Push Her to the Limit (Ch. 1) (Exclusive)

( Every character in this story is a legal adult over the age of 18 )

Push Her to the Limit

Chapter 1

Fleur loved her husband. She truly did, but sometimes she wondered how much longer she could keep up the mask. She sat at the kitchen table and scrolled through the endless list of transactions in their Gringotts account. There were two hundred galleons gone in the last month alone, and that was just what showed up on the main ledger. The real bleeding happened in those little off-the-books places … the ones she managed to keep hidden from Bill by transferring small amounts here and there into her own private stashes. She was good at it, too. She’d always been resourceful.

It wasn’t as if she was gambling it away, or wasting it on illegal substances, or drinking herself into oblivion. Fleur was much too proud for that. No, her vice was substantially more embarrassing, and she was fairly certain her mother would’ve disowned her twice over if she ever found out. Her closet was packed so full she could barely nudge the doors closed. Silk scarves tumbled out onto the floor, the heels of expensive dragonhide boots jutted out at odd angles, and the top shelves had become a precarious landscape of high heel boxes teetering on the edge of collapse. She shopped when she was happy, she shopped when she was bored, and she especially shopped when she was lonely, which happened to be most of the time now that Bill was gone for months at a time.

Even now, with the sun barely risen and Shell Cottage silent around her, the pull was already there. She could see the latest issue of Witch Weekly lying folded on the counter, taunting her with glossy advertisements for new Parisian perfumes and the comeback of pearl-trimmed dress robes. Fleur was a creature of wants and desires, and she’d never been able to deny herself for long. She sipped her coffee and tried to ignore the pounding in her chest.

Bill thought she was good with money, and she’d let him continue thinking it because it was easier than telling him the truth. He’d always been gentle with her. He was always so in awe of her beauty that she sometimes resented him for it. He rarely questioned how she managed to afford the latest in French fashion or why her vanity table was cluttered with gold-capped perfume bottles. Whenever he did ask, she offered the same explanation with a practiced smile. “Papa and Maman still spoil me. You know ‘ow they are.” Bill would laugh, ruffle her hair, and go back to his maps and parchments, as trusting as always. He didn’t know that Fleur’s parents had cut her off after the last argument, and that she was now quietly bleeding their joint account dry.

She’d tried to resist. There’d been a week … maybe two … when she’d resolved herself to become a more responsible woman. She’d gone three days without ordering so much as a single bottle of imported hair tonic. But on the fourth day, the ache in her chest had become too much. That was the first time she had stolen from the family coffers. The guilt lingered for weeks, but she learned to ignore it.

Now, with the numbers in front of her and the remaining balance staring judgmentally from the parchment, Fleur realized she’d finally gone too far. She’d splurged on a last-minute trip to Paris with Gabrielle. It was just for the weekend, she told herself. She just needed a change of scenery while Bill was off in Egypt. They’d shopped, dined, and spent an obscene amount on a single night at a hotel suite with a view of the city. Fleur had told herself she deserved it. She’d never truly gotten to enjoy Paris as an adult, and she owed herself a taste of her old life. She told herself many things, but the truth was that she’d spent nearly a fifth of their savings in a single month, and she had no idea how to replace it before Bill returned.

She rubbed her temples and groaned. Fleur had always taken pride in her cleverness. Back at Beauxbatons, she’d been the top of her class. She was praised for her composure and wit. So how had she become such a cliché? Bill would never understand. He didn’t care about labels, or brands, or the intoxicating effect of silk on bare skin. Fleur tried to imagine explaining it to him. She wanted to explain how it felt to walk into a room knowing all eyes belonged to her, and how the right dress could make her own sense of power tangible. She knew it was shallow, but she also knew it was true.

She heard the creak of a floorboard above, and for one frantic moment, she feared Bill had come home early and would catch her in the act of financial self-destruction. But it was just Gabrielle padding across the landing in her very expensive silk nightie. Fleur clenched her jaw, folded the ledger closed, and forced herself to smile as she entered the kitchen.

“Good morning, Fleur,” Gabrielle said through a yawn.

“Good morning,” Fleur replied. She poured Gabrielle a glass of orange juice and tried to look as though she hadn’t just spent the past hour frantically searching for new sources of income. Gabrielle yawned again, then wandered over to the table.

“Bill’s not coming home for several weeks, right?”

“Yes, Gabby. He sent an owl yesterday.” Gabby nodded and greedily drank her juice. She then grabbed a croissant and skipped off. 

Fleur waited until Gabrielle’s footsteps faded, then slumped in her chair. She had only a few weeks before Bill came home. She needed to either replace the gold or find a way to convince him it was never missing in the first place. She considered pawning some of her jewelry, but the thought made her sick. She’d sooner pawn her own wand than part with the diamond necklace her father had bought her for graduating from Beauxbatons. It looked too good on her. 

