Chapter Text
Art by the lovely Bellemedusa ❤️
“No. Absolutely not!” Ginny levelled her a hard glare. “You’re not going in that one. I forbid it. It’s a violation of the first-night-out-after-a-break-up rule.”
“There is no such rule.”
“Of course, there is. And the second rule is, if you find yourself flirting tonight, you give it a fair chance.”
“Flirting?” Hermione was already tired.
“You have to erase the last few weeks, well, the last few years, and hooking up just happens to be the most efficient way to let go of a wanker.” She paused for a second. “Ronald Weasley — the dumbest brother of them all. I can’t believe he did that to you. If I weren’t such a good-natured witch, I’d take his entrails and make him wear them as a necklace.”
Hermione huffed through her nose. “Good-natured to the bone.”
“Maybe add his testies as earrings.”
“Gross. Why not his cock?”
“There’s only one.”
“I heard the asymmetrical look was trending.”
The stare Hermione received for that was downright mean.
“You know nothing about trending looks. I mean, look at the dresses you’ve been pulling out of your closet so far.” She held out one of the contestants — a marine-blue flowery thing with buttons down the front. “This level of frumpiness is unacceptable tonight. The old ladies club has called and wants their tablecloth back.”
Hermione’s frown went from tired to insulted.
With a few flicks of her wand, Ginny transfigured the dress. To crimson red. It looked insanely clinging. Then she pointed the wand at a pair of her Mary Janes. The heels stretched into lethal spikes — sprained-ankles-in-the-making style.
Hermione ought to protest. Really. “Where did you learn that spell?”
“Pansy Parkinson.”
“I thought you weren’t speaking after that number she pulled on Harry.”
Ginny grinned and made a face. “But we do. In fact, we’ve come to an agreement about Harry.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the surprising news. The Slytherin had been known for her man-eating proclivities, and for a while, she had had her eyes on Harry despite him being married. She had even made a move on him, only to find herself face-to-face with a fuming Ginny.
At least, that was the latest Hermione had heard of.
“What sort of agreement?”
“Once a month, we share him for a night.”
Hermione’s jaw fell two floors down. “You what?!”
“We share him. You have no idea what we can make him do when it’s the three of us…”
“No! Eww! I don’t want to hear. It’s like hearing about your brother having sex!”
“Well, I heard a lot about that,” Ginny relented with a grin. “You do remember you told me Ron was trash in bed, right?”
Touché.
She had complained once, and it was the godawful truth. She had regretted it the moment it slipped out, knowing full well that Ginny would hold it over Ron’s head at any moment. She had been gracious about it, though and never truly ratted Hermione out on it. Just some sad shrugs and rolled eyes when her brother had been a little too loud.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, but it was the painful truth!”
“Which makes this time of your life even more important. It’s time to cash in on those lost opportunities for a good shag. You’re single, and you deserve to get properly propositioned, pampered and pounded.”
“How long have you been holding onto that alliteration?”
“I didn’t hear any refusal, and we will start the quest to get Granger shagged at Fever.”
“Zabini’s place?”
“Exactly.”
“You had a thing for him, didn’t you?”
“Blaise? Who can blame me? I mean, have you seen that gorgeous piece of man? Positively lickable.”
“Lickable. Hm.”
The humming sound was performative. There was no question that the man had been blessed with unfair genetics, and on top of that, he had that suave charm that made everyone preen coyly when his deep, brown eyes fell on them. But honestly, he was just one of a long line of delicious Slytherin men who had come out of the war with mere dents in their reputations and fortunes — dents that had been smoothed out by community service, exceptionally large charity funding and very public denouncements of failed allegiances.
How easily the world forgets, when handsome men smile and wave galleons at everyone.
---
“Merlin’s tits, he’s fit.”
“Who?”
“Nott.” Ginny rolled her shoulder in his direction.
The brown-haired man was settling in a booth at the back of the bar, next to his husband, the one and only Draco Malfoy. The two Slytherin princes holding court. They looked as if they had stepped out of a magazine for expensive couture. Modelesque. Chiselled jaws, piercing gazes that radiated something close to fuck around and find out.
Maybe she wanted some of that.
“True, but the other one is even fitter.”
Hermione had no idea where it came from. Maybe the drink, the dress, or the heels made her see the world and its men from a different angle. A slightly better angle, perhaps.
“Malfoy?” Ginny purred. “He is. They are two pieces of mouth-watering meat. I just never would’ve thought you’d fancy him.”
“I don’t.” It came out too fast.
“Try a little more convincing next time, darling.”
