Chapter 2. Not for Sale
The beach is not crowded, barely a dozen people present on this stretch of the shore. The mother-son pair leaves the hotel lobby and meanders towards it, their arms linked. The sun is warm—pleasantly so—the sole fixture in the clear blue sky. And the sand, along with the powerful blue waters, gleam with a lively lustre.
As the stone pavements shift to rolling sand beneath their feet, they glance around to find a spot. About fifty yards to their left, a group of teenagers is dancing and sunbathing with a giant speaker booming pop songs. They're Harry's age, and he knows going there means inviting attention to his mum. The free-flowing alcohol has unfettered their confidence. He'd eat his sandals if at least three boys didn't try to woo his mother. He'd have done the same in their place, after all.
He'd rather not stay near them, obviously, but the people on the other side are worse. A sleazy group of balding middle-aged men, already staring at them with 'too-nice' smiles. Between these two bad options, he'd obviously prefer the group that at least has girls in it. And dealing with drunk, overconfident teenagers is way better than interacting with experienced drunk adult men, he assumes. Not to mention, those men feel… off to him.
Ideally, they'd just walk past any group and find their own quiet little corner. Unfortunately, the beach is contained by cliff sides, scooping up a portion of beach here. It's the reason why it isn't overcrowded in summer. It's also why the hotel was so expensive. It's a private beach run by them.
Veering to the left, he leads his mum to a spot. It's still somewhere in the middle, but nearer to the unruly teenagers than those disappointed men.
His mum breathes in the salty breeze and grins, unaware of all the thoughts going inside his head. "It's a prettier sight than the one we got from the balcony."
"I guess some things look better when closer." Harry unlinks their arms and wraps it around her waist, placing a loud kiss on her neck, making her laugh.
He isn't lying. Her hourglass figure could make anyone drool. Not only is she bottom-heavy, but her tits are large enough to require bigger cups. While he would have loved to see those funbags straining and overfilling a tiny bikini, he knows she prefers comfort over looking extra sensual. Still, the flimsy white wraparound at her waist comes in clutch, enhancing her sex appeal as it unsuccessfully tries to hide her black bikini bottom.
"Already in character?" she asks, throwing an arm around his waist as well, hip checking him.
"Of course, my Lily flower." He rubs a circle on the small of her back, his tone saccharine.
She shudders, and it's not because of his ministrations. "I'd rather be called a slur. Just use my name, please."
"Okay, Lily." Her name feels strange on his tongue. He's always called her 'Mum', and suddenly using her name as a form of address will take some getting used to.
She smiles warmly and separates from him, much to his disappointment, putting the basket down and pulling out blankets. He helps her lay down the blankets and the pillows, followed by setting up the massive umbrella to provide the necessary shade. Once they're done, they have fashioned a cosy place for themselves—two white blankets with a single pillow each, with the handle of the umbrella thrust into the space separating them. Their basket, containing all their essentials, is placed along the strip of sand keeping the blankets apart.
Before they can even lie down and start relaxing, a blond boy tipsily makes his way to them. "Salut, beauté."
The boy is a little older than Harry. And his eyes are already glassy as they run over the redhead bombshell.
"Hello, son. Did you need something?" His mum asks politely, her lips twitching as the boy frowns at being called 'son'.
That's such a great way to foreshadow a rejection. Harry bites back a grin.
"'Ello. My friends dared me to ask you out? So, weel you come wiz me, mignonne? We 'ave wine and music. You can also bring your young friend wiz you." The boy enunciates each word slowly, not slurring at all.
She laughs and shakes her head. "I'm afraid not, son. I'm already taken."
The boy blinks as Harry tugs her closer by the waist, his hand dropping lower to grab her butt in a possessive gesture. He nearly moans at the sensation of her tender arse beneath his splayed fingers. The flimsy wraparound proved no barrier at all. And the lack of any flinching relieves him, as his mum only presses closer, kissing his collarbone in a display of unbridled lust.
"Too late, mate," Harry smirks, his fingers sinking into his mum's tight, round cheek. "How about you run back and tell your friends not to bother us again, hmm?"
The French boy makes a face but stumbles away without another word, cursing in his native tongue.
"That should do it. I think they won't interrupt us again." Harry withdraws his hand from her butt, hoping he hadn't crossed a line.
She shakes her head and sits down under the umbrella, on her blanket. "He was too drunk to remember the warning. Just wait and see how others will trickle here to shoot their shot."
He's glad she hasn't made any comment on his groping. She really is fine with him touching her while he 'acts' as her boyfriend.
"Being extremely hot is inconvenient, I suppose," he quips, settling down on his own blanket, dropping his head on the pillow.
"Quite." She nods, sitting cross-legged, facing him, fishing through the basket and coming up with sunscreen. "On top of that, I'm too famous. So we can never casually walk through the wizarding world. It gets maddening to remain cooped up in the house, you know, or to only go out into the muggle world. I miss the days when I could walk through Diagon Alley without needing to doll up and be suffocated in attention."
"I'm sorry you have to go through that." He rolls on his side, extending his hand past the basket and onto her knee.
She takes his hand in hers momentarily, giving it a squeeze. "I'm just happy that you aren't hounded that much and can lead a modicum of a normal life."
"Well, I didn't kill Voldemort, nor am I the hottest woman in the Isles."
She rolls her eyes, but there's pride brimming her chest. Her back is straight and a proud look crosses her face. "You pay too much attention to those good-for-nothing tabloids."
"At least try to hide your smugness." Harry chuckles, taking his hand and lying on his back again, examining the underside of the umbrella. "Though I do think you're the prettiest woman on the planet. So I like it when the tabloids agree with me."
"Shush you." She complains with a pleased smile. "Instead of using your wicked tongue, come here and help me put on the sunscreen like a good 'boyfriend'. I can't reach my back, you know."
Harry readily crawls over to her blanket and flumps behind her.
"Here." She squirts plenty of cream in his proffered palm.
While Harry applies it on her back, she does her front, wherever her hands can reach.
He is diligent and dutiful as he rubs her shoulders and neck. Just because it's arousing doesn't mean he has to half-arse it. Her skin feels soft under his palm, and smooth and silky. Unsurprising; she takes rigorous care of her appearance, after all. When she is done with her face, she begins putting the sunscreen on her arms. His palms slide down her shoulders, meanwhile, working on her upper back, on the expanse of unmarred skin over the string of her bikini top.
Even her shoulder blades are sexy, he thinks, and he takes his time massaging them, tracing slow, reverent circles over the skin. Then his hands glide downwards, past the string of her bikini top, along the dip of her spine.
"So slow and thorough. Quicker, love. You are not a masseur," she jokes, done applying everywhere.
"I will—"
The arrival of another daring teenager interrupts their playful banter. The boy has long brown hair and mesmerising blue eyes. And his swim trunks don't hide his lithe, chiselled physique. This is the sort of boy who can make even Harry self-conscious—so perfectly muscled and beautiful, the type girls love. He's beyond Harry's competition.
Maybe that's why Harry pulls his mum close until they are flushed chest-to-back, his hands over her belly. There's only a little space between his groin and the swell of her lower back. If he tugs her more, he could touch her arse with his thing.
…That's a dangerous line of thought.
"Yes?" Harry asks, focusing on the intruder.
The boy smiles at him, acting all cordial. "I'm sorry for my friend. He's a bit of a douche. I'm sure he made an excuse that we 'dared' him to ask your sister out. I'm here to apologise for that."
His mum's polite smile grows at being mistaken for Harry's sister, which is a load of crap if you ask him. Yes, she is stunning and doesn't look her age, and yes she may be mistaken for his older sister, but Harry is pretty sure it's an attempt at flattery. A successful attempt if his mum's reaction is anything to go by.
"No worries." She scoots into Harry, closing the remaining space between her arse and his crotch, making him freeze as a tingle of thrill shoots down his spine, as the feel of her soft cheeks makes his mind go blank. "You are on holidays, I reckon. I wouldn't begrudge any of you for having fun."
"I'm relieved you're not bothered by the noise then." The boy gives a brief laugh, tying up his hair, deliberately exposing his slender neck. "Do tell me if you are. I can turn off the music. They are all getting tired anyway."
"No need." She smiles, waving him off. "I'm not some grumpy grandmother who loves ruining everyone's fun. Keep doing whatever you want."
'He wants to do you.' Harry bites back the barb, finally able to think.
"You love talking like you're some mature adult, don't you?" The boy raises his eyebrow, still going with the flattery route, his lips a perfect pink crescent. "You should relax and enjoy your youth while you can. The invitation is still out. You two can come join us rather than stay here all alone. The girls have been eyeing your brother. And well, you already know the way the boys are. I'm sure you can fend for yourself and tell them off if they become overbearing, of course."
Harry is annoyed to hear a thoughtful hum from her, as if she is actually considering it. "No need," he butts in, his hands climbing up her belly, into her black top, cupping her fat, juicy tits, earning a shocked gasp. He even brushes his thumbs on her nipples for good measure. "There's a reason I'm alone with my sister on a beach. I'd be grateful if you stop breaching our privacy."
"He's right." His mum puts on a strained smile, going with the flow, cupping his hands over her chest. "My brother and I rarely get these moments to let… loose. We would appreciate some alone time."
The brown-haired boy nods stiffly and jogs away, his eyes wide, his face taut with horror and disgust.
As soon as he's gone, Lily growls and yanks his hands out of her bikini top, whirling around to face him. "What was that, Harry?"
Uh-oh.
"You were going to say yes to his invitation."
"I wasn't."
"He was sweet-talking you."
"I know."
"Wait, what?"
She shakes her head, looking exasperated. "What do you think I am? An inexperienced teenager? I was going to decline his offer. I was just matching his politeness. There was no need to be rude when he wasn't."
…
…
"Oh. I'm sorry for touching you." He scratches his head, trying to look sorry when he was anything but that.
She sighs and clambers close, cupping his face. "It's not that. You acted like a possessive boyfriend, which I asked you to. That's not the problem. I'm annoyed because you've made us an incestual couple in their eyes. You could've cleared up that we weren't siblings before grabbing me like that."
That's fair.
"Look at the bright side. Now we are too weird for them. They won't bother us anymore." He shrugs, sliding his hands down her sides and pulling her in his lap.
It's difficult not to moan when her divine arse settles snugly against his thighs, the heat of her body branding him through the thin barrier of their swimsuits. It's nearly impossible not to react when her supple breasts press against his chest, soft and yielding, sending a wave of molten desire straight through him.
But he perseveres somehow, locking his arms around her waist, drinking in the intoxicating feel of her so close. She gazes down at him with an affectionate smile, her crimson ponytail swishing behind her. "You underestimate how far some people are willing to go, darling," she says dryly, messing his hair.
He strokes her back, his fingers skating along her spine, not daring to go for the tempting curve of her arse. He just copped a feel of her tits. And no matter what she says, she'll get suspicious if he keeps trespassing into the 'no-touch' zones.
"Did we bring drinks?" she questions, already knowing the answer.
"Bugger."
She tips his chin up and kisses his head. "I'm sure my darling son will go and get it for me."
"There's no darling son here." After all that rationalisation, he makes the rash decision to sink his claws into her peachy arse. "Only your obsessed boyfriend."
Her eyes shine with mirth. She doesn't slap him, instead, she leans down to capture his lips in a kiss.
It's the usual. Full mouth-on-mouth but no tongue, almost a lover's kiss but not. What's new is the way she presses down on his crotch, the way she grinds on it. He stiffens in the kiss as the heat of her pussy washes over it. Her flimsy bikini bottom and the wraparound are not enough to entirely bar the mingling of their warmth.
He tries, he really tries not to pop a boner. But it's a losing battle.
When the kiss ends, she is sitting on his throbbing boner. Instead of looking confused or mortified, she appears incredibly amused, her eyes glinting with humour, her lips twitching. "Oh my. I guess that's too much movement. I'm sorry, love."
She's not. She's barely holding her laughter.
"You sly seductress." He shoves her off, springing to his feet and adjusting his swim trunks. "I'll go get your drink before you consume my soul."
She giggles from where she lies on the blanket.
What man wouldn't stare when a buxom redhead in a black bikini lies on her side, playing coy with a sly, knowing smile? What man wouldn't steal a glance at the massive pair of tits straining against the large cups, practically begging for attention? What man wouldn't drag his eyes down the luscious curve of her plump arse cheeks, the inviting sweep of her thick thighs?
What man could possibly resist her?
Harry's eyes don't stray. He doesn't ogle the succubus lying on her side with her arse thrown towards him.
He couldn't.
She's his mum, and he cannot allow her to know that this isn't just playful acting, that his erection isn't merely a physical response to friction. That her playing coy is really making him feel things. That he really really wants to fuck her.
It could never happen. It would destroy everything. His relationship with his mum. His relationship with his dad. Everything would be ruined if he lets his lower head do the 'thinking'.
He won't.
He will remain content with this rare chance to occasionally partake in the offer to touch her.
Isn't that already more than enough?
When he returns with a bottle of chilled wine, he finds one of the sleazy middle-aged men flouncing away from their spot, shooting him a stinky eye.
Lily stands with her arms crossed, glowering at the back of the retreating man. Her face is thunderous, her lips pursed and her eyes afire.
Harry hurries towards her, and she relaxes at the sight of him.
"What happened?" he asks, passing her the bottle.
She rolls it in her grasp, appreciating the coolness soaking into her skin. Then she ducks back under the umbrella and settles onto her blanket, holding the fluffy pillow in her lap. "Nothing."
Her response is less a word and more of an exhausted sigh.
He plops down at her side. "That doesn't sound like nothing."
She moistens her lips and slumps against him, his arm instantly winding around her, offering comfort.
"That old fool you just saw… came to offer me a deal. A disgusting one."
Harry grimaces, already knowing where she's going with it. It isn't the first time it has happened, after all.
"Apparently, they're some filthy rich Yanks and hoped to buy me for a night," she continues, her voice cold. "Even when I made it clear that I'm no prostitute, the man kept raising the price. '10 million dollars, 20 million dollars', he kept going on. I almost took out my wand and cursed the fool. He left on his own before I could lose my temper. Thank Merlin for the small mercies."
Some people really think money can buy everything. There have been dozens of such offers made to his mum since he was little, barely able to comprehend what was happening. Every time it happened, she would yell and scream herself raw, hating the thought that she could be bought like some expensive whore. Over the years, her reaction has become much more subdued, but he has no doubt how angry she must be feeling right now.
She uncorks the bottle and takes a big sip, snuggling closer to him, seeking the familiar comfort of his arms.
Harry rubs her side gently, hoping his dad was here. He would know the right thing to say to console her.
Since he knows talking won't accomplish much, he decides for a distraction. "Let's get into the water. It shouldn't be too hot."
"Okay." She shrugs morosely but ends up squealing when he picks her up bridal style. "Harry! Put me down!"
He doesn't. He just cackles and runs towards the shimmering blue waters.
She must know what he plans on doing, because she drops the bottle and clings onto him, her arms a vice around his neck, preparing to take him down as well.
The water is pleasantly warm, and they groan at the first contact. He keeps wading onwards. And soon enough, they're half submerged.
"Don't do it," she warns, tightening her hold and glaring up at him.
"Do what?" he asks innocently, already trying to pry her off.
His foot gets caught on some stone underwater, and he lurches forward, the weight in his arms being his undoing.
