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Above all else—incompetence, tardiness, and Divination included—Hermione hated parties.
They were all the same: noisy, crowded, and overflowing with Firewhisky. She'd already had two drinks, yet nothing had dulled her distaste for her boisterous surroundings. Unrealistic expectations for the evening aside, the music left a lot to be desired.
Forced socialisation was nothing short of draining. The very thought of being thrust into a contrived scenario where she had to sit—or worse, stand—and make small talk to determine if the other person was worth a single night of entertainment was excruciating. Even more so when she knew it wouldn't last past a regretful morning.
She would rather just… not.
A glass of wine, a spot on her chaise, and an excellent book sounded far more entertaining than one of Blaise's sleazy hookup parties, even if it was dressed up as a society event.
Hermione's weakness, and the reason for her current state of disenchantment, was her love for Ginny, who had all but begged her to come along. Her friend was interested in the host and thought tonight would be the best opportunity to try her luck.
Blaise Zabini called himself an 'entertainment specialist,' which meant that he had a penchant for hosting lavish parties all over the country. The guest list was always exclusive, the locations were always extravagant, and though admission was free, there was always some price to pay for attendance. Tonight was no exception.
Hermione might have declined, despite Ginny's wheedling, but she had to admit she found Blaise's signature feature… intriguing. All were required to wear a charmed pendant of their choice to show their availability and interest.
The pendant was dim if someone wasn't interested—Hermione's current state—and glowed if they were—or, in the case of Pansy and Harry, if they were coupled up.
Whenever the wearer was within a metre of someone they found enticing, the jewel pulsed, speeding up or slowing down with the ebb and flow of attraction.
Clever, really, not that she would confess it out loud. The combination of magic and physiological measurements certainly made things straightforward. Hermione could appreciate that.
In any case, it made it easier to broadcast her disinterest to any bloke in the area while keeping an eye on her best friend, who had apparently managed to catch Blaise's attention and charm him away from a gaggle of witches. They were currently talking in the corner, sitting so close their knees were touching. Blaise had a comfortable arm over the back of the sofa, Ginny's smirk was in full force, and Hermione didn't need to see their pendants to know that they would be lit.
"Fancy another drink?"
The nameless bloke in front of her had a blue charm that was blinking at an impressive rate. He was tall and put together, which sparked to life both her charmed pendant and their ensuing conversation. But when he started posturing and boasting about his career, the red pulse of hers slowed to a crawl.
"No, thank you." Hermione held up her empty glass. "I've already reached my two drink limit."
The dark haired man smirked lasciviously. "Ah. Well, if you're ready to leave, you could always Side-Along to my flat—"
"For what exactly?" She blinked as if he were speaking another language, tilting her head to the side.
"A good time for us both."
Hermione seriously doubted that.
There was a firm line between confidence and arrogance, and she found the latter unappealing—apart from certain exceptions that were inexplicable even to herself.
Her waning interest was evident as the red pulse dimmed. The wizard noticed, but he seemed to cling to the fact that her jewel hadn't gone dark altogether.
"I—"
Then it did.
He deflated and Hermione tried to awkwardly exit the conversation.
"I think I need to find my friend." She didn't give him a chance to protest.
Ginny and Blaise were now sitting even closer, both of their pendants flashing quickly, and his hand rested high on her thigh. Mouth close to her ear, he whispered something that made her blush and cover his hand with hers. With no desire to interrupt—and find herself on the wrong side of Ginny's infamous hexes—Hermione made her way to the bar to break her own rule in the form of a third Firewhisky.
After that, she planned to go home and sleep soundly, knowing her duty as a friend was complete.
Hermione walked the long stretch of the crowded bar, excusing herself until she found a spot towards the end where a bartender was making drinks. There was one person sitting there, but the space next to them was narrow enough for her to slip in without disturbing them.
"Excuse me." Hermione waited for the man behind the bar to look up. "When you finish, I'd like a Firewhisky on the rocks."
"Sure thing." The bartender returned to his task.
"On the rocks?"
The familiar voice made Hermione freeze.
Her heart beat faster.
She clenched her jaw before turning to face none other than Draco Malfoy.
Being Blaise's best friend, she shouldn't have been surprised to see him in attendance. But she was. Perhaps that had to do with the fact that he was practically in the corner—alone—rather than surrounded by interested witches.
And there were plenty of those around.
Draco's hair was, predictably, styled to perfection, and his all-black outfit looked like it cost more than a month of her salary. He'd changed out of the Ministry robes she'd seen him in earlier during their Interdepartmental Liaison Meeting, and she had to admit this suited him better.
