You don’t have to pretend
Frustration bubbled up from within, threatening to choke her where she lay against the softest sheets she’d ever had the indignity of touching.
Hermione hadn’t exactly planned on her afternoon turning out this way. Nothing could have prepared her for the reality of sprawling naked across Draco Malfoy’s four-poster, the wizard himself kneeling between her thighs.
It felt good at the start.
He’d worked her up in a remarkably short time, hands and mouth working separately and together like they had minds of their own that knew exactly how to push and pull Hermione into maddening want. It wasn’t long before she, too, tugged at the fabric of his shirt. When he was finally bare before her, she stared, not caring that it might make her look a fool.
It was big.
Bigger than she’d expected; bigger than she’d experienced. It hung heavy, looking almost painful in the way it bobbed free from the confines of his pants. The head flushed an almost angry pink, not too dissimilar from his cheeks in the winter cold. Prominent veins lined the thick shaft, running almost the full length from base to tip.
Without a word, he’d stepped back into her, taking her hand and gently guiding it towards him and wrapping her fingers skin to skin. Warmth seeped up her arm, prompting her to squeeze. The resulting groan brought Hermione back to her senses. Malfoy didn’t utter a single complaint when she let go of him; he simply watched as she licked the palm of her hand before grasping him once more and setting a rhythm she’d come to master with lesser rivals.
He’d let her do as she wished, only occasionally guiding her towards his preferences with a soft nudge, a grunt of approval. She’d taken pride at the gasp pulled from him when she took him deep, nose brushing against his short hairs, throat constricting around his cock in perfect facsimile of what she hoped would follow.
When he came, it was after he’d attempted to pull away. She didn’t let him, of course. She’d gripped his hips firmly and moaned long and loud to let him know she wanted him to spill across her tongue, an invitation he did not refuse. He swore first in English, then in fluent French, a pleasant surprise.
He’d been thankful, snogging her almost immediately after without a care in the world about the taste of himself still on her tongue. His hand returned to its place between her thighs, fingers nimble in their exploration of each fold and crevice. She came with a keening cry that he inhaled, then came again when he pressed deep inside and crooked his finger just so.
Two was more than enough. Two was already more than she’d ever had at a time from a hand other than her own.
When he sank down onto his haunches and ran his nose up her inner thigh, she’d tensed up.
It wasn’t that previous partners hadn’t ever exchanged the favour. She just didn’t take particular pleasure from the act. The heat and wetness of it all was nice, but not enough. Hermione also didn’t think any of them had actually enjoyed her taste. She’d sampled herself, obviously. Tangy, slightly sweet, nothing she’d ever crave, so why should they?
Silver eyes glinted up at her, brows quirking in question. Her huff as she widened her legs seemed to amuse him, the puff of air he released cooling her slick skin a surprising effect. Then, he went to work.
She had to admit that he was good. Better than she would have imagined and nearly enough to send her over the edge. She danced along the border, release flitting out of reach whenever she drew close. Or was that him, purposefully keeping her there? He’d bring her close, then back off to pay attention elsewhere. After the third time of ebb and flow, she was frustrated enough to force him into the next phase.
She shuddered, moaned in a rising pitch, then shuddered again. Thighs clamped against his ears, and he was forced to pry them apart. She bucked strong enough to nearly unseat him.
Then he slapped her.
Not on the face, but against the meaty flesh of her inner thigh.
“What the bloody fuck, Malfoy?” She tried to sit up as she spat out the words, but the two fingers that delved into her sent her flat on her back once more in surrender.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.” He sounded…angry?
A third finger stretched her wide in a delicious burn that promised more. The shudder that ran through her was real, this time.
“I-I don’t know what you mean,” she panted out, tossing her curls from left to right. He was so close to where she wanted him, the blunt tips of his fingers brushing against her from the inside.
“Don’t you?”
She could barely hear him, muffled as he was. Then he was rubbing against the inner wall while he sucked her clit, tongue tickling the tip of it in concerted focus. The cliff’s edge reached for her, yanked her off balance, shoved her without forgiveness into open air, where she fell, and fell, unseeing, unable to grab onto anything that might stop her fall. Pleasure wracked her brain, waves of it washing over her like a seizure that continued on as Malfoy worked her through it steadily and without pause. She might have gone straight from one orgasm into another with how long she lost hold of her senses.
When Hermione finally came to, panting as if she’d run a marathon, it was to the sight of a smug grin that stretched across Malfoy’s face where it rested facing her own. His lips looked swollen and shiny with her release, a stark contrast against his otherwise pale skin. She could still feel his fingers massaging soothing circles along her hip bone.
“You,” she cleared her throat, sore for several reasons, “you didn’t have to slap me, you prat.”
“No, but I did, and you seemed to like it.” His grin widened as he rolled atop her, arms bracketing her in so she saw nothing but him. “Maybe I’ll bite you next time you try to fake it.”
She tried to ignore the thrill those words brought her. “See what happens if you do.”
He tilted his head in consideration. She sought out his lips as his face bent downward, but he brushed past to place those very same teeth against the tender skin of her neck. Hermione froze. The barest hint of pressure to her jugular, together with the blunt head of his cock at her entrance, had her as helpless now as she had been earlier. She couldn’t even begin to muffle the moan that forced its way out of her as he pushed forward agonising inch by agonising inch, spearing her in two all while he held her in place with his teeth to her throat, one hand gripping her curls while the other pushed her knee out and flat against the mattress.
He didn’t stop until he was buried fully within her, his balls nestled against her arse and hands flexing where they kept her in place. He pulled his face back just far enough to look at her once more.
“You were saying?”
Damn him, and damn his perfect cock.
The shock that took over his face was worth the sharp blossom of pain to her scalp as she darted forward to bite into his shoulder. Her free leg came up to wrap around his hips, her heel digging into the fleshy skin of his buttocks. Then, she squeezed the inner muscles that sent those aforementioned lesser wizards straight to their early demise. That meant less fun for her, but she took almost as much pleasure from the rush that control always gave her.
Only, Malfoy wasn’t like those other men. Not by a long shot.
He growled, low and threatening, almost like he was a wild beast she’d had the foolishness of goading. He yanked her head back, seemingly not even noticing that doing so had her inadvertently drawing blood as her canines scraped across his skin. Lips slammed against her own, the hand gripping her knee tightening in a way she knew would leave lasting marks. Then, he fucked her. Hard.
She gasped at the force of him, filling her again and again without restraint. If she thought he’d been deep at the start, she stood corrected now. He let go of her hair to press the knee that once wrapped around him but now flapped uselessly to the side with his invasion to the mattress as well, spreading her impossibly wide so he could delve so deep Hermione was certain there’d be permanent evidence of him within her. There’d be no getting rid of him, not now.
Who was she kidding? She wasn’t ever letting him fuck anyone else but her for the forseeable future. He was supposed to be a one-off, a distraction from her earlier irritations. Hermione hadn’t expected anything more than a satisfying shag. She was satisfied, alright. She was so much more than satisfied that this one-off and her handful of orgasms weren’t ever going to be enough.
“What’s the smile for, Granger?” He swivelled his hips in a way that she nearly went cross-eyed. She could tell he was close, the girth of him swelling even larger inside of her.
She brought both hands up to cup his face and tug him close. He obliged with a curious wrinkle on his sweaty brow.
“You’re mine now,” she breathed out into his ear, “Draco.”
A strangled cry fell from his lips as he jerked inside of her, and Hermione found herself joining him in mutual ecstasy as she let go of her own self-restraint. She imagined his release coating every part of her in a wall of white. The image of it, as well as the weight of him as he fell boneless across her, was more than she could bear without hearing it from his own mouth.
She gripped his chin to angle his hazy gaze towards her own. “Say it.”
The cloudiness left, leaving behind piercing grey behind soft lashes. “I’m yours.”
She noised her disapproval as he tried to shift his weight off to the side. “Stay.”
He settled back, his length still inside of her despite his release. She stroked one finger down the crack of his cheeks and felt a telltale twitch, information pocketed for later. Continued petting had him boneless within minutes. Hermione waited until his breath evened out to gently roll them onto their sides where he slipped out of her, his brow wrinkling in adorable discontent as he slumbered on.
Staring at him and the way he slept so peacefully, so defenceless, Hermione thought maybe, just maybe, she was already his, too.