*Lemon*
Draco Malfoy kissed like he argued—with sharp intent, unrelenting determination, and a fire that left no room for second-guessing.
Every part of me ignited under his touch. His lips were firm, demanding, setting a pace that was impossible to slow. His grip on my waist was devastatingly tight, his fingers curling into the silk of my slip like he needed something to hold on to—or maybe, like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to this moment.
I gasped into his mouth, fingers fisting into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer—closer than I thought was possible. The library, the books, the flickering candlelight—all of it blurred, forgotten.
All that remained was him.
His heat.
The solid press of his body.
The electric pulse of magic that crackled in the air around us, thick and inevitable, wrapping around us like a force neither of us could fight anymore.
Draco dragged his lips along my jaw, his breath scalding against my skin. His teeth scraped over the sensitive spot beneath my ear, and I shivered. I felt the reaction travel down my spine, pooling low in my stomach, making me arch into him.
Draco felt it.
He heard it.
And he groaned like it undid him.
"Fuck," he muttered, voice rough, his grip tightening on my waist like he was trying—failing—to control himself.
"You—"
My chest rose and fell, my breathing uneven. "Me what?" My voice barely broke above a whisper.
He let out a low, frustrated exhale, pressing his forehead to mine for half a second—like he was struggling to hold himself together.
Then he stopped trying.
With one swift motion, Draco lifted me onto the library table. A startled gasp left my lips, but his hands were already on me, sliding up my thighs, pushing the silk of my slip higher—higher—until his fingers found bare skin.
"You have no idea," he rasped, voice lower now, heavier. His thumbs brushed in slow, teasing circles at the inside of my knees. "No fucking idea what you've been doing to me, Granger."
Oh, but I did.
I had seen it. The way he watched me, the way his breath caught when I was too close, the way his fingers twitched when he wanted to touch but held back.
But I didn’t say any of that.
Instead, I pulled him down, crashing my lips to his. Stealing his words.
The kiss turned hungry, desperate. My legs curled around his hips, my fingers slid into his hair, and a low growl rumbled from his chest as if he’d been starving for this.
Then his hands stilled.
For a second, everything froze.
Draco pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at me, and I felt the shift in the air before I saw it in his face.
His breath hitched.
His gaze lowered.
I saw the exact moment he noticed what I was wearing.
His silver eyes darkened, sharpened, flickering down to the delicate lace against my hips. His fingers traced the fabric at my thigh, barely touching, like he was fascinated, like he was seeing something completely foreign.
"What is this, Granger?" he asked, voice dangerously low, his forehead creasing slightly as he toyed with the strap. "What—" he dragged his knuckles over the silk, sending a delicious shiver down my spine, "—is this?"
For a second, my brain barely functioned.
Then I managed, a little breathless, "Lingerie."
His frown deepened, like the word meant absolutely nothing to him.
“Muggle underthings?” he muttered, his fingers barely ghosting over the lace. His tone hovered somewhere between curiosity and amazement, as if the very concept was absurd. “Wizards don’t bother with all this… flimsy nonsense.”
Even in the haze of heat, I grinned. “Well," I murmured, "that’s a shame.”
His jaw tightened.
His grip on my hips tightened.
And then, as if something snapped, he was on me again.
"Not for much longer," he rumbled.
His body pressed me down, lips crashing into mine, and suddenly silk and lace and all things delicate were being pushed aside, lifted, discarded—until I was left bare beneath him, his breath heavy, his hands exploring all the new places he could touch.
A low, almost pained groan left his throat as he dragged his fingers over my exposed skin. "Merlin," he rasped, like he was frustrated by how much he liked this. "You're—"
But he didn’t finish.
Instead, he leaned down, his mouth hot and wanting, tracing slow, teasing kisses from my collarbone to the sensitive dip at the base of my throat. When his teeth scraped, I arched, my nails digging into his shoulders.
"Draco," I gasped.
He shuddered.
His fingers dug into my thighs.
"Say it again," he ordered, voice wrecked, his lips brushing against my skin, taunting.
I did.
"Draco," I whispered, giving in completely.
He groaned—low and deep, like my voice alone did something to him—and then he was everywhere. His hands explored, claiming, his lips taking, his body pressing against mine until there was no space left between us.
And then his fingers slid lower, his lips crashed back onto mine, and all the teasing, all the tension, all the weeks of waiting, snapped.
"Tell me to stop," he muttered against my lips, but we both knew the answer.
I pulled him closer, dragging him down, voice trembling with something too big to name.
"I won’t."
And then—
There was no turning back.
No hesitation.
No holding back.
Just heat, fire, friction—and the undeniable truth that whatever we had started, neither of us wanted it to end.
Draco’s lips crashed back onto mine, but this time, there was no hesitation. No slow unraveling or teasing restraint. Just heat, friction, and the heavy weight of desire breaking free after weeks of torturous buildup.