He looked good.
Annoyingly so, really.
"Yes, you heard correctly. On the rocks. What of it?"
"Terrible waste of Firewhisky." Draco gave her a look that bordered on a glare. "Ice dilutes the drink to the point where it loses its natural complexity and flavour."
"Then I guess I'll have to finish it before the ice melts." Hermione gave him a sarcastic smile. "It's just as well. I don't drink for the flavour."
"What a shame." He ran a finger around the rim of his glass. "I'm actually surprised you drink at all."
"Let me guess. You think I'm a boring, swotty bookworm who doesn't have a life outside of work, which isn't at all true." It was, but he didn't need to know that. Prat. "I have a very healthy social life. I'm here, aren't I?"
"I've seen you bore off at least four blokes tonight." Draco gave her a long look. "Too much brain, Granger."
He'd been watching her. The knowledge made something twist inside of her.
It wasn't a new feeling, per se. In fact, it'd spiked from time to time since they'd started working together on the Interdepartmental Liaison Project last year. Lately, with the increasing hours they spent in close proximity, her objective appreciation for his looks had transformed into secret thoughts about his hands travelling to places they shouldn't, his lips against her neck, and what he would feel like between her legs. Euphoric and addictive, probably, but so fucking dangerous. It was utterly ridiculous—
His chuckle pulled her from her thoughts, and her frown deepened into a scowl.
"I'll have you know, Malfoy, that they didn't lose interest in me. Quite the opposite, actually." She gestured to her jewel with a superior expression. "My charmed pendant went just as dull as it is right now."
"Hmm." Draco's head tilted, his eyebrow rising along with the smirk on his face. "Is that so?"
And that was when she looked down.
It wasn't dark. At all.
In fact, it was glowing red and pulsing like a heartbeat.
As was his.
But he seemed far more intrigued by hers.
"Firewhisky on the rocks."
The clink of glass against the polished bartop pulled Hermione's attention away from the exact curve of his infuriating smirk.
"If you'll excuse me, Malfoy, I need to go find my friend." Grabbing her Firewhisky, Hermione turned to leave. "I'm sure there are more than enough eligible witches around who might actually care about the state of your charmed lapel."
"It's actually a family business. I've been riding a broom since I could walk and it was always assumed I'd take over the Boothby empire when I came of age."
Hermione hadn't thought it possible that her night could get any worse, but the bloke in front of her—Alaric? Augustus? Archibald?—was rapidly proving her wrong. She could hardly breathe through his stifling sense of self-importance.
Despite checking everywhere she could think of her for her friend, Ginny was nowhere to be found.
And Hermione's third drink was empty.
"We provide brooms for top Quidditch teams all over the world. The Gimbi Giant-Slayers, Toyohashi Tengus, Falmouth Falcons, Stonewall Stormers, and several others have contracts with my family's company. We're quite important in the Quidditch world."
"How fascinating." She wore a thin smile that conveyed nothing more than feigned interest.
Hermione didn't give one knut about Quidditch. She recognised one of the aforementioned teams and that only had to do with Ron's yearly rant about the Cannons losing to them.
"I own homes in the countries where we hold contracts and spend weeks at a time in—"
"There you are."
Draco's breath against her ear sent a shiver down her spine, and the press of his palm low on her back—too high to be intimate, yet too low to be anything short of intentional—made her heart jump. She turned just enough to meet his eyes, blinking once at him, then down at the drink in his hand.
"I thought maybe you'd like something different." The pulse of green from his lapel chain made it clear he didn't just mean the glass of red wine.
Hermione didn't need to look at her own to know it was reciprocating in kind. Silly, really, just a physical reaction, but it provided the perfect out to her current predicament.
Grey eyes cut to the unwanted presence in front of them.
"You don't mind if I steal her for a moment, do you…"
"Allistair." The wizard extended his hand to Draco. "Boothby."
"Draco Malfoy."
Their handshake looked borderline painful. Hermione could have sworn she heard one of their knuckles pop over the music, but neither of their faces showed anything beyond a pretense of politeness that was as fake as a gold sickle.
"I've heard plenty about you." Draco lifted a cool brow "Shame that instead of you, your father picked your third cousin to inherit the family business when he retires. Practically a stranger. Pity." His attention returned to her, ignoring the irate look on the man's face. A mischievous smile played on his lips. "We really must be going. Enjoy your night, Albert."
Draco's hand slid from the small of her back to her hip, and he guided them away without so much as a backwards glance.
