Chapter 26
“The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.”
Friedrich Neitzsche
Silently, they apparated in the middle of his study, equally distanced from the two doors that lead to their respective chambers. Everything she needed had been placed in his quarters, but after tonight, he wouldn’t force her there. Not releasing her, he settled his chin on her head, keeping her tucked against him a moment longer.
A small pop and the flowers from the table appeared on display atop a nearby table. He could practically taste the house elf magic.
“You make it too easy for my father,” he said, lacing their left hands, nearly pressing their concealed markings together. He knew what his aunt had done. Remembered hearing it. Ever so gently, he leaned forward, his cheek nearly touching hers. “Don’t let his anger get to you. Revel in it,” he purred against her ear. “I don’t care if we have an heir or ten, but he doesn’t need to know that,” he added, sucking in her ear lobe, his tongue shifting her earring.
The way he held her close to him almost felt like safety. It would have been safe if she hadn't seen what he was willing and able to do to his friends. His father. He was You-Know-Who's favored lieutenant. She couldn't forget that. Being skilled with his tongue and his hands didn't change that. It just made him more dangerous. Like the snake bracelet wrapped around her wrist.
"I make it too easy? Should I revel in being compared to the woman who carved open my arm while using other spells on me?" Her voice was a quiet hiss, not wanting to raise a fuss after their dramatic exit. She carefully kept their forearms from touching, not wanting her scar to touch that mark, even separated by fabric.
Closing her eyes, she tried not to react too strongly to the feeling of his breath against her ear. His tongue on her ear sent shivers down her spine. "Need to know basis," she murmured and almost laughed. "Similar to the need-to-know basis I'm on?" It was a little bitter, but she felt shamed and angry and hurt, and all she wanted to do was scream. The honesty vow would just keep him from lying. Not from simply not answering.
“All in due time,” he pulled away to look at her. Studying her as if he could merely card through her thoughts, but even he wasn’t that gifted. Instead, he focused on what he had withheld from her. “Lovegood and Robins made it off the property,” he told her. “Until we’re protected by our vows, my ability to share is extremely limited.” It wasn’t personal. If the situation had been the opposite, he was certain she would take similar precautions.
The way he looked at her had her shielding her mind against him more. It was something she made sure she knew how to do when she started to interrogate people. A slow sigh left her lips, a bit of relief rolling through her. She was safe. One of them was off this property, at least. "Good. You plan on actually sharing when those vows are in place?" She wasn't sure she could trust him. Wasn't sure that she could believe a word that came out of his mouth. Or if she wanted to. But she was going to have to learn to to a point.
Letting her go, he poured two generous glasses of whiskey and handed her one. “You missed the jab where my uncle was queer and, although highly loyal, was merely a placeholder for my aunt’s desperate attempts at the Dark Lord.” He shook his head. There was a reason there wasn’t a Lestrange heir. There never could be. “My father has steadily lost control since my fifth year, and if you think he wouldn’t sell me out to the Dark Lord to regain it, you’re underestimating him. Wouldn’t be the first time either.” There was a bitterness there even he couldn’t hide. Not after that dinner.
Taking the whiskey from him, she took a long gulp from the glass and let out a sigh. "Well, your father has always and will always be a piece of work," she muttered. She wasn't going to comment on his uncle or his aunt. But she was aware of how Lucius had been losing control. It was common knowledge to the Order. "A cornered man will do anything to get back what they lost. I'm aware," she grumbled and looked at her wrist. "...a note with that saying that it was more enchanted would have been nice." She almost snapped, switching the glass to her dominant hand and eyeing the serpent there with narrowed eyes. As if she were debating on how to get it off.
Draco sat and invited her to join, letting her speak her peace. “I meant what I said,” he told her. “If you want to be involved, I won’t bench you. You’re worth more than ordering staff around,” he shrugged. “But trust goes both ways. Can’t have you hiding and showing weakness at the slightest jab,” he added. It wasn’t personal, just cold, calculated truth.
She mulled over, not joining him, but let out a sigh and moved to take that seat next to him as she took another sip of the whiskey. Eyeing the bracelet all the while."And what am I to trust you with? I should have expected one of your parents to bring up Bellatrix. My fault for not bracing for that to begin with. But other jabs I can answer quite swiftly with one of my own." She countered with an indignant sniff. She should have been prepared. She wouldn’t be unprepared again.
“As for your gift, much of what you’ll receive will have magic I imbue in it.” This time, his voice held more texture to it. “It won’t hurt you, only protect you,” he promised gently.
"A warning still would have been nice, Malfoy. As would a warning about you becoming a parselmouth." She took another long pull from the glass, trying to quell her irritation. "I suppose you don't want me removing it."
