here we lie, waiting for something to startle
to shake us from gravity's pull
and so sleeping hours are through
what can we do?
Hermione stared at the paper clutched in her hand, eyes wide with disbelief. Impossible, she told herself as she carried on reading. The colour drained from her face as she read the last paragraph of the letter from her husband’s solicitors, her mind quickly drawing conclusions that she didn’t want to draw, but which logic and reason insisted were true.
There was a sharp, sudden pain in her chest as she realized all too well what her husband of six months had done: He had stolen from her, and he had lied to her.
The letter from the solicitors confirmed it.
The rage she felt as all these thoughts coalesced and formed into one single, overriding thought — he had betrayed her — pounded in her blood. The letter in her hand fluttered to the floor as Hermione unclenched her fist. She glanced around her husband’s office. She had spent a good half hour trying to create a romantic atmosphere: The lights in the room were dimmed, flowers were artfully scattered across the carpeted floor, and in place of the low coffee table that usually dominated the space in front of her husband’s desk there now stood a small, circular table topped with a snowy white cloth with place settings for two. A bottle of wine stood proudly in the middle, waiting to be uncorked.
She stared unseeingly at the candles she had set about in the room, their glow now sinister as opposed to the romantic atmosphere she had wanted to create.
It was their six-month wedding anniversary, and Hermione had wanted — no, she had needed — to finally let her husband know that she wanted more out of their marriage of convenience. He had been dropping hints the past two months that he wanted more out of their relationship, and she was finally able to admit that she had fallen in love with him.
It was not something she had expected, not with how their marriage had come about. She’d had no illusions as it had been a business arrangement on both their parts — his money in exchange for her good name — but he had told her from the start that he would treat their arrangement as a true marriage. Despite the cold-blooded nature of their transaction, she had been disarmed by that statement. His actions throughout their marriage thus far had only emphasised his sincerity in that aspect.
She’d had the wool pulled over her eyes, been lulled into a false sense of security.
It had happened over time. She had started to feel affection for him. It was hard not to; he had seduced her — intellectually and physically — time and time again. The days spent getting to know each other: the conversations, the smiles exchanged, soft, swift kisses stolen whenever she’d least expected it.
And then there were the nights. She had been shy at first, not knowing how to deal with sex in what had seemed a mere business transaction, but the way he’d touched her and kissed her had seemed to suggest he cherished her. His desire for her had seemed real. Passionate interludes spent in their bed where he had done all sorts of delicious things to her body, claiming he wanted to prove to her that he would hold steadfast to his promise of being true to his marital vows to her, had chipped away at her initial inhibitions, making her as hungry for him as he was for her. The nights had been even better than the days.
Her fists clenched at her sides as her heart beat a quick thump-thump-thump in her chest. Her breathing accelerated as she recalled how he had seemed so keen on knowing her interests, even to the point of insisting he work with her in her potions company.
Fool that she was, she had agreed.
They’d even discussed expanding the business, with him being in charge of the financial affairs of the company.
The metaphorical wool had been viciously pulled off from her eyes with the solicitors’ letter.
Now she knew why.
the sorry conclusion, the low dirty war, it happened before you came to
but this is solution, and this is amends
the joke always tends to come true
Seven months earlier
Hermione Granger bit her lip as she mulled over what Malfoy had proposed not two minutes before. Trying to buy time, she re-read the notice in her hands: the fount of all her problems. She was trying to keep her emotions in check and it took an immense amount of effort to not break down and cry.
Especially with her audience of one sitting across from her looking too bright, too sharp, too angular and too smug with his perfectly groomed, shiny blond not-one-strand-out-of-place hair and pointy chin. She had to quell the urge to throw her coffee and her cup at him just to shake his arrogant composure.
But nothing, nothing could have prepared her for what he had just proposed.
Marry me, Granger, and you get to keep your precious company.
