURANT. As he approaches her, the lights flicker and something in her dark face draws him in. He can't clearly see her features because of the cloak she's wearing. Who fucking wears a cloak? Curiosity gets the better of him as he uncovers her face, and her eyes seem to glitter mysteriously.
As he gets closer, the air has a strange fucking feeling on his tongue, like something is burning – but it's something he wants to burn. Maybe roasted beef; something that tastes much better with those grill marks. He checks to see if he feels the wand in his holster; no one has wanted to cause trouble here for a while, but he's always prepared. After all, it's hard to shake off the fucking habits from the war.
The closer he gets, the more he realizes he was mistaken: she's not wearing a cloak at all, but rather an enormous, blood-red hat. The kind that fucking femme fatales wear in movies. The kind that, he's not ashamed to admit, he's fucking fantasized about Daphne wearing in late-night, sperm-needed, quick and hard fantasies.
And she's not in the fucking dark, not even close – she's in the fucking spotlight, and what is there to accentuate.
She's fucking gorgeous. Long legs, devastatingly long legs, sensually long legs, terribly long legs tied up in a little red sleeveless dress that fits so tightly and scantily that it's like fucking lingerie. The tight red fabric of her dress pushed her huge, full, undulating tits together and up, showcasing her exquisite collarbones. Her face is a fucking perfect sin, seeming to be created to elicit strong, uncontrollable desires to squeeze and kiss her until she fucking moans in his mouth. She welcomes his fucking approach with unabashed anticipation, her soft lips parting in surprise and excitement.
"I'm sorry you had to wait so fucking long," he apologizes. "Our hostess doesn't always have the best manners.”
Her green eyes gleam in the fucking light, and her lips curve into a predatory smile. "Don't worry about it," she replies, her voice saturated with unspoken desire. "I'm sure you can make up for the wait." Her fingers delicately brush against his forearm, eliciting goosebumps on his skin, while her body moves closer to his. "After all, it's alright. I've been waiting for you for so fucking long that a few extra minutes here and there don't really matter.”
In an instant, her eyes seem to shift from almost green to yellow, like flames flickering. She reminds Harry Potter of Cho in some ways, but that would be an insult to the beauty standing before him. Cho is both cute and seductive; sensuality personified. They share similar facial features, but everything about this woman is exaggerated and perfected, as if she spent three hours in a fucking glamour studio preparing for this particular meeting - and yet she seems effortless enough to let him know that wasn't the case. It was all so fucking easy for her.
"Wouldn't you like to sit with me?" she asks. "I've been waiting for quite some time. It would be so fucking nice if I could sit with a man, a real man like you." "Un...unh?"
He struggles to connect his fucking words and thoughts. This woman is fucking stunning, for heaven's sake. He turns to argue, pointing towards the restaurant - but everyone has already left. Tracey stands outside with Bagman, carrying her fucking purse and preparing to leave. When she gets nervous, she hands her a small stack of fucking dollars, and then another.
She definitely fucking knows how to work.
"They're all leaving," the lady responds. "Just you and me. I'll make you fucking comfortable. Could you sit down, please?"
He tries to remember Cho in the kitchen and how she could come back, but his gaze wanders up and down the body of this fucking stunning woman again. Her outstretched hand in a glove, delicate and exquisite, wanting to pull him down with her. It seems like he doesn't have much of a fucking choice.
She wraps around him as soon as he sits, sliding her leg over his and pressing her ample tits into his arm. She climbs and crawls over him like a riled-up teenager.
"I'm sorry," she adds, her voice small and seductive. "I thought I could keep my cool. Honestly, I believed it. That's why they sent me; I was already the least in love with you. But now that you're here, I feel you, I feel you...oh my fucking God. Do you feel it?"
