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She doesn’t mean to gape. She knows it’s impolite, maybe even cringe, especially when she can’t stop, her mouth slightly ajar. Had it not been for the alcohol circulating in her bloodstream, she would have felt ashamed. She would have looked away. The couple in the booth to their right doesn’t mind, though. They probably don’t even realise that she can’t keep her eyes off them.
But she’s pretty sure her stare can burn through their clothes and skin.
They’re insanely hot, Hermione has to admit. She watches them, dragging her tongue over the rim of her champagne glass. The girl has a nice arse, and the man’s thighs are massive, toned and muscled. She wants to run her hand up and down his legs.
It’s too dark to see their faces, not when their mouths are joined in one of the most passionate kisses she had ever seen. The girl straddles her boyfriend’s lap, her red short dress threatening to roll up as she grinds back and forth on his legs. Hermione can feel the heat pooling in her core. She’s sure her cheeks are flushed.
Ron comes back with their drinks, already drunk, muttering profanities in her ear. Normally, the words would have some effect on her. She would turn around and give him a coy smile, her eyelashes would flutter, and then he would kiss her. She likes Ron but—not in the way that makes her heart go pitter-patter.
She’s glad he’s drunk now, because it also means he’s oblivious and doesn’t mind when she ignores him. His hand rests on her exposed thigh, but it’s not his hand that makes her cunt clench.
The man, now that she caught a glimpse of his hair she can say he’s blonde, roams his hands up and down the girl’s back, in movements that seemed random but well-planned and controlled at the same time. When one of his hands disappears somewhere Hermione can’t see, the girl throws his head back, her eyes closed in bliss. She can only imagine what the man is doing to her now.
“Is this all for me?” Ron whispers against her ear, his finger slipping past the ruined fabric of her knickers. “So wet.”
No, is what she wants to say. Of course it’s not for you. But she hums instead, leaning into her boyfriend’s touch. It’s warm and cosy, but it’s not enough. She thinks of the blonde’s hands, of the rings on his fingers. How nice it must feel when he wraps them around the girl’s throat.
Ron seems content with her answer. Enough to retreat his fingers and return his attention to the colourful drink he brought. She clenches her thighs, desperate for any friction, any release; but nothing comes.
She hates she has to ask, but she does nonetheless. “Can you take me home?”
His eyes flicker with lust as he finally notices her slightly dishevelled hair and the blush blossoming on her neck and cheeks. “Sure, Mione. You look so pretty, how could I—”
She rolls her eyes. She can’t blame him for the way she feels. But she does.
Hermione smiles at him but quickly looks around, only to realise the pair she was so invested in watching is gone. The blonde man left his black tie on the couch and she is half-tempted to pick it up, but she realises how creepy it would be. She does it nonetheless, when Ron isn’t looking.
It’s velvet and soft, and she thinks about having her hands tied with it. Or her eyes covered. But she knows she can’t expect Ron to do any of those things and she doesn’t want to do all the work for him, so she stashes the tie inside her purse.
Ron takes her hand and they walk out of the small club.
When they’re back in the hotel, it takes Ron an embarrassing amount of time to slip the dress off her shoulders. His fingers are a little stiff and too eager, and it’s never a good combination. They both take a sobering potion, though she does it mostly for him. At some point, she just wants to yell at him and do everything alone. When he doesn’t even take a second to appreciate the lace set, she wears under the silk dress, ripping it off, she moans, but he takes it the wrong way.
“You like that, eh?”
She really doesn’t. What she liked was that lingerie set.
But she wants him to fuck her before she explodes with all the tension. Ron leads her to the bedroom of their lavish room, unbuttoning his shirt, when she notices something in the room across the street. It’s the blonde hair she sees first, then the red, sparkling dress.
Quickly, she surveys the lounge area in the hotel room, her eyes landing on the desk she specifically requested to be there, should she need to work. She didn’t, but she would find a different purpose for the mammoth cherry-oak surface. While Ron still tries to undress himself, fighting with the buckle of his belt, she grabs his arm and pulls him back into the lounge.
“What are you doing?” He asks, confused, his fingers halting. He’s so boring and oblivious she doesn’t really know why she’s still with him. For appearance, perhaps. “The bedroom is that way—”
She can’t believe she has to be the one to say it. “I want you to bend me over that desk and fuck me on it. Pull my hair a little, maybe?”
Ron’s eyes flicker between her cleavage and face and then the desk. And then back to her. He looks as though he doesn’t understand her. “Are you—Mione, are you serious? I want you to be comfortable.”
She tries to listen to him, she really does, but her eyes dart to the window. She realises it’s only their room and the one across the street that has lights on. It must be rather late, but she doesn’t mind.
“Yes, Ronald, I’m serious.” She cuts him in the middle of another pointless question. She not only wants it—she needs it.
When he doesn’t move, she pries his hands off his trousers and unbuckles his belt herself, pulling it out of the loops and tossing it somewhere on the carpeted floor. Then, with her eyes fixed on Ron’s, she unbuttons his trousers and slides them down his thighs, along with his underwear. She tries to appear impressed by his cock, which he seems to appreciate. She licks her lips, and he smiles.
“So—um, how do we do this?” He asks, not knowing what to do with his hands or mouth or anything. Is she surprised? No. Is she annoyed by this? Yes.
When he doesn’t look, she casts an unharmful Confundus on him. She wants to be the one enjoying the show across the street, especially that she’s sure Ron would object to fucking her if someone else could see.
Not waiting for him, she bends over the desk, her hot cheeks melting deliciously against the icy surface. Maybe it’s the alcohol in her blood, maybe it’s the exhaustion, but she tilts her head so that she can see the couple in the other room.
She spreads her legs for him. Then she waits.