“Until tonight, only one person knew,” he said, not looking at her. It’s not something that had been pleasant to learn. His appearance grew gaunt, almost haunted. “I shouldn’t have lost control, but between his arrogance and your discomfort,” he shifted, recomposing himself.
“Have I given you any reason to distrust me since you got here?” He asked. “I let you write our vows, which I left unchanged.” He hadn’t had a chance to say so until now.
One person. That gave her a chill. It wasn't something she enjoyed thinking about. Ron had learned to mimic the one thing he had ever heard Harry say to the door of the Chamber of Secrets. And that hadn't been nearly like what Draco had just done. "My discomfort?" That actually had a bit of the irritation drop. That mattered? The possessiveness she understood. The threats of whether people saw her after what happened when she first arrived here made sense. This? Hardly.
"You didn't change them at all?" That did have her sounding shocked as she looked right at him. He was cruel and cold and harsh, and then there were small glimpses of something else inside of him. What was true? All of it? None of it? She didn't know. "Seven years of not trusting you can't be changed at the drop of a hat...." But it wasn't a no or a yes.
“Not a word,” he responded honestly. He’d read over it, ensured everything was as they’d discussed, and then sent it. The sooner there was a catalyst, the sooner things could be irrevocable.
"Why?" She asked it a little incredulously. She had expected him to press an advantage, try to trap her further than she was already trapped. This or death. Those were her options. And while she had more here than she had back in the safe houses, she wasn't sure how far she could trust it.
“Smart, and given your current circumstances, incredibly the opposite. Your enemies outnumber your allies,” he reminded. “And then multiply them by mine.”
Pulling the hair comb out of her hair and tussling out the brown locks, she chuckled a little bitterly. "You don't think I know that? What's left of the order will not trust me ever again. Your side likely thinks I'm waiting to sink a knife into your back, which leaves my list of allies a scrap of parchment while my list of enemies is likely over a kilometer of parchment long."
He knew why to some extent. He was a masochist under it all. And despite everything he liked to think himself fair. Fear might have driven many of his relationships, but even they knew he only gave what he needed to. He had hurt both Blaise and Theo earlier, but no more than what was required of him. Just enough to make them grateful his master hadn’t been on the other end of either punishment.
“You’ve seen what a lifetime of resentment looks like at the table,” he said simply. What had been that old adage? Happy wife, happy life. He kept the thoughts locked tight. “Our marriage might be a sham, but I do believe our partnership is very real. Everything else is just an added bonus,” he supplied before pulling a deep drink from his glass, refraining from touching her, if only to keep himself in check.
"I was familiar with what a lifetime of resentment looked like before that," she answered, letting out a breath. Finishing off the drink in her glass, she was tempted to pour more. But if she did that, it would be far too easy to just let herself get utterly sloshed. A hangover tomorrow was not something she wanted. Not when she wasn't sure who all would be at the engagement party. Reporters, surely, but who else?
Leaning back against the couch, she crossed one leg over the other as she looked at him, finally resting her hand in her lap with that bracelet around her wrist. "...I'll have a lot more questions once you're able to speak to me more freely, Malfoy." Distance. While she could get it, she needed that distance of his last name. For the rest of her life, she'd be bound to him in a sham of a marriage with the benefit of their sexual chemistry. Even if she felt weird about it.
He eyed her hand, wanting nothing more than to seize it, especially when she spoke his name that way. Creating that mockery of distance.
“I have no doubt you will, but I’m not sure you’ll enjoy many of those answers. Any you wish to ask, see if my answers change,” he demanded, the silver in his eyes molten as he eyed her.
"If you only want answers to be what you like, you're bound to be disappointed more than half the time you ask a question," she said simply with a shrug of her shoulders. Did he think she liked it when she found out that the creature under the school was a basilisk? Or that she liked knowing that they had to break into Gringotts? Or when she was able to predict what safe house was going to be hit?
Looking back at him, she almost demanded what as he eyed her. His eyes looked like molten mercury or silver. It nearly had her look away, but she kept his gaze.
“And yet, given the opportunity, you’re silent,” he spoke just above a breath, shifting to draw closer without bridging any gaps. His gaze held a challenge to it, almost demanding she push.
"Why waste my breath twice to make sure you're telling me the truth now when many of the questions I've already asked, you've insisted you can't say a word until those vows are in place, even partially, so that I'm bound to you? Afraid I might try to steal my wand and flee," she challenged right back as she watched him. "But if you're going to insist, why be bothered by my discomfort? Why don't you care about having an heir or not when legacy has mattered to you and your family since we were children? And what exactly did I do that made you decide you'd want to keep me rather than kill me?"
Draco smiled. “Because you’ll always wonder if I can be trusted.” It was honest, and though he certainly wouldn’t entertain some questions, he could indulge others. He wanted to point out that she’d used his wand the other night, that he had left himself vulnerable to her once already but kept quiet.
As she listed her inquiries, he remained silent. Considering and contemplating how best to respond. “You’re my witch, and I promised you’d lack for nothing. That includes my support. As for heirs, having been used to punish my father, I can’t say I see the appeal.” He paused. There was that last question. “That night in Kensington. You didn’t kill me. You had a clean shot, too. Didn’t matter how many times I spared you after,” he shrugged. “Vows or not, we accumulated life debts, you and I. And then that number at the club…” he drawled. “It was the final facet I needed to see to know I needed you for myself.”
Hermione couldn't even argue with him. She would always wonder if what he was doing was a ruse or if he was hiding something. Even when he couldn't lie to her, she'd wonder what he was hiding by not answering or redirecting the conversation. She still wanted to stab him. Wanted to end this. But there was another part of her that wanted the abandonment of just not thinking that she'd only gotten from him. He numbed the overthinking, analyzing part of her mind until it was off, even when she knew that she shouldn't let him get nearly that close.
"That night in Kensington, I didn't just want a clean shot at you..." She wanted him to suffer. Wanted to inflict the pain that had been inflicted on her, her friends, and those they had lost. It was a kind of burning retribution that she wanted, and then he let her go later. Life debts. A balance that couldn't truly be repaid. Was that why she hesitated instead? But when he brought up the club, she flushed a little and finally looked away from him. "I was attempting to get you to lower your guard." And yet, when given the chance to leave, she didn't.
At least he admitted that possessiveness. That obsession of needing to have her. What was her excuse?
“As I am trying to lower your guard with all this honesty...” he responded unabashedly. After returning from the dining room, he knew his chances of anything were dead, but now? He had a chance, and he would seize it. And he had absolutely no shame in stating so. “As I recall, you gave me a very specific promise this morning,” he slicked his lower lip. Just the thought had him ready to forget anything had happened since he’d woken up at her side. Perhaps he was a monster, but if that meant he got her as he pleased, he could live with that.
"Of course, that's why you're giving it," she grumbled with a slight roll of her eyes, not looking at him as she felt his eyes on her. Looking at him was going to make that faint blush worse. He could help her just turn off everything, but feeling that. It was using him in a way. Yet they both knew this wasn't going to be anything more than his possession and her begrudging acceptance to save herself and what friends she could. A partnership where he ultimately got more of what he wanted than she did. "I did..." She shifted in her seat slightly.
"I could have given you nothing and called you a cheat," he grinned, a bit of laughter escaping him as she shifted. He polished off his glass and set it down on the small table before rising to his feet. He ran a hand through his hair. Even with the distance, her very perfume was in his nose. "You know where to find me," he gave her the choice ultimately, making his way to his chambers. During the day, he'd taken one of his potions. He resigned himself to just take them daily after their last evening.
"A cheat?" She asked with a bit of a glare. Other than seducing him to try and kill him, how had she cheated? Cheating hardly counted during a war. Even if it was mostly guerilla warfare now, that didn't change the fact that for seven years, she'd seen him as an enemy. She had doubted he was her enemy eight years ago. Briefly. When he hadn't identified Harry. But clearly, that was a moment of humanity on his part.
"Making promises you can't keep," he didn't bother to turn back. Obviously, he'd struck a nerve.
Letting him leave, she poured herself another glass of whiskey and took a sip from it, her arms loosely wrapped over her chest. The dress for tomorrow's party would arrive tomorrow, and she was stressed about it. Terrified she'd have to face the Dark Lord. At the very least, she'd have to face countless Death Eaters she had maimed, fought, or killed the family members of. And she didn't want to think.
Downing the rest of the whiskey and putting the glass down, she followed after him, feeling like the click of her heels on the floor was echoed in the hammering of her heart in her chest.
He'd reached his door when he'd heard the click of her heels. Every last one echoed up his spine, making the shorter hairs on the back of his head stand on edge. After the day he'd had, and what lay ahead, he wanted to get lost in her.
Pausing a few feet away from the door, he took the seconds that stretched between them. He kept his back to her compartmentalizing. He had to dissipate the anger he'd felt. Though it would easily take the edge off, he didn't want her to dislike this sort of encounter.