Hermione shrugged, abandoning pretence. “He does have that smouldering look, like he’s about to set everything on fire.”
“Set you on fire already, dear? Need an aguamenti?”
“Nah, I’m good. Just whetting my appetite,” she grinned at the redhead.
“I heard he invested an insane number of galleons in some centaur sanctuary up north. Quite reformed, isn’t he? All grown-up and sensible.”
“Maybe Nott rubbed off on him.”
Ginny barked a laugh. “Oh, they definitely rub off on each other. It’s kind of hot, isn’t it? The idea of two gorgeous men rolling around in bed. All the muscles, rough grabbing, cocks hard and ready.”
Fuck.
Hermione ought to smack the idea down, but instead her mind ran with it.
“Imagine being sandwiched in between them,” Ginny continued.
Yeah, imagine that indeed.
“Wouldn’t mind that terribly much,” Hermione said with a hushed voice, as if it wouldn’t make it real if whispered.
The glee on Ginny’s face shone through the dim light of the bar. “Exactly! See? This is just the mindset you need for tonight. Finally, we’re getting somewhere.”
“But we’re not really getting anywhere, are we?” Hermione huffed, but the indignation wasn’t as fake as she let on. “We’re still here, yacking.”
“We’re just feeding your urges so you can let go when the opportunity comes up. Have you seen that bloke over there, by the way?”
She turned in the direction Ginny was pointing over her shoulder. A bearded guy lounged at the other end of the bar, and she had to blink her gaze away not to attract his attention.
“Merlin’s miserable sack, he’s too old… and hairy.”
“Old? He was in my year at Hogwarts.”
“He looks older.”
“You know what they say about younger men?”
“They pull your pigtails?”
“Oh, you’d like that?”
“Didn’t say that.”
“They go all night, darling.”
“But if you have two, they can take turns,” Hermione countered, far too brazen for her own good.
Even as she said the words, her core clenched at the images of being… taken by two wizards — well, two very specific ones.
Imagine that. One at a time, two at a time, back and front, up and down. Male skin and muscle all around her.
Suddenly, the air felt hot and electric.
Ginny cracked up. “I can’t believe it. You’re so gone for them, you slut.”
It was ludicrous, completely off the charts to consider bedding the two snakes. They were gay, they were Slytherin, they were everything she shouldn’t want. And they certainly didn’t want her.
“You need a good romp. You’re radiating with pent-up horniness.”
“That I do.” She flashed Ginny a sly smile. “Find me someone else, and I’ll consider it.”
“Right. Stay here. I’ll comb the rest of the club for candidates. But I warn you, if you ditch me, I will personally make sure your Floo address hangs in the men’s room with a ‘Desperately waiting’ note.”
“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”
“My ex-sister-in-law, hoe gone to town. That’s my girl.”
Hermione nodded slyly, downed the rest of her drink and motioned for the bartender while Ginny slipped away, still cackling like a maniac.
“Well, hello, Miss Granger,” a delicious voice rumbled at her as Theo Nott slid in beside her moments later.
She nearly corrected the name but caught herself.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he continued. “Out to air the old skirt?”
She cocked her head, ready to send the bastard flying at any moment.
“Are you both calling me old and insulting my — dare I say — chic little thing?”
She pinched the bottom of her dress and tugged it up an inch. His eyes followed the movement keenly before they snapped up to hers. His face split into a devilish grin.
“I’m sorry. Where are my manners?”
“Yes, indeed, where are they?” she chided with a pointed enunciation. “Lost them on the way over here?”
She looked at the floor he had crossed as if searching for said manners.
“I hear you dumped freckles — I mean the Weasel.”
She winced, not on purpose, not because of the name, but because it reminded her of the reason.
“So, you read the papers? How very pedestrian of you.”
“Good riddance, you dumped his sorry arse.”
No contest.
“About time, I’d say.”
She sighed, rubbing her temple.
He leaned in, softer. “He should never have done that. That’s not the pureblood way to treat a witch.”
“He’s a pureblood too.”
“Terrible at it.”
“Yeah, terrible.”
“How long’s it been?”
“Seven years.”
“How come you put up with him for so long?”
She felt her face scrunching annoyingly. “Why do you put up with yours?” she bit out.
“He’s not cheating.”
“That’s what you don’t know before it’s too late.”
“Draco’s incapable of cheating. If you have his love, it’s endless and loyal, deep and utterly unflinching.”
“Sounds intense.”
“It is. Maybe you deserve the same.”