“Ronald,” she urges, rolling her eyes. Maybe she ought to do it herself. The couple across the street doesn’t seem to have similar problems. “Can you please…?”
She hears Ron pumping his cock, but all she can focus on is the woman’s body pressed to the window, her legs wrapped around the blonde’s waist. They didn’t even bother with taking her dress off and she can only vaguely see that her heels are still on, too. That’s passion, Hermione thinks.
After a few more seconds, they stop, and Hermione can see that the woman is barely standing, her legs wobbly. Ron’s fingers play with her clit, rubbing slowly, but she’s wet enough for him—she has been for hours. When he finally thrusts into her, she whimpers loudly, but it’s not because of her boyfriend. It’s because she realises who the man across the street is.
Their eyes lock as Ron slams in and out, in and out, and she lets out another whimper. She is now being watched by Draco sodding Malfoy. He is watching her being fucked by her boyfriend. He sees everything. Every expression on her face, every bounce of her tits.
And he seems to enjoy the show. Judging by the smug expression on his face.
She wants to tell Ron to stop, but then Malfoy smirks and conjures a chair to sit on. His hand is on his cock, pumping it slowly as she arches a brow in question—or maybe a challenge. Her brows furrow, but she brings her hand to her clit, working it the way she knows will make her come. Ron’s thrusts are too slow and too shallow; and he is all in all too sloppy.
He doesn’t make her legs tremble.
But Malfoy’s smirk does. He runs his free hand through the mess of his white hair, the other still pumping his large cock. Another wave of arousal gushes out of her, her thighs now slick with it. Ron grunts and squeezes her hips, and she knows he’s close.
Malfoy drags his fingers across the head of his cock and switches hands. With a wide grin, he slowly brings the hand that he used to pleasure himself to his lips, darting his tongue out. Her cunt clenches involuntarily.
His eyebrow remains arched, another challenge for Hermione. He mouths a silent taste it when she doesn’t know what he wants from her. It feels weird, but is it really weirder than having sex with your boyfriend and doing… whatever she was doing with another man?
So, she licks her fingers too. It’s a musky and unfamiliar taste, but it’s not as gross as she thought it would be. Malfoy nods with appreciation and only now does she notice the first signs of a blush on his marble, sharp cheeks. She lets her eyes travel up and down his body. From the way he’s seated on the chair, she can see everything. His skin is slick with sweat and so pale it glistens in the moonlight.
But it’s his eyes she can’t stop looking at. The intense, burning gaze he is fucking her with.
The girl he fucked returns a few seconds later, now entirely naked. Hermione is jealous of how he looks at her, how his sultry gaze burns into the woman’s beautiful body. After telling her something that makes her laugh, Draco spreads his legs to accommodate her petite body between them, and she sinks to her knees. His thighs are toned from all the Quidditch practice, the muscles on his arms and abdomen flexing as he breathes in and out.
His eyes are still on Hermione.
He bites his lip, and she mimics the gesture.
Hermione grabs the edges of the desk tighter when the girl takes Malfoy’s cock in her mouth. Malfoy caresses her hair and cheeks, but his eyes are fixed on Hermione all the time. She imagines it’s him who fucks her, not Ron. She thinks his cock would fill her perfectly, and he would definitely know what to do with her. She wouldn’t have to ask.
“Just—Ron, harder , please,” she begs and to him it must think as if she’s desperate for him. She wants him to fuck her into oblivion, but she’s not sure her boyfriend is capable of that. He tries, she can tell that he tries. But his movements are frantic. He’s getting tired. And yet she says, as if to encourage him. “Mmmm, just like that—but faster.”
Whether he can hear her or not, she’s not sure. But Malfoy seems to know she’s nowhere near being satisfied, when an amused smirk spreads all over his face. He grabs the girl’s throat when his cock is still buried to the hilt in her mouth. This seems to do the trick for Hermione. As she again imagines herself on her knees for him, and the moment her eyes roll to the back of her head and her mouth parts in a moan, he releases his grip.
She would let him choke her, she thinks. She would enjoy it very much.
As if noticing Hermione’s previous movements, Ron too slides his hand between her legs and plays with her clit, leaning down to ask, “Are you close?”
She sees Malfoy clenching his jaw; the woman bobbing up and down on his cock. He gathers her hair in a makeshift ponytail and bucks his hips. “Yes.” She says, truthfully. Every part of her body burns with need and lust. Her breathing is heavy and uneven, her heartbeat intensifying. She is about to explode from all the tension.
Ron spills inside her, but it’s not him who makes her come undone. It’s the blissful expression on Malfoy’s face, it’s the white load of come the girl spits all over his spent cock, massaging his balls. Hermione thinks she would swallow it.
And that thought—that thought alone is enough to bring her over the edge. A loud moan erupts from her chest, her legs trembling. Malfoy winks at her, licking his lips and then pulling the girl up to place a kiss on her lips.
Fuck, that’s hot, Hermione thinks. She’s glad she brought her vibrator to the hotel. She doesn’t think one orgasm will be enough and Ron, in his current state, won’t be able to give her another one. He didn’t even manage one.
He mutters something under his nose and staggers back to their bedroom. “Are you coming to bed, Mione?”
“In a second,” she says, unable to look away from the couple. She likes the way Malfoy’s hair is tousled, the way his eyes shimmer when they look at her. “I just need to clean myself,” she adds when Ron calls for her again.
When she hears him get into the bed, Hermione finally straightens her back up, her chest still heaving. She casts a cleansing charm on her legs and stomach and grabs the silk robe to wrap it around her body.
She dares another look at the window. Malfoy is on his knees now, his face buried between the girl’s thighs. Her legs are hooked over his shoulders and his hands rest on her hips, holding her in place. Hermione feels another wