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Hermione’s day had been one train wreck after another. A series of irritating and inconvenient events.
So when she apparated into her cold apartment, all she wanted was to drink several mugs of chamomile tea, crawl under a blanket, and have her day be over.
The striking blond man, clad in full black, sitting on her couch told her that her plans for the night had just flown out the window. One of his hands was draped carelessly over the low back of the couch, the other one curled around a glass of what looked like the good whiskey that Hermione had intended to save for a special occasion. To the untrained eye, he looked lazy, but she could see how attentively his eyes tracked her movement.
“Draco,” she sighed out, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and exasperation, “whatever it is, can’t it wait?”
“No my darling,” he drawled, eyes intent on her face, “it can’t wait.”
She and Draco Malfoy had been dating for four months now. Their romance had taken both themselves and the wizarding world by surprise.
They had been forced together because of work. She had been assigned as the legal advocate for most of the cases he closed as an Auror. That led to late nights, which led to drinks after work, which led to Draco pulling her hair as she went down on him in the alley behind the Leaky Caldron.
He had insisted on taking her on a proper date after that, to prove he could be a gentleman.
The date had ended with his hands down her knickers under the tablecloth, her biting her lip to keep from making noise as she came around his fingers. After dinner he had roughly fucked her up against the wall outside her flat, his hand over her mouth, her praying none of her neighbors would open their doors at that moment.
They hadn’t put a label in it yet, both gun-shy and too proud to make the first move, but Draco had full access to her flat and vice versa. He didn’t tend to come to her place, being a creature of habit. Instead most days she would go to his flat after work for dinner.
Or sometimes just for dick.
Mostly just for dick.
So seeing her aristocratic maybe-boyfriend, definite-hookup-buddy lounging on her threadbare second-hand couch was a surprise. Normally it would be a pleasant surprise. But after the day she had, she was not up for the intensity that she could see behind his coiled muscles. He looked like a predator ready to spring and devour his prey.
“Draco—” she bit out, her eyes flicking to the exits, trying to ascertain if she could escape. If she beat a hasty retreat, maybe to the kitchen to make tea, she could escape from his hungry gaze.
But even as her conscious brain contemplated escape, her body grew warm and heavy with the familiar intoxication of his presence.
“No darling, sit.” His tone brokered no argument. She sat in her favorite armchair, the floral patterned one she liked to curl up and read in.
He just looked at her for a minute, and she began to flush under his keen observation.
She couldn’t stand the silence for very long.
“Draco, it’s been a long day—”
“I know.”
Silence reigned again.
“I was just going to heat up some water for tea…” she put a hand on the armrest of the armchair, intending to lever herself up and go to the kitchen.
“No, my darling. I’m going to up pull up that sensible skirt of yours, tear off your knickers, bend you over this godawful couch, and fuck you until you see stars,” said Draco, setting his glass down on a nearby side table and rolling up his sleeves.
Hermione’s mouth went dry and she found herself nodding, held in place by the weight of his gaze, halfway out of her chair.
Draco stood and prowled towards her. She felt like a bunny watching a wolf stalk towards her, heart beating wildly, muscles seemingly frozen, waiting to be pounced on.
He came to stand in from of her and pulled her up the rest of the way. His hands wrapped around his hips and he maneuvered her so that she was standing by one end of her couch. He was right. It was ugly. It had been a hand me down from Harry that she had accepted when she was desperate to furnish her apartment on the cheap.
Spinning her roughly, he turned her around so that her back was to her front. One of his large hands on her upper back, he pushed her down so that she was leaning over the arm of the couch, just like he had promised. The fabric, worn down by decades of use was rough on her palms.
Both of his hands went to the hem of her skirt and he pulled it up. The motion was not gentle and she felt his nails follow the path of her skirt. She was sure that he was leaving thin red trails up her thighs.
In an impressive display of wandless magic, he used a cutting spell on both of the side seams of her knickers. She twisted behind her to complain about the wanton destruction of her underwear, but before she could articulate anything, two of his fingers were at her slit, replacing her complaint with a low keen in the back of her throat.
