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. . .
He followed me home again.
I knew the first time, that I was being preyed upon, that some faceless presence traced my path along the shadowed streets from the Ministry to my flat. The war was not so long gone that my instincts for such dangers had faded. He let me know, I think. Was less than careful in his pursuit. Let me wonder who he was; my predator who never attacked.
Still, I chose to walk rather than apparate home each night. I wondered at my waiting danger. Craved it, even.
For all my post-war comforts, safety was still a foreign indulgence to me. I ached for the old adrenaline, when I had felt the rush of truly living. My longing for the fight, for the cutting desperation of survival, was a deep shame I held in secret.
His silent chase woke in me the kind of thrill I thought had died with my youth—heart thumping against my ribs, sweat trickling down my spine, breath catching in my lungs.
It aroused me beyond reason. I began to look forward to it.
It was many nights before he let me see him.
Standing in my bedroom, taking down my hair, I saw him in the street below. Leaning against the alley’s wall, staring up at me, bold as Godric.
His face was a blank mask, a pure focus, trained solely on me.
A rush of shock, of adrenaline, and yes, fear—spiked through my chest. I jerked my curtains shut. I doubled my wards. I lay awake the entire night, wondering at his purpose.
I told no one.
His position never changed. Each night, I felt the silent presence of him following me. Each night, the same view from my window, the same glacial eyes burning up at me from the street below. Never once approaching.
One night, as I entered my bedroom, I felt the wild and irresistible impulse to leave the curtains open.
I walked to the window. He was otherworldly as a dream; patient as a circling wolf and just as mesmerizing.
I stared down at him, right in the eye, for what felt like minutes.
And then my fingers found the buttons of my blouse.
He did not move an inch. His expression did not waver, but those eyes—those eyes drank me in, followed every movement of my hands as they continued the slow work of undoing my shirt.
I’d never done anything so forward in my life. But it felt thrilling, and I felt powerful, challenging his presence so directly; a Gryffindor’s brazen response to his Slytherin’s passive manipulations.
I suppose I could have assumed his attentions a threat, an intention towards something nefarious like violence or something dull like blackmail. It could have been any one of those things. But instinct told me it was more primal than that.
He wasn’t supposed to want to look at me. Want wasn’t something that should exist anywhere near us two. The very act of looking at each other felt like a sin; something to speak of in whisper, to shudder at the memory of, to secretly cherish while performing contrite flagellation.
After being held on a pedestal for so long, there was something in me that longed to do something shameful—worthy of punishment.
I peeled the white fabric from me, let it fall to the floor. I took down my hair clip; my curls tumbled down onto my shoulders.
Standing there, clad only in my nude lace bra and pencil skirt, I could feel the goosebumps rise on my flesh. I took a breath—two—unmoving.
Holding his gaze, I drew my hands slowly behind me to the clasp of my bra.
And there—then—did I see his mask just break: his lips part with an inhalation of breath.
I froze in place, the clasp untouched.
His anticipation was like a leash around his neck that I wanted to pull. I wanted to drag him by it. Knowing I suddenly held the lead, made me want to hold it tighter—deny him that which he wanted.
I dropped my arms. My tongue flitted out to wet my lips as I held his eye and drew the curtains shut.
The next night he did not bother to hide himself any longer. Twenty paces behind me I saw and heard him the entire walk home, the sharp tempo of his black leather boots in rhythm with the tapping of his cane.
I walked at a deliberate, unhurried pace. He matched it.
My pulse was racing through my veins as I turned onto my street, as I raised my wand and whispered to my wards.
I left the door unlocked.
I knew I’d see his tall shadow enter the room minutes later, stalking slowly, silently, towards me.
He stood there, inches away, watching me tremble before him, watching me look up at him with nothing but waiting submission.
He raised his hand, wrapped one of my curls loosely round his finger and pulled.
His brow rose in silent question.
“Yes,” I heard myself say.
I do not know what spirit possessed us both, what force compelled us to such bestial desperation. His hands, his mouth were on me; knew me. My mind was lost and my body was his.
He made me feel like an animal. He captured and pinned me. He sunk his teeth into my neck. I moaned as I was marked. I panted as he tore at my clothing.
I could only see his face, our bodies, by the moonlight streaming in the window; our frantic limbs flitting into shafts of blue as he vanished what little fabric remained between us.
His hands—so strong, so certain—pushed me onto my hands and knees.
“Spread your legs.”