Fleur scanned the room, and her mind raced through possible solutions. She could ask her Gabby for help, but she had her own problems. She had even less self-control when it came to spending, and their parents were a stone’s throw away from cutting her off as well. She could try to get a loan from Gringotts, but the goblins had little patience for beautiful women with no collateral. Fleur had always relied on her looks and her charm, but there were some situations that neither could fix.

She pressed her palms to her eyes, willing her nagging headache to go away. She was a Delacour, after all, and Delacours always got what they wanted. She wouldn’t be bested by a couple hundred galleons, or by Bill’s inevitable disappointment. No, where there was a will, there was a way, and Fleur knew what she had to do. She hadn’t done it since her last splurge, which was a little over two months ago. Fleur winced at the thought. She had bought the entire summer line of dresses and matching heels from a very pricey boutique in Nice. The amount she spent even made her shudder. But in the end, she had earned the money back, and Bill never found out about her reckless splurge or the way she earned back the gold. It had been humiliating and degrading, but she didn’t have a choice at the time. Now, it seemed, she once again didn’t have a choice. Fleur sighed, went to her room, and Floo called Harry. 

Push Her to the Limit

Harry ended the Floo call and watched the flames flicker and fade into cool embers. The conversation with Fleur had been short, but it told him everything he needed to know. She was desperate, and when Fleur Delacour was desperate, it meant her world was coming apart at the seams. She could be a bit of a drama queen sometimes. He wondered what she’d done this time. Had she lost a fortune in Rome, perhaps, or maybe wasted away the last of her family’s patience on a shopping binge. In the end, the details never mattered. Fleur only ever called him when she had nowhere else to turn, and in Harry’s experience, that always involved money.

He pushed away from the hearth and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent of woodsmoke that lingered in the room. Harry looked around and smiled. He had commissioned the Goblins to build a new, modern-styled manor house on a very large plot of land he had purchased. The grounds were nothing to sneeze at either. They were beautiful and sprawling. He very much enjoyed the peace and quiet the house and grounds provided.

Still, Fleur’s impending arrival rattled him. He’d spent years putting distance between himself and the Weasley clan. A few years back, they had had a bit of a falling out, and while things eventually cooled down, Harry outright refused to let things go back to the way they were. By then, he had a new life with new friends and new interests. His only regret was that he didn’t get to see Hermione as much as he liked. She was, after all, married to Ron. 

Harry slid a hand through his hair, then went upstairs to the master bath. He stared at his reflection for a moment. He had grown into a tall, handsome, strapping young man. He stripped, stepped into the shower, and groaned as the hot water soothed his skin. 

When he finished, he wrapped himself in a towel and wandered into the bedroom. He picked out a fresh button-down shirt and a pair of black dress trousers and put them on. He then returned to the den and surveyed the state of the house. His small team of house elves kept the house and yard in excellent shape. He sat down in his armchair, and a house elf popped in and brought him a piping hot cup of tea. Harry smiled, sipped his tea, and waited for his guest as he watched the rain streak down the glass.

Push Her to the Limit

Fleur stepped out of the emerald Floo flames and onto the marble hearth with an easy grace, but she sucked in a deep breath before turning around. Harry’s manor was even more impressive in person than over the Floo. The entrance hall soared nearly three stories high, with twin staircases sweeping up to a glass landing, and tall windows flooding the space with bright light. 

Harry was waiting for her only a few meters away, leaning against a polished banister. He was dressed in an open-collared white shirt and black trousers that were perfectly tailored to his frame, and he smiled as soon as he saw her. The smile was genuine. He’d never been able to fake that, not even after all this time. Fleur could tell he’d just showered. His hair was still damp, and he smelled faintly of some very expensive cologne that made her cunt give a traitorous little twitch. The years had been kind to Harry. They’d carved the fat from his cheeks, grown his jaw square, and broadened his shoulders. He looked every bit like the lord of the manor, and he knew it.

Fleur was acutely aware, as she always was, of how she must look to him. She’d selected her dress with care. She wore a navy blue sheath that was cinched at the waist and cut just above the knee. It was a classic Parisian look. It was elegant but not overtly seductive. She wanted to remind him of her beauty without seeming desperate. Still, the fabric clung to the full curves of her tits and the soft swell of her ass in a way that left little to the imagination. Her hair was coiled neatly at the nape of her neck, and a few stubborn tendrils escaped and framed her face. She wore only a hint of makeup. It was just enough to hide the dark circles under her eyes. She didn’t do well under stress.