I barely had time to breathe before he pressed me further into the table, his body firm against mine, his grip bruising at my hips as if he needed me to stay exactly where I was. His hands trailed up my thighs, rough and demanding, fingers sliding beneath the delicate lace still clinging to my skin.
Then, with one sharp pull—he tore it.
The fragile fabric ripped apart with a soft, helpless sound, and something dark and dangerous flashed in his silver eyes.
“Draco—”
He groaned—low and deep, like my voice alone undid him. His hands framed my face, thumbs pressing into my jaw as his forehead met mine.
"Do you have any fucking idea what you’ve done to me?" His voice was ragged, nearly furious, like I had driven him past the point of no return.
I swallowed hard, pulse hammering. "I could say the same to you."
His breath hitched. Then his lips curled into something wolfish, and I barely had time to process before he was on me again.
The kiss was rough—a clash of teeth and tongues and gasped breaths, his fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, deeper. My nails dug into his back through his shirt, and he made a delicious sound at the contact—something raw, almost broken.
The table creaked beneath us as he ground against me, his arousal hard and demanding between my thighs. I arched into him, pressing closer, desperate for more friction, more contact, more everything.
He felt it. Felt me.
"Fuck," he muttered, his grip tightening. His fingers traced down my spine, then lower—cupping my bare ass as he lifted me flush against him.
I gasped, thighs tightening around his waist, and he growled in approval.
Then, suddenly, he lifted me off the table.
I barely had time to register before my back hit the bookshelf. A startled sound escaped me, but he swallowed it with a kiss, pinning me between the wood and his body, every muscle tense, coiled, like he was barely restraining himself.
"Tell me to stop," he said again, voice dangerously frayed, his forehead against mine.
I tugged his shirt up, nails scraping against bare skin. "I already told you—" I dragged my lips along his jaw, biting lightly. "I won’t."
Something snapped.
He growled—actually growled—before slamming his mouth back to mine, devouring, demanding. His hands worked between us, undoing his belt, shoving fabric aside, until nothing separated us.
My breath caught when I felt him—hot, hard, heavy against my bare skin.
And then—he pushed inside.
I choked on a gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.
Draco shuddered. His entire body tensed against mine, his breath hitching in my ear. "Fuck—" he hissed, voice wrecked, as he bottomed out, stretching me completely.
I clenched around him, my thighs squeezing tighter, and his control cracked.
"Fucking hell, Granger—" His head dropped to my shoulder, fingers digging into my thighs, his body trembling. "You—fuck."
I tilted my head back, panting, dizzy from the feeling of him. "Draco," I gasped, gripping the back of his neck, urging him to move.
His hands tightened bruisingly hard on my thighs.
Then he did.
He pulled out, slow and deliberate, until only the tip of him remained inside me.
Then he slammed back in—deep, sharp, relentless.
I cried out, my head thudding against the bookshelf.
He cursed, harsh and broken, his grip on me unforgiving. His hips snapped into mine, hard and desperate, like he'd been starving for this, for me.
I gasped as he set a brutal rhythm, each thrust hitting deep, precise, punishing.
"Fucking—hell," Draco muttered, breath ragged, his hands sliding under my thighs, lifting me higher, angling me just right.
I saw stars.
Every drag, every snap of his hips, sent blinding pleasure curling through me, and I knew I wouldn't last.
Neither would he.
His grip tightened, and he pressed deeper, his forehead resting against mine.
"You're mine," he rasped, almost reverently, voice wrecked. "Do you hear me?" He thrust harder, making me cry out. "Mine."
"Yes," I gasped, barely able to think. "Yes, Draco—"
"Say it." His teeth scraped along my jaw, his breath hot against my skin. "Say it again."
I clenched around him, dragging my nails down his back. "Yours."
His pace stuttered—just for a second. Then he swore, slamming into me faster, harder, his fingers digging in, claiming, consuming.
I was so close.
His name tumbled from my lips, broken and desperate.
Draco felt it—sensed my unraveling. His hand slipped between us, finding my clit, pressing firm and ruthless.
I shattered.
My body arched, back bowing, legs shaking around him as I came hard, the pleasure exploding through me in waves so intense they stole the air from my lungs.
Draco lost it.
His hips jerked, rhythm faltering, and then he was groaning, thrusting deep one final time, coming apart inside me with a shuddering moan.
We collapsed against each other, breathless, wrecked, bodies trembling with the aftershocks.
Draco's forehead dropped to my shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against my neck.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then, slowly, he lifted his head, his silver eyes dark and unreadable as they locked onto mine.
His fingers trailed gently along my thigh, as if tracing the path he had just claimed.
"You," he said, voice low, hoarse, full of something dangerously close to reverence, "are going to be the death of me."
I smiled—dazed, satisfied, and thoroughly ruined.
"Good," I murmured, dragging my lips along his jaw, savoring the way he shivered beneath me.
His arms tightened possessively around my waist.
And then, slowly, he kissed me again.
This time—it was softer.
Not less intense, not less consuming—but different.
Like a promise.
Like a beginning.
And neither of us wanted to stop.