"I'm disappointed in you, Granger." He was right back in her ear as they walked. "I'm sure you realise you can do much better than someone like that."
"Careful, Malfoy. I might mistake that for a compliment."
"Who's to say that wasn't my intention?"
Though she didn't directly respond, it was impossible to miss the intensity of the glow from her charmed bracelet. His, likewise, hadn't dimmed at all. She swallowed, glancing around the room.
"If you're looking for the female Weasley, I hate to disappoint, but she left with the host ages ago."
"Good for her. That's probably the least surprising thing I've heard all night."
Draco guided them both back to the far end of the bar. He motioned for her to take the stool, but Hermione shook her head and gestured for him to take it, leaving room for her to slip into the space next to him. It was for the best, she reasoned. Standing would at least ensure she knew exactly how much of the Firewhisky had already gone to her head.
If she considered the pace of her pulse and the warmth spreading across her cheeks, it was likely a lot.
"Your choice in drinks is odd." Hermione swirled the wine in her glass. "You, of all people, should know that wine and Firewhisky don't mix."
"I do, but I was pressed for time." He tapped his fingers against the wood. "Is this how you treat the man who rescued you from a dull evening of Alfred's boasting?"
"Allaistar, and yes." Hermione rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh. "It seems I've gone from one overinflated ego to the next."
"Perhaps, but the difference is you're interested in me." Draco shifted closer. His gaze dipped for a split second. "You may lie, but the charm doesn't."
"Neither does yours."
"Hmm." Draco made a small noise. "I knew mine would light up long before tonight."
What?
Shocked silent by his blunt confession, Hermione just stared at him.
Draco's smirk was evidence of his deep satisfaction with her response. He turned to order a Firewhisky neat and the bartender poured almost instantly—surely a perk of having a bottomless vault. Hermione had barely collected herself when he picked up his glass and fixed his eyes on her, taking a long drink as if preparing himself for a challenge.
Her.
"You know, your Ministry robes do you little favour."
She blinked slowly.
"Is that your best line?" Scoffing, Hermione took a small taste of ill-advised red wine, fighting the urge to lick her lips afterward.
It was delicious. She wondered what kind—
"Actually, I believe you're mistaken. My comment wasn't a line. It was a fact." Draco shifted closer, his knees brushing her thighs, and Hermione had to stop herself from leaning in. "Your Ministry robes clearly don't flatter the figure you've chosen to put on display tonight."
Slim fingers edged along the strap of her dress, and Hermione stopped resisting the pull to drift closer.
"You look exquisite."
Her breath hitched.
The way he looked at every curve of her body was like a physical touch to oversensitised skin.
Lazy, indulgent, his gaze was downright indecent.
The deep red dress wasn't something Hermione would have typically worn. It had lived in the back of her closet for well over a year without being touched, but in her haste to get ready, she'd given Ginny full freedom over her outfit for the night. The plunge was well past improper, but Ginny had applied more than enough sticking charms to keep it in place before threatening bodily harm if Hermione even so much as considered changing. Draco wasn't the only one tonight to appreciate the cut of the dress, but she felt herself flush for the first time when his eyes kept returning to the dip that nearly reached her waist.
It was positively thrilling.
Aggravatingly so.
In any other circumstance, Hermione would have ignored the way her body responded to him. As it was, though, her pendant made the intensity of her interest crystal clear. Every nerve thrummed with the awareness of her attraction, and her heart raced at the sight of his charm pulsing equally as bright.
Draco finished his drink quickly.
"Tonight has been illuminating, but I think it's time I went home." He extracted his wand from the inside pocket of his jacket.
"What?" Hermione couldn't disguise her surprise at his abrupt shift. "You're not going to ask me to go home with you?"
"Despite what you might believe, I don't make a habit of sleeping with witches when they're drunk."
"I am not drunk. I'm—"
The person behind Hermione stumbled off their stool and into her back, pushing her flush against Draco's chest. The pulse of his lapel pin wasn't nearly as distracting as the heat of his palm or the firm stability of his grip.
"Easy there."
Hermione's blush was as deep as his voice and it burned as she righted herself. For all the charms Ginny had applied, a balancing charm on her heels had somehow been forgotten.
"Sorry, I…" The words died on her tongue as his fingers drifted down her arm.
Even in heels, Draco towered over her in a way that would make any woman keenly aware of his presence, if not a little breathless. Still, Hermione slowly tilted her chin up, catching a flash of want in his eyes and the sharp desire to lose her balance again.
She bit the inside of her cheek.