Her company, consisting of a small potions laboratory cum brewery tucked behind her apothecary, was one of only two that had recently managed to come up with new or improved potions to alleviate the effect of certain Dark curses. Though it was still in its research stage, Hermione felt that the potion she was working on could potentially block the effects of the Imperius.
Hermione was very proud of the fact that she had managed her breakthroughs on a lower budget than expected by utilising Muggle medical technology and research. Being brought up by dentists had exposed her to a comprehensive and diverse network of Muggle medical practitioners and, most importantly, information and resources. She was finally in the black after almost three years. It had taken her just that little bit longer than she had initially projected, but her business was starting to pay for itself. And she could finally contemplate paying off some of the shareholders’ loan she, or rather, her company, had taken from her hitherto silent partner.
Hitherto silent because she had always assumed that the other shareholder, Greater Investments Ltd, was purely a wizarding equivalent of the Muggle private equity investor with no interest in how she ran the business.
In fact, its representative, Mister William Scroggs, had indicated as much during their three years together. The investor, he had often informed her, was only interested in profits, or rather, in her case, future profits. They had carried out the necessary due diligence on her company, her technology and her market strategy and were fully convinced of her ability to show profits within the projected timeline.
There had been one sticking point to the entire venture: She had needed more funds to expand her laboratory and to equip it without giving up control of the company. Mister Scroggs had proposed a shareholders’ loan from Greater Investments in addition to their becoming a shareholder. It was a welcome proposition: She would continue to be the major shareholder, and there would be extra money for the company.
She had readily agreed, though she was rather concerned about granting a call option to Greater Investments for the duration of the loan. It allowed them the right to require that she sell all or part of her shares to them if she committed a breach of the contract.
At that time, her concerns were assuaged by Mister Scroggs, and she herself had read through the agreement many times: There was no hidden catch, no other security was required for the loan and repayments would be deferred until such time as the company started making profits.
Within the agreed and contracted time of two years.
She, Hermione Granger, had done the unthinkable. She had defaulted on her contractual obligations.
And now the Devil had come to collect his due.
Or rather, Mister Scroggs — as a representative of his client, the investor — had, three days ago, sent her notice of his client’s decision to buy out her company. They were enforcing the call option. Unless she came up with a whole year’s worth of repayments plus interest within the next seventeen days, Hermione would be forced to sell all her shares to Greater Investments. All her hard work, her discoveries — everything — would belong to someone other than her.
Hermione stared at Malfoy, feeling more upset as the seconds ticked by.
“Granger, do you understand what I’m saying?” Malfoy asked, cocking his head and looking at her as if he wondered whether she had a brain, or at least one that was fully functioning.
Hermione shook her head, wondering if she was dreaming.
Or in the midst of a nightmare.
“You’re saying you’re willing to pay off the arrears I owe to Greater Investments.” Hermione could hear the disbelief in her tone but felt it was justified; Malfoy’s proposal was preposterous.
He arched an eyebrow. “I’m saying I’ll pay off the entire loan plus interest.” He paused and then said, “Provided, of course, you agree to my terms.”
Hermione shook her head again. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” she said flatly, trying to keep her voice and her heartbeat steady. Motive. There must be some motive behind proposing this ludicrous idea. “If I’m not mistaken,” Hermione said as she flipped furiously through the agreement, “I have the right to remedy the default in question.”
Malfoy acknowledged that point with a nod of his head. He watched her warily. “Yes, you do. But I doubt you can come up with one whole year’s worth of repayments plus interest in just seventeen days’ time.”
Hermione felt her stomach drop to her toes. Dammit! Hermione slumped in her seat. There was no way out. Even if she did sell all her shares to Greater Investments, she was contractually bound by a non-compete clause. She couldn’t open a similar business or even join a competitor.
Malfoy smirked, as if sensing victory. “I heard from Pansy that you’ll do almost anything to keep your company.”
The words Not if it means marrying you almost left her lips, but Hermione kept silent, though she did shudder inwardly at the thought of being married to Draco Malfoy. He was not an ugly man, and if she were to be objective and honest, she would say he was quite attractive. What she objected to was spending the rest of her life with a man who, quite frankly, had her backed into a corner and was obviously enjoying the fact that he had the upper hand. And one who was bending her to his will. Hermione never did like being pushed around.
Not for the first time, Hermione wished Harry had kept her secrets instead of opening his big mouth to his fiancée. Everyone knew Pansy Parkinson blabbed all to her long-time friend, Draco Malfoy. She opened her mouth, but he forestalled what she was going to say by holding up his hand and stating crisply, “Gringotts rejected your loan application.”
Fantasies of shoving a big Quaffle down Harry’s throat ran through her mind as she scowled at Malfoy. She would deal with Harry later. A well-aimed hex at an intimate spot ought to teach him, she thought grimly.
He raised an eyebrow in response. “What I’m proposing is simple. I have you what you need. You have what I want.”
“A potions company?” she asked, intending the words to come out flippant, though her wariness at Malfoy’s offer made them sound more confused than anything else. She seemed to be riding on a rollercoaster, one that didn’t want to stop anytime soon.
He sighed, looking almost disappointed at her answer. “Granger, if it hasn’t escaped your notice, while we Malfoys may have kept our fortune, our name is still dirt in this community,” he stated brusquely. For a moment, a strange look — an expression akin to intense need — flashed across Malfoy’s features. “You. I want you.”
She stared at him, shocked. The words were plainly and bluntly stated, but to Hermione, their sexual connotations seemed to hover in the air around them.
What on earth —
She shook her head as she digested his words. Coming from any other male, it would have been a sexually-laden statement, but the idea of Malfoy wanting her was laughable. It was not that she thought herself undesirable; it was just that she believed herself to be undesirable to him. Whilst they were now cordial in their interactions — there was no choice since Harry and Pansy had started dating and both had agreed early on that bodily injuries and hexes would not have gone down well with their friends — Malfoy never treated her with anything other than a cool civility. And over the past few months, she realised that he kept stealing glances at her, and that his face would almost inevitably pull into something resembling a frown: lips compressed, brow furrowed. It was as though he was displeased by her.
So, yes, it was quite improbable that Malfoy felt anything for her other than sufferance. Certainly not desire! And yet, that intense look on his face just as he’d said those words, as if —
She stared searchingly at Malfoy; his features were smooth, no sign of his emotions visible. It was as if he’d said nothing of import. Was she imagining things?
“I— I don’t understand why you’re doing this. Is this some kind of joke?” She frowned at him. “I don’t believe for a second that you want me,” she cried out, frustration getting the better of her.
Malfoy made an impatient sound. He frowned at her, his lips thinning in displeasure. “You’re obviously not paying attention, Granger,” he said curtly. “If you agree to marry me, I’ll pay off your loan.” He stared at her as she digested his words. “You still don’t get it, do you?” He sounded disgusted. “You’re a war hero, Granger. The wizarding world thinks you’re the next best thing after Potty, even better than Potty’s red-haired, useless appendage.” He sneered at her.
Before she could object to his horribly rude comment, he waved his hand imperiously at her again. Irritating little prat, she thought angrily.
The rational part of her now understood the proposed transaction clearly enough. Her pride, though, was another matter. It galled her to have to accept help from the one man who clearly thought she was getting the better end of the deal.
As though he had heard her thoughts, Malfoy leaned forward. “Think of it as a marriage of convenience, Granger,” he continued, though in a softer tone. “By aligning yourself with me, I get the benefit of your reputation. Your reputation will help the Malfoys, and my money will help you keep your company.”
With that sentence — that tone of his voice — that small secret part of her, the one that kept pulling her mind in improbable directions, wondered if there were something more to be gained from this. Unable to help herself, Hermione asked, “What do I get out of it?” She groaned inwardly. I did not just ask that. What on earth am I doing?Hermione gripped the arms of her chair tightly, willing her mouth shut. I am not that desperate, I am not that desperate. It would be her mantra, she decided firmly, though deep down in the pit of her stomach she knew Malfoy’s proposal was the only viable option.