The first words he’d said to me. The first command given. The precision of his words undid me; spoken in that cruel, controlling voice I remembered so well. There was no hesitation. I compiled without question, without thought. Completely exposed to him.
His palms smoothed up the inside of my thighs and my entire body shivered. Holding me still, he sunk his perfect teeth into the round flesh of my arse.
I jerked away from the shocking pain, mewling at the hot need that pulsed to life in my cunt.
Again, he bit me. Again, I cried out.
“Did it please you, teasing me?”
I turned my head over my shoulder to— before I could see him his fingers wound through my curls and pushed my face to the floor, holding it there.
“Do you know what I had to do to myself? After your little display?”
And then I felt him—the hot, heavy pressure of his cock against my thigh.
“What you’ve brought me to?”
He positioned himself at my entrance, waiting.
I held my breath, my entire frame still and throbbing in anticipation.
“Such a pretty little cunt.”
He filled me to the brim in a single thrust. Savagely. Painfully. A scream ripped its way out my mouth.
He pulled me by the hair, raised me back onto my hands, withdrew and plunged again.
His rhythm was slow torment, thudding a slick beat into the very center of me. He held my throat and pressed his lips to my temple, growling depraved and possessive things against my skin as he took me. Deep and constant.
My eyes were watering, my neck was craned back in his grip, as he forced me to look up at him.
Thud—thud—thud.
“Filthy—filthy—girl.”
I moaned like a whore.
He rammed forward suddenly with brutal force and my arms shot out, clawing for purchase, though there was nothing to anchor to. Just him: behind, above and inside me. Riding me for his pleasure.
His grip was so tight around my neck that I knew I would bruise for him; I wanted to bruise for him.
I was unraveling, unrecognizable to myself.
“So fucking tight for me, witch—that’s it—beg me for it.”
I did beg him. My pleas were hoarse mewls torn from my throat. I begged to be fucked. I begged to be used. I begged for him to let me come. I begged an endless stream of incoherent wails when he had stolen the last word I could manage.
His brutality, his overwhelming power, had me incoherent. I was pliant in his hands; a willing vessel for him to slake his every urge.
He delivered a litany of smacks to my arse, punctuating each thrust of his cock with the violent swing of his palm. I could feel my cunt clench tighter around him with every hit. I was losing my voice with screaming. He groaned as my body tightened in rhythm to his slaps.
“That’s it—scream for me like a good little slut.”
I could feel my knees bruising against the hard floor, threatening to buckle. I could feel his silver ring cutting into my tender flesh. Drool was trailing from my slack-jawed mouth.
Lucius Malfoy owned me.
When he pinched and tugged my sensitive nipples my thighs began to quiver. I could feel my magic tilt into chaos, unstable and insatiable.
His lips were at my ear, his words a series of ragged breaths.
“I’m going to come so deep inside of you—you’ll never be clean again—”
Those words broke me. I orgasmed with the kind of back-bending delirium I’d thought was only a myth. I spasmed under its ecstasy, making a sound like a beast, clenching tighter around his still pounding cock with every contracting seize of pleasure that wracked through me.
The unguarded roar that left him is still the most exquisite sound I’ve ever heard.
He coated me, pulsed his release—more and more and more of it.
I’ve never felt so full—crammed to the hilt with his cock and leaking his seed down my thighs. I’ve never felt so fucking alive.
The rest is shapes, vague sketches of sensation or feverish mirage, smudged around the edges. He said nothing more to me. Once he had separated from my body he touched me only once more: turning me over, with strange tenderness, to rest my back on the cool wood planks, then staring down at me with a kind of indiscernible serenity as he rubbed his thumb hard across my bottom lip.
He did not stay. I did not ask him to.
I lay on the floor for hours, staring at the ceiling, marveling at the glossy pain between my thighs.
There was blood in his wake. From scratches, from bites, from force. I wonder if he had to scald himself clean of my contamination after he fucked me. I wonder if he can still conjure the feeling of my tight heat around him, my body’s absolute submission. I can still conjure the feeling of him. Sometimes I do, on a particularly lonely night, on a particularly bad day.
But that was it. He never followed me again. He never stood watch under my window. Or if he did, he’s hid himself from me now.
Though, I look—I do still look.
Every night, I leave my curtains open. I glance down, and find myself scanning for a flash of bone-white platinum against the city stone. Each time, I question my routine and its origins.
And some nights, when I feel that type of marrow-gnawing hunger that starts to drive me insane—I take down my wards and leave my door unlocked. And wait.