He stared at her, too serious for this setting. His words shone a harsh light on Ron’s numerous escapades — some of which she did find out early on, and still, she had stayed in the mess. For a moment, all the hurt welled up inside, and she couldn’t stop it from twisting into a sad grimace.
“You did well, kicking him to the kerb,” he murmured, his tone devoid of tease. “That’s where he belongs, unworthy prick.”
His sky-blue eyes roamed over her face. A gentle crinkle around them gave his beauty just another exquisite notch. So handsome and attentive that she had to force herself to look away.
When she did, she glanced back at his husband, as if staring at the pale man could drag her out of the strange daze. How utterly delusional of her.
What she met was a watchful gaze full of mercury, and it didn’t help one bit. It just raised more thrill when it shouldn’t. He looked good, Malfoy. More than good. He had that detached, almost sneering look on his face as if he were displeased with Theo for talking to her. A near-animal magnetism radiated across the room from him, joining the towering presence beside her in a game she didn’t know she had agreed to. Suddenly, it felt as if two webs surrounded her, making retreat impossible.
She laughed at herself. Retreat? Not likely.
Then Theo’s voice pulled her back from a brink she hadn’t realised she was teetering on.
“We would never treat you that way.”
The words were spoken so softly, so calmly, and still with such intensity, she could’ve misheard them when she really couldn’t.
Her face snapped to his, her mouth forming an incredulously pouting “What?”
All she saw was a lopsided smile and eyes that teased their way into her. Right there, she knew she ought to walk away, run for the exit, disapparate in an instant and be safe. But she didn’t, and the scent of his cologne wrapped around her, filtering into her with wordless seduction. Another sweet lure she wasn’t prepared for, and she couldn’t brace against.
Blasted handsome man who smelled like sin and petrichor.
“You heard me.”
She wanted to pretend that she didn’t, and certainly that it didn’t mean anything.
It was just senseless flirting. A Slytherin looking to get a rise out of her.
“I’m newly divorced. I’m not here to pick up my next husband.”
He straightened just a hint, his face falling back to the playful smirk from before. “How about two?”
“I hardly think the solution to a problem is to double it.”
With a boyish audacity, only he could pull off, he pinched the fabric of her dress just over her breast “But you just seem to be looking for trouble, Granger. This is a little red flag, isn’t it?”
“Are you offering?”
Still no idea where the madness came from. Or she did, and she just refused to dignify it.
He tipped his head, never missing a beat. “Absolutely.”
She huffed. “And what would your boyfriend say to that?”
“I think my husband would be thrilled.”
And just like that, Ginny’s words resounded in her mind like bad advice.
Imagine being sandwiched between those two. Squeezed between two hard bodies.
She didn’t have to see them naked to know they were fit.
Damn pureblood genetics.
“Please, join us for a drink,” Theo said. “And see for yourself.”
He motioned to the bartender and asked for a drink similar to the one she was nursing, plus a couple of firewhiskies from the top shelf.
A few loaded moments passed in silence as they watched the drinks being poured. She could’ve walked away, staggered to the Floo hearth on her wobbly heels or run to find Ginny.
But she didn’t. A challenge like that, no matter how unsavoury it sounded, was the way to unlock Hermione Granger, ever the foolish Gryffindor.
She felt herself being pulled across the floor as if it were tilted. Just a little askew, enough to make resistance futile. It dragged her along like a foreign gravity. A slide that may have begun the moment Theo had approached her at the bar, maybe even before that.
Maybe his hand on the small of her back helped, too.
So warm and confident, she felt something melt away faster than an icicle in the sun.
Moments later, she found herself squaring off with the pale wizard of Witch Weekly’s ‘Taken off the market’ section. He was a warning sign on two legs, except right now, he was lounging like a Roman emperor, assessing the situation with stone-cold menace.
“Enough with the staring.”
It was a drawl, low and rumbling, coming from the blond — his eyes hard as steel.
“I wasn’t staring,” she fired back, already on edge because of his vexing manners.
“No, I was.”
It snuffed her reply, catching her off guard. The words simply died in her mouth.
That was the Malfoy way, wasn’t it? Always turning the tables. Even if it shouldn’t work on her, it drew a terrible blush on her cheek.
“You’re still doing it,” she sniped, trying to regain higher ground in a battle that felt lost already.
“You look positively dangerous tonight,” he continued, his gaze still holding her captive. “Did the Weasel let you out looking like this?”
“Nobody lets me out. I let myself out.”
“If you were ours, we’d never let you go,” Theo quipped with a merry chuckle as he set the drinks down on the table.