"Maybe I have had too many," she muttered, more to herself than him. "I—"
"I'll walk you to the Floo. It would be a shame if Arnold cornered you with more Quidditch talk."
She suppressed a smile. "Now you're just being a wanker."
"A charge I hear often from those who know me well."
Did she?
The question was never uttered.
Draco's hand rested on her lower back like it belonged there, but Hermione immediately banished the thought, blaming the spirits and refusing to consider it further due to her current state. She had to direct herself away from that train of thought again when he stopped yet another inattentive guest from walking into her by pulling her into his side. Heat radiated every point of contact, but Hermione continued walking, stubbornly ignoring the inklings of arousal.
Yes.
The unnatural mix of Firewhisky and wine was definitely steering her thoughts.
She needed to go home. Quickly.
The remaining walk was uneventful, as everyone appeared to be paired off in sets of glowing jewels, with the occasional group of three. Even Allistair had found someone interested in him.
Good.
Despite the dwindling hours of the night, the event seemed to be nowhere near its end. She focused on the area in front of the Floo—the only empty space she could see. Draco reached for the container and took a handful before offering her the same.
His parting words left her confused as she threw down the powder that took her home.
"See you soon."
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Hermione groaned, unable to remember the last time she'd woken up with her head pounding like this. It was—
Thump. Thump. Thump.
—Not in her head.
Bolting upright, Hermione frantically tossed off her covers and grabbed a robe off the back of her door.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Coming!"
She had no idea who it could be. Harry was out of town and Ginny was probably still twisted up in Blaise's sheets somewhere far, far away. That just left… well, too many people to count this early in the morning. A quick glance in her mirror revealed she needed a few extra seconds to wrangle her mass of curls into a messy bun before making her way to the door.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Granger, I know you're in there."
Hermione's hand paused just shy of the doorknob.
What the—Draco was on the other side.
In her house. In the corridor.
Draco fucking Malfoy was outside of her bedroom.
"I can hear you panicking, Granger. Just open up."
In no way was Hermione ready to come face-to-face with Draco this early in the day. Or any day. He, as always, would likely look more put together than she could ever hope to at eight in the morning. And she was wearing nothing but a thin silk robe and her knickers.
"I'm not above unlocking it myself and—"
When Hermione swung the door open, it took a concentrated effort to keep her jaw clenched against its desire to fall open. She had been right about his appearance contrasting hers. So damn right. It was a bloody crime how fit he was, and he knew as much, if the way he stood confidently in her doorway was any indication.
Naturally, Hermione's counterattack was to fold her arms across her chest and glare at him as if he were the source of all the ills in the world.
"Letting yourself in through my Floo is rude, Malfoy. Just because I opened it once for work does not mean that—"
"You never closed it." His smirk was even sharper in the daylight. "Something you care to tell me?"
"Of course not." Hermione scoffed, turning back towards her room. If she was going to say something even halfway witty at this hour, she could not be staring at his infuriatingly smug face. "It was an oversight that won't happen again. Go wait in the—the"—she threw up her hands—"somewhere else while I get dressed."
"Make myself at home, you mean?"
She could hear the teasing in his tone.
She could also feel his eyes on her, stirring up vivid memories of the weight of his touch on her skin.
Another thing Hermione tried to put aside.
"Actually, I'd prefer for you to sod off and close my Floo behind you." She slipped inside her small closet with a sharp click of the door, and struggled to clear her head.
Perhaps he was here out of some strange sense of chivalry. Or to gloat about her behaviour last night. Obviously the only rational response was to hide in her closet and wait for him to leave.
Closing her eyes, she mentally organised the rest of her day. Find clothes. Wash last night away in the shower. Fight the hangover headache and sluggishness, which unfortunately meant an unplanned trip to the Apothecary.
"I brought coffee laced with a hangover potion."
Well.
A suspicious squint was in full force when Hermione peeked out of the closet, drinking in the sight of the wizard who looked far too comfortable in her home. Draco's eyes skirted the edges of her bedroom before resting once again on her.
There was something in them that made her head swim and her breath hitch. It was the same look as the night before when he'd said the words that had been playing on repeat since they'd parted ways.
I knew mine would light up long before tonight.
This… thing between them was now undeniable, but that didn't mean she was going to make it easy. She still couldn't be certain about his intentions. Even if her instincts were correct, she was in no position to decide whether she should actually indulge them.
Biting her lip, Hermione forced herself to focus. "Is that all you brought?"
Draco looked like he'd already won and the game hadn't even started.
