Highest of Compliments (Dorcas)

Her perplexed expression appeared genuine enough, though he wasn’t completely certain she was not hiding something from him. Rodolphus certainly was not going to be telling her what had been said to him back in the room full of witnesses with no one able to hear, so why would she divulge her secrets to him? Because she harbored feelings for him? Preposterous. Her feelings for him were as genuine as his feelings were for her, which was barely more than a superficial level. She liked his cock. He liked her cunt. And her arse. And her tits. And… Creating a mental list of Dorcas’ enticing assets was only getting him excited and while the idea of fucking Dorcas in the Dark Lord’s sanctuary might have been a passing thought in his ever-depraved mind, it wasn’t the one to win over the confusion Lord Voldemort’s words had left him with. A small shake of the head signaled that Rodolphus was shrugging off the conversation as he brought her dainty wrist up to his face, his lips ghosting the freshly marked skin. “We should celebrate,” he said, redirecting the conversation as he gently dropped her hand. He turned to face the street and raised the hood of his cloak before stepping forward and into the dark rain. “I’ve a bottle of tequila with your name on it,” he said with a smirk that she couldn’t see as he passed through the barriers of the security wards that surrounded the property. “Or some coke, if you really want to get wild.” Pulling her in against him once again, Rodolphus waggled his thick brow at her under the partial moonlight. He didn’t give her time enough to respond in an Auror-like fashion about his little habit before he turned on his heel and the Victorian manor house faded away from them.