“I beg your pardon?” A pale blond eyebrow rose; the set of his face was slightly amused.
Hermione blushed. “I meant to say— That is, what— How do we— I mean …” She trailed off, unsure of what to say. She cringed and wondered silently: Am I that desperate for the money? Yes. Yes, I am. I’m even willing to sell myself to Malfoy to save my company. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Hermione knew the consequences. She would lose her beloved company. All her hard work, her hours of research, would be for naught.
“Always to the point, eh, Granger?” Malfoy asked sarcastically. His pale grey eyes pinned her to her seat; he said in all seriousness, “Besides the money to keep your business afloat, you get the Malfoy name.”
She rallied and sneered at him for good measure. “I thought you just said the Malfoy name was dirt in our world?”
He glared at her and snapped, “Trying to salvage your pride, Granger?”
She winced as his jab hit dead centre.
“Yes,” he said tightly, “but when you’re married to me, rest assured that public opinion will change.” He narrowed his eyes at her again.
“I keep all my shares in the company,” she stated baldly. If she was giving in, she wanted to make sure she got the best deal out of it.
“Ah, negotiation.” A flash of what looked like triumph gleamed in Malfoy’s grey eyes. “I take it you agree to my proposal?”
Gathering her courage, she nodded sharply. “I expect fidelity in marriage,” she blurted out. Good God, I really am going to go through with this.
He nodded, looking satisfied and almost pleased with himself.
Hermione was instantly wary.
“As do I,” Draco concurred.” No Malfoy has ever divorced his wife. It will be a lifetime commitment for the both of us.” He cleared his throat. “If you agree to my proposition, it will be a real marriage between us, Granger.”
She stared at his hand, outstretched above her desk, palm facing up, the fingers long and tapered.
He nodded, indicating she take it.
“If you agree, we will be husband and wife in all respects. I will—” He paused, looking uncomfortable, but then continued steadily in a low voice. “I know this is a business transaction, a marriage of convenience, if you will. However, I will do my best to ensure that it will be a beneficial arrangement for the both of us, in every way.”
Hermione blushed at that implication. Draco’s hand was still out there, waiting for her.
“As my wife, you will not want for anything. You have my word on it.”
take this palm, follow the lines here are written
tracing the veins and the shapes
and feel your fingers falling slack and all folding back
this cocoon, caught in vesuvius' shadow
only the ashes remain
She didn’t hear the door opening, angry as she was.
“What’s this?” Her husband’s amused voice broke into her reverie. She heard him striding towards her and felt the touch of his hand on her back as he tugged her around to face him. He smiled easily at her and for a second, Hermione forgot how angry and hurt she was. Draco was a man who rarely smiled, preferring to sneer or smirk depending on the occasion, but she had come to realize he smiled for her.
She looked away.
“Hermione?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice.
She mentally sifted through the information her lawyers had previously given her on Greater Investments Ltd. It was wholly owned by Maples Investment Funds Ltd, which was in turn owned by three individuals. There was no mention of a Malfoy anywhere.
“You can’t be the owner of Greater Investments Ltd,” she stated in what she hoped was a calm, business-like voice, carefully avoiding looking at him and instead staring at the teacup sitting at the edge of his desk. There was some tea left in it and she suspected it was cold; it wouldn’t scald or mar Draco for life if she gave in to temptation and threw it at him in anger, but at least it would give her some satisfaction. Temptation, she thought to herself woefully, is everywhere.
She looked up to see him arching an eyebrow. His hands dropped away from her.
“What are you talking about?” he asked with no inflection, his face carefully blank.
She hated the fact that he was able to control himself when all she wanted was to shout and cry and demand answers.
“Do you or do you not own Greater Investments?” she asked again, anger lending a hard edge to her tone.
