The Unfulfilled Wife - Chapter 04

The Burrow hummed with life for the first time in weeks. Ron and Hermione had arrived for dinner, along with George and Angelina, bringing laughter back to the old house. Evening light spilled through the windows as Molly organized the chaos of a Weasley dinner.

“Hermione, dear, would you set the table? Ron, those potatoes need peeling. George, stop that—those knives are not toys!”

Harry leaned against the counter, watching Molly in her element. She moved with grace, her hair escaping its loose bun as she flitted from one crisis to the other. Her blue floral dress hugged her voluptuous curves in a way that tantalized his senses, perfectly modest, yet managing to tease. His eyes lingered on the sway of her hips and the bounce of her breasts as she readied dinner.

Their eyes met briefly, a silent understanding passing between them. Molly sent a scorching look that made his blood boil. Harry’s gaze snapped to pantry door, memories of yesterday’s tryst flashing in his mind. The rhythmic sounds of her gagging, struggling to take him deeper. Molly’s plump, scarlet lips, stretched impossibly over his thick—

“Harry! Mate, are you listening?” Ron waved a hand before his face.

“Sorry,” Harry said, dragging his attention away from Molly knowing smiles. “What were you saying?”

“The Cannons’ new Seeker. Complete disaster against Puddlemere. Missed the Snitch when it was practically in his hand!”

Harry nodded, forcing himself to focus. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Molly glance at him again, amusement on her face.

“Dinner’s ready!” she called. “Everyone to the table!”

The dining room filled with chatter as they took their seats. Platters of roast chicken, vegetables, and bread were passed around. Harry found himself seated between Ron and Molly, with Hermione, George and Angelina sitting across from them.

“Arthur sends his apologies,” Molly explained. “Some crisis with enchanted Muggle artifacts in Edinburgh. He’ll be home late.”

Hermione made sympathetic noises while Ron and George speculated about the Muggle items. Harry, however, noticed Molly’s knee pressing against his beneath the table. A casual touch, easily mistaken for accidental, but the brief look she shot said otherwise.

“So, Harry,” Angelina said, passing him potatoes, “what’s keeping you busy? Still debating Auror training?”

Harry cleared his throat, acutely aware of Molly’s foot rubbing against his own. “Yeah, still weighing options. Kingsley’s offered me a place, but I’m not sure...”

He trailed off as Molly’s hand settled on his thigh. His breath wavered, but he forced himself to continue. “Not sure if that’s the right direction anymore.”

“After everything we’ve been through, I’d imagine chasing dark wizards doesn’t hold much appeal,” Hermione observed.

Harry nodded, swallowing hard when Molly’s fingers inched higher. “Something like that,” he managed, reaching for water to hide the tremor in his words.

The conversation flowed around him—Ron’s Quidditch obsession, George’s product ideas, Hermione’s advocacy for Wizengamot reforms. Harry participated just enough to avoid suspicion, but his focus remained on Molly’s touch.

Her hand moved steadily higher, tracing patterns over his jeans. When she reached the growing bulge at his crotch, he nearly choked on his chicken. She squeezed, measuring his length through the thick denim. Harry bit his cheek to maintain composure.

“I heard Ginny’s team is touring internationally,” Hermione said, her gaze sympathetic. “First stop in Bulgaria, I believe?”

“Good riddance,” Ron muttered, earning an elbow from Hermione. “What? I’m just saying, if she’s too thick to appreciate Harry, she can stay in Bulgaria for all I care.”

“Ronald!” Molly scolded, though her fingers continued exploring Harry’s crotch. “That’s your sister you’re talking about.”

“Still,” Ron grumbled, spearing a potato. “She made her choice.”

Harry barely registered the conversation, too focused on Molly’s nimble fingers working at his belt. The buckle loosened silently, followed by the button of his jeans. Harry coughed and reached for salt, using the movement to mask the sound of his zipper being lowered.

“You alright, mate?” Ron asked, noticing his discomfort. “Looking flushed.”

“Fine,” Harry replied, his voice higher than intended. “Just...hot in here.”

“It is rather warm,” Molly agreed, her hand now slipping into his jeans, fingers diving expertly under his boxers. “George, be a dear open that window.”

