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Hermione hummed quietly to herself; the solitude in this hidden corner of the library was heaven. No one could see her, therefore no one bothered her, and in her mind, that was just perfect. She had far too much work to do, and the research was much more important than any ridiculous distractions her friends would bring. She'd allowed them to take far too much of her time of late, spending frivolous hours doing all kinds of nothing, and was now falling behind. And in her mind, that was completely unacceptable.
No. This tiny space of her own was exactly what she needed. She was hidden — and while she was sure it would be assumed as to where she was — no one would find her.
She twisted her tie absently while she read, continuing to hum quietly but mindful of the fact the new librarian was even more of a tyrant than Madam Pince ever was. Any noise louder than a pin drop would get you detention, and she preferred not to bring his attention to her.
Picking up her quill, she began to make notes. She was fascinated by this latest research project — the medical practices of the ancient Mongol tribes — pouring herself more so than usual into it. The natural remedies were incredibly intricate considering some of the tribes were so nomadic, and she would have to make further enquiries regarding the plants, seeds, and barks that were used. She was well versed in many of the ancient medicinal plants, but some of these she could barely pronounce. And she wasn't sure they even existed any more.
"Rorippa barbareifolia," she murmured quietly. "Hoary yellowcress…. herb… good for food poisoning from contaminated fish…"
She scribbled a few more notes then reached for another book. Her elbow hit the previous volume she had opened, sending it flying off the table and onto the floor with a loud thump.
Hermione winced. "Shit," she swore under her breath, scrambling to retrieve the book, hoping he was in the small office and hadn't heard the noise.
"Shhhh," came a hissed sound and she let her head drop allowing her hair to fall around her face. Maybe if she looked busy he wouldn't know she'd disrupted the peace. "That's your first warning, Miss Granger."
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yes, sir. Sorry."
She waited for his response but there was none. She sighed, relieved. She would rather have Bellatrix's vile breath all over her face again than have to deal with him.
It had been a shock when she'd first seen him in the library. He'd been behind the desk, a pile of books beside him, and a stern expression on his face as he organised the books into smaller piles. Hermione had stopped short in the doorway, staring at him and wondering why he was there, in her favourite place, spoiling her mood.
But he'd barely registered her presence, simply tilting his head slightly to peer over his glasses at her. She'd lowered her gaze, then hurried past him, headed for her secluded corner. She'd been unable to concentrate, however, constantly watching over her shoulder for him to approach and banish her from what she assumed he would consider his library.
But, it had always been her place. The place she would go to clear her head of the unexpected world she'd become a part of. She enjoyed the quiet the library brought, more so she enjoyed the fact her friends were rarely ever there.
And she learned quickly, the new librarian enjoyed the quiet as well. Any noise above a whisper got you a reprimand. And three reprimands got you banished for a week.
It had happened once and almost killed her, so she was conscious not to be disruptive.
She returned to her work, losing herself once more in the books and parchment covering the table. Her brow furrowed, and she twisted in her seat, looking at the shelf behind her. The book she needed was out of her reach, and — unthinking — she slid her chair back, scraping the legs on the wooden floor. The screech was loud, and her entire body stiffened.
"This is a library, Miss Ganger." His voice was sharp, "And this is your second warning."
"Sorry, Sir."
Hermione remained still for a few seconds, waiting for her heart to calm. She couldn't believe she'd been so careless. She needed the library this week — this research assignment was due, and one more reprimand and she wouldn't have access to the books she needed.
Exhaling slowly, she stood, tip-toeing the few steps to the shelf to retrieve the book she needed. Her skirt rose higher than she would have liked when she reached for the shelf above her head, almost exposing her arse to the entire library. Tugging it down, she internally cursed herself for not buying a new uniform this year. The hem was several inches above her knees — far higher than was respectable — and her jumper was too tight across her chest. She hadn't missed the stares and — oftentimes — the outright ogling she'd endured from the males around her. She would have to make a trip to Madam Malkin's during the Christmas holidays.
