When the door clicks shut, they both know that every step that they have taken, every breath that they have expelled before this moment has led them here; this has been inevitable since the beginning.
Draco looks at her, flushed with anticipation, as she stares back at him; her eyes, dark and glinting in the low lights, pin him where he stands. The top two buttons of her shirt are undone, and the sliver of smooth creamy skin that peeks between the collars makes him a little breathless.
“There is no going back from this-” Draco manages to grind out even though he absolutely does not want to give Hermione Granger an opportunity to get out of this- whatever this is- but he was raised a gentleman. He will act accordingly, even if it takes everything in him to not rip the pearly white buttons of her shirt and ravage her, teeth and all.
“I am aware, Malfoy.” Hermione says and she hates how breathless she sounds, how every tiny hair on her body stands on attention at how he looks at her. He’s looked at her like this for months now, like she is the object of all his desires and there is nothing that torments him more.
Well, join the fucking club Malfoy, Hermione thinks as she takes a step towards him; she has spent countless nights, tossing and turning restlessly, praying to Merlin that whatever desire that pools low in her belly at the sight of him every morning at the Slytherin table dissipates soon, even though he always manages to look downright sinful- freshly showered, platinum hair brushed back except for this one lock that finds a way to fall over his forehead in the most delectable way imaginable, gray eyes nearly silver in the dewy morning light.
Now that they are here, locked in the Room of Requirement and bathed in the mellow yellow glow of low-hanging lanterns, it seems quite silly that either of them thought that they could fight this pull forever. The space between them cackles with chemistry so potent that it almost feels like magic; Hermione’s eyes track his hand as it flexes by his side before going up to mess up his slicked back hair. Draco swallows as she takes another step, hoping his mind remembers the way her sweater clings to her curves, the sliver of skin that shows above her knees when her skirt moves, till the day he dies.
You might just die tonight, Draco thinks as Hermione comes to stand right in front of him, you might just die right now. He wills his hand to not shake as he reaches up to twine a piece of her curly hair around one slender finger, tugging just hard enough to elicit a muted gasp from her. The sound snaps something in him, all restraints falling in tatters around their feet. Hermione looks up at him and never has she hated his frame- tall and willowy like a divine deity from some forgotten lore- as it forces her chin to tip up, exposing the column of throat to him. She isn’t sure what irks her more- the way she is being vulnerable with him or the fact that a part of her wishes for him to rip right into her, biting the softest parts that she might or might not leave bare intentionally.
Draco lets go of the curl, letting his finger trail over the shell of her ear- her shiver sends a thrill down his own spine- and the curve of her jaw, breathing hard when he reaches the length of her neck. Her eyes, full of want so naked that it already feels like they have stripped off their clothes; he lets his fingertip brush over the hollow at the base of her throat, stopping at the button hindering his journey south. Hermione- oh how she hates the way her hands quiver with the need to touch him right now, all at once- reaches towards him and places her palms flat on his chest. His heart thunders against them, erratic and wild like the desire in his eyes.
“Granger-” Draco breathes, he hooks his finger around the opening of her shirt and pulls her near so that she is flush against him, the softest parts of her pressed against the hardest parts of him, “I am not sure how to say this but I cannot for Salazar’s fucking sake, hold back anymore.”
“By all means, Malfoy-” Hermione says and oh Merlin, must she be so breathless around him, “Do not hold back on my account.”
A corner of Draco’s mouth pulls up in his signature smirk, gray eyes alight with mischief; he leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against hers. His lips are only hairsbreadth away from hers in an act of a phantom kiss. A groan of frustration bubbles up Hermione’s throat as her hands curl into fists around his shirt, pressing her stomach against his impressively hard length.
“Malfoy, I swear to fucking Merlin-” she grinds out, trying to pull him as close as she can without actually kissing him.
“Impatient, are we?”
