Chapter 13
Hermione melted into Draco's kiss, her last shreds of restraint dissolving. His hands roamed greedily over her body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She clutched at his broad shoulders, drunk on the taste and feel of him.
What are we doing? She thought
With deft fingers, he began loosening the fastenings of her dress, baring more skin to his hungry exploration as she now stood only in her slip. Hermione gasped as his lips blazed down her neck to her collarbone, nipping and suckling the tender flesh.
She buried her hands in his silken hair, wordlessly urging him on.
Draco maneuvered them closer to the effigy, pressing Hermione back against the statue's sturdy frame. The cold marble at her back contrasted deliciously with the heat of his hard body against her front.
"Do you know how maddening you are?" Draco growled against her skin, silver eyes molten with desire. "Strutting about with your terrible mouth and hatred for me. You test me beyond propriety, Miss Granger."
His crude words ignited something primal and wanton within Hermione. She captured his mouth greedily, kissing him with a passion that stole his breath.
Their tongues tangled in a dance that left no doubts about her own feelings.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Draco's control shattered like glass. With a feral urgency, he hoisted Hermione up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The evidence of his need pressed against her core, a delicious torment that made her whimper with need. Without hesitation, he carried her into the adjacent room, the familiar scent of acrylics and wood filling Hermione's nostrils.
The room was filled with the tools of Draco's artistic passion, canvases and brushes scattered haphazardly across the floor.
The anticipation hung thick and heavy in the air as Draco gently set Hermione down, her feet barely whispering against the plush carpet. Stepping back, his hooded eyes raked over her thoroughly kissed lips, wild curls, and deep flush across her cheeks.
She was perfect.
"Take off your slip, Miss Granger," he purred.
Hermione's heart stuttered, desire coiling hot and tight deep in her belly. With shaking hands, she grasped the satin straps and languidly slid them down, revealing inch after inch of creamy skin.
"Slower," Draco commanded, his stormy eyes burning. "Show me all of you."
The slip fluttered teasingly to the floor as Hermione revealed herself fully to his consuming gaze. She felt deliciously exposed standing bare before him, her skin prickling with exquisite sensitivity. Her nipples tightened almost painfully and slick heat bloomed between her legs under the intoxicating weight of his stare.
"You're right, I do hate you," Draco murmured, his stormy eyes raking over her nude form.
"I hate your smart mouth," he continued, taking her jaw in his hands and capturing her lips in a searing kiss. Hermione melted against him, hands coming up to grip his shoulders.
Draco pulled back, pupils blown wide with lust. "I hate how delicious you smell," he whispered, nose skimming along the column of her throat, inhaling her scent.
Unable to resist, he reached out and trailed a single fingertip down between her breasts. Hermione shuddered at the electric contact, soft lips parting on a breathy moan.
"I hate how you tremble at my touch," Draco said throatily, continuing the slow descent down her quivering stomach. He circled her navel teasingly, feeling the muscles jump under his finger.
"I hate how I can practically taste your lips every time I see you," he rasped, watching avidly as his hand drifted lower, fingertips grazing her skin softly.
Hermione swayed towards him, silently pleading for more contact. Draco's stormy eyes locked with hers as he finally stroked along her soaked folds.
"I hate how wet you get for me," he groaned. Hermione cried out, sparks shooting up her spine. His talented fingers explored her unhurriedly, wringing gasps and moans from her lips.
"I hate how I can't get you out of my mind, you plague my thoughts day and night," Draco admitted gruffly, desire simmering barely under control.
"But most of all," Draco murmured, his stormy eyes boring into hers, "I hate how I'd regard myself as nothing if not yours."
Hermione's heart stuttered at the intensity of his words, the sincerity in his gaze.
She reached for him wordlessly, overwhelmed.
Draco captured her hand, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her palm that sent sparks skittering across her skin. With excruciating slowness, he traced a path down her arm, across her collarbone, until he was kneeling reverently between her parted thighs.