Tugging at her skirt once more, she sat at the table, shifting the chair back in place without a sound. Hermione opened the book she'd just retrieved and began reading, quickly losing herself in the text. Her quill scratched across the parchment as she absorbed the words, taking down even the smallest details she knew would be important. Rolls of parchment filled quickly, notes on flowers and herbs, seeds and grasses, and the methods with which they were implemented in healing. It hadn't been her intended course, but she had discovered that healing was her passion. Her parents being dentists had probably played a certain part, but magical healing held such vast possibilities, she couldn't see herself headed in any other direction.
"Bugger," she muttered under her breath at the realisation she'd run out of parchment. She was loath to leave; it meant packing up everything since the librarian would issue a third warning if she left the books spread about, even if she fully intended to return in just a few minutes. And she'd found her groove, her instincts leading her to all the right texts, and the right pages in those texts. How could she have been so stupid as to not bring enough parchment?
Sighing in frustration, she began to tidy up. She replaced the books on the shelves, and gathered up the parchment scrolls, placing them neatly in her bag. Lastly, she picked up her quill, sliding it carefully in the special side pocket, then reached for her ink pot.
"Fuck!" she cried as it slipped from her hand, spilling the entire contents across the table. "Oh gods, no!"
"Miss Granger." His voice was filled with anger. "Your language is highly inappropriate, as is your volume. Ten points from Gryffindor and a week's banishment from the library."
She pulled her wand quickly from her bag, to clean up the mess, lest he see the ink and banish her for life. A week was bad enough, she didn't want to even think about never being allowed to return.
"I'm so sorry, Sir. I… I caught my shin on the table leg."
"There are no excuses for that language, Miss Granger. I knew your kind were uncouth, but you could try a little harder to conform to the etiquette of this world."
Hermione sucked in a heavy breath and told herself killing him wouldn't be worth it; there wasn't a library in Azkaban.
"Yes, Sir. I will try my best to conform."
"So pleased to finally hear you say it."
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and balled one hand into a fist.
No library in Azkaban. No library in Azkaban.
She slowly relaxed her hand and opened her eyes. She could last a week without having to visit the library; the notes she had already taken would be enough to write three papers. And the bonus would be that she wouldn't have to see him.
Gathering her belongings, she made her way towards the door, resolutely not looking in his direction as she walked past him.
"Miss Granger, I would hope you wouldn't try to break the rules and sneak into the library over the next week."
Hermione stopped several steps from the door. "No, Sir. I don't break rules."
He huffed a breath, and arched an amused eyebrow. "And now you're a liar."
She spun around and glared at him, her patience had reached its end. "And you're still an intolerant, pureblood pig."
"Excuse me?" His amused expression shifted to one of contempt.
"You heard me," she pointed a finger at him. "You should never have been appointed to this position. You must have paid the board of governors quite the sum to ignore your indiscretions, Mr Malfoy."
He stood quickly, slamming his hands on the desk. "Detention. One week, starting tonight!"
Hermione balked. "What?!"
"You heard me, Miss Granger. I will not stand for your insolence."
"Detention?" She was stunned. She didn't have time for detention, she had far too much work to do.
"Yes, Miss Granger, detention. I'm sure you believe you are above discipline, but this is my library and you will abide by the rules I set out."
He was so smug, Hermione wanted to slap the glasses from his face. And she hated herself for thinking those same glasses made Lucius Malfoy hotter than she already thought he was. Her little crush had become full-blown lust, and her thoughts when it came to him were anything but pure. She wasn't sure when it started, her absolute hatred of him hadn't dissipated at the end of the war; her hatred had only grown deeper when he'd not been thrown in Azkaban for life. It was what he'd deserved, but Harry's kind heart had kept the Malfoys out of prison and living free. And now that he was in charge of this library only served to boil her blood.
And he'd been pushing her to this moment since he first stepped in the door. The power trip he'd been on was laughable. She might have been lusting after him, but she held no respect for him. The facade he'd managed to fool everyone with hadn't worked on her. She'd not believed for a second he'd changed, and his words had proved it.
Your kind.
Two little words that said so much.
"You do know what detention means, Miss Granger?"
Hermione let out a shaky breath. She'd been well informed as to what detention meant.
"Yes, Sir."
Hermione watched, unmoving, as he removed his jacket and draped it neatly over the back of his desk chair. His cufflinks were next, the silver clasps tossed unceremoniously onto the desk before he slowly rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. First the right, revealing the beautifully pale skin that she had only imagined. His smug eyes never left her as he rolled up the left sleeve, the Dark Mark the only blight on his perfect skin. She bit her lip, staring at the mark. It was beautiful in its ugliness, a now dormant sign of who had won the war, and her blood which had boiled at his words was now sending heat between her thighs.
He rounded the desk and walked towards the window, taking a seat in the centre of the leather sofa.
Their eyes met and the smug smirk she was offered dared her to argue more with him. But she knew that would give him more reason to banish her for longer, and another week of detention was something she didn't need.
"Miss Granger, you will serve your detention for an hour each night beginning at—" he glanced at his watch, "—eight pm. If you are even one second late, another day will be added."
Hermione seethed. She was never late. For anything.
"Yes, Sir."
"Now, I believe I said tonight would be the beginning of your detention."
She gripped the strap of her leather satchel, not wanting to drop it, but she knew there was no way around it.
"Yes, Sir."
She removed her satchel from her shoulder and leaned it against the base of the desk. She took a steadying breath and walked slowly to him, stopping in front of his spread legs. His eyes slid down her body, hovering at her chest, his eyebrow raising when he reached the hem of her skirt. It took everything she had to not squirm under his gaze.
"Your uniform is rather below standards, Miss Granger. The dress code is very specific, and this—" he lifted the hem higher with the tip of his finger, "—is quite unacceptable."
"Sorry, Sir."
"Another ten points from Gryffindor."
Hermione held her temper, curling her hand into a fist once more so as not to slap him.
"You've not served detention while I've been in charge," he stated.
"No, Sir."
He sat up straighter, spreading his legs wider and tapping the leather cushion between them. "Your foot."
Hermione swallowed thickly, and adjusted her balance to place one foot on the sofa. She had the fleeting thought that she could quite easily press her shoe hard into his manhood and flee, but her stubborn pride wouldn't let her.
He unbuckled the strap on he black leather Mary Janes, tutting as he tossed the shoe aside.
"These socks aren't regulation either."
"No, Sir."
"Are you deliberately trying to lose every point from your house?"
"No, Sir."
He slipped the almost sheer sock down her calf, sneering derisively as he discarded it.
"I don't believe you, Miss Granger." He pointed at her other foot, and she adjusted her balance again to place her other foot between his legs. "What I do believe is that you're trying your very best to be noticed. Your intelligence isn't enough any more, is it? You need to be seen as well."
"Believe what you want, Mr Malfoy."
He paused, her shoe dangling from his finger, and curled his lip.
"Twenty points from Gryffindor."
Her shoe landed on the wooden floor with a thump, but she refused to look away from him. Her anger was almost at an exploding point, but she tamped it down; she'd lost forty house points already, she wouldn't lose another.
He removed her other sock, his fingers brushing against her calf and sending a shiver through her. She hated that he was able to cause this reaction in her. She hated him with a passion, but wanted him with a fierceness she'd never known.
She began to pull her foot back, but he stopped her, tutting once again.
"Did I tell you to move?"
"No, Sir. Sorry, Sir."
"Since it's your first detention, I'll let this small incursion slide. Any further missteps, and you won't be so fortunate."
"Thank you, Sir."
His hand curled around her calf, his warm fingers strong and firm as he squeezed the muscle gently. The leg holding her up wobbled slightly as his hand moved higher, sliding along the inside of her knee. He tugged on the hem of her skirt and raised his eyes to hers.
"Are you in financial trouble, Miss Granger?"
"No, Sir."
"Why is it then that you have neglected to purchase a new uniform?"
"I hadn't realised it was so small, Sir." She clenched her inner muscles when he pushed her skirt higher. "And I had a rather busy summer."
"Hmm," he hummed. "A rather flimsy excuse, Miss Granger. I was under the impression you were quite organised."
Hermione found it almost impossible to respond. He lifted her foot and placed it on the outside of his leg, opening her wider and pushing her skirt aside to expose the sheer knickers she was wearing.
"Another indiscretion, Miss Granger. Good girls don't wear such revealing undergarments." He ran a single finger along the edge of the fabric and she had to suppress a moan that would have surely gained her another day in detention. "Unless of course your kind have no such qualms in parading themselves in such a tasteless manner."
She bit back her response; she hated herself but she wanted him to continue. The boys she'd been with before now had never once caused such an intense reaction in her. Hands groping painfully, and over-eager thrusting that brought on a premature ending without any pleasure for her was what she experienced. This was different; he clearly knew his way around a woman.
He moved his hand back down, tracing the taut muscle of her inner thigh, teasing her in a way that told her he was trying to get a rise out of her to enable him to punish her further. But she refused to allow herself to fall under his thrall. She would simply allow him his way with her and walk away proudly knowing that Lucius Malfoy hadn't won this fight.
His hand retraced it's path, one long finger slipping beneath the edge of her knickers and grazing her smooth skin.
"Fuck," he cursed — the first indication that she was affecting him more than he wanted her to know.
Her pride surged and she bit back a grin. Had he never touched a woman's bare cunt?
"What have you been thinking about, Miss Granger?" His voice returning to the deep, steady timbre his curse had let slip. "A woman this wet hasn't been thinking innocent thoughts."
"I was thinking of a man, Sir."
"A man?" His finger paused and he looked up at her.
"Yes, Sir."
"And would this man approve of your current actions?"
"No, Sir." She allowed a tiny smile to flicker at her lips. "He is quite sweet and gentle. Not possessive at all."
"Not possessive? Maybe he's not a man at all."
"Not all men are pigs, Sir."
His finger began to move again, slowly brushing over her bare skin. "You won't allow a man to own you?"
"No, Sir. I am not a possession."
His mouth curled into a smile of his own and his finger grazed her clit. A gasp left her before she could stop it and he chuckled.
"And yet, I believe I have already possessed you."
"You're wrong if you think that. Sir."
Lucius pulled his hand away from her and she had to bite her tongue to stop her frustrated groan. He balled his hand into a fist between them and Hermione knew he wanted to taste her on his finger. He was, however, too proud to let her see any weakness in him.
"I am rarely wrong, Miss Granger."
"Yes, Sir."
He watched her for a few beats then shifted again.
"Lie across my lap."
Hermione's eyes went wide. "Sir?"
"Are you questioning my instructions?"
"No, Sir. Of course not."
She knelt beside him on the sofa and, with a quick glance down, she noticed his trousers were stretched to their limits. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and his chest rose and fell as he tried to control himself. Hermione's insides felt like they were melting; he was hard for her. For the Mudblood he hated.
She lowered herself to lay across his lap, shifting until she was in as comfortable a position as possible. She felt the hardness stretching those trousers press into her side, and had to hold back another moan at the size of it.
What would it feel like to have something that big inside her? What would it feel like to be stretched—
She stopped that thought. It wouldn't do well to dwell on fantasies that wouldn't ever come true.
Stretching her arms out, she gripped the edge of the cushion and closed her eyes. This was what had been talked about; the spanking punishment for whatever he deemed an incursion in his library.
Spanking. She'd always been curious, but had been too ashamed and embarrassed to ask for it. She didn't want anyone to spread rumours about her, so she'd kept her curiosity to herself. This, however, wasn't how she'd thought she would experience it for the first time.
Lucius placed his palm on the back of her thigh. "I'm pleased with your compliance."
"Thank you, Sir."
His hand moved higher on her thigh. "Did you drop that book on purpose, Miss Granger?"
"No, Sir."
"I don't like liars." His hand came down on her covered arse cheek, the fabric of her skirt muffling the strike. "Did you drop that book on purpose?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And why did you do that?"
"I knew it would make you angry, Sir."
He lifted her skirt, and she smiled into the sofa at his sharp inhale. The undergarments she was wearing left nothing to the imagination. The sheer front was positively demure compared with the back. A tiny string sat in the crevice between her arse cheeks meeting another small triangle of the same sheer fabric on her tailbone.
"Highly inappropriate," he murmured and caressed the curve of her arse. "You should be expelled for such wanton behaviour."
He brought his hand down on the bare skin, causing her to jump. It had been surprisingly gentle, nothing like the sharp sting she'd expected.
"That's for the book," he said, covering her cheek with his hand and squeezing.
"Less than what I deserve, Sir."
His hand came down again, slightly harder and sharper than the first connection. "That's for disturbing the peace."
"It won't happen again, Sir."
Another sharp slap came quickly. "The ink had better not have stained the table."
"It didn't, Sir."
Hermione braced herself for the next slap, but it didn't come. Instead, his fingers slipped between her cheeks and touched the taboo spot no one had ever touched. She clenched immediately, stopping any further exploration.
"Have you never been touched here?"
"No," she said firmly, not caring for any extra punishments not calling him Sir would bring.
His fingers retreated, but he offered no spoken apology, slapping her arse twice in succession.
"You will not omit calling me Sir again, Miss Granger."
"You will not touch me where I don't want to be touched, Sir."
After a few seconds of silence, she felt the smooth caress of his palm along the back of her thigh, and knew it was the only form of apology she would receive.
"Very well, Miss Granger," he said rather stiffly, then brought his hand down again on her other cheek. "That's for this disgrace of a uniform."
Hermione's fingers dug into the cushion, and she moaned, pulled directly back into the moment and instantly forgetting his taboo touch. Her body gushed and her already wet cunt suddenly became sodden. The stinging slap of his hand was a rush like she'd never felt. She wanted to cry out, wanted to beg him to impale her with the hard length of him. Instead, she held her tongue, not giving him the pleasure of knowing what he was doing to her.
His fingers returned to the seam of her arse, and before she could protest, he slid them down, sneaking beneath the thin strip of fabric and plunging them inside her body.
She cried out, unable to stop herself, clenching and shuddering as her body betrayed her and came all over his hand.
"Good girl," he said and spanked her with his other hand. "Are you going to beg for more than just my hand?"
Bastard. How did he know?
"No, Sir," she managed to choke out.
"Hmm, pity."
His hand came down again and again, and the stinging slowly lessened, becoming a deep, almost agonising need that she couldn't quite understand.
Her assumptions hadn't allowed her to believe this could be anything but humiliating, however what she was feeling, how her body was reacting, how much she wanted him to push inside her, was overwhelming at worst. Nothing could have prepared her for how good this felt, how good he felt, and the need for more of him everywhere was almost desperate.
"Lucius," she groaned, her arse rising to meet each slap of his hand.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
Her words failed her as another wave of pleasure hit her. She pressed her face into the sofa and wailed.
"Oh god! Please… please!"
"Please, what?"
"You! I need you… now!"
He slapped her arse one more time before telling her to sit up.
She struggled to her knees, breathing in great gasping breaths as he immediately stood and made quick work of his button and zipper. Shoving his trousers and pants to the floor, he took himself in hand, holding himself up to her.
"Is this what you wanted?"
"Yes," she breathed and leaned forward, running her tongue over the head of his cock.
"No," he said and she looked up at him. "I want your tight cunt wrapped around my cock. Turn around."
She nodded and shifted to her knees, leaning her arms on the back of the sofa and glancing over her shoulder at him. He winked and lifted his hand to remove his glasses.
"No," Hermione demanded. "Leave them on."
"Cheeky." He slapped her arse again before reaching down to move her knickers to the side and rub the tip of his cock against her. "Are you sure you can take me?"