Hermione does not even need to open her eyes to know that he is smirking as his hands slide to sit at the curve of her waist, toying with the fabric of her sweater. His tone, smug and callous and insolent, grates against her in a way that makes her insides clench so she makes to break free, to move away, when his lips capture hers and everything- their clothes, the room, the castle, the entire universe- just vanishes into nothing. All Hermione knows at this moment, as firmly as she knows that her birthday is on September nineteenth and her parents are both dentists, is that Draco Malfoy knows how to kiss. One of his hands remains at her waist, digging into her like he wants to claw right through the fabric of her clothes, while the other travels along her spine to cup the nape of her neck.
For as long as Hermione can remember, he has been drawn in sharp lines and jagged edges; there has never been anything gentle about him- from his harsh words to the marble smoothness of his pale skin, the platinum blond of his hair or the slate of his gray eyes- and yet, right now, she bites his lower lip and finds that he is softer than sin. It makes her think for a fleeting moment that maybe, maybe, this is why she has felt like she’s been starving almost all her life as she licks and nips his lips.
Draco swallows her gasps every time his tongue touches hers, relishing in the fact that Hermione Granger- uptight know-it-all with a fucking degree in self control- is falling apart in his hands. The hand that cups the nape of her neck moves so that his fingers are tangled in her brown curls; the action forces their lips apart and for half a second, he is filled with an unreasonable sense of loss. She looks up at him with eyes hooded with lust.
“Is that all, Malfoy?”
“You talk a good game for someone who looks like she is having trouble standing up-” Draco finds his eyes trained on her kiss-bitten lips that glisten with his spit, “Tell me, Granger, will I find you soaked for me if I slip my hands between your thighs?”
Yes. “No, Malfoy. Although checking to make sure won’t do any harm.”
“You’re a clever little thing, aren’t you?” Draco murmurs mostly to himself as he trails the tips of his nose along the side of Hermione’s face till he places a butterfly kiss right underneath her jaw.
Hermione slides her hands up, willing her lust filled mind to remember the shape of his shoulders underneath her palms, and laces her fingers through his silky hair. Draco groans against her skin, making that particular spot feel burnt and soothed at the same time. He begins walking her backwards, his grip on her tightening as her hips hit the edge of a desk that has magically appeared out of nowhere, as if the Room of Requirement is trying to appease any need that arises at any given moment.
“You know, Granger-” Draco begins as he lifts her onto the desk and steps forward to stand between her thighs, his ego purring with pleasure at how easily she seems to welcome him tonight, “I have grown a particular interest in human anatomy. It’s a shame that Hogswart does not teach us-”
“Mayfoy, I would love to humor you any other ti-” Hermione struggles to keep her voice steady as Draco looks down at her, his hair messy and eyes aglow with something wicked. His fingers toy with the hem of her sweater and in one surprisingly smooth motion, she gets rid of it; he smirks, leaning in to kiss the tip of her nose as he unbuttons her shirt, velvety voice filling in her senses.
“So, human anatomy-” he continues, even though his eyes sharpen- darken- with something carnal at the sight of her simple white lace bra after he untucks her shirt and lets it fall away from her shoulders, “it’s just so fascinating, don’t you think? The way the human heart beats in one’s chest and yet the pulse can be felt at various points of the body?”
Hermione bites the inside of her cheek to keep from wrapping her legs around him and pulling him nearer; instead, she busies her hands by untucking his shirt, slipping each button through the holes as his hands slide up her thighs, the touch as light as a feather.
“Granger-” Hermione finds her face being tipped up, two of his fingers underneath her chin while his thumb traces her bottom lip, “pay attention. Do you know where our pulse points are?”
Draco fights the urge to grin with glee at the sight of Hermione fumbling with an answer that she is bound to know, so flustered by the patterns he is lazily drawing on her thigh that she almost forgets to talk altogether.
“The neck-”
“Mind if I show you?” Draco asks, leaning in to kiss her as he tucks a curl behind her ear.