Maintaining searing eye contact, he dipped between her slick folds, gathering some of her arousal on his fingers. Hermione's lips parted on a shuddering breath as he brought those glistening fingers to his mouth for a taste.
Draco's eyes slid shut and he let out a low groan that seemed to vibrate through Hermione's very core. She flushed deeper at the erotic display, heat coiling tighter within her.
Needing to feel him against her, she reached for him urgently. Draco came willingly, their mouths meeting in a hungry kiss. Hermione could taste herself on his tongue as it tangled sensually with hers.
She poured all her emotion into the kiss - her desire, affection, hatred- hoping he understood just how much she was regrettably his in return.
Draco lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his hips as he laid her down reverently against the plush carpet. Hermione's breath hitched, eyes locked on his masculine form as he shed his clothes unhurriedly.
The anticipation built to an unbearable pitch, every inch of her skin hypersensitive and flushed with desire. When Draco finally joined her, his body covering hers, she couldn't hold back her desperate mewl of need.
Hard muscle and smooth skin pressed against her sensitized form, his hardness nestled tantalizingly against her slick heat. Draco's stormy eyes seared into hers, his hand coming up to cup her cheek with unexpected tenderness.
"Please, Mr. Malfoy...," Hermione whispered, already hovering at the brink.
He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. "That's not my name," he rasped. "Say my name, Hermione."
Hearing her given name on his lips sent a spike of heat straight to her core. She canted her hips, allowing the tip of his cock to tease her entrance.
"Tell me what you want," Draco demanded hoarsely, teeth grazing her elegant neck.
"I want you inside me, Draco," Hermione confessed urgently, finally giving voice to her deepest desires.
With one smooth motion, Draco buried himself to the hilt in her. They cried out simultaneously, the feeling of finally joining indescribably intense.
He held himself still for a moment, letting her adjust and savoring the exquisite sensation of her pulsing around him. When Hermione shifted her hips restlessly beneath him, he began a slow, deep rhythm designed to drive her wild.
Each powerful thrust stroked along that sensitive spot within, lighting her up from the inside. Hermione was lost to the building ecstasy, urging Draco on with gasps and moans.
She scored his back with her nails, desperate for more.
Sensing her need, Draco reached between their joined bodies, finding her swollen clit and stroking in time with his increasingly forceful thrusts.
Sparks erupted behind her eyelids at the added stimulation, the dual sensations threatening to overwhelm her.
"Is this all for me?" Draco rasped out intensely, gray eyes boring into hers as he worked her body masterfully.
"Yes...only for you," Hermione managed to affirm in a breathless moan, quivering and clutching him tighter.
She was his, only his, in this moment.
With a clever twist of his talented fingers, Draco finally sent her careening over the blissful precipice. Hermione cried out sharply as she came undone around him, inner muscles clenching and fluttering.
The sensation quickly triggered Draco's own climax, her rippling release milking his from him. He followed her over the edge with a guttural groan, emptying himself deep within her pulsating core.
They clung desperately together, his hands flat on the carpet and bodies locked intimately as ecstasy washed over them in wave after powerful wave.
As the last shudders of pleasure slowly ebbed away, Draco captured Hermione's mouth in a searing kiss, whispering fervent words against her kiss-swollen lips.
"You're so beautiful like this, coming undone for me," he murmured reverently, smoothing back her wild curls. "I believe I’ve become addicted."
Hermione gazed up at him, heart brimming with emotion. Draco's stormy eyes locked with hers, full of sincerity.
"I am blessed to have you despise me, Hermione," he professed throatily. "Your hatred fuels me. Without it, I feel nothing."
Hermione shook her head, tracing his strong jawline. "What have we done?" she wondered aloud, eyes conflicted.
Draco pressed his lips to her palm. "Complicated things greatly, I believe," he chuckled.
Propriety demanded regret, but Hermione found none within her heart. Only an aching need to remain entwined, shutting out the world that would condemn her.
She drew him in for another slow, sensual kiss, pouring all of her complicated feelings for him into the exchange.