He extended his hand as she approached, and Fleur hesitated for a split-second before taking it. He didn’t shake it, of course. He bent and brushed his lips over her knuckles, and she felt the faintest prickle of stubble against her skin. It was a gesture more suited to a gala than a private meeting, but Harry had always enjoyed playing the gentleman. She forced herself to smile, and he straightened, still holding her hand loosely.

“Fleur,” he said. “You look amazing. As usual.”

She inclined her head, letting her smile widen just enough. “You as well, ‘Arry. Your new ‘ouse is …magnifique. You ‘ave a gift for grandeur.”

Harry laughed. It was a richer, more confident laugh than she remembered from their Hogwarts days. “I basically told the Goblins what I wanted and let them do their thing,” he said. “But thank you.”

He released her hand and gestured down the hall. “Let’s get you settled in. Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Something stronger, maybe?”

“Coffee is fine,” Fleur said, though her heart was already jittery. “Merci.”

He led her through the house, and Fleur followed. Her heels clicked loudly on the stone. The place was muted inside. There were pale walls, dark wood, and subtle silver and grey accents. There was nothing ostentatious about it except for its sheer size. It was a far cry from the cozy chaos of the Burrow or the understated elegance of Shell Cottage. No, this was a fortress, and every detail was chosen to project power, wealth, and control.

They crossed into the den, where a fire crackled behind a glass screen. Harry gestured to a leather armchair, and Fleur sat, smoothed her skirt, and crossed her legs. He called out, and a house-elf appeared instantly, bowing so deeply that its ears brushed the floor.

“Coffee for Madame Delacour, please,” Harry said. “And another tea for me, please.” The elf nodded and vanished.

Harry sat across from her in a matching chair with his elbows resting on the arms, and his fingers steepled. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Fleur studied the mantelpiece. There was a clock, a framed photograph of Harry with two other men she didn’t recognize, and a small, ugly statuette of a phoenix in flight.

He broke the silence first. “So,” he said. “I assume this isn’t a social call.”

She felt her face flush. “Non,” she admitted. “It is not.”

He grinned in a knowing manner. “Is this the part where you tell me there’s been an emergency? A disaster, maybe? Or should we skip straight to the truth?”

Fleur’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry, ‘Arry. I know it is … an imposition. You ‘ave always been generous with me, and I ‘ate to ask again, but …”

He waved her off. “You don’t have to convince me, Fleur. You know I’ll help if I can. Just tell me how much you need.”

There was no point lying, at least not about the urgency. But she’d learned that one should always pad the total a bit, in case he offered a ‘compromise’ number. “Four hundred galleons,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral. That would pay off her debt and leave a couple hundred left over. Gabrielle did say she wanted to go on a shopping trip to Madrid after all. 

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Four hundred?” he repeated. Harry seemed almost amused. “That’s a lot of shopping, even for you.”

Fleur winced. “Some of it is Gabrielle’s fault,” she said, which was true in a roundabout way. She didn’t mention Madrid.

“Of course.” Harry’s lips pulled up in amusement. “And Bill?”

She fought the urge to glance away. “Bill is … traveling. ‘e will be gone for another few weeks.”

The house elf reappeared with a tray and set it on the table between them. Harry waited until it left, then leaned forward and gripped the mug. “Alright, Fleur. Four hundred it is. But I hope you’re not expecting a gift. You already owe me twenty-seven hundred galleons.”

Fleur shook her head. “No,” she said quietly. “Not a gift. I am prepared to … work for it. As before.” Both of them knew exactly what that work involved. 

Harry’s lips curled into a smile, and his eyes didn’t leave her face. “Are you sure? The last time you seemed a bit … stiff.”

She straightened her spine. “I am sure. I needed the money, and you were … respectful enough. Besides, it was my idea, remember?”

He let out a long breath and nodded. “Okay, then. If you want, you can use the same room to get ready. I’ve added some new outfits to the closet, in case you’re interested.”

This time, she didn’t blush. “Merci,” she said, and stood.

Harry watched her rise, and his eyes lingered on the way the dress hugged her tits and the soft mound between her thighs. “You know, Fleur, you don’t have to do this. If you confessed to Bill that you have a problem, I’d just give you the money.”

She hesitated. Harry liked to play the hero, but there was a price for everything … even charity. Besides, Fleur didn’t think she could stop spending, even if Bill tried to force her to. “I prefer to repay my debts,” she said.

He nodded his head. “Alright. Go on, then. I’ll be in here when you’re ready.”

Fleur turned and left the den. Her back was straight, and her steps were even. She didn’t show an ounce of weakness. She didn’t look back, though she could feel his eyes on her ass the entire way.