Draco isn’t really sure why he is doing this when his cock strains against his pants, begging him to slide into the silky softness of her instead of playing this game of wit and butterfly kisses. He’s wanted her for so long that sometimes, in the middle of those endless nights, he’d find his hand around his length just to get rid of the demanding need for her. Her obnoxious hair and brilliant eyes, the snark in her voice and the way she always sits so prim and proper like she’s never wanted to see a man naked in her entire life- everything about this girl has driven him up the wall for years and to want that? To crave that? Salazar’s saggy balls, was he in some deep shit. And now that she is here, spread out on a desk for him like a blessing from the gods, he wants to give her a lesson in human anatomy instead of bending her over and thrusting every drop of frustration from the last few months into her?
It is only when his eyes find hers- warm like freshly brewed coffee on a winter morning- that Draco realizes that he wants her. Her body, naked and marked by him. Her wit, challenging him to his limits and maybe, just maybe, her heart too. This thing made of kindness and sewed together with strength; if he’s ever going to go down on his knees for someone, it might as well be someone as extraordinary as Hermione fucking Granger.
Hermione isn’t really sure what he is trying to achieve as he kisses her temple and murmurs, “Here is the first point, where I can feel your heartbeat.” His mouth trails over her cheek, pressing another phantom kiss at the corner of her mouth before finding that particular spot along her throat where her pulse thunders against her skin, giving away how much she wants him. When he nips at her skin, she lets her eyes close and a moan slips out of her; he is going to leave a mark on her and it should bother her, she should bat him away but all she does is scratch against his scalp, tugging at his hair.
Draco slips her shirt entirely off her, letting it fall to the ground with his own. His mouth trails kisses down her chest, breathing in lungfuls of her buttery, vanilla scent, till he bites the swell of her left breast. Hermione gasps, her nails digging into his shoulder blades. Draco runs the flat of his tongue over the spot where he bit her, whispering, “This is the third pulse point, and I want this. I want yours to know me, only me.”
With his mouth on her, Hermione would do just about anything and yet, the sound of Draco Lucius Malfoy trying to claim her should have her skin crawling in trepidation and yet, all she feels is her panties getting wetter and her heart racing at an embarrassing pace.
Draco almost feels drunk on her scent, the shooting pain of her nails leaving crescent moons on his shoulders anchoring him to his senses but what he is doing is nonsensical. It is madness. But he finds himself going on, licking the place on her inner arm, right above her elbow.
“Is this the fourth place?” Hermione breathes, her eyes glazed with pleasure as he locks gazes with her and nods before dragging his mouth to her wrist, kissing the inside of it with such tenderness that she crumbles to pieces.
“You’re a real fast learner, Granger.” Draco says, going down on his knees and slipping her shoes off her feet before sliding her long socks off her; her skin, smooth and so inviting under the golden glow of the lanterns, almost puts him under a spell. Hermione looks down at him, the messy strands of his platinum hair sitting like a delicate crown atop his head as he looks up at her. The pupils of his eyes are blown wide with desire, the shadows of his face stark and predatory as he looks at her for seconds that last longer than an eon.
Draco brushes his lips against her feet and says, “Fifth,” and then proceeds to cup her ankle and licks the inside of it before adding, “sixth.” Hermione wants to congratulate herself for being able to breathe still, let alone move her hands enough to touch his face and trace the arches of his brows and the high points of his cheekbones; this was supposed to be fucking their frustrations out of there systems so why does it feel like she is unraveling in his hands? Why does it feel like he might be too?
He leans closer and bends her right knee, pressing a kiss against the faint heartbeat right above it. Her breath hitches in her throat, one hand slapping against the desk behind her as he spreads her legs further, inching closer to her core. Her pleated skirt is bunched around her waist, her white lace panties glistening with how aroused he has made her. Something wild and primal rises within Draco and before he can stop himself, he skims his nose against her soaked cunt. Hermione moans, tugging his hair to keep him there.
“Malfoy-” she nearly pants, “thank you for the anatomy lesson but are you quite done?”
“Patience, darling.” The endearment- it is so pretentious, so frivolous- slips out before he can stop it. He bites the insides of her thighs, holding her down by her waist when she squirms against him.
“Please-”
“Didn’t peg you as someone who would beg but by all means-” Draco breathes against her core, nipping at the fabric but never actually even so much as grazing the bundle of nerves between her folds.
“Didn’t think you’d be someone to dilly dally-” Hermione does not even get to finish the sentence; he has pulled aside her panties and is pressing the lightest of kisses against her folds as he murmurs,
“Finally, the eighth pulse point.”
The baritone of his velvety voice vibrates against her and it nearly sends her over the edge, her toes curling in delight. His fingers skim over her hips, tugging her panties down her legs till they join the heap of crumpled clothes in some corner. Draco Malfoy with his refined features and pure-bred manners starts slow, teasing her enough that Hermione almost bucks her hips against his mouth; he huffs out a laugh, reaching up to flatten his palm against her stomach to keep her pinned to the desk.
“Don’t you want to know how you taste, Granger? Shall I describe-” Draco drawls, his voice steadier than he feels; he’s almost intoxicated, enraptured by how drenched she is. She tries to close her thighs around his face, pulling at his hair when he dips his tongue inside her.
Hermione is sure that he is speaking only to incite illicit moans out of her, to draw her nearer to that pool of unadulterated ecstasy that she seems to be swimming in. Two of his fingers caress the hollow behind her knee, the touch so tender and unbelievably intimate that she whimpers despite how hard she fights to swallow it. His fingers continue that slow, tortuous journey towards the apex of her thighs and without any warning, he parts her folds and slips them inside her. They move in and out of her at a pace so languid that it narrows every sensation in her body towards her clenching cunt.
“Fucking hell, Granger-”
“Merlin, Malfoy.” Hermione gasps, clenching around his knuckles. He’s always been crafty with his hands, his pale, slender fingers busying themselves with whatever is in front of them; folding origami in class, twirling his wand, fiddling with his tie or the signet ring on his pinkie. But as he curls his fingers inside Hermione, his tongue pressed firmly against her clit, everything coils tight within her and then uncoils in one drawn out moment of white hot pleasure. She barely registers Draco kissing her thighs, biting them even as they continue to shake.
Nothing will ever compare to this, Draco finds himself absolutely stunned as he stares up at Hermione still coming down from her high- her eyes are heavy-lidded and glassy with something that is an odd mixture of lust and reverence. He wonders if it is the same look reflected on his own face, his lips possibly still glistening from her orgasm; his hands rest on her thighs, squeezing them just to anchor himself in this surreal moment.
“I need-” Hermione begins as she sits up a little, cupping the side of his neck before leaning down to rest her forehead against his. Draco slides his hands upward, still kneeling and trying to breathe through the riot of emotions pressing against his sternum, till his palms cup her breasts and he squeezes just just a little before toying with her peaked nipples.The gasp of air she breathes out fans his heated face and every strain of self-restraint snaps; Draco is up in one fluid motion- damn his athletic flexes, Hermione curses silently- and unclasps her bra in the same heartbeat.
Hermione realizes that his fingers are perpetually cold and they send a mountain-range of goosebumps rising along her bare skin as he explores every nook and cranny of her body like he is on a scavenger hunt for bits of her that no one else in this world knows. She lets him, letting her own arms rest on his shoulders, pulling him closer to her; he smells so sharp, like it wants to cut through her senses till this is all she will ever remember- pine, cedarwood, freshly mowed grass and brisk like the night breeze during the dead of winter.
Draco presses his thumbs right where her last ribs end, making her arch into him; their chests, naked and flushed with heat, press against each other and even their erratic heartbeats sync as he kisses her, unhurried yet ravenous. Hermione finds her hands memorizing the dips of his sculpted abdomen- lean yet firm, like a modern day adonis carved from marble. When she finally reaches the buttons of his trousers, Draco bites her lips till they both taste the metallic tang of blood. A groan builds at the back of his throat, his hands digging into her sides as she begins palming his cock over the fabric.