He pushed a hand through his hair. His mouth tightened. “You obviously believe I do.”
She almost gasped at the insolent reply. Instead, she clenched her jaw, took out her wand and flicked it at the letter from the solicitors. It rose up and flew straight at Draco, slapping against his chest.
His eyes narrowed as he plucked at the paper and scanned through it quickly. A dull flush began to creep up his cheeks.
“Well, do you deny it?” she demanded.
He kept silent.
She suddenly found it hard to breathe. She could hear her heart beating louder and louder and wondered how that could possibly be. Surely it was broken. It made no sense that it continued its ridiculously erratic thump-thump-thump rhythm.
He closed his eyes and said the words she feared hearing, but knew would come out eventually. “The day after you signed that loan with Greater Investments, I bought them out. Maples were already in negotiations with me prior to that.”
“Are you saying that you were the one behind this entire thing? Getting Greater Investments to buy into my company, putting out the loan?” Her eyes narrowed in anger. “Calling the default?”
Draco nodded slowly, not meeting her eyes. Hermione fought the urge to do him bodily harm, to make him feel as much pain as she did. The sudden jolt of agony that hit her the moment he’d confirmed her suspicions almost brought her to her knees.
“How could you?” she whispered.
He reached out, grasping her arm. “Hermione—” he began.
She wrenched her arm away. “Don’t touch me!” she cried furiously.
“What? Hermione, I can explain—” he started, reaching towards her again.
“No!” she all but screamed, taking two steps back.
Draco flinched, his hands falling back to his sides. The colour leached from his face, leaving it even paler than usual.
“You”— she pointed her wand at him —“orchestrated this whole thing! You needed my reputation to help pull your family out of the mess you’ve landed yourselves in, and the only way you could ensure I’d do it was to trick me.”
Draco remained stoically silent throughout, and that infuriated Hermione.
“You’ve been lying to me all this while, haven’t you?” she choked out.
He held out his hand to her, the gesture reminiscent of what he had done and said to disarm her all those months ago. “Hermione, when I said I wanted you— Hermione—”
She shook her head, refusing to listen to what he was saying, retreating even further. She’d thought that he had come to care for her, as she had him. She’d thought his actions had spoken loud and clear. Her heart twisted painfully and she unconsciously clutched at her chest. He had played her for a fool.
“If you’ll just listen—”
“How dare you?” she cried, Draco’s betrayal still churning in her stomach, making her nauseous. “How dare you assume I’ll listen? To more lies? Was it a lie when you told me that you wanted more out of our marriage, and that I made you happy? Do you lie when we make love—” She cut herself off on a gasp. “My God, what else have you done to me?” she demanded, horrified as her mind furiously replayed the intimacies they’d shared in their bedroom.
At her words, Draco’s face flushed dark red. “What have I done to you?” he replied in a near shout. “Damn you, I have loved you!” The words seemed to reverberate throughout his office.
Shocked to her bones, Hermione just stared. Draco was breathing heavily and seemed to be waiting for her to say something, but Hermione’s tongue felt as if it were tied in knots.
She must have kept silent for too long, for an expression of hurt flashed across Draco’s features before he said, “I see.”
He Disapparated with a loud pop!
and i waited there for you
why couldn't you?
command what is tried, what is true
without solution, with feet on the ground
it won't make a sound 'til you're through
so loosen your shoulderblades
this is your hour to make due
When she finally Apparated home after hours spent crying in her office, she found him standing with his back to the door, staring quietly out their bedroom window.
Her heart thumped painfully at the sight of him, and for one horrible moment, Hermione wondered if it were too late: too late for her to forgive him, too late for the both of them to make something out of their marriage.
Again, the words he’d said earlier played through her mind and she straightened her shoulders, determined to settle this once and for all.
“Draco,” she said softly.
He stiffened; she could see it from the sudden tensing of his back. He turned around and Hermione’s much-beleaguered heart leapt at the sight of his strained face and slightly reddened eyes. It looked as though she had not been the only one shedding tears over what had happened.
“Draco,” she said again, “we need to talk.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“What?” She hadn’t expected that and her heart thudded painfully in response.
“No, you need to listen. Please, Hermione.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think you know this, but I’ve always fancied you, despite the fact that it ran counter to everything I’ve been taught.” He blushed after he said that, but continued. “I thought when Pansy got together with Potter that maybe I could somehow get closer to you. Merlin knows we were forced to keep each other company countless times. We were always thrown together, but somehow, it just didn’t—” He stopped as if he couldn’t fully express what it was he wanted to say.
Hermione wanted to speak, but kept quiet when she noticed Draco frowning. After a second’s pause, he said, “When I heard that you needed the money for your company, I told myself this could finally be it. This was the way I could get closer to you. I doubted you would readily agree to accept any financial assistance from me, what with our history, so I approached the boys at Maples. You know the rest. I thought maybe, someday, I could tell you.” He paused. “When you couldn’t pay back the loan, the wildest idea took hold of me—I— I have no excuse for what I did, except that I thought, maybe, this would finally be my chance. I could, through all this, have the opportunity to be with you, and somehow hope that you’d finally get to know me.”
He stared at her, and Hermione was surprised to see the longing in his eyes. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you,” he said softly.
Hermione could feel her pulse beating. The air felt thick. And, slowly, she walked towards Draco.
“And I wasn’t lying when I said that you made me happy,” he whispered as she drew closer.
Hermione felt tears prickling her eyes.
“And I wasn’t lying all those times I’ve kissed you, or told you how beautiful you are, or when I made love to you,” he continued in a hoarse voice.
Hermione walked until she stood right in front of him. She raised a shaky hand and touched his cheek. Draco closed his eyes and moved his head slightly, his lips pressing a soft kiss her palm. She dropped her hand.
She saw the sudden tensing of his facial muscles the moment her hand left his cheek. She heard him draw a breath and exhale noisily. He opened his eyes and stared directly at her. “But I’m not sorry for doing what I did, Hermione.” He hesitated, and then said, “I’ve offered you my name and my fortune; you’ve accepted those. If I offered you myself, would you accept me?”
She stared at Draco standing there before her, a strange mix of arrogance and vulnerability. He was a proud man, but he had laid his heart bare for her. From the very start, she had told herself that he was not unattractive; their nights spent discovering the pleasures of each other’s bodies had given her an appreciation for the contours of his chest, the lean strength in his arms, the muscles in his thighs. He was male and he was beautiful, and he would be all hers, if she had courage enough to reach out and claim him. To accept what he offered.
Draco had always initiated their love-making sessions. In that respect he had always controlled the scene, the tempo of their interactions. Hermione knew with a sudden insight that standing there before her, offering himself to her, he was giving her free reign. From the look in his eyes — hoping, searching — he was giving her himself completely in the only way he knew how.
She felt a thrill run through her at that, a sudden visceral recognition of how much he wanted and desired her. He may have been underhanded in his tactics, manipulating events to get what he wanted, but instead of being overwhelmed by that, she chose to bask and glory in the feeling that it was because he wanted her that badly that he had done what he did.
No woman could resist that, especially not one who had fallen in love. She couldn’t turn away from him now, not after having his real intentions fully revealed.
Her decision made, she took his hand and led him to their bed. Relief shone in his eyes for a moment, but quickly evaporated as a softly whispered Evanesco from her had him naked. A soft push to his chest had him lying on the bed. A glance from her had him spreading his hands shoulder-wide and his legs apart. Another spell — one learnt from him — conjured up silk ropes that snaked itself around all four limbs, holding him in place.
He shivered, not with cold but with desire; she could see it from the tell-tale sign of his arousal. This was a role-reversal of sorts, for one of Draco’s favourite pastimes was to keep Hermione in such a position — hands and legs bound, but deliciously opened wide for him — as he pleasured her.
Hermione now wanted to do this for Draco, and for herself. He had given himself to her, and she in return to would show him how much that act meant to her. How much he meant to her.
She took her time unbuttoning her shirt, slowly unfastening the buttons one by one. When the material finally parted, she heard Draco gasp. Underneath her white, button-down shirt, she had worn a sheer, nude-coloured bra. It clearly showed her nipples, taut and puckered. Leaving the shirt and bra in place, she reached behind and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. This time, Draco groaned and Hermione had to stifle her smile. She had worn nothing underneath her skirt, her initial plans for celebrating their six-month anniversary having included a half-formed plan to seduce her husband in his office. She mentally shrugged; it still had the same effect she was going for. Clad only in her heels, the unbuttoned shirt and her bra, Hermione climbed on top of the bed, settling herself at the foot of it. Looking up, she saw Draco — all spread out for her. The position kept the muscles in his arms and thighs tense and she admired the long line of him. His erection — already thick and hard — seemed to grow even more before her frank perusal of him.
She reached out and ran her hands up the sides of his thighs, loving the meld of pale skin and muscles, of flesh and bone. His feet had a graceful arch to them and she impulsively dropped a soft kiss to his right foot as she ran her hands up to his hips and underneath to his bum.
She gave a hard squeeze that caused Draco to give out a protesting moan, but she paid no heed. One glance at him and she knew he understood: She would be in charge to tonight. He had offered himself to her, and she had accepted. He was hers to do with as she wished.
She softly massaged the globes of his backside before returning her hands to his hips, though she purposely ignored his straining erection.
She scooted up the bed and was now resting between his thighs. She leaned down and let her breasts brush his cock — one, twice — before quickly lifting them out of the way. She bit back a grin at his grunt.
She swept her hands up his chest and tweaked his pale, pink nipples before slowly coming to rest at his groin. His hips canted up at her touch and she allowed herself a brief smile before straddling his thighs, then leaning down and enveloping his cock in her mouth.
“Hermione,” Draco gasped.
She shushed him, intending to feast on him as he had done so many times to her. Her mouth sucked and licked at him while her hands alternated between stroking his shaft and fondling his testicles. Draco gave breathy murmurs throughout, but adhered to her request that he not speak. Hermione could feel herself getting aroused by this power she held over Draco.
So this is how it feels.
She ground herself against his hair-roughened thigh, relishing the feel of it delicately scraping against her clitoris. She could feel a trickle of moisture running down her left thigh and she blushed, knowing for certain Draco could feel the effects of her desire on his skin. It felt too good to stop, though, and Draco seemed to be encouraging her to continue with his eyes.
Just as she felt he was nearing the end of his tether, she removed her mouth from his erection with a loud pop. He groaned loudly, his hips arching up as he sought satisfaction, his cock dark red and glistening with pre-cum and her saliva.
She gave a soft moan herself when Draco’s movement pushed his thigh harder against her soft, wet centre. Unable to help herself, her fingers slid down to the juncture between her thighs, slowing parting the brown curls to rub firmly against the hard little nub hidden within.
She could feel Draco straining against her as she pleasured herself, his cock twitching visibly. She moved nearer to his erection, making sure that every time she rubbed herself, her knuckles would brush against the underside of it.
From the look on his face, that was pure torture for him, but Hermione got off on this feeling. She had never believed herself to be a wanton woman, but her arousal was heightened by the fact that he was even more turned on by her actions.
Leaning back slightly, she spread her legs wider, offering him a splendid view of her fingers now sliding in and out of her tight, wet channel.
“Hermione,” he begged hoarsely, “please.”
Slowly, she withdrew her hands and sat back up.
“What do you want?” she asked as she fingered a button on her shirt. A quick shrug and the garment slid off her shoulders. “Would you like me to take this off as well?” she asked as she plucked at the front of her bra.
She reached behind her and unclasped her bra, her breasts slightly swaying as it was freed from its restraints. “Is that all?”
He shook his head.