She lifted her foot and pressed it to his balls. "I'll take anything you give me."
Without another word, he gripped her hip and pushed inside her body. Inch by inch he slid in, until she was stretched and full and aching around him.
His grip tightened on her hip and she bent forward trying to adjust to his size. She was barely breathing; he was so big she felt him everywhere. He leaned over her, brushing her hair over her shoulder and kissing the sensitive spot below her ear.
"I'll fuck you for hours next time, Miss Granger," he growled. His voice was rough, urgent, needy, and should have infuriated her. But all she felt was an undeniable lust. "I'll fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk. But right now, I'm going to come inside you, and I'm going to come hard and fast."
He pulled his cock nearly all the way out, and all the air left her lungs when he slammed himself back in. Hermione moaned; he was in so deep she was sure he would break her. Then his hands went to her hips, his fingers digging into her sides, and he began fucking her. Hard.
And her world was suddenly reduced to just this. The feel of him moving through her, the sound of his grunts, the scent of his expensive cologne. It was all she could focus on, everything else was just too much.
"Tight," he grunted and ground into her, his hips jerking, his fingers digging so hard into her she knew there would be bruises, his balls slapping against her with every thrust. "So… fucking… tight."
He moved faster, harder, deeper, his cock sliding against the perfect spot inside her with every circle of his hips. She could feel the tension growing within him; his grunts became louder and his words dissolved into harsh curses. His hand shifted from her hip, reaching beneath the front of her skirt and into her knickers. His fingers landed on her clit, and in just a few slick rubs, Hermione almost burst apart. She screamed out her release, shoving her arse back against him and riding out the intense wave that rolled over her.
Lucius leaned over her again and groaned into her shoulder, and with one final hard thrust, his hot seed spilled into her, his body jerking with each wet burst from his cock.
A well of emotions flooded her and tears filled her eyes. Lucius Malfoy had fucked her. And it had felt better than anything. She should have been horrified and humiliated, but her heart had other ideas. She felt so full of him, so incredibly satisfied. Every fantasy she'd had was blown away. Nothing compared to the real thing.
He gently pulled himself out of her and she felt the wet slide of his come dripping down her thighs. She whimpered. She wanted him to stay inside her, wanted to feel the stretch, the fullness, the thick and heavy length of him. She wanted nothing more than this man every day for the rest of her life.
His hand soothed across what she assumed was the reddened flesh on her arse. She waited for one last slap, but it never came.
"Hermione, darling, did I hurt you?"
Hermione shook her head, and sucked in a sobbing gasp. Lucius immediately helped her from the sofa, pulling her into his chest and holding her tightly.
"I did hurt you."
He sounded distraught, but she couldn't speak to assure him he hadn't. Her heart was still free-falling, and her brain had checked out at the first slap of his hand.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered over and over. "I never want to hurt you."
She swallowed the heavy lump in her throat and took several deep breaths, finally looking up at him.
"You didn't hurt me, baby."
His strong hands cupped her face, "Are you sure?"
"I am." She smiled at him as his thumbs brushed gently over her cheeks, wiping the tears that had spilled. "That was… that was incredible."
He still looked unsure.
"Lucius, baby, these are good tears. And right now, I feel like I could fly." She turned her head to kiss his palm. "And you know how much I hate flying."
His face relaxed and a smile slowly curved his mouth. "I was worried."
"I know you were, but there's no need. I love making love to you in any way, Lucius, but what we just did — what you just did — was so amazing. And I know you don't want to do that all the time, and I respect that, but please know you didn't hurt or upset me."
He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then a shy smile graced his beautiful face. "Maybe next time, you could spank me."
Lucius' breathing was soft and even as he slept. Hermione was watching him, finally glad he was able to relax. This man was so different from what she had first believed, had first assumed.
In public he retained his aloof persona, barely taking the time to even look at others, let alone speak to them. But away from prying eyes, he rarely put himself first. Draco and Scorpius were his entire life; he would walk through fire if he thought either of them was in any danger. His protectiveness had surprised her. She had assumed, like everyone else, he was a cold and calculating arse. But when it came to his family, Lucius Malfoy was not to be trifled with.
