Megan sighed. She wished he would hurry up. This was so messy, but necessary. Hugh Dawlish left documents out where anyone could see them. All she had to do was play along. When she sat on his desk in her a-bit-shorter-than-was-appropriate skirts, he was looking at her legs, picturing her naked. She was looking at reports. Missing persons. Incidents. She knew there were more, she just had to find them, get in with other Aurors to see what she could find. Megan wondered if she seeing patterns where there were none, but she did not think so. Something was going on.

Megan not only wanted to know what it was, but she wanted to be a part of it. She wanted to be part of a wizard society that did not accept lesser blood. Generations of wizarding in a family had to mean something. She felt the wizarding world could be truly great, elite, if they just let themselves be. Sure, her father had been a filthy mudblood, but her mother had been a Rosier. There were generations upon generations of pureblood on her mother's side. Megan chose to focus on that, and not the fact that she was, unfortunately, a half-blood because of her mother's poor judgement in choosing a husband. When it came time for her to choose a husband, Megan would be practical. She would choose a wizard of pureblood and build up her bloodlines. None of this love nonsense. Love made you weak.

Goddess, he was huffing in her ear again.

Hugh was so boring. Always missionary. Just because Mrs. Dawlish wasn't putting out any longer... but after five kids, would you want to have sex again? Hadn't these people ever heard of a contraceptive charm? Or the potion? Megan was having one. One, just to carry on the line.

He was huffing and moving harder. It was breaking her concentration. Megan let out the obligatory faked moan. Otherwise he'd think she wasn't enjoying it. Then he'd stop doing what he was doing and try to make her orgasm. He'd fail, but he'd try. The last time she'd ended up with bruises on her mons from his inability to try to manipulate her with his fingers without pressing so damned hard. It was not in the pressure, it was in the technique. Dawlish had none.

"Meg... oh Meg... sweet Meg... I'm coming. Oh bloody hell, I'm coming!"

Thank the goddess! She purposefully arched her back and let out a feminine sigh. Damn, he was getting worse at this. She'd had better sex with her wand and a vibrating charm. She'd let him call her Meg at times like these though. Because she WAS NOT Meg, so it was like he was having sex with someone else and not her. That made it better for Megan.

It was too bad he wasn't getting any at home. If he was, he might be able to last a little longer. It also didn't help that he was just a bit out of shape. Megan was worried that one day he'd have a heart-attack while screwing her. Not because he'd be dead, but because she'd have one hell of a time getting his dead-weight limp body off of hers.

He rolled off of her with a contented sigh. Megan rolled her eyes a bit resisted the urge to dash to the loo and scourgify her vagina. She had his sweat on her. She stunk of him. Megan gagged a bit. If she didn't need him right now, she'd Avada him. She'd never used that curse before, but there was a first time for everything. Just like when she'd sold her virginity to a pureblood wizard in a private auction.

Hopefully, he needed to get back to his wife. Hopefully, he would not want to cuddle. She almost gagged again at the very thought.

"Megan, I..." he started as he rolled out of the bed and grabbed his pants.

"You have to go," she said with a fake pout on her face. Inside she was relieved. She could have a VERY hot shower and scrub him off of her skin.

"Sweetheart..."

Oh GROSS.

"You know I have to be home at a reasonable hour otherwise Rosamund and the kids will suspect something." He was steadily throwing clothes back on.

"Of course, of course," she replied, still faking her pout. "How silly of me."

He gave her a slight smile, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek, "I'll see you at work tomorrow, Sweetheart. The anonymous flowers will be from me."

Megan waited until he was out of the room to roll her eyes and wipe at her cheek. She really should kill him. He was dirty. Maybe when he had exceeded his usefulness, she would. She'd never killed anything before, and she found herself slightly curious.

In a clinical sort of way, she told herself, not a psycho way.


{SUMMARY} Megan does a bit of the internal monologue thing while being the other woman.