Hermione isn’t a virgin and she isn’t exactly the prude that everyone in school thinks she is- she’s had her fair share of summer flings back in London and a short lived relationship with a boy from Ravenclaw- but as she holds Draco Malfoy’s boner in her hand, her throat feels a little dry; he’s impressive, she realizes with a flare of annoyance, because this means that every girl in their year who has slept with him has been telling the truth. She squeezes him harder, stroking him whichever way her instincts tell her to.
Draco has never- not even as an inexperienced fourteen year old- had trouble lasting; either he’s always found a way to draw out his orgasm by playing sadistic games or the sex didn’t even feel too good to begin with but one way or another, he’s lasted a good while. But as Hermione pours breathy little moans into his mouth, her lips bruised from his bites and his hands roving all over her while hers stroke and squeeze his cock, Draco thinks for a fleeting moment that he could spill right into his own trousers just from this.
What the fuck is this girl doing to me? Draco seethes as he breaks apart, mouth latching onto her neck as he sinks his teeth right into her.
“Malfoy, it’s going to leave a bloody mark on me-”
“I know. People should know what you were doing last night-” Draco says as he looks at her, his chest constricting at the sight of how beautifully rumpled she looks in the low lights, “that you were bent over a desk for me instead of catching up on all your extra reading in the library.”
“For you?” Granger gasps as Draco slides a finger up and down her slick folds while his other hand yanks his trouser down and he steps out of them, “Bold of you to assume I will even remember this by tomorrow morning-”
“Oh you will remember, sweetheart-” another damning endearment slips out of him as he pulls her closer to him; he nearly purrs with satisfaction as she automatically spreads her legs further, giving him a full view of her drenched cunt waiting for him.
“I’ll hold you to that.” Hermione breathes as he slides in with no prior warning, just his hiss of utter pleasure and her gasp of surprise filling in the silence of the room. The world, once again, stops moving. The axis has stopped turning. The clock has stopped ticking. Draco stills, gray eyes digging into her like shrapnel, as Hermione stops breathing and lets his cock split her in two.
She is never going to say this out loud if she wants her pride to make it through tonight but no one has stretched her quite as much as he is right now; his cock, impressive in the way it curves upwards, brushes against that one spot that makes her head tilt up to the galaxies. He starts moving slowly, pulling out only a few inches before sliding right back up to the hilt. Her moans, sultry and wanton, escape her before she can rip her hands from his arms and slap a palm over her mouth. When she tries, he shakes his head and gathers her wrists in one of his hands and holds them above her head as he pushes her to lay flat against the desk. His other hand guides her legs over his shoulders, her crumpled skirt a ring of pleats around her waist.
As Draco starts thrusting, all of their inhibitions are lost to sensations. He picks up speed, his cock throbbing with pleasure as her sopping cunt keeps sucking him right in with all that wet silky warmth. She’s tight and as her breasts bounce with each thrust, her mouth half open and her eyes aglow with unrestrained delight, a bolt of something equal parts anger and pleasure shoots up his spine; no man in this world will ever see her like this except for him.
He leans in, angling her upwards so that he somehow finds a way to delve deeper and harder into her as she gasps, biting down on his shoulder as he leaves a trail of spit slick kisses up her throat. His hands palm the softness of her arse, groaning when he finds her crack wet with her own arousal.
“Fucking hell, Malfoy-”
“Is it already too much, Granger?” Draco sneers, his words harsher than the kiss he places at the corner of her mouth.
“Do your fucking worst.” Hermione grits out, trying not to cry out the way her body begs her to.
“Remember, you asked for it.” Draco smirks, his eyes wicked and glittering like fractured stars as he pulls back and slides out of her; a whimper escapes her at the loss of contact- how utterly, unforgivably traitorous of her body- and this boy actually has the audacity to laugh when she was so, so enticingly close to coming for the second time.
Before she can voice out her objections at being denied a mind-bending orgasm, Draco grips her by her hips and flips her so that her lower belly is snug against the edge of the desk and she is standing on her tiptoes. He rubs his thumbs over the dimples at her lower back, kissing the nape of her neck through the mess of her wild curls before sliding right back in.
Oh Merlin, I will never be the same after this, Hermione bemoans in her mind as Draco starts thrusting into her- slow and purposeful like he wants her to feel every inch that is going in and out of her. His pants match hers, like they are both reeling from the sheer intensity of the pleasure slowly rearing its head like a dragon about to breathe fire into them. The space between them cackles, like the joining of two such forces who are equally reckless and contrasting is nothing short of calamitous.
Draco throws his head back, breathing deeply through his nose to steady his mind as he grips her hips hard enough to bruise; tomorrow, Hermione Granger will wake up with his fingerprints blooming like butterflies on her skin. The thought forces him to look at her, so vulnerable and inviting bent over the desk with her arse up in the air, her cunt tight around his cock as he pounds into her without mercy. He caresses the length of her spine, the soft curves of her arse cheeks as he pulls them apart and lets a string of spit land on her untouched hole. This might bepushing it, Draco’s mind tries to argue with him but he is so far past rhyme or reason that he rubs his spit against her hole, drawing out a breathless moan out of her. His thumb continues to rub circles around it, teasing her to the point of madness as he keeps steadily thrusting into her, till she arches her back and shatters around his cock.
Hermione is aware that she’s just let his name slip out of her but as she spins amongst the stars, still acutely aware of his cock lazily thrusting into her to draw out her orgasm and his lips pressing the softest of kisses right underneath her left earlobe, she feels like Draco Malfoy has stolen a piece of her for himself tonight.
To make matters unendingly worse, she isn’t even sure she wants this damned piece back because there is so much of him that she wants to keep for herself too- everything, if she allows herself a moment of unforgiving honesty- but she is afraid she will never have that mythical Gryffindor courage. She’d rather fight armies of dark wizards without a wand than admit that she might have a sliver of feelings for the Slytherin prince, Draco fucking Malfoy.
Draco traces the graceful swoop of her spine with his eyes, following the bead of sweat that trickles down. He leans in and bites the curve of her shoulder, groaning at how easy it is to draw the prettiest sounds out of her with his lips and teeth. He draws patterns on her stomach, holding her against his chest as he buries his nose in her hair and takes a long sniff- vanilla and something achingly sweet like peaches and wild berries.
“More?” he asks, only half teasing. He really does not know what he will do with himself or his leaking- aching- cock if she wants to stop right now but if that is what she wants then he might bend his will to hers.
For tonight.
“Yes-” Hermione breathes, reaching up to play with the strands of platinum hair brushing the nape of his neck; it is truly alarming how easy she finds being with him, touching him like this is the sole reason why she even exists. But right now, with his hands inching south towards the apex of her thighs and the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of her ear- no warning bells are strong enough to herald her back to her senses.
Draco turns her around, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that reignites the embers of desire low in her belly again- hasn’t it only been minutes since the last orgasm, Hermione wonders- as he lifts her up and wraps her legs around his slender waist. Her arms drape over his shoulders, dragging the tips of her fingers over his spine. Draco bites back a groan at how Hermione touches him with abundance, like she wants to touch him just to touch. The weight of her is solid in his hands- all soft curves and untamable curls- as he walks her towards the overflowing bookshelves. Her eyes, usually so curious and observant of the world around her, are on him and only him; they remind Draco of upturned soil and warm honey, of unburnished bronze and burnt caramel.
“Do you find this sacrilegious?” Draco asks, the tip of his nose tracing a fine line along her neck before biting her earlobe. Hermione gasps, the movement rubbing her bare cunt against the shaft of his cock, “Fucking against bookshelves?”