And when he was with her, he was sweet and gentle. He had taken her places — both literally and figuratively — she never expected.
She'd been shocked to her core when she ran into him in the Shakespeare and Company bookshop in Paris. Her search for a rare first edition had been fruitless, but she'd enjoyed wandering the shop and had found some other treasures to purchase. She'd noticed the attractive man — his blond hair pulled into a knot on his crown, his black-rimmed glasses giving him a look of a man who would do very naughty things — watching her and when she finally glanced fully up at him, her heart had almost leaped through her chest.
He'd smiled and nodded, acknowledging her politely, then asked if she would join him a few doors down at a small cafe for coffee. Hermione had nodded her assent and had spent the next three hours talking with the last man on earth she would have ever dreamed would apologise to her. He had been sincere and not at all as she had assumed. He was quietly spoken, intelligent, and was surprisingly knowledgeable about her world.
Her friends had been wary and Draco had been polite but cautious as her friendship with Lucius had blossomed. She was half his age, they had all reminded her, making it sound like she was a child. She'd been twenty five when they'd met — re-met — and old enough to ignore her friends and do what she damn well pleased.
She enjoyed his company, enjoyed the fact she could talk with him about books and politics and medical research and all the things her friends thought boring. He was interested in her, interested in her thoughts and opinions, as was she with him. They hadn't always agreed, but the respect that had been growing between them allowed them to move past any disagreements without feelings being hurt.
She wasn't sure when the line of friendship had been crossed, but they both seemed to have stepped over it at the same time. And when he had kissed her for the first time, she knew.
Lucius Malfoy was the man for her.
The first time they'd had sex hadn't been quite so clear cut. It had been awkward, with lots of fumbling and apologies, until they were both laughing at the absurdity of it. They had found their rhythm — of course they had — and sex with him had become incredible. But he'd always been careful, loving her quietly, sweetly, for hours on end. And while she loved him for it, her curiosity reminded her that she had often wondered if there could be more.
She'd been terrified of asking him and avoided it. But he'd sensed something was wrong, and she'd confessed her fantasies to him. He'd been taken aback, wondering why, after all she had been through, she wanted him to dominate her. Hermione had reassured him over and over that she didn't mind, that she wanted him to be rough, but he had explained that spanking her felt all too much like hitting her and he refused to be abusive. Eventually, they had discussed her needs at length, until he had agreed. But, in his own endearing way, he'd wanted to ensure he did it correctly, and had researched exactly how their roles should play out. He'd read books, had found people in the Muggle world to talk to, had even watched some fairly salacious footage — of which she had benefited greatly — however, he had still been reluctant to spank her, or even hold her hands still above her head.
Almost a year passed after their discussion and Hermione had been left wondering if her fantasies would ever be met. They had finally finished the renovations on their rather grand Victorian home — the Manor had been too large and her townhouse too small so they'd compromised — and had been married in the summer just past, but he still hadn't wanted more.
So, she had begun to leave tiny hints. A pair of knickers in his desk drawer in the library. A bra draped over the back of his chair in the den. Breakfast in the solarium while she was scantily clad in nothing more than her underwear and a sheer robe. Nothing had worked. That was until she hung her old school uniform on the dressing room door, fully intending to get rid of it.
The flare of his nostrils and the dark look in his eyes when he saw it told her she had finally found his kink. And Professor Malfoy, the librarian, was born.
She pressed a kiss to his chest and made to move to give him the space to sleep comfortably. But his eyes fluttered open and he reached for her. She went easily enough, curling into his side and laying her head on his shoulder.
The full moon shining through the open drapes caught the lens of his glasses on the nightstand and she bit her lip.
It had been those damned glasses that had first attracted him to her. The dirty thoughts they had conjured up had rendered her speechless.
It was why he hadn't had his eyesight corrected.
He knew.