She threw him a withering glare. “Good thing I’m not.”
“Where is he, by the way?” Malfoy drew out the words as if to embarrass her with her lack of a chaperone.
He knew. Why was he asking if not to humiliate her?
“No idea. In the trash, maybe.” She levelled him a wry look.
There was a minor stir between the men as if her words meant something.
“Finally got rid of the twat?”
Twat indeed. At least, they saw eye to eye on that one.
“Finally,” she agreed with a tired exhale.
“That explains the dress,” Theo mused to his husband, his eyes dripping down her frame as if he hadn’t already appraised her in the bar. “Join us, darling.”
Something loud went off in the back of her mind, an alarm she was careful to ignore. The music in the bar, the electric tension emanating from the two wizards, and her own racing heart all drowned out the ringing, and all three of them seemed to notice, smiles growing predatory across the table.
If she in fact joined them, there would be no way to back out — that needed no spelling out, but would she listen?
Of course not. Hermione Granger could not back down from a dare, especially one that read like a one-way road to reckless indulgence.
“Why would I want to join you?” she quipped, lifting her chin to gain some semblance of an upper hand.
Malfoy’s silver eyes narrowed — in teasing or provocation? It was hard to tell in the dim light. “What are you afraid of?”
Of course, he had to clock it, his voice so deceptively gentle, it crept in behind her defences and chipped at them with uncanny certainty.
“I’m not afraid.”
The words barely left her lips before her chest heaved in a way she prayed was invisible. She hated how she felt like a hare caught in front of a pack of wolves, and the way the sensation slid into her knickers, hot and wet.
They sure looked the part. Sharp suits, angles sharper, eyes cutting into her to the point where she felt sliced too open and molten. If she checked their teeth, there would surely be canines just waiting to tear through her until she came apart. The image dragged a cruel heat to her core, her heartbeat echoing all the way down.
She shook herself inwardly, unwilling to give them one inch of vulnerability. They would pounce on her. Malfoy certainly would — the way his eyes gleamed wickedly across the table, almost as if he were sniffing out the arousal that coursed through her from their proximity alone.
Fuck. Fuck if he knew. If they both knew.
They would eat her up and spit out the bones.
Laughing all the way.
Bloody hell, why did it sound so enticing?
“Prove it. Prove you’re not afraid.”
“I have nothing to prove. I won a war,” she flung back.
His grey eyes danced with edges she wanted to throw herself on, and maybe it was an act of masochism or ill-advised defiance when she pulled out a chair and settled at the table, setting her glass down with a decisive clink. She had to see the end of it. No two Slytherins were going to outplay her on her first night out in freedom — not even when the ringleader was Draco Malfoy.
In a grasp for control, she let her gaze roam over the two sculptures of sin, determined to take as many casualties as possible.
Three could play that game.
She had never been an easy flirt. Seducing just one man had proved hard enough, but this — this was so far out of her comfort zone, her spine tingled with the unspoken danger that ticked in from every nerve ending.
It had the opposite effect to what it should have. A fever shook through her veins, pulsing in a fast-paced, instinctive language. She’d never felt so alive. Her body simply roared with cravings that had been dulled for far too long, and the chemistry in the air called them forth, releasing them from somewhere dark and delicious.
“Gryffindor bravery for the win,” Malfoy drawled on, an eyebrow lifting for just a fraction as she sat down.
She turned her face just enough to give him a sidelong glance. “No, this is Hermione Granger. I don’t need asinine school antics to boost my ego.”
“Of course not. But we would still love to bring you down to the Slytherin dungeon and show you what we can offer you.”
“Come to the dark side, Miss Granger,” Theo added with a lilt, his beauty alone enough to melt her resolve.
His jest nearly paid off, and she had to bite her lip to halt the smile that would give too much away too soon. Schooling her features to a detached mien that rivalled that of Malfoy, she decided to play one more card.
“You like that, don’t you? Pretending to be all dark and gloomy. Dangerous.”
She let her sarcasm flow all over the words, cataloguing the win when she noticed lips quirk at the corners.
Theo was the first to regain his cool. “There’s only one way to find the truth, sweetheart. Take a trip downstairs and find out exactly how dangerous we are.”
Malfoy’s liquid silver kept pouring into her, one heated drip at a time, and it was bloody hard to tear her eyes away from him.