They both get dunked, surrounded by a rush of warm water and a froth of bubbles. Sound mutes momentarily, and light dims as their limbs flail instinctively. They burst to the surface, panting, thoroughly wet, water dripping from their hair. Their green eyes are wide, and their chest heaves with the effort to resupply oxygen.
"Harry," she utters in a perfect monotone, wiping her face, her eyes twitching.
"Yes?" He moves closer, his arms reaching for her.
She attempts to move away, her nose flaring. "No. Absolutely not. I—"
He already has her in his grasp, lifting her up and then dunking her back in. She grabs his neck and pulls him down as well, their eyes open underwater, their lips stretched wide. There's not much flailing this time since they were prepared.
They wrestle, grappling and touching, hugging and pushing, but when the need for air sets an ache in their chests, they abandon the game and rush upwards, gulping as much air as they can.
"You're such a child." Her body shakes with laughter, as she wrenches the water out of her crimson ponytail.
"That's loser talk." He sweeps the wet bangs off his forehead.
"I'll show you loser." She lunges forward, crashing into him, trying to trip him backwards.
She's successful, but his arms around her waist mean she's dragged along for the ride as well. Their fall slows as the water cushions them. Harry's back thumps against the shallow seabed, and Lily clings to him like a koala, her arms and legs coiling tightly around him.
Harry smiles up at her, cupping her gorgeous face, mesmerised by the sway of her floating ponytail. It's strangely a private and intimate moment, as they embrace underwater, as their warm smiles overflow with love and affection.
When they resurface, their smiles stay.
"I think that's enough for now," she pats his cheek as he gathers her in his arms. "There's only little time left before the sun gets too hot. I won't be able to sunbathe then."
"Right." He agrees. "We have to tour the city too. So sunbathe now, then have lunch and a nap at the hotel, followed by an outing in the evening."
"Sounds like a plan." She wraps her arms around his shoulders and buries her face in the crook of his neck. "Now, carry me back."
That's what he does. He scoops her up and takes her to their spot. After reapplying the sunscreen on themselves, they take down the umbrella, and then they lie down in their respective blankets.
"How about you come here and cuddle me?" She rolls onto her side, facing away from him. The wraparound is thrown away, revealing the wet bikini bottom.
The expanse of her almost bare back calls him. The plumpness of her arse whispers at him. And her plump thick thighs seal the deal.
Under the late morning sun, Harry spoons his mum, his arm around her, his finger spread on her flat belly, and his crotch flush against her voluminous rear.
The warmth of her skin, the sensation of her round butt on his boner are far more pleasant than the sun itself. And she doesn't mention the pulsing member against her buns. She doesn't mention it at all. So Harry takes it as a permission and doesn't scoot back.
He doesn't know if she thinks it's just a normal reaction, or if she's onto his true feelings.
For the moment, he doesn't care.
He just holds her close, his face in her neck, his chest against her back, and the underside of his cock thrust against her backside.
The crown of his cock is peeking out of his trunks, the urethra expelling little drops of precum.
Never before has getting blue-balled felt this great.
~xXxXx~
"Are you sure about it?" Amelia asks, her voice tinged with concern as James tells her of his plan. "You think Lily will do it?
James winces, looking down at the letter from Olivia Krasiniki.
Olivia Krasiniki is one of the wealthiest women in the Wizarding World, with her fingers in every pie. According to some rumors, she's actually the wealthiest witch alive. She somehow got wind of their plans and troubles, and has made an offer of financial aid.
"For 10 million galleons, I want your wife, the celebrated beauty Lily Potter, to feature in my new Boudoir magazine." That's what the first letter said.
While James doesn't follow fashion closely, he knows enough to understand what Boudoir photography is. It's basically a few steps below pornography, where the models are expected to go topless, or even fully nude, for sensual poses.
Thankfully, James managed to establish one condition: Lily won't have to be fully nude—only topless. Olivia Krasiniki agreed.
Now, all he has to do is convince Lily to accept it.
It's going to be difficult, nearly impossible. But James is sure he can make it work. They all are working for the same dream, after all.