She stopped within arm's reach of him, surprised he had simply stopped outside of his door. Her arms loosely crossed over her chest as she watched him for a moment. Was he going to turn her away? Did he expect her to do something? There was a strange war of pride in her keeping her word and shame that she was actually going to go through with this.
"I don't make promises I can't keep." She finally answered his parting shot, taking the initiative to step around him to open the door to his room and start to step inside.
Those words had his innards clench. She'd also promised to kill him, but this wasn't the time to remind her of such lies they'd once told each other. Reaching for his wand, he summoned a plump red velvet cushion on the floor before his bed, allowing her to otherwise take the lead.
Slowly, he walked towards it. He'd make her feel shame, but he also couldn't bruise her on the eve of such an important day. "On your knees, then," he commanded.
The cushion going right into place beside his bed had that blush still color her cheeks. Getting her to promise something while edging her hardly seemed fair, but she wasn't about to say that now. Not when she'd already said she didn't make promises she couldn't keep.
Hermione carded one hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face and tucking it behind her ears as she reached the cushion and sank down onto her knees, sinking down so she was sitting on her calves for the moment. Obeying, to a point. She didn't stay up on her knees for the moment.
If he hadn't seen her hair at the Yule Ball, he doubted even his elves would have believed her frizz to be manageable. Yet there her fingers were, combing through silken waves of chestnut. Even kneeling before him, he could see and taste that fire in her. The way she kept low and out of his reach despite following orders. He took his time to put his wand away, not needing it to close the blinds and dim the lights.
"Take my belt off." The demand was silk with the sharpness of a knife as he held his hand out expectantly.
This was different than other times she had done this act. None of her previous partners were nearly as controlling as Draco seemed to like to be in bed. But perhaps in life was a better descriptor. She shifted up onto her knees properly and reached out, unbuckling his belt, then slowly pulled it out of his trousers, dropping it to the side and resting one hand along his hip.
Draco perked a brow, his other hand not expectantly held in wait, gripping her hair. “How am I supposed to wrap it around that precious neck of yours if you drop it on the floor?” He demanded, letting her go. “Pick it up…”
The grip on her hair had her almost shivering, looking up at him with a bit of that fire in her eyes. She had listened to him, just as she had back in that club. Malicious compliance was something she was rather good at. But she picked up the belt, carefully folding it in half so both ends he'd need to fasten it were actually in his hand when she passed it to him. "All you said was to take it off," she offered with that bit of cheek.
His nostrils flared as he took a breath to hold back at that sass. He hoped that side of her never ceased to exist, and yet it was the very part of her he feared of late. There was a vicious smile on his lips as he swiftly slipped the dragon leather around her neck, tugging it beyond the notches so the silver buckle nipped at her neck. “I guess I should tell you I’ll do more than cut your oxygen flow if you use your teeth,” he kept that pressure. He wouldn’t make the mistake again, and she would feel the retaliation.
That bit of a reaction was something that did please her and a bit of a smirk started to curve her own lips before he slipped that belt around her throat. As the buckle nipped at her neck, she almost winced, feeling the pressure of it around her neck. Almost like it was a collar, it had a bit of that shame rush through her. She didn't focus on it. "I thought you planned on cutting off my air with something else," she replied, voice a little strained from the pressure on her neck, and yet she still held to that sass.
Draco gave a devilish smile. “Oh, you’ll get that too,” he promised, trailing along her jaw. Tilting her chin, he met her gaze and strummed his thumb against her lower lip. “Open,” he pressed his thumb forward. “Show me what that naughty mouth of yours has to offer.”
Turning all of her focus to this was easy enough. Rather than simply opening, she licked over his thumb, letting her tongue circle it before she parted her lips to draw in that digit. Her eyes were on him the entire time as she was even careful with his thumb not to use her teeth.
“Such a good witch,” he praised, letting her tease him with that velvet warmth. He’d be lying if he claimed it didn’t arouse him. The zipper of his trousers was almost painful against his length as he filled all the available space with his excitement. Pulling his hand away, he smeared the sheen she’d left behind across her lips, admiring her for a moment. Then, he undid his button and unzipped his trousers, maintaining her gaze as he produced his hardened length, his grip firm at the base. His eyes dipped to watch his glistening tip trace those plump lips of hers. Tugging his belt, he wrapped the excess around his fist, using the distraction to slap her cheek with his cock.
The praise sent a shiver down her spine that she tried to ignore, focusing on sucking on him teasingly for just a moment. She kept her lips parted as he pulled his thumb from her mouth, watching with a bit of smug satisfaction as he undid his trousers. He was incredibly hard. As he tugged the belt, she nearly gasped, feeling that tightening around her neck right before he slapped her cheek with his length. She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him for doing it.