He was handsomer now, still as pale as the moon, a frame so square, lean and well-clad, he looked as if he had stepped out of a Ministry gala after killing the host. Unlike Theo, who still had some of that youthful mischief he had always projected, Malfoy had aged like fine wine. He would have to be twenty-eight now, younger than her, but something in the depths of his eyes spoke of losses and amends that force a man to grow. No doubt, he was a reformed man these days. Having spent much time after the war to help rebuild the wizarding society with enormous funding, he had taken the community by surprise by rejecting the betrothal contract with the Greengrass woman and instead marrying his longtime lover, Theodore Nott — much to the chagrin of Skeeter’s crowd.
The act of coming out had somehow convinced the wizarding world that even pureblood culture could be reformed from the inside, one gay marriage at a time.
As of now, the two wizards on the other side of the booth exuded something intrinsically confident and compelling.
An innate, sexual power, and it fucking called to her.
Her stomach swooped in a fatal, revealing turn. A hot, mortifying sensation flooded her when she realised she was turned on by the two delicious men. It was unexpected and awfully banal — her knickers growing damper by the second. Just two sets of eyes setting her on fire from three feet away — alongside a taunting attitude that ought to be wiped from their faces.
When would Hermione Granger ever learn?
That challenges like that should be avoided?
That bait like that shouldn’t be taken?
That temptations like that were everything she needed?
Theo tipped his glass in her direction, clinking it softly with hers. He was the picture of handsome roguishness.
“What do you say, precious? Want to visit the snake pit?”
“I thought you two were exclusive.”
“We are.” Malfoy’s voice cut through the charged space as his hand swept up Theo’s neck, his fingers threading into his curls in a possessive grip.
Hermione felt a ghost of it around her own, her breath catching in her throat at the sensation.
It grew into an image of more hands, grabbing her, taking what they wanted, and she silently prayed that no one would read her mind.
Theo grinned, blowing a kiss to his husband before turning back to her. “But there are certain cases we’re willing to open and examine.”
“Cases?”
“Singular form,” Malfoy corrected.
“Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly developed a weak spot for your arch-rival.”
“It’s neither weak nor suddenly developed.” Malfoy’s gaze swept over her, so detached she wanted to throttle him all the same.
“Is this just a quest for bragging rights? Bagging the Golden Girl just to gloat?”
“I thought you hated that name.”
“I do. You didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t care about bragging rights. I care about what lasts.” His voice was entirely too flat for the meaning in his words, and once again, Hermione cursed the enigmatic prat.
Never a straight answer. He wasn’t Slytherin for nothing.
The way he cocked his eyebrow, though — it revealed a glimpse of something unarmed.
Hunger? Want or fondness?
As if he wanted to save his husband from unmasking, Theo moved into the exchange with sly elegance, offering her his hand.
“Dance with me.” It was the smoothest of voices, and it hit deep in her stomach. Something in his blue eyes was so irresistible that it felt as if the deal had been done even before Ginny had chosen her dress.
She couldn’t say no. Not a chance. Not without disrupting decorum. Not without causing a scene. Obviously. Certainly not without losing the chance to sway with the most charming wizard in the bar.
How very convenient.
So, she nodded, casting a swift glance at Malfoy before she stood from her chair.
He looked unreadable as ever.
Arse.
With the flourish of a gentleman on a ballroom floor, Theo tugged her away from the unnerving pit of tension that was Draco Malfoy.
Even as they walked the short distance to the tiny dancefloor, she felt her shoulders fall back in place.
“You seemed tense back there,” he purred as he spun her into his arms on the first turn.
“Your husband’s always trying to get a rise out of me, and I hate to admit it’s working.”
“He wasn’t.”
His blue eyes were gentler than earlier, and she turned to a puddle in his embrace as if his small act of kindness had somehow remedied it all or washed out the last shreds of her pride. It truly was embarrassing how a tall, dark-haired piece of male exquisiteness could bring her guard down. Maybe she was ovulating?
“He was, and you know it. Don’t make excuses for him.”
“I think you’re mistaking Draco’s poor social skills for ill intentions.”
“He does not have poor social skills. As for his intentions, I’m not so sure. He knows exactly what he’s doing.”
“I think you’re projecting.”
“Projecting what exactly?”
“Past animosity.”
“Past?”
“We want to work on it.”
“Redeeming yourselves? Is that what centaur charity is about?”
“Oh, you noticed? Does it work? Because I’m sure we can find other causes to lavish with hard-earned galleons. Any in particular you’re fond of?”
“I didn’t notice. Ginny told me. But I’d be thrilled to help emptying your disgustingly large vaults for good causes.”
“It’s one vault now, but I think it might take you quite some time to drain our funds.”
“How long? Three weeks?”