Hermione feels untethered from reality, from her senses; there is only this demanding, almost cruel boy in front of her and every bit of sensation that he has been wringing out of her. Her hands cup his neck, her thumbs rubbing the hollow at the base of his throat; he gulps, eyes so dark with unabashed desire that it nearly does her in again. Slowly, almost tentatively, she starts rocking her hips so that her folds part and her innermost hole rubs against the underside of his cock. His groans, nearly incoherent with pleasure, and it encourages Hermione to move faster as he presses her hard enough against the shelves that the wooden edges dig into her spine. She is not shy by any means but sounds- wet and filthy, accompanied by their labored breaths- make her cheeks tint red.
“You’re so lovely-” the words slip out of Draco completely involuntarily, like his tongue has a mind of his own. He does not let himself linger on how her eyes widen and then soften at his compliment, the blush deeping as he places a kiss atop her nose. She leans in to capture his lips with hers, biting hard enough to draw a trickle of blood. One of his hands slides up to wrap around her throat, deepening the kiss. He hisses into her mouth, an electrifying bolt of pleasure shooting through him as she slides around his cock, taking every inch obediently even when it makes her breath come out in stutters.
“Good girl, Granger-” Draco purrs as he starts thrusting into her, thumbs finding the dimples at the base of her spine and pressing into them. Her nails draw long lines of lust along his back, her head pressed against the shelves that begin to shake- a book or two thud to the ground somewhere- when he picks up pace. Her cunt makes the dirtiest of sounds, sopping wet and needy, and it drives Draco into a trance of nothing but her, her, her.
Hermione has her legs locked around Draco’s waist, hoping the shaking isn’t too obvious as another orgasm builds, like a harp’s string pulled taut and when his cock brushes that wondrous little spot up her cervix once, twice- oh, Merlin- her pleasure reaches the crescendo and she lets out a string of curses as she comes entirely undone in his arms. Her blood pounds in her ears almost as hard as Draco’s cock rams into her, unrelenting and so delightful that it feels utterly hedonistic.
Draco watches as she goes limp against him, flushed with that freshly fucked glow that makes her seem all golden and rose-kissed; despite his worst intentions, he finds his own forehead resting against her, their breaths heavy and in sync. Her fingers absent-mindedly toy with the damp hair curling with sweat at the nape of his neck, the tip of her nose nuzzling his cheek. Draco’s heart- a rotten, garbled thing- aches from the unbearable affection of the moment.
He starts walking them backwards, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of the high four poster bed; Hermione’s face is nestled against the crook of his neck, her teeth grazing his skin like she might be considering leaving a mark on him. His cock throbs inside her, needing release the way his heart tries to claw out of his chest and into hers. He settles on the bed, sitting on his lap, fingers rubbing against her puckered arsehole that is slick with her own cum. Her teeth sink into his shoulder, her moan muffled against his skin.
Hermione lifts up her head and presses her forehead against his, eyes boring into his as he starts pounding into her from underneath her. She bites her tongue, certain that her nails are drawing bloody lines along his shoulders as his cock finds a spot deep enough that she feels it somewhere up that sweet spot that makes her convulse in the most delicious way. Draco thrusts harder, almost going into a rut, as he winds his arms tighter around her; he mouths wet kisses up her throat, marking her. She pants, pouring honey right into his blood as she throws her head back to the skies.
Draco rams into her, his fingers digging into her hips and holds her in place as his thrusts get sloppier and as she squeezes around him- moans morphing into cries- Draco explodes inside her, damning his soul to this girl in his arms. They can do the contraceptive charms later, for now he’s still blinking away stars from his eyes as Hermione lazily rotates her hips to milk him. Their lips glide against each other’s, almost kissing but not quite. He inhales her pants, and he drinks in his indolent purrs of pleasure.
“You might have ruined me for good, Malfoy-” Hermione finds herself saying, brushing away that stubborn piece of platinum lock swaying over his eyes. Draco grins at her, the tops of his cheeks bright with sated bliss.
“Good. I like you in tatters-” Draco drawls, pulling out of her to see his cum glistening against her inner thighs, “Just for me.”