He met her gaze with fire, pressing his length to her lips. Years of self-control were the only reason he wasn’t down her throat. “Lick it,” he nearly purred. It was how she had teased him, and he did wish to take his time before making a mess of her.
Nearly glaring at him, she parted her lips a little further and moved, without pulling at the belt around her neck, to lick up the underside of his length. It was a slow lick up to the head, licking slowly around before she slowly swiped her tongue across the tip of him.
Draco had held his breath to refrain from making a sound. That pink tongue laving him slow like molasses, not only felt amazing, but left a sharp chill against his skin that left him even more tense. “Open,” he pressed himself against her tongue, encouraging it. He wanted more— needed it.
Watching each little reaction to see what kind of power she could have from this position on her knees, there was a gleam of a smirk shining in her eyes as she opened her mouth wider to take him in. She wouldn't get to have this edge for long, she knew it, but she'd take it while she could. Getting to see his composure continue to snap under her influence was satisfying.
Anyone watching them would imagine that he had the power in this sort of exchange. He controlled the very amount of air she could breathe, and yet, even he knew that was wrong. If her eye's heat could meet flesh, he would have third-degree burns, and he welcomed it. With how closely she watched, he knew she noted every small parting of his lips, the minute shift giving away the clench in his jaw. It was human nature to want to open alongside her, to mimic what she was doing. The way his girth spread her lips into a perfect circle, how he disappeared into her.
Hermione let him ease inside of her mouth, slowly filling her lips. Her tongue lashed over him, circling around him until he filled her mouth too far for her to be able to do that. And then she sucked. Her lips sealed around him as she watched him through her lashes. The belt around her neck had her aware of what he could do to her, and she knew his plan was to make her choke or gag on his length. She didn't draw back in fear, though. Instead, there was a wicked gleam in her eyes for a moment as she started to bob over him to see what he would do. Especially as she noticed the way his jaw clenched and his lips parted.
Those hollowed cheeks adding delicious pressure to that warmth of her mouth would haunt him. And she must have known with how she continued to suck and bob on the part of his length he made available to her. It had his seize strengthen on the base of his cock, refusing to give in too early, adjusting to her. Once confident in his ability to resist for a while, he let himself go. His fingers latched into her hair as his hips gave a first forceful buck forward.
She tried to prepare herself for when he would start to thrust into her mouth. Earlier that morning, he had made a point to tell her how this would be about him. Keeping this focused and careful was going to be what she had to do. Since he seemed to think that this could and would get her wet for him, as his fingers threaded through her hair, she took in a slow breath through her nose, almost gagging at that first forceful thrust into her mouth. She opened her mouth a little bit wider, straining her jaw some to make it easier for him to do that and to try and keep from gagging or choking on him.
She was gorgeous this way, parting for him, accepting him deeper, hot air huffing out of her nose. Tugging at the belt, he brought back that pressure, his fingers gripping in those soft locks of hers. "You feel..." he nearly growled the words, thrusting into her again. "So good," he concluded on another thrust, this time cutting off that precious oxygen, staying as far as he could while she adjusted.
He had to seize control somehow; of course, it was by applying more pressure with that belt. The feeling of his fingers in her hair had her shiver, one hand moving to rest on his hip, not stopping him but bracing herself a little bit. Why did that growl do things to her? Those thrusts down into her throat as he cut off her oxygen almost made her groan, hand tightening on his hip as she almost choked, having to adjust. No one had treated her as roughly as he did.
Those inhuman growls and groans pursued as he slowly pulled out of her to shove back in. Anything to bring out that soft, choked sound he'd gleaned. He wanted more, wanted to coerce those ragged notes that were like music to his ears. If he hadn't tortured her a few times, he might have had to be more mindful of her capability to withstand the lack of oxygen, but he knew her intimately, he realized, the thought having him increase his steady pace.
Closing her eyes, she had to carefully take breaths each time he pulled out of her mouth before he was slamming back in. The gags he was pulling from her had her eyes slowly starting to water, while holding her mouth open for him had drool starting to trail from the side of her mouth. Those choked sounds escaped every few thrusts, and her hand stayed tightened on his hip, her nails lightly digging in. Despite that, she wasn't trying to push him off or pull herself back, taking him down her throat with each movement.
That glisten down her chin, the wetness trailing down her cheek. She was a hot mess, but most importantly, his hot mess. Noting those breaths, he pulled his belt up. "You like me down your throat," he didn't ask, he told her. She wasn't just taking it like a champ. "Don't close those pretty eyes," he snarled. "I want you to see me making a mess of you."