“If you stay with us the whole time, you can take all you want.”
“Stay with you?”
He hummed and leaned closer. “Stay with us.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” she mumbled, lifting her chin just enough to graze his cheek with hers.
“Brightest witch of her age. Can’t see a flirt right under her nose.”
“But your husband doesn’t want me. Why are you flirting with me? You know how he feels about me.”
He twirled her out and back again, just to let her collide softly with his chest, and in that moment, his arms wrapped around her, pressing her close to his magnificent body.
His scent filtered through, clean and expensive, her greedy inhales deepening of their own accord. It worked a terribly predictable magic, intoxicating her along with everything else the elegant menace was.
He was dreamy, wasn’t he?
And then he said words that stopped the world from turning — or rather sent it spinning faster.
“You have no idea, do you?”
His eyes were full of surprised mirth.
“What are you saying? That Malfoy somehow has changed his mind about me and my subpar heritage?”
She shrugged on the inside, unwilling to believe something that hadn’t solidified into existence.
“He’s been hard for you since you walked in, darling.”
The obscenity should have shocked her, but it was the candour in Theo’s eyes that sent her reeling.
“You’re lying,” she tried with a stuttering voice.
The smirk grew on his face, pulling a dimple into his smooth cheek. “Why would I be? I know my man, and I know what he wants.” He paused to let the words sink in. When she didn’t answer, he murmured just one word, “You.”
For a second, it felt as if the dance floor had disappeared under her, a swooping sensation flaring through her from her feet and up, and there was nothing she could do to escape the rush of falling. Heart jumping and faltering. A giant mess of blushing, fingers clutching at Theo’s jacket, and a jaw that refused to hinge back up. She stared at the wavy-haired man.
He was perfect, wasn’t he? In all his tooth-rotting charm.
“Why isn’t he the one dancing with me then?” she croaked out, eyes rolling just to pretend it didn’t matter.
“He likes to watch. He likes to see me do the hard work.” Theo looked back at his husband with another disarming smirk before he faced Hermione again. “He steps in when he deems the time right.”
“He’s lazy?”
“Not really. He likes to dominate. Watching is his way of asserting control. He likes for me to do the chase. The takedown. And when you’re ready to beg, he’ll eat you up.”
“Is that what you’re doing now? The chase? Am I the prey?”
“Do you want to be?”
Not ready to answer that, she deflected. “What makes you think I’ll beg?”
“What makes you think you won’t?”
The confidence that packed the words was enough to tip her into another plummet. It tugged at the bands in her abdomen, tickling, stretching, slicking the building heat between her thighs.
It wouldn’t take much to reveal the sorry state her knickers were in at the deranged idea of begging.
Begging Theo. Or Malfoy. None of the options were easy, but they bloody hell tempted like the deadliest sins.
Hermione Granger had made a life of doing things she should.
And then, when no one watched, she did the things she wanted.
And this — this she wanted. For no logical reason, philosophical or intellectual.
She just wanted it.
As instinctive as breathing.
Because there was no reason to shy away from it now, she lifted her gaze to Theo’s sparkling, wonderous eyes and said the truth that had been sizzling beneath her skin all evening.
“I’d like to lose control for one night.”
“Just one night?” he teased, eyes full of blue sky and amusement.
“That’s all you’re getting now. Make it worth my time,” she murmured with more boldness than she felt.
“I will, and he will.”
“You’re still the only one dancing with me.”
A chuckle rumbled through his chest, vibrating into her with secret frequencies.
“Maybe if I grab you a little harder, he’ll come along. Do you want that?”
“What?” She breathed the word, knowing very well how she wanted it all. She just needed to hear the words.
“Do you want me to touch you?” he whispered.
“You already are.”
“Do you want me to touch you more?”
She nodded. So subtly it was hardly more than a tic.
“Ask me nicely, and I’ll show him.”
“What?”
“That you want him to join us.”
For a moment, cold doubt skittered down her spine.
“Are you playing with me? Did Malfoy put you up to this to humiliate me?”
“This is not about humiliation, but about you acknowledging what you want. And yes, we do play, darling, but we play for keeps.”
“You really want to play with me? Both of you?”
Something inside her struggled, trying to regain the balance that had clearly started to shift.
“Very much so. Let us show you.”
“Then play me,” she whispered, bracing. “Grab me hard.”
He chuckled into her hair, his hands sliding down her arse to cup it. He wasn’t shy or gentle — the fabric of her dress bunching up into his hands as he moved them up her curves. The garment lifted from her legs, slowly exposing the backs of her thighs and the tops of the thigh-highs, the garter belt straps peeking out just beneath the hem.