The sound of his belt buckle and the swish of leather across the expensive material of his slacks filled up the room and she just barely kept from pressing back into him. She knew from experience that he liked to control the pace and her trying to encourage it along only made him delay more, made him tease her more.
Something hot and hard pressed against her folds and bit her lip to keep from begging.
He leaned down so that he was close enough so that she felt his breath on her, his voice warm on her neck. “I”m going to fuck you and I’m going to fill you up. Then we’re going to go to dinner with my cum inside of you, dripping out of you, so that the only thing you’ll be able to think of is me inside of you. Then when we get home I’m going to fill you all over again.”
Hermione whimpered and he pressed into her, using one hand to guide himself in, the other lacing through her hair, rough, just the way she loved it.
His pounding lacked finesse, but she was wet and ready. That, combined with the steady pulling sensation on her hair and how his hand curled possessively around her hip, tight enough to bring bruises, brought her halfway to the edge.
He used his hand in her hair to pull her up so that her back was flush against his chest, still pushing into her at a punishing pace.
“You’re so hot for it, aren’t you? Always so wet for me, my perfect, darling cockslut.”
“Please,” it was early in the night to be begging but his words, breathed out in hot pants across her neck made her want it, want him even more. “Please, Draco—”
The hand on her hip moved to touch them where they were joined. He dragged some of their combined slick up to her clit and began circling around it with messy strokes.
“You just love the idea of walking around with me in you, don’t you? The idea of my cum running down your thighs as we sit down for a nice dinner at a—fuck—at a respectable restaurant. Knowing that you’re mine. Mine to mark. Mine to fill.”
“Fuck, Draco. I’m—fuckfuckfuck—close!” she moaned out, feeling her core begin to tighten around his hard cock driving in and out of her.
“You’re going to come for me, like the good pet you are and then I’m going to fill you up.”
His words, combined with the pressure on her clit and the new angle made her shudder. Her entire world narrowed to how he felt and she felt herself spasm around him. The orgasm made her back arch and she heard herself babbling a mixture of curses and exaltations to deities and to Draco.
He bent her back over the arm of the couch, both hands going to hold her hips hard. His thrusts became more erratic and she felt him pulse his release into her. He groaned and turned his face into her neck, fastening his teeth around her pulse point and biting down hard.
The pain made her yelp and tense around his softening cock. His tongue smoothed over the mark, as if in apology. He pulled back and pressed a kiss under her ear, and then another over the mark he had made. The loss of him made her feel empty and so, so wet.
He turned her around and picked her up, perching her on the arm of the couch, and stepping between her legs. She was held steady in the cage of his arms and he kissed the crown of her head, her curls gone frizzy with sweat and exertion.
“You’ve been such a good girl for me, such a good little cockslut” cooed Draco, pulling back a step and admiring her. He smoothed a hand down her flank that was damp with sweat. His hand settled with his fingertips just hovering above her clit that was still throbbing in time to her heartbeat. He gave it one gentle swipe and Hermione arched away, still sensitive.
Draco clucked his tongue. “No, no Hermione,” he said, his tone chastising. “I say when we’re done, darling.”
His fingers more firmly circled her clit and her core spasmed around nothing, pushing out a trickle of his spend. It was overwhelming and her hypersensitivity made his touch hurt but in a sweet way that made her want more. She keened, high in her throat, wanting to beg for more but unable to form the words.
Draco's eyes were riveted between her legs and a possessive look tore across his face.
“Darling, you’re spilling what I gave you, now we can’t have that.” His fingers left her clit and she wanted to cry. But then they were at her entrance, pushing the trickle of cum that had escaped her back inside. Her breath got caught in her throat and she choked at the sensation.
He pulled back, color high slashes on his pale cheeks. He pulled down her skirt and kissed her with an intensity she could only describe as ferocious.
He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, a sharp, smug grin on his face, “I think I promised you dinner. Now, why don’t we go have a nice night out.”