When they finally parted from their kiss, breath coming quicker, Draco lifted her effortlessly into his arms. Hermione clung to him, heart racing anew as he carried her across the room.
With focused care, Draco set her down on the plush emerald armchair, positioning her on her knees facing away from him. Hermione looked back over her shoulder, cheeks flushing as she realized how exposed she was to his hungry gaze.
She could feel those stormy eyes trailing hotly over her bare back and bottom, her most sensitive areas just barely obscured from view by her strategically placed arms. The thrill of such intentional vulnerability made her shiver.
"Stay still," Draco rasped, coming up behind her. He swept aside her wild curls to press a kiss to the nape of her neck.
Then he pulled back, leaving her bereft.
Hermione stayed frozen in position, listening to him stride across the room. She heard the rustle of clothing being gathered up.
When Draco spoke again, his voice came from several feet away. "Don't move," he instructed. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see he had retrieved his trousers and a pencil.
Settling himself casually in the armchair opposite, Draco began to sketch her intently. The flicker of candles cast a warm glow over Hermione's bare skin as she held her pose, knees spread wide atop the plush emerald armchair. She could see tiny rivulets of wax dripping slowly down the candles perched around the room, marking the passage of time.
The heady scent of sandalwood mingled with the earthier aroma of parchment and graphite as Draco's pencil flew over the page. The soft rasps and scratches filled the silence as he sketched her intently.
The eroticism of being studied so thoroughly, captured in such exquisite detail under his artist's eye, made her ache. She was tempted to shift restlessly, but didn't dare disrupt his concentration.
"How long have you been an artist?" Hermione asked, breaking the pensive silence.
"I'm no artist, but I learned it through my mother," Draco replied after a pause, his pencil scratching softly.
"Narcissa," Hermione murmured without thinking.
At the sound of his mother's name, Draco's sketching stopped abruptly. A chill crawled up Hermione's spine at his sudden tension.
"How do you know my mother's name?" he asked slowly, his voice taut.
Hermione's thoughts raced, cursing her careless slip. "The name plaque, on her portrait," she improvised, remembering her late-night snooping.
Draco was very still, considering her words. The sketchpad lay mute in his lap. "I see," he finally said, though his tone implied skepticism. The pencil resumed its delicate strokes.
Hermione bit her lip, nerves jangling at her near blunder. She dared not ask more about his family, her curiosity dampened by caution. Silence blanketed the room once more, broken only by the whisper of graphite on paper.
"I have a question for you," Hermione ventured again, her curiosity getting the better of her.
She began to turn instinctively to face him but was halted by the sudden darkening of his eyes, a playful warning in his gaze. Flushing, she swiftly resumed her original position.
"Why did you paint me in that lake?" she asked over her shoulder.
Draco's pencil strokes paused. She heard him shift in his seat behind her. "Does my work make you uncomfortable?" he queried, his voice low.
"No, I only wonder at your choice of subject," Hermione replied carefully. In truth, the startling intimacy of the portrait had flustered her.
"I dreamt of you," Draco said after a moment. "You were calling me into the water, looking much the same as you are now." His tone remained nonchalant, controlled.
Hermione's breath caught at his admission.
"You...dreamt of me?" she asked hesitantly, unsure she had heard him correctly.
Behind her, Draco was silent, the only sound the crackling fire. When he finally spoke, his voice was hushed. "It was so vivid. I awoke and could not banish the image from my mind."
Hermione's pulse quickened. "I dreamt of you too, in the same lake," she confessed on impulse.
She heard the rustle of his clothes as Draco set down his sketchpad. "Oh, so you had a dream about me, Miss Granger?" he teased, his tall shirtless frame looming nearer.
Hermione lifted her chin. "I did, and you can't tease me for it when you did as well," she countered, though her cheeks flushed.
Draco's low chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. She listened to the slow methodic sound of him buttoning his shirt.
"I think I still will," he murmured near her ear.