Those words, more telling than asking, made her open her eyes, glaring at him a little. But from his own sounds, her cheeks were a little flushed as sparks of desire went through her. If he could stop talking, she'd be fine. Able to fight down the desire to spite him just a little. As he pulled his belt up some, she almost choked. Her eyes widened a little bit, eyes watering a bit. It was harder to breathe, only getting half breaths, if that, from him tightening that belt and with his length down her throat.
"Fuck you're gorgeous taking me in like that," he praised, loving that fire in her eyes, the way she branded him with looks alone. Though she was his, especially like this, he knew he was hers. Always. Those lips would be the only ones to take him in like that.
Her nails drug down the outside of his thigh as she tried to get a deeper breath and nearly choked, almost coughing as her eyes stung a bit more. The praise had her shiver, a spike of desire sparking through her. Damn him. The sounds he made and that pleasure-filled look in his eyes didn't help. Despite her glaring, there was a bit of want in her own eyes.
"So beautiful," he continued to praise. Those flames in her eyes burned in a new way, a glaze on them he'd seen so many times before. He wanted to prove his point, but not yet. Those nails of hers had him hissing, his hips bucking firmly forward. He wouldn't last much longer.
Knowing she couldn't close her eyes almost made her want to more as she tried not to squirm. As he bucked harder down her throat, she gagged harder, the sound louder this time, and as he pulled out, preparing to thrust back in, she quickly swallowed and almost gasped for air before he filled her again. Her throat burned, and her eyes stung, but that hiss of his made her place her hand back at his hip, only for her nails to dig in a bit harder.
The more she dug, the faster he bucked into her. "Show me how wet you are," he demanded, cutting off her air supply. "Show me how getting me this hard..." he had trouble finishing that statement. "Fuck" he hissed. He hated to be so close to losing it all.
Those faster bucks of his hips made it harder for her to breathe, making her clawing at him a little more frantic, her eyes burning more as tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. That demand as he cut off her air almost had her squirm. Her eyes widened, but she spread her legs on the cushion, drawing the black skirt up around her hips. The black knickers she was in had a wet spot to them, but it was hard to tell just how wet she was like this.
"Press a finger to that sweet..." he groaned, incapable of keeping his focus on longer statements. "I want to taste you," he demanded. He'd come to it. He knew he would.
She was starting to feel a little light-headed. Her nails dug into his hip as the other one dipped into her knickers, getting two of her fingers slick with her own arousal before she drew them out of her knickers. The brunette lifted onto her knees a bit higher, offering her hand up to him, fingers slick as she blushed despite that lightheadedness.
Draco bent down and ensnared those digits. That sweet, heady taste was enough to pull out just enough. "I'm about to fill that naughty mouth of yours," he warned, giving her digits a final suck as he felt that pleasure pull from the bottom of his pit and sear through his length. He pushed a couple of times and shakily released her from his belt. The buckle clinked against the floor as he came undone. Gently, his hands roamed her hair, pulling her away to see the mess she was, some of his seed on her chin, which he smeared. He would pluck this vision of her and re-watch it in the pensieve.
As he sucked on her fingers, she almost shivered. Her vision was a little blurry when she registered the warning. It wasn't long before she was swallowing him down, almost gagging on that as well. Hermione sank down, sitting on her calves again as she breathed deep gulps of air, her eyes opening and closing slowly. She glared up at him or tried to, but she could feel desire curling hotly through her body. Her eyes still stung, and if she had been wearing eye makeup, it would have run down her face. As it was, her hair was mussed from his hair, her cheeks wet from tears, and her drool mixed with his seed along her chin.
Falling to his knees, he kissed her tears off either of her cheeks, licking up her cheekbone and down her throat. Pushing her down, he didn't even bother taking her to bed. He tucked himself without bothering to zip his trousers, focused on his desires. He shifted her off the cushion, gripping it so it would shield her head from sprawling her on her back on the hardwood floor. Her panties met the same felt as his belt, and he was between her thighs, devouring her whole.
Hermione blinked a few times as he started to kiss the tears off of her cheeks, licking along her throat, her cheeks. But as she was pushed back to the floor, that cushion being put under her head, she gasped, her voice a little ragged. She'd need water or tea after the rough treatment of her throat, but as soon as he tore off her knickers and his mouth was on her, she moaned, and one hand went straight into his hair as her head fell back into that cushion.
Draco ravished her with his tongue, his fingers adding to the quick build he wanted to give her. A reward for being his perfect witch. His. That disheveled beauty drove his relentless assault. After, he'd get her potions, everything, and anything she needed.
Her moans were just as ragged as her gasp had been. Spreading her legs further apart, it was tempting to throw her legs over his shoulders as he ravaged her with that damn skilled tongue. Her hips rolled to meet him, his fingers filling her, almost having her hips buck. She couldn't say a word if she wanted to at the moment, letting herself be utterly lost.
Every sound she made had him fine-tuning his attacks on that cluster of nerves, licking, pressing, sucking as he curled his fingers inside of her. A few more of these sessions and he felt confident he could have her do so on command. It was almost a challenge he considered taking on.
Tightening her hand in his hair, her moans were whimpers of pleasure, trying not to strain her throat as her hips rolled into his skilled mouth. "F-fuck," she whimpered. Her nails scored the back of his neck, her face flush and gaze much hazier from pleasure as his fingers curled inside of her, making her writhe.
So many words died on his tongue as he diligently pleasured her. If she continued like this, he’d be hard all over again, and then he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t slam her on every surface. Tomorrow, she would be his. Tomorrow would begin an irreversible process, and he was going to pursue it the same way she did that delicious thread of pleasure.
As his fingers brushed that spot inside of her again, her leg almost twitched as she whimpered louder, her breathing coming ragged again. "P-please...Draco," it was a plead as much as a demand to keep hitting that spot. She didn't know how long she could take this. The lack of time to recover after having her throat ravaged had her breathless, her body responding to every touch of his fingers, his tongue, his hot breath against her wet core.
That plea. The way she sweetly moaned his name. He knew that spot inside her, the mix of hard and soft slick silk he loved to antagonize. Continuously he coerced it with a steady pace, hitting it with more demand. “Fall apart for me,” his words weren’t the usual demand, more sinfully sweet. A plea to be her undoing as she had been his.
The way he kept hitting that spot, just as she had pleaded, stole her breath as her heart hammered in her chest. She couldn't have denied that plea if she had wanted to. After a few more moments of him stroking his fingers over it, she moaned louder before she tightened on those fingers, and her nails dug into his back as she fell apart. Her eyes fell closed, the moan tapering off into soft whimpers, her breathing uneven as she tried to get a full breath.
His moan mixed with hers, filling the air. He would never tire of her clenching so tightly, as though demanding to keep him in. In the semi-lit room, the glisten on his fingers and mouth seemed highlighted as he moved atop her. Leaning forward, he kissed her. Their tastes mingled as he coerced her tongue. There was something about the brunette that stripped him of his reservations.
Hermione felt him move but hadn't expected him to be atop her. She kissed him back, her tongue responding to his slowly, her hand moving back up into his hair. The way his taste and her own lingered on their tongues made her shiver and blush a brighter shade of red all over again. What was this man doing to her?
Finally pulling away, he looked at her. “I’ll get a bath ready and water,” he added, getting up and offering her a hand, despite his mind still humming with pleasure, along with his every intention of getting them presentable for their big day.
Looking at him with a slightly hazy and still blissed-out expression, she took his hand and slowly pulled herself up onto her knees and then up off of the ground, blushing brilliantly. "Water would be nice..." she murmured, her voice a little hoarse, making it more husky.
“Save your voice. You’ll need it,” he suggested firmly. With his wand, he turned on three of the multiple knobs. Water coursing alongside some colored liquid. One produced bubbles, while the other seemed to imbue the water with some potion, giving the water a turquoise sheen.
Hermione leveled a look at him, and a lot of that more intense fire lessened from the pleasure that still lingered. She stripped out of her blouse, though, reaching behind herself to remove her bra. Still, she didn't speak, just leveled that look with a slightly raised brow. They'd have a lot of interview questions to answer tomorrow, and the start of that binding to him would begin tomorrow. There was no turning back now.
“You’re my witch; I will take care of you,” he told her in response to that silent question.
Gently, he summoned some towels near the bath worthy of the prefect one at Hogwarts. His attire quickly disappeared to the laundry room while his shoes levitated back to the adjoining closet.
Rather than head for the water, he opened a vanity and looked at different bottles and vials. Eventually extracting two tins and a vial. He’d have to brew more. He just hadn’t had the time, still adjusting to having her here.
A few summons and conjurations later, he’d prepared a small table with water within reach. Setting a vial beside hers and a salve beside his. The last tin he kept he useed to cover every red mark she left on him. Even the ones at the back of his neck. He couldn’t have those waters healing them.
Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought that Draco Malfoy would show any sort of care for or to her. It had her watch him a moment before she walked into the bathroom.
Stepping into the large bath, a soft sigh left her lips. She picked up the glass of water, took a long drink, and set it back down before she sank into the tub. That was better. When was the last time she'd had a hot bath? She had been so preoccupied with the showers that she hadn't even attempted a bath.