“What do you want?” she asked again as she rose up his body and placed her hands beside his head. As she lowered her body on to his — chest to chest, her centre just right above his erection — she asked again, “What do you want, Draco?”
He stared at her, his eyes wide and filled with longing. “You, I’ve always wanted you. No one else; nothing else,” he whispered in return.
Hermione felt her heart beat that ridiculous thump-thump-thump rhythm as it had earlier in the day.
“Tell me a lie,” she whispered.
“I don’t own Greater Investments,” he replied just as softly.
“Tell me a truth.” She wanted to hear him say it again.
“I love you,” he said instead, his voice firm, the statement unequivocal.
Surprise flooded her, but the look on his face told her he meant it. Her heart expanded with joy and Hermione felt her lips curve upward in a smile as she softly cupped his cheek. She leaned down, intending it to be a quick kiss before she continued staking her claim on her husband’s body, but the moment her lips touched his, Draco darted out his tongue, rubbed it against her lips and she was lost, swept into an intense exchange of lips and teeth and tongues.
When they finally broke apart, they were both gasping. Draco grimaced and she felt his hips arch up again, the head of his erection seeking her warmth and her heat.
“Hermione,” he ground out, “I need you.”
“But I want –”
Draco reared his head up and stole another kiss from her, cutting off her protest.
“Later, I promise, anything you want. Just, please, I need to be inside you.”
She nodded and sat back. Gripping his erection in one hand, she used the other to open herself, slightly tilting her hips to give Draco a view of her pink, plump slit all wet and slick before she slowly sank down, impaling herself inch by inch on his cock. They both groaned when she was finally seated to the hilt.
“Merlin,” he hissed.
She began to move on him, spurred on by his moans and muttered half-statements of encouragement.
Draco was beautiful in his arousal: eyes-half shut, cheeks flushed, mouth slightly opened as he breathed heavily. She rolled her hips as she ground down on him, eliciting a gasp and a breathless, “Yes, just like that.”
Feeling confident, Hermione used her finger to rub against his perineum, bringing forth a choked “Hermione” from her husband.
She was almost ready to come, and decided without a doubt that she wanted Draco’s hands on her as she did. With a hurried Finite Incantatem, she released his hands and his legs.
Draco lost no time in flipping her over and driving himself into her almost savagely.
“Oh!” she cried out as that particularly hard thrust seemed to hit all the way to her womb.
He kissed her with bruising force before muttering, “You’ll be the death of me, woman.” It was the last coherent sentence he came out with, as with every thrust, the only word that spilled from his lips in harsh gasps was Mine.
His fingers rubbed against her clitoris roughly — three times were all it took — and she came, wailing his name and shuddering, legs wrapped tightly around his hips.
He caught her mouth again in another kiss before he gave a muffled shout as his hips snapped and jerked into her, and she felt the warmth of his seed filling her. He collapsed onto her with a soft sigh, pulling back slightly in an attempt to withdraw from her, but Hermione wrapped her legs tighter around him, shaking her head.
“No, stay with me, just for a little while longer,” she implored.
He nodded and, with a short awkward roll, managed to shift so that they were both facing each other, one of his thighs wedged between hers, and her right leg slung over his hip.
Hermione could feel him slowly decreasing in size within her. Not wanting him to leave her just yet, she unconsciously clenched her inner muscles and Draco gasped in response.
She blushed as he turned questioning eyes on her.
“Hermione, I meant what I said,” he told her quietly as he brushed her hair out of her face. “Earlier, that is. I know that perhaps it may take you some time to feel for me what I feel for you, but I want you to know, I’ll wait. Forever, if I have to.”
Hermione smiled shyly at him. “I think you’ll find that six months—especially now that it’s passed—doesn’t equate to forever.”
Draco looked surprised, but as the meaning of her words hit him, he smiled. “Say it then.”
She leaned up and whispered into his ear, “I love you.”
this quiet serves only to hide you
what i knew
it'd come back to you