Once fully dressed, Draco retrieved her delicate silk slip from the floor and approached Hermione. Gently grasping her hand, he helped her to her feet, the slip cascading down her body like liquid pearls.
They stood close for a lingering moment, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words. Hermione knew their passionate encounter had to remain secret. Proper English society in the 1800s was nowhere near ready to accept what had transpired between them behind closed doors. The repercussions, were they discovered, would be severe - a scandal that would irrevocably ruin her reputation and family’s prospects.
As a gentleman, Mr. Malfoy's status would emerge relatively unscathed.
Hermione lifted her eyes to Draco's, reading the same understanding reflected there. For all their simmering hatred in public, neither could deny the unexpected fire that ignited when they were alone.
"We must never speak of this," Hermione muttered finally, regret lacing her tone.
Draco squeezed her hand tightly, his stormy eyes conveying a rare empathy. "I will be the soul of discretion, you have my word," he vowed solemnly.
As the first delicate rays of dawn crept over the horizon, the violent storm had settled to a steady drizzle. Mr. Malfoy escorted Miss Granger back to her guest bedchamber, neither uttering a word as they moved through the silent corridors.
Safely behind her door, Hermione collapsed against it, heart racing.
In his bedchamber, Draco stood at his window watching the violent storm settle into a steady drizzle. The lingering tempest in his mind, however, raged on unchecked.
The passionate hours spent tangled with Miss Granger in his study plagued his thoughts. The silk of her skin under his hands, her breathy cries of ecstasy, the fervor with which she'd taken him inside her...it had been dangerous and foolish, but also indescribably correct.
Something elemental between them had irrevocably changed tonight.
The infuriating Miss Granger had become more to him than just the object of his simmering ire. Her body had yielded so perfectly under his.
In those storm-veiled hours, she had given herself wholly to his possession and he had claimed her thoroughly. Marks unseen but deeply felt.
Now, in his mind and soul, she irrevocably belonged to him.
Both thrilling and alarming, this secret knowledge seared itself into his mind. Come morning light, they would resume their roles as hostile acquaintances. But Draco knew he would never forget how right she had felt in his arms, and the breathtaking pleasure they'd found together.
Miss Granger was his now.
Draco perched on the edge of the antique mahogany desk, its smooth lacquered surface cold beneath his palms. Through the mullioned window, he gazed out at the glassy lake cradled by misty hills. Pale dawn light reflected off its wind-rippled surface.
With meticulous care, he selected a glossy black quill from the inkpot and rolled it between deft fingers. The faint smell of dried ink mingled with traces of wood and tobacco on his hands.
Setting quill tip to parchment, he began to write. The letters flowed gracefully, betraying nothing of their intimate contents. line after line bared his inner world in stark clarity.
Draco Malfoy was indeed a cold man, yet tender feeling bloomed in him for those select few he cared for.
A brisk rap at the bedchamber door disturbed his rumination. His heart quickened, wondering if she waited without. Smoothing his cotton shirt, he unlatched the heavy oak and was met by the kind face of Mrs. Fitz, her dark hair neatly tucked beneath a starched cap.
“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. Breakfast is ready in the dining parlor, the young lady is already there. The storm has halted, so I’ve sent Curtis with the letter informing the Weasley’s she will returning home soon.”
Draco nodded, relieved her family would be reassured.
"I informed them you’ve been away and your cousin Hyacinth was minding the manor.”
Draco blinked in confusion. “Mrs. Fitz, I haven’t a cousin by that name.”
The matron looked at him incredulously. “Come now sir, we must protect the poor girl's reputation. No one must suspect she stayed here unchaperoned.”
Despite himself, Draco chuckled at the woman's dedication. “Very well, dear fictional Cousin Hyacinth it is.”
Mrs. Fitz nodded approvingly and bustled off. Draco followed, musing that perhaps maintaining a fabricated cousin was wise after all. Squaring his shoulders, he descended to face her, each donning their polite masks once more.
"Good morning, Miss Granger."
"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy."