XXVI.
Draco wasn’t certain who he was torturing more with his actions. Granger, or himself. At this particular moment, it felt like him.
They’d fallen into a routine over the last few days. Granger would wake up and go shower. He would interrupt her shower. They would stare at one another’s naked forms and do nothing. Then, they’d work on the potion. He would do everything possible to touch her or be near her. And she let him. Just yesterday, she brushed a spot of soot off his face with her thumb, and he nearly climaxed. He was going to die. The proximity, the touching, the tension. It was all too much for him.
Even eating had become too much for him. He watched her mouth move. It’d settle over her fork or spoon. She’d lick her lips. She’d swallow. He was delirious with need. He wanted to conjure back the Devil’s Snare and fuck her into oblivion. But he was trying to take things slow. He didn’t want to rush it and fuck it all up. Not with Granger. She was important. She deserved better than a quick rut like he was some teenager again. This was different.
And to make things even worse, she still transfigured his old jersey as her pajamas. However, it’d been four nights without a single nightmare. Neither of them had mentioned it, perhaps out of fear of jinxing it, but he was ecstatic that she’d been off the droughts and still experiencing real sleep.
They usually ended their night on the couch together. Tonight she sat with her feet resting on the small table in front of them (Narcissa would be mortified), and his head was in her lap. She’d been playing with his hair while he read her part of a text on dark arts. Every few minutes, she would have her hovering quill jot down some quick notes.
He looked up at her, and she rubbed her eyes.
“You look tired,” he said, squeezing her thigh.
She stiffened at the comment. He withdrew his hand and sat up.
“What?” he asked.
She shrugged. She was a terrible liar.
“I offended you.”
“No,” she shook her head. “No, it’s so ridiculous.”
He raised his brows, urging her to speak.
“Ron used to-”
He nodded his head. Of course, Weasley, that fucking twat.
“It’s silly,” she said, plastering a disingenuous smile on her face. “It doesn’t mean anything. I am tired.”
“No woman wants to be defined as tired,” he said. “Much less called out on it.”
He put the book down and grabbed her legs. He turned them toward her and gently began removing the fluffy socks she insisted on wearing (again, Narcissa would be mortified). He began to gently knead the muscles along her feet.
“That was a bit of a common theme for us, I suppose,” she shrugged quietly.
Her head and neck sank down inside the oversized jumper.
“Too tired to…”
She nodded. “So I suppose it was no great shock to learn that he’d found someone exceedingly less…tired.”
He hated talking about her and Weasley’s sex life. But it did encourage him that it was fucking miserable. Draco focused on her touching her so that he wouldn’t think of all the ways he’d like to remove Weasley’s bullocks and shove them down his stupid fucking throat.
“No one would accuse someone like Lavender of being tired.”
Fuck Weasley. Fuck him in his stupid fucking ginger face. What an absolute prat.
“Just look at her! She exudes sex appeal. Her clothes, her body, her breasts, even her fingernails.”
“Her fingernails?”
“You know what I mean,” she said. “Just everything about her is so overtly sexual, and I am just…”
“Steady there, Granger,” Draco warned.
“No, I know I’m not a troll.”
Draco scoffed.
“But I am not like her.”
“Thank Godric for that,” Draco mumbled.
“I’m not explaining myself well,” Granger fumbled and stood up. “I just need sleep.”
She raced from the library to the bedroom and immediately went to brush her teeth. Draco sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her to emerge. When she did, she wasn’t wearing his jersey. She was wearing shorts and an oversized t-shirt with from Weasley’s joke shop.
“Granger, you are not wearing Weasley paraphernalia in my bed.”
“It’s not Ron, it’s the twins,” she defended lamely.
“If they’re ginger, they are banned from this bedroom,” he said.
She frowned and covered her stomach with her arms.
“It’s just so warm,” she said. “Your jumper is killing me at night. And you never stay on your side.”
“My side?”
“Yes,” she said. “This is very clearly my side, and that is your side. But every morning, I wake up to find you very clearly on my side.”
His mind churned with wicked thoughts of her needing to sleep in less clothing. That was easily something he could accommodate.
“Granger, you’ll find I’m a man of reason.”
He raised his wand, and she held out her arms.
“I am not sleeping naked!”
Draco offered her a dark smile. He flicked his wand, and her clothing mirrored the multitude of layers that Kippy usually wore. Brightly colored skirts stacked on top of one another with various layers of tulle and ruffles. Hermione burst out laughing as she looked down. Godric, he wished he could bottle that sound.
“Now those are pajamas,” he said, admiring her.
“This is worse,” she smiled.
He transfigured his quidditch jersey back on her, but as soon as it was on, he tore both sleeves off, and they slid down her arms. She laughed again as they fell to the floor.
“Now you’ve ruined it,” she whined.
He carefully started to split the jersey down the center, starting at her neck. The first tear made her eyes flick to his.
“Draco,” she warned as the tear got lower.
But he ignored her and pushed his luck. The tear was now below her belly button, and he could see the outline of her black laced knickers. He split the rest of the jersey, and her hand instantly grabbed the two sides and pulled them together with a hiss. He grinned at his handiwork.
He waved his wand again and began peeling the jersey off her. He transfigured another set of pajamas underneath. A set of silk shorts with a v-neck top. The straps were thin, and there was a small amount of lace embellishment along her chest and hem of her shorts. It was a rich emerald green color that played beautifully against the dark hues of her hair.
Draco drank her in. The tone of her legs, the lower neckline with her choker on, he was a dead man. A nervous giggle escaped her as she looked down.
“It’s a bit-”
“Perfect,” he interrupted. “It looks perfect on you. You were made for silk, Granger.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes as she approached the bed.
“I think I was made for denim and flannel.”
“Don’t ever let my mother hear those words leave your mouth, please.”
She smiled and began to twist her hair into a bun on the top of her head. She reached out and squeezed his shoulder as she moved by him.
“Thank you.”
He grabbed her hand and held it there.
“What are you doing, Granger?”
She froze.
“Bed?”
He shook his head and pulled her in front of him. He placed his hands on her hips and tugged her between his legs. Her eyes were wide with curiosity.
“Why did you put your hair up?”
“To sleep,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“You… you tease me about it in your mouth during the night.”
“Take your bloody hair out of that knot.”
Her eyes widened at the demand, but she reached her fingers up and untangled the mass of curls from its holder. She shook her head, and they tumbled over her shoulders.
“Good girl.”
Draco’s eyes lit up as Granger’s knees trembled. He’d found her trigger. Granger didn’t want to make decisions. She didn’t want to be in charge here.
“Do you trust me?”
She started nodding, and Draco almost interrupted her, but she remembered his rule and spoke.
“Yes.”
Fireworks erupted inside Draco’s head. He tried not to groan in satisfaction. He moved his legs closer together.
“Sit.”
He gestured to his lap with a nod of his head. His hands were at his side, and he almost smirked as he watched Granger battle internally with herself. Part of her nearly jumped on his lap, but the more reserved piece of her contemplated her choices. She looked as if she were torn between running from the room or fucking him. He desperately prayed for the latter.
He quirked his brow at her, and she moved into action. She straddled his legs and sat facing him. He didn’t waste time pulling her legs up and locking them around his waist. He gripped her hips and pulled her forward. He wanted her to get nice and close.
“Now, Granger,” he said. “I want you to listen very carefully to me. There is not an arse in England as sublime as yours. There are no tits in Europe as stunning and beautifully perky as yours. And I’d wager they fit perfectly in my hand. Don’t you think?”
She speechlessly nodded her head.
“Your body is sexy. Your brain is sexy. Your frizzy bloody curls are sexy. But you know what’s even more sexy? Your confidence. And that’s something that Lavender sodding Brown will never fucking have.”
Granger promptly launched herself at Draco’s mouth. Her hands roughly threaded through his hair and pulled his head back, giving her full access to plunge into his mouth with her tongue. Angels sang in Draco’s head as he threaded his hands through her hair and pulled her down to meet him with equal ferocity. He’d dreamed of kissing Hermione Granger, and the moment was here. Words couldn’t describe the softness and feel of her full lips against his. Her taste was exactly how he thought it would be. Spicy peppermint, but also sweet.
They devoured one another. Hungry for more. Her hips bucked against him as she swayed on his lap. He eventually released his fingers from her head and let them roam greedily around her body. He cupped both of her breasts and groaned at the feel of their weight in his hands. She encouraged him by leaning forward, relishing in his rough touch.
The straps of her new pajamas were loose, and he easily tugged them down and freed her breasts from the top. He hated to tear himself away from her perfect lips and tongue, but he had to get his mouth around her breasts. She whined as he pulled away, but it instantly turned into a deep, guttural groan as his teeth connected with her nipple. He alternated between his hands and mouth as he gave extreme care and consideration to both of her faultless breasts.
Her hands began to pull at the cashmere sweater he was wearing, and he offered himself a moment away from her chest while she tugged it over his head and threw it to the ground. Their mouths connected once more, and she sighed against him. His cock was doing everything in its power to break through his trousers and into Granger. And the way she rocked her hips against him was making him insane with desire.
He had to get her off his lap, or he was going to come. He picked her up and placed her on the bed. She pulled his neck down with her, and his mouth maintained its connection. She nipped and teased at his lower lip, and he groaned as it sent chills down his arms and legs.
He tugged at her top but found that at this angle, it kept slipping back up over her chest. He was two quick seconds away from tearing it off her with his own fists, but she vanished it away with her wandless magic. He kissed her gratefully before turning his attention back to her breasts. With his mouth and one hand on her breasts, he let his other hand move lower. He passed the elastic of her shorts and felt her hips buck toward him.
“Yes, please,” she begged as she rocked and swayed against him. “Please, Draco.”
Fuck, he thought. His balls were already throbbing. He wouldn’t last long with her sounding like that.
He traced his fingers along her entrance, and she practically hummed with a rich vibration beneath him. He moved forward, using his knee to spread her legs wider apart. His fingers traced her clit in circular motions as he applied pressure with each stroke. She was panting under him now, begging him to keep going.
He turned his mouth back to hers, and she dragged his head closer. With her other hand, she reached down for the button of his trousers.
“Granger,” he growled against her.
If she touched him now, he’d come. He had to focus on her. Because he knew he’d come so powerfully he’d render himself unconscious. He thought of anything to distract him from the stunning witch beneath him. He thought of grass. Of quidditch. Of potions.
She moaned loudly as he increased the speed of his fingers around her clit. He took two fingers and pushed them inside of her. He stretched and swirled them around, and she mewed below him.
“Draco, please,” she panted.
“You want to come, Granger?”
“Yes,” she whined. “Draco, please. Please!”
He returned to her clit and set a rhythm against her. Her body stiffened, and he knew she was close.
“Be a good girl,” he whispered in her ear. “Come for me, Hermione.”
Granger erupted into an orgasm beneath him, but he didn’t stop moving. He increased the pressure and speed, and she cried out against him. Her entire body convulsed and seized at the power of her orgasm. He watched her face as she came undone. He committed the look to memory. He’d never forget this moment. He loved her. And he would spend the next hundred years doing exactly this and it still wouldn’t be enough time. She trapped his lips against hers as she did. She was so soft, so warm, so perfect. And he was hopelessly hers.