"I also brought breakfast."
Her frown deepened. That would solve almost all of her problems. She wasn't one to turn down a free meal.
"What kind of breakfast?"
"Meet me in your kitchen to find out."
The coffee alone was enough to loosen Hermione's scowl, ease her throbbing headache, and stop her from feeling like she'd been dragged by the Knight Bus. The meal had only lifted her mood further. By the time she cleared the table, Hermione felt downright pleasant, and only mildly irritated by Draco's responsibility for their current predicament, as well as his general presence.
"Right. Well, I'm sure you have other plans for your day, but thanks for the—"
"Is that Granger-speak for asking me what I'm doing today?" Before she could argue, Draco placed his cup on the table. "I'm quite busy, of course, but I'm willing to make an exception."
Once again, she found herself squinting at him. "You're flirting."
"I am." Draco stood and approached her. His steps were slow, purposeful, as if he knew exactly how her body would react to his proximity. "Any problems with that?"
She hoped the way the air had just left her lungs somehow passed as disapproval.
"You really are an arrogant prat, Malfoy."
"Hasn't made you want me any less." He placed both hands on the counter on either side of her, loosely trapping her in place. "I'm done pretending now that I know for certain that you do."
Hermione dropped the dish she was holding. By some miracle, it didn't break.
"All you have to do is ask, Granger." Draco looked amused by how flustered she was. "Not right now, of course. I'll let you think on it, but another time…"
"Who's to say I would even consider it another time?" She would, she had, but he didn't need to know that.
His eyes glimmered, and only then did she realise exactly what she'd just said.
"Impatient, are w—"
"Or right now," she said hotly. "For all you know, I—"
"I seem to remember you asking if I was going to take you home."
"That is not what I said." Well, not exactly…
"'Are you going to ask me to go home with you?'" The way he mocked her voice, high-pitched and breathy, sent heat up her neck.
"Maybe I was only interested because I was too pissed to think about what a terrible idea it would be."
"Bullshit, Granger. The confirmation was nice, but I don't need a pendant to gauge your interest right now. Just like you don't need one to know that I wouldn't be opposed in the slightest."
Hermione had her excuses lined up. "We happen to work together on projects from time to time."
"I happen to not give a fuck." Draco stepped closer, pressing her back harder against the edge of the counter, and like last night, Hermione automatically tilted her head. "Come over tonight."
She tried to look away just as Draco caught her chin with his finger, swiping his thumb across her lips twice. She shuddered. Then he lowered his mouth to hers, close enough that their lips brushed when he murmured his next words.
"Looks like you need convincing."
Draco's kiss was quick and deep, hard but undemanding. A prologue to the story of all the delicious things he wanted to do with her. To her. Her legs were weak as she registered the familiar pressure of his body against hers.
He swallowed her sharp inhale when his hand found its way to her hip. Every nerve ending tingled with anticipation.
Hermione slid a hand around the nape of his neck and drew herself up to her tiptoes.
She needed him closer.
She needed more.
Relenting to every forbidden thought she'd ever had, an overwhelming heat raced through her veins. Draco's mouth moved over hers with the same confidence she found in every move he made— when scratching his jaw, or reclining in his seat. When holding the lift doors open for her at the Ministry.
A quick hint of tongue brushed against hers before he retreated. And just as Hermione began to chase the sensation, he ghosted his lips along her jaw, mouthing the delicate skin beneath her ear.
"Think it over."
His murmured invitation made her stomach clench as his hands wandered up her sides, catching her shirt on the way up and exposing a strip of her skin to the cool air.
"My Floo will be open."
Smoothing her palms over her skirt for the fourth time in half as many minutes, Hermione took a deep breath.
This was fine. Completely fine.
She'd been to Draco's before, after all. Just last week she'd dropped off a small library for him to review for their interdepartmental project. But unlike last week, rather than setting her delivery on the table and leaving without a second thought, tonight there was a promise of… more.
Much more.
Hermione fought off the shiver slithering down her spine and grabbed a handful of Floo powder, tossing it into the flames before she could talk herself out of it.
Draco's flat looked the same—sleek lines, clean surfaces, and far more light than she ever would have associated with his home—but everything felt different. The very air was charged. Each breath she took was weighted with purpose.
Her lips still tingled with the enticement that had lured her there.
Awareness pricked her skin.
"Granger."
It was utterly ridiculous the reaction a single word could elicit. She spun to find Draco, whose appearance left little to the imagination. His trousers hung low on his hips and the broad expanse of his chest was entirely bare.