Finally, with the faintest sheen of iridescence on his markings, he joined her, enjoying the sharp electricity of potions fighting against his skin.
Around the perimeter, the bath had a submerged ledge to sit on, enabling submersion without having to suffer the need to stand. Allowing for relaxation. Carefully, he took a seat beside her.
Relaxing in that seat, she looked at the sheen of salve on the scratch marks she had left on him and blushed a little. Was he just going to keep them? The bath had already started soothing away the red marks around her neck, erasing the evidence of that belt around her throat.
She washed her face first, getting rid of any evidence of his seed or her drool over her chin and her lips, and rinsed her face swiftly after. The bath was as opulent as the rest of the house. A temptation she might actually indulge in more. Might as well enjoy what perks she could.
He took a moment before using a cloth to wash away the evening. Surrounded by comfort and decadence, he was ever so controlled. Mechanical in his every motion. As organized as the carefully crafted maze of his mind where everything was stowed away.
She watched him carefully. After watching him lose control with her, this composed and nearly mechanical contrast was odd. Different. She didn't comment on it. She eyed the vial next to her water and looked back at him, a silent question since he said to save her voice, and started to wash her body.
Feeling her gaze, he shifted to look at her. That silent question on her lips. He didn’t have to glean her mind to know. “It’ll soothe your throat,” he said. “After this weekend, I’ll need to brew more of… everything,” he sighed. Though he trusted his healers most of the time, he trusted himself more. “Perhaps you’d be inclined to help.” He swallowed down his pride. After tomorrow, he at least knew she wouldn’t try to kill him with certainty.
Taking the vial at that, she opened it and drank it down swiftly. The taste was vile, but she could already feel the soothing balm of it along her throat. Placing the empty vial on the table and drinking the rest of her water, she considered it. Being able to simply brew something again without having to worry about a shortage in supply or substitutions would be nice. She offered a small smile and gave a nod of her head. She'd benefit from the potions as well if he were often so vigorous with his partners.
As much as she distrusted him, she also so quickly took potions at his request and fell into step in a number of his games. The push and pull at every turn kept him on his toes. Her nod pleased him more than he could have admitted. He sank deeper into the water until the water sat under his chin. He hissed at the scratches on his back, tension building before he allowed himself to relax.
Hermione watched him carefully as she finished washing her body and simply sank into the water up to her chin. She'd add a potion to her hair momentarily to prevent the frizzing that the warm water would cause. Clearing her throat slightly, pleased when the action didn't sting, she raised a brow at him. "You like having my scratches on you so much that you want people to notice the ones at the back of your neck tomorrow?"
“Will they, though?” He asked, turning to face her. “The charms in my cuff links should conceal them,” he smirked and gave her a sinful look. “But we’ll both know they’re there.”
The blush heated her cheeks again as she looked at him. How could he look at her like that? She always thought his silver eyes were cold, but when he looked at her with that heat, it was like they warmed up to molten metal. "We will...." She supposed that answered that he did, in fact, want the evidence of what they did to him.
“Eventually, you can keep yours,” he added. “Can’t have anyone thinking I’m keeping you under duress.” Especially if anyone sensed she had charms on her to conceal them. The blow had to be swift and irrefutable.
That had her raise a brow at him as she looked him over. "You think I want to flaunt marks you leave on me?" There was something oddly...primal about the idea of leaving a bite visible at the curve of her neck, but she didn't let on. She was thinking that.
“Not flaunt,” he shook his head, shifting closer. He turned towards her. “But knowing that every time you sit and squirm to shift that ghosting jolt of what was…” He could taste the sweetness of his image on his tongue. “Knowing who it’s from…” She would see it. He’d give her those minute tells in the morning. Every time he received an embrace, he’d feel her, and if he could lock eyes with her, he let her revel in that knowledge.
Hermione actually shivered as he watched her, explaining the why. Dear Merlin. The number of people that would likely want to embrace him or pat him on the back, and they'd be patting those marks she had left on him that hadn't healed. It had the blush heat in her cheeks. "You're utterly shameless, you know that?" She drawled, reaching for the potion to add to her hair so she could get out and dry off. The bed seemed perfect after all of that. Between dinner and what came after, she wanted the abandon of sleep.
“Only for you,” he grinned wickedly. They’d both be suffering tomorrow for very different reasons. At least his would keep her attention from spiraling. He hoped. Ruthless was better said for everyone else.
"Right," she drawled with a slight roll of her eyes as she worked the liquid through her hair, letting it sit for a few minutes before she rinsed it out.