As George rose to comply, Molly’s fingers found their target, wrapping around Harry’s hardening cock. He gripped his fork tightly, struggling to maintain composure as she started stroking him beneath the tight fabric.

“Harry was telling me about his plans to renovate Grimmauld Place,” Molly said with a casual tone, passing bread with her free hand while the other worked his shaft. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

All eyes turned to him. Harry swallowed, nodding. “Yes, I’ve been thinking about making it more livable. Less like a mausoleum.”

“Excellent idea,” Hermione enthused. “That place has such potential.”

“Mum’s brilliant with household charms,” Ron added through a mouthful of chicken. “She could help, couldn’t you, Mum?”

“I’d be delighted,” Molly replied, squeezing Harry’s throbbing cock. She circled her thumb over the sensitive head, playing with the bead of precum leaking from the tip. “All it needs is a woman’s...touch.”

Harry choked on his water, earning curious glances. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Went down the wrong way.”

“Careful, mate,” George teased. “Mum would hate to perform the Heimlich on her favorite son.”

Everyone laughed, unaware of the torture Harry endured as Molly’s hand moved faster. He felt exposed—and incredibly aroused. The risk heightened every sensation. Her strokes were measured, gentle but firm, sliding from base to tip with a rhythm that mimicked yesterday’s movements.

“More potatoes, Harry?” Hermione offered.

“Yes, thanks,” he replied, amazed he still kept his voice when Molly squeezed his balls.

The conversation continued—Ministry politics, shop inventory, family gossip. Molly maintained her dual performance—the attentive mother hosting dinner, and the secret temptress bringing him closer to the edge. She leaned forward to refill his water, pressing her breasts against his arm as she did so. The movement gave him a deeper view of her cleavage and the valley that once nestled his monstrous cock.

“Careful with the water, Mum,” Ron commented. “You’re going to spill it.”

“Don’t tell your mother how to pour water, Ronald,” Molly replied crisply, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. Her fingers tightened around his shaft, increasing her tempo while she engaged in conversation.

Harry felt pressure build in his balls, signifying release. He was dangerously close to coming right then and there, at the dinner table, surrounded by his closest friends. Panic mingled with ecstasy. He couldn’t finish here—it would be impossible to hide. Yet Molly’s strokes grew more insistent, her pinky brushing his balls with each downward motion.

Desperate, Harry jabbed his fork into his thigh, the sharp pain momentarily diverting his impending climax. The sudden movement caused Molly to glance at him, understanding dawning on her face. She slowed her pace but didn’t stop, keeping him teetering on the edge.

“This treacle tart is amazing,” Ron was saying. “You’ve outdone yourself, Mum.”

“Thank you, dear,” Molly replied, her pride genuine even as she continued her devilish ministrations. ”It’s Harry’s favorite.”

“You spoil him,” Hermione observed with a smile.

“Harry deserves spoiling,” Molly replied, her eyes meeting his for a moment, dark with suggestion. “After everything he’s been through.”

Harry’s cock twitched at her words. She responded by squeezing tightly, her thumb circling the sensitive spot beneath the head. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple, which he quickly wiped away.

“The heat’s stifling tonight,” George commented, loosening his collar. “You’re looking positively feverish, Harry.”

“Spicy food,” Harry choked out. “Hits me hard sometimes.”

Molly smiled innocently. “I did add extra pepper to the potatoes. Too much, perhaps?”

Her hand twisted slightly on the upstroke, a technique she hadn’t used before. His fought back a groan, his thighs trembling, muscles tense as he resisted against cumming.

“I should check on dessert,” Molly announced, giving Harry’s cock one final stroke before withdrawing her hand. The sudden absence, the denial of release, left him aching.

As she stood, Molly’s breasts swayed, her nipples prominently visible through her dress. She smoothed her apron, smiling innocently as if she didn’t just have a cock in her hands moments ago. Only Harry noticed her discreetly wiping her hand on a napkin before gathering empty plates.

“I’ll help,” Harry offered, needing a moment to compose himself and tuck himself away. He stacked the plates in front of him, holding them low to cover his open fly as he followed Molly to the kitchen.

Once alone, Molly turned to him, eyes dancing with mischief. “You look flushed,” she teased quietly, her voice husky. “Is the heat getting to you?”

Harry exhaled shakily, setting the plates on the counter before fastening his jeans. “You’re mad,” he whispered, equal parts accusation and admiration. “They could have seen us.”

“But they didn’t,” she replied, moving closer, pressing him against the counter. Her breasts crushed against his chest, nipples pressed hard through the thin cotton. “It’s part of the thrill, isn’t it? Knowing we could get caught at any second” She reached down, cupping his still-hard cock. “You loved it.”

Harry couldn’t deny it. The danger had heightened everything. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he groaned softly as she squeezed.

“What a way to go,” she whispered against his ear. Her teeth grazed his earlobe, a quick nip that sent shivers down his spine. “Tonight, after everyone’s gone to bed. In the pantry. Arthur won’t be home until morning.” Her voice dropped lower. “I’ll finish what I started.”

The promise made his cock throb. “Molly—“

“Everything alright in there?” Hermione called from the dining room. “Need help with dessert?”

Molly stepped back smoothly, transforming into the proper matriarch. “Just getting the serving dishes,” she called back, reaching inside a cabinet. “Harry’s helping with the heavy lifting.”

She handed him a large ceramic bowl, her expression innocent save for the heat in her eyes. “Later,” she mouthed silently, gesturing toward the dining room.

Harry nodded, gathering his composure before following her back to the table, dessert in hand.

Throughout the rest of the meal, tension simmered between them. Harry struggled to focus as Molly served treacle tart, deliberately brushing against him whenever possible. Each touch rekindled the fire her hand had stoked beneath the table.

When dessert concluded, the group migrated to the sitting room for tea. Harry volunteered to help clear the table, earning a curious glance from Hermione but approval from Ron, who was deep in conversation with George about the joke shop’s products.

Alone in the kitchen, Harry stacked dirty plates at the sink, hyperaware of Molly’s movements behind him. A comfortable silence stretched between them as Harry washed the dishes, leaving Molly to deal with leftovers.

“They’ll be leaving soon,” she whispered, placing a bowl in the cupboard above him, her breast pressing against his arm. “George and Angelina, at least.”

“And Ron and Hermione?” Harry asked, inhaling her scent.

“Staying the night. Ron’s old room. They’ll be asleep within the hour. He always crashes after my treacle tart.”

The implication hung between them. Harry turned to face her, their bodies inches apart. Dishes clattered in the other room as Hermione brought in the last teacups, shattering their moment.

“I’ll just put these in the sink,” Hermione called from the doorway. Harry stepped away from Molly instantly, busying himself with the kettle as Hermione entered. If she noticed anything amiss, she didn’t comment, simply adding the cups to the pile before returning to the sitting room.

“Thank you for your help, Harry dear,” Molly said loudly. Then, whispering, “Meet me back here in an hour. After they’ve gone up.”

With that, she swept past him, returning to her duties as if nothing had transpired. Harry gathered his thoughts before following, the promise of what awaited fueling his anticipation.

The next hour dragged. George and Angelina departed with hugs and promises to visit again soon. Ron yawned dramatically, pulling Hermione from her animated discussion with Molly about house-elf rights.

“I’m knackered,” he announced unconvincingly, causing Hermione to blush. She gave an apologetic wave as Ron dragged her up the stairs. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Finally, the house fell quiet. Harry remained in the sitting room until he heard Ron’s bedroom door close. He waited a few minutes more before making his way back to the kitchen.

Molly stood at the sink, drying dishes by hand rather than magic. She swayed to an invisible tune, the curves of her body outlined perfectly in the pale moonlight.

Harry approached silently, his heart thumping in his chest. The kitchen was quiet save for the soft clinking of porcelain and Molly’s humming—some old Celestina Warbeck tune. He paused behind her, inhaling her heady scent.

“I felt you watching me all evening,” she said without turning, her voice low. “Every time I looked at you, I remembered how hard you were in my hand.”

Harry’s arms slipped around her waist, his body pressing against her back. “You nearly killed me,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear. “Right there at the table, with everyone watching.”

Molly leaned back into him. “The risk made it exciting,” she whispered. “Knowing what I was doing to you while they sat there, oblivious.” She shifted her hips, pressing her backside against his hardness. “Knowing how much you wanted me.”

Harry’s cock throbbed in agreement. He sunk his fingers into the soft curves of her stomach, pulling her closer. “I still want you,” he breathed, the words hot against her neck. “Can’t stop thinking about it.”

Molly yelped as Harry’s lips found the sensitive spot beneath her ear. She abandoned the dishes, hands gripping the sink as he kissed her neck, his body molded to hers. “Harry,” she sighed, half-warning, half-encouragement.

His hands slid upward, cupping her breasts through her dress. Her nipples hardened instantly against his palms, and she arched into his touch, head falling back against his shoulder. The movement pressed her ass more firmly against his erection, drawing a groan from his throat.

“Here?” she whispered, glancing back at the doorway. “Anyone could hear us...”

“They’ll be too busy to care,” Harry murmured, rolling her nipples between his fingers. “And you love the danger.”

Molly whimpered, her hips moving in small circles against him. “Yes,” she admitted, breathy and heated. “I’ve never felt so alive. So powerful.”

Harry’s hand slid down her stomach, past her hip, sneaking under her skirt. He dragged his palm against the silky smoothness of her skin, fingertips tracing the edge of her underwear. Molly’s breath quickened, her body trembling in anticipation.

“Not inside,” she whispered, catching his wrist. “Not here.” Her voice was ragged with desire but firm. “Just...this.”

She pressed back against him deliberately, grinding against his erection. Harry understood—there were lines she wouldn’t, couldn’t cross yet, not with others sleeping upstairs. But this—the friction, the heat, the teasing—this she wanted.

His hands returned to her hips, guiding her movements as she rubbed against him. The sensation was maddening. Harry buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent as their bodies found a rhythm.

Molly braced herself against the sink, pushing back to meet his thrusts. The counter edge dug into her stomach, but she didn’t care, lost in the forbidden pleasure of Harry grinding against her, his cock hard even through their clothes. She reached back, guiding his hand to her breast again, wanting his touch.

“That’s it,” she encouraged softly, her voice barely audible over their heavy breathing. “Take what you need.”

Harry’s movements grew more urgent. He groped her breast with surprising force, thumb flicking over the hardened nipple, while his other hand pressed against the damp fabric covering her mound, pulling her against him as he thrust with animalistic grunts.

“Fuck, Molly,” he growled against her ear, forsaking caution for pleasure. “Your ass feels so good.”

A floorboard creaked overhead. They froze, eyes darting to the ceiling. For a moment, only silence. Then, the muffled sound of a door closing—the bathroom, probably.

The near-discovery heightened their arousal. Molly turned her head, meeting Harry’s eyes over her shoulder. “Better hurry,” she whispered, a wicked glint in her gaze as she ground against him. “Before someone comes down for water.”

The danger, the stolen moment, the forbidden nature of their encounter pushed Harry toward the edge. His thrusts became erratic, more forceful, his breathing coming in short bursts as he held Molly against him. She reached back, her hand finding his hip, encouraging his movements. The friction was incredible—not as good as being inside her would be, but he was too lost in desire to care.

“I’m close,” he managed, his voice strained as he felt the pressure building.

“Yesss,” Molly urged, her voice a heated whisper. “Let go. Don’t hold back.”

The words tipped him over. With a muffled groan against her shoulder, Harry’s body tensed, his hips jerking against her as release claimed him. Heat spread through his boxers as he came, soaking the fabric as he continued to grind against Molly’s curves, riding out the waves of pleasure.

With one final grunt, Harry sagged against her, arms wrapped around her waist. The reality of what they’d done—him cumming in his pants while dry humping her in the family kitchen—should have been embarrassing. Instead, he craved for more, to claim Molly in every room in this house.

Molly turned in his arms, her cheeks flushed, eyes half-closed in satisfaction. She wiped the sweat from his chin, a smile playing at her lips. “Feel better?” she asked softly.

Harry nodded, aware of the cooling wetness in his boxers. “Sorry about...” he gestured vaguely, embarrassment finally catching up.

“Don’t be,” she assured him, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth—their first, despite everything they’d done. “We both needed it.”

Another creak from above reminded them of their situation. Molly stepped back, smoothing her dress and hair with practiced efficiency.

“You should go up,” she whispered, gesturing to the stairs. “Use the cleaning charm I taught you for laundry day.” A mischievous smile curved her lips. “And get some rest. We need to finish reorganizing that broom shed tomorrow.”