Hermione, for a single second, forgot how to breathe.
But he didn't give her the opportunity to overthink. He closed the distance between them and feathered his fingers along the line of her jaw before covering her lips with his. Heat and want flooded her body.
It was exhilarating.
Hermione slid her palms up his chest, taking the time to feel every dip and line of the marks that littered his chest. Momentos of moments long past had carved him into the shape of the man he had become. And that man, the one whose tongue teased hers with such sinful eagerness only had one clear goal for the evening.
All too willing, she joined him in the pursuit as his firm fingers skated along the hem of her skirt, tracing up over the smooth, bare skin of her hip.
Draco's groan rumbled against her lips.
"No knickers tonight?"
"No need." Hermione gave him a heated look. "Right?"
Kissing her again, a deep trade of teeth and tongues, he pulled the very air from her lungs like his life depended on it. Long, lean fingers slid along the slick line of her cunt and Hermione rocked into the touch, consumed by a dizzying sense of want. Draco swallowed her ragged gasp, tracing teasing circles around her aching clit, but not quite touching it.
It was too much, yet not enough.
Just enough to fan the flames of her desire without fueling them for more than fleeting seconds at a time.
"Please."
The smirk against her lips was indicative of just how much he appreciated her begging, but then he acquiesced, charting a path down the column of her neck.
Licking. Biting. Lavishing the thin skin of her throat.
Hermione bit her lip and stifled a moan when he sucked a bruise into the dip of her shoulder, sinking his teeth in just enough to find that shaky line between pleasure and pain as his finger slipped into her already soaked core. Her legs instantly buckled. She ground against his hand—once, twice—and squeezed her eyes shut tight, grabbing hold of any part of him she could reach.
"Like this?" He breathed the question against her skin.
"Yes."
If Hermione had thought his hands were tempting before, it was nothing compared to the reality of him actually touching her. She knew she'd never be able to look at them again without thinking of this. Now she knew exactly how it felt to have one—then two—of those fingers pressed inside of her, teasing depths she could never hope to reach on her own. It wasn't fast or frantic, nor slow and languid. Draco set a pace all his own, fluid in every movement, working his fingers in and out of her with an exacting sort of precision.
Hermione would forever have to live with the confirmation that Draco was, as she'd suspected, trained, practised, and masterful in the art of seduction. Something that had sparked annoyance before.
But not now.
With one hand gripping his hair and the other fisting the back of his shirt, her hips moved with an instinctual ease that matched the moans escaping her. And just as she began to feel the pressure of impending release, the urgent heat beginning to unfurl, the desperate want uncoiling—
He pulled his fingers away.
She almost cried out, panting through the frustration. "Why did—"
"Shh." Draco brought his hand to his lips and slid the soaked finger into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks as he licked it completely clean.
Her mouth went dry and she whimpered.
It probably should have been embarrassing, but she couldn't bring herself to summon even an ounce of shame.
"As tempting as the prospect of making you come on my fingers is, I have other plans for you."
Without a moment's hesitation, Draco led her through a massive room, fingers twisted around hers. It was nearing dark, and the large windows let in the evening light, casting long shadows across the polished wood floor.
"I'll give you a tour later."
Hermione might have laughed had she not seen the heat in his gaze. Instead, she bit her lip and kept up. For as large as his flat was, they reached his bedroom in no time at all. Not bothering with the door, she toed off her shoes and closed the gap between them, raising on the tips of her toes to capture his lips in a searing kiss.
There was no room in Hermione's thoughts and actions for any dissections of decency. Bold with every bit of confidence and need that had brought her here, she didn't hesitate seeking out what she wanted.
And Draco made it all too easy for her to take it.
Warm palms slipped under her shirt, pulling the fabric up until he had to break their kiss to remove it entirely. In a flurry of frantic hands and heated touches, they shed each piece of clothing as they made their way to the massive bed.
Hermione sat on the edge and scooted back. The look he gave her was nothing short of obscene as he followed her, licking his lips as he moved to settle beside her.
"Close your eyes."
A thin laugh puffed from between her lips as she did just that.
The decision didn't disappoint.
Every move Draco made was decadent. Without the use of her sight, the rest of her senses were heightened. She felt every touch with a vivid sense of clarity, heard each hitch in his breath when he traced her neck with his teeth and tongue.
She would have to cover the marks for days—weeks, probably.
The thought made her shiver.
He dipped lower, drawing the flat of his palm down the valley between her breasts, over her ribs, and lower still until he reached her centre. Despite automatically opening her legs, she blushed when he pushed two fingers between her soaked folds, sinking them into her as though they were made to fit the exact shape of her cunt.
"Do you have any idea how incredible you taste?"
Hermione could barely think, much less answer any question.
"For as mouthy as you always are, I expected you to be a bit more vocal."
Her eyes snapped open, a retort poised on the tip of her tongue, but then he curled his fingers inside of her and any argument she might have had was replaced with a moan.
"Tell me what you want."
No one had ever asked quite like that, and Hermione tried to focus on the answer as his fingers pumped into her, curling and uncurling. She wasn't about to lose her reputation as a quick study despite Draco driving her half-crazed with lust.
"I want you. You-Your fingers and your h-hands." She paused on a gasp when he pressed the heel of his palm against her oversensitive clit. "Your mouth and your-your—"
"Say it."
"Your cock."
"Good girl."
Her lips parted and legs trembled as his words washed over her, coiling deep in her belly.
The curl of his smirk was annoyingly attractive, but before she could muster a retort, he was purring his praise against her lips and slipping his tongue in her mouth. She promptly lost the ability to string together another sentence.
"Should have known you like that. Want me to tell you how good you are, Granger?" He nipped her lips, then kissed her hard. "Tell you how fucking hard I get listening to your little moans? Do you want to be good for me? Be my good girl?"
A whine worked its way up her throat, lashes fluttering as she surrendered to pure sensation. Draco kept twisting his fingers, pumping them in and out with a steady pressure that brought her to the edge.
"Y-yes." The word tripped into a groan when his lips wrapped around her nipple, and a tug of his teeth made her thighs tense. "Yes, please."
A rumble of approval shot sparks down her spine. She clenched around his fingers just as—
Hermione's eyes shot open when he pulled his fingers out. Why had he—
"Lick."
Hermione blinked once, twice.
She stilled, her gaze flitting between his darkened pupils and the drenched fingers at her lips.
She slowly opened her mouth.
Filthy was the only word to describe the drag of his wet fingers over her lips, but she swiped her tongue along them anyway, never breaking his gaze. Draco moaned, and before she could process exactly what was happening, he was settling between her legs, pulling her thighs open wide, and sucking on her throbbing clit—hard.
Hermione whimpered when his fingers found purchase inside of her again. There was no hope of suppressing her sobs as he feasted on her cunt, stroking her insides with every Galleon he was worth.
Soft strands of silky hair slid between her fingers, and when she finally twisted them in her grip, his groan vibrated through her core. She arched her hips, grinding against his mouth in an unspoken demand for more.
If earlier was the prologue, this was the end of the first act.
Her climax hit with a physical force.
Legs shaking, toes curled, heart pounding, she moaned her release. Draco was all too happy to see her through it, holding her in place and lavishing her core with slow, lascivious licks as she came down.
Hermione's breath was laboured as her senses returned to her.
The silence that followed was broken when she laughed in cathartic relief. "I'm so fucked."
"Not yet."
She lifted her head a fraction of an inch, watching as Draco raised his head from between her thighs and licked his lips. A wave of arousal made her stomach tense, fighting against the steady thrum of bliss pulsing through her veins.
In a lazy ascent back to her lips, he kissed a trail up her stomach, dragging his tongue along the curve of her breast before sucking a hardened nipple in his mouth and pinching the other. Then he switched.
As it turned out, she was far from sated. When Hermione felt him against her leg, hard and ready, the shock of anticipation that fluttered in her stomach was only made worse by Draco mumbling praises against her overheated skin. He took his time reclaiming her lips, and she felt her core pulse at the taste of her own release.
"Where do you want me?" Draco gently bit her lip and pulled. "You choose."
It ended up being the easiest decision of the night.
Hermione's hands were steady as she pushed him onto his back, and her movements were decisive as she hooked a leg over him, straddling his hips. Draco's smugness shifted into intrigue, a want in his expression that mirrored her own. She'd felt him before, but the heat of his cock pressed against her sopping slit was a sensation all its own. It defied definition. A feeling so primal she didn't care to give it a name.
Want gave way to need, and the urge to discover the exact stretch of him inside of her was undeniable.
Overwhelming.
Desperate.
Rocking her hips, she focused on the slide of his length between the lips of her cunt, but it wasn't enough—not nearly enough. She finally lifted herself up, almost completely off of him, but was stopped by steady fingers pressing bruises into the swell of her hips.
"Fuck."
It was the only word that came to mind as she finally, finally lowered herself onto his cock. Hermione's eyes were locked on him, watching Draco grit his teeth as he guided her movements. The feel was both incredible and agonising as she settled, breathless and shaking, familiarising herself with the sensation of being impossibly full.
"Granger, if you don't fucking move—"
"Shh."
Leaning down, pressing herself flat against his chest, Hermione relished in the stretch of the new position.
If kissing Draco was an experience, kissing him while his cock impatiently twitched inside of her was a revelation.
And they hadn't even moved yet.
The first time Hermione rolled her hips, they both gasped, trying to draw it out, but there was no turning back. They moved together, finding a steady rhythm—not fast or frantic, but the tension built like a gathering storm, driving her towards the edge of reason.
She wasn't going to last long.
Draco let her set the pace, his grip easing before he trailed a hand up the line of her spine. She shuddered through a moan when his hand curled over the top of her shoulder and his hips titled just enough to—
"You feel fucking divine." He bit her bottom lip as he thrust hard, and every rational word or thought fled her brain, a whine pouring from her mouth into his.
Just shy of pain, it was well within the realm of pleasure.
For all the words Hermione knew, all the textbooks she'd read and all the knowledge housed in her brain, she could not come up with a single thing to say.
Moving in earnest, she surrendered to the natural rhythm of her hips as she rose and fell along the length of his cock. She focused on the heavy drag of him inside of her, on him pushing against her inner walls, on him stretching her open before pulling out and doing it all over again.
There was nothing else in that moment.
Nothing but slices of sounds and sucked-in breaths.
Nothing but the feeling of him inside of her.
Nothing but them.
She was close, too close.
Hermione leaned back, pushing her palms flat against his chest and curving her nails into his skin. Heaving in lungfuls of air, her hips slowed.
She wanted to make this last.
Their eyes met, and she afforded herself the opportunity to just look..
Hair disheveled. Eyes half-lidded. Lips parted. A flush stained the high of his cheeks.
It was a sight to behold, and she tucked it away.
Another visual added to the growing album of images of Draco Malfoy she would never forget.
As she picked up the pace again, words like tight and wet and good were stamped against her skin and sealed with searing kisses. His steady stream of praise sank into the very marrow of her bones.
The clench of Draco's jaw was enough for her to know he was close.
Good.
So was she.
With a renewed sense of urgency, Hermione rocked against him, her movements less fluid the higher she climbed. Draco's hands found her hips again, the bite of his fingertips sending sparks to her core with the bruising pressure on the already tender skin.
"Let me."
With a nod, Hermione let her head fall forward, her eyes slipping shut as she let Draco manoeuvre her body and bend her to his will. He held her firm, snapping his hips almost painfully against hers again and again and again. She was dangerously close to coming but she wanted him to find his end first. Her hands fell to cup her breasts, squeezing and pinching the peaks of her nipples until she heard him suck in a harsh breath.
"Fuck." His hips stuttered then stilled. "Fuck."
Release washed over her in waves.
The first was sharp, like something broke inside of her as she felt his come coat the inside of her fluttering walls.
The second was softer, a warmth that curled the tips of her toes.
And the last dragged her under, weakening her knees until she fell forward against the hard plane of Draco's chest.
His arms were warm and steady as he held her close, panting into her hair. Neither could speak, but the silence was comfortable. Far more than she would have imagined.
In the hazy afterglow of their coupling, it felt natural for his sweaty skin to slide against hers, and Hermione followed the instinct, meeting his lips in a slow, languid kiss.
It was easy, really, to let her eyes drift shut as she burrowed in his embrace.
She fell asleep with the memory of lips pressed against her temple.
Hermione took a slow sip of her drink as she waited.
Cabernet Franc Icewine.
Sweet and smooth.
With a tight frown, she looked around again. Gods, she still hated parties.
The noise, the people, and the music hadn't grown on her a bit. In her scan of the room, she spotted Blaise and Ginny pressed together dancing, but she was looking for something else—
Someone else.
"Back so soon, Granger?"
She would know that voice anywhere.
"Excellent choice in wine this time." Draco ordered a Firewhisky neat and sat on the stool next to her. He noted her drink with a slight tilt of his head. "Is that the wine I—"
"It is." Hermione bit back a smile. "I'm afraid I've developed a bit of a… taste for it."
"Oh?" An intrigued brow rose. "Is that all you've developed a taste for?"
"It would seem I've also become quite fond of other things as well."
Draco smiled, the steady pulse of his charmed pendant growing frantic as she stepped into him, and Hermione didn't need to look at hers to know it was doing the same.
END