She felt like a debauched little toy being shown off from one boy to another to stir some jealousy.
“Is it working?” she whispered in Theo’s ear.
“Oh, it’s definitely working.”
There was a smile in his voice — one she melted from, but the kicker was the sensation that just across the floor, another smirk was stiffening, maybe even turning steely.
Theo’s touches had an unmistakable, claiming feel, working their charm into her knickers, and the tiny gusset struggled in vain to keep in the warm slide of slick.
There were loud exhales on both sides, and when she pressed herself against his hips, she felt the very distinct outline of his erection behind his trousers.
Good. At least, someone else was catching fire too.
She hadn’t been felt up like this in gods knew how long, and it was so lewd, and unlike her, her heart cheered at the change.
Hermione Granger was no longer a prim, ministerial climber, nor someone’s blindsided wife, but rather a wanton slag propositioning two wizards by body language alone.
Freedom felt bloody great.
“Ah, here comes the storm,” Theo mumbled against her temple, and with that, his hand gripped a good portion of her buttock and kneaded harder.
His fingertips reached in so far that he couldn’t miss the wetness on the inside of her thighs.
She should care, protest, pull her dress down and regain some decency, but she didn’t. Instead, she moaned and moulded herself closer to him, steadying the tremble in her legs against his taut frame.
He hummed with an appreciative tone as his finger inched closer to her core. “You’re ripe. Delicious.”
Then something moved behind her like a shadow. Before she could think of a snide retort, the other wizard slid into her space, caging her against Theo.
As if she were merely an object to be passed on between the two men, she felt Malfoy pull her into his body before he leaned over her shoulder to kiss Theo.
Her eyes caught on the utter sin.
She had never seen anything so beautiful and erotic. The way Theo angled his face to take more of his lover’s tongue. The way they slid across each other’s lips, Malfoy’s hand tangled in Theo’s dark curls in a grasp that spoke of possession and heat.
And she wanted in. Wanted a taste of the passion.
Maybe it could be hers, too.
When the two men finally broke apart, she felt Malfoy’s mouth at her ear. “What have we here?” he whispered, voice like silk. “A little plaything or something to keep?”
She turned her face, just a notch, sensing his mouth so close — within kissing range.
“Play me and find out,” she rasped out, almost out of breath.
His body moulded close to her in response, so hard and warm, his scent dark and masculine. In front of her, Theo’s sparkling gaze fell to hers.
“Are we done here? Ready to go, precious?”
His eyes were to die for, and if it had only been him, she would’ve left with him long ago. She turned her face over her shoulder to gauge the pale wizard.
What did he want?
“One condition.” Malfoy’s voice had turned sharp, almost icy.
He rolled a small vial over his knuckles. A pang of warning went off in her abdomen.
Please, let it not be Amortentia.
“What is it?” she whispered, her voice shivering more than she liked.
His mercury eyes fixed her in place, his reply short and precise. “Sobering potion.”
Warm relief flooded in, then confusion. “Why?”
“With the games we want to play, we want you to be completely lucid. No excuses afterwards. You walk into this, willingly and knowingly.”
Her stomach nearly gave out at his words. So much fire and obsession threaded through the promise, it bordered on threatening.
She couldn’t tell whether it was lust, infatuation or fear coursing through her in reply. She was already too far gone.
“What games do you want to play?” she tried, fighting to keep her composure straight and down to business.
“I think you know.”
“I’d like for you to tell me.”
“I told you he likes to dominate,” Theo purred, his hands still digging into her curves — dismantling her as much as the eyes that kept her captured. “He wants you to yield.”
“I do.” Malfoy’s hand slid up her throat, his thumb ghosting up her jugular. “I’d love to take your surrender.” His tone grew huskier. “Make you bend to pleasure.”
Trembling with arousal, she half-turned to him, still pressed firmly between them, and thank gods for his solidity because she could’ve melted to the floor from all the male attention focused on her.
Malfoy’s words didn’t even sound like a real suggestion, more like a declaration — one that punched her deep in the guts and staked a claim she couldn’t deny.
How wrong it felt, and how utterly fucking right.
As if she had been walking straight out of Ron’s life to this. As if the breakup had been staged just for this. A course of action so far out of her hands, and she could do nothing but follow the tug as if gravity had shifted to their advantage.
Both terrified that Malfoy would tear her apart with his teeth alone and wildly thrilled by the mad idea, her instinct was not to bolt, but to reach for him — a shaky hand curling into the lapel of his jacket.
He smelled like a decadent night, waiting for her to attend, a smell of man and mineral and too much need — hers.
When she finally lifted her eyes, he caught her in the steel of his gaze. She hovered there. Pinned like a butterfly, held by her throat, his silver piercing through her.
Her exhale said it all. A shameful, drawn-out whimper that pleaded more than anything.
He leaned in, his lips ghosting the shell of her ear, “Bend.”
Every cell in her body screamed for her to say ‘yes’. The blueprint of her simply rearranged itself around that singular, inescapable need to surrender to them.
But especially to him.
She buckled against Theo, feeling his erection press against her. Just wild heat left inside, slick, slick arousal sliding out between her thighs onto the fingers that dug into her.
It should’ve felt intrusive and obscene, but it didn’t — as if they had already reached inside her and put their mark where she couldn’t touch, and this was merely a reenactment of that claim.
“Say you will,” Malfoy’s hypnotic voice murmured against her temple.
And the choice had been made hours ago, days ago.
Longer even.
With a herculean effort, she pulled herself out of the fog for a second. She plucked the vial from his hand, uncapped it with her thumb and downed its contents, not once breaking eye contact with him. He looked like a sin she was about to commit again and again.
As soon as the potion hit her tongue, the magic trickled through her with the promise of clarity. Any residual tinge of alcohol evaporated on the spot — leaving only the haze she had soaked up from the two wizards. If this was supposed to make her recoil from their advances, it failed. The intoxication had simply taken on a different shape — one of unbridled lust.
She was breathing far too heavily when she tipped her head in Malfoy’s direction, lips already parted for him.
“Make me bend.”
Her words disappeared into a hissing sigh as Theo slipped a finger inside her, and she couldn’t care if anyone saw because at the same time, Malfoy’s mouth seized hers.
Hand still closed around her throat, he made her take his kiss.
It was fire and ice, liquid and claiming. Unforgivingly slow, designed to ruin.
His tongue moved like he had all the time in the world, and it felt as if he smiled into her, knowing he had won.
That she was defeated before she had even fought. That she would cry if he stopped.
His kiss was the sweetest corruption, tasting of firewhisky and nights that would last for days, maybe weeks.
It slid into her as if he belonged there, and as if he had known all along. He licked his way through her, coaxing her to move with him, breathing the air from her while Theo wrecked her from beneath. The two-sided attack made everything tingle and shiver, and she pressed herself into every inch of it, wanting to take something for herself.
They brought a deconstruction of things she thought she knew. A rebuild that only demanded one thing of her — capitulation. The cost? What did it matter if this was what her body needed?
Just as she thought she couldn’t take any more, she felt Theo’s lips latch onto the base of her throat, and right there, her heels gave out under her, letting her plummet to the floor if she hadn’t been wedged between two hard bodies.
They cinched tighter to her, holding her afloat while kissing her like she was an exotic fruit, ripe and eatable. They were kissing her to the point of disintegrating. She practically dangled from their fingers, Theo knuckle-deep inside her, and she rocked and rocked against him, greedy for friction or pressure — anything he would give.
Her fingers curled into his hair to keep him close as he licked and sucked her skin, every drag of his tongue drawing a shiver from her until she couldn’t discern the trembling from her heartbeat. Everything seemed to vibrate in unison, a war drum pounding to a beat the two men imposed on her.
They devoured her from each of their end. Inhaling bits of her, licking and nipping their way through her as if she tasted like their last meal.
A part of her wanted to be their last.
To complete the couple. Be a part of their love because it was forbidden for her, yet purer than anything she had ever seen.
The pulse of the dance floor halted the moment they broke away. As if they were choreographed by some mutual inner rhythm, they both pulled back at the same time, eyes blown dark with want.
“Let’s go, beautiful,” Theo whispered as he manoeuvred her infinitesimally closer to him, his finger sadly slipping out of her.
With the instincts of a Quidditch seeker, Malfoy caught his hand in the air. Sporting the most feral look she had ever seen in his eyes, he wrapped his lips around Theo’s shamefully slick fingers and sucked.
His eyelids fluttered under the indecent display, and Hermione simply lost the will to breathe.
When he finally let go of Theo, he glared at her and snarled, “Tonight, you’re ours.”
She ought to rebuke and tell him where to shove his claim, tell him that people can’t be owned, but her body told otherwise. It nearly climbed him to force him to drink more of her, taste and possess her all he wanted.
Because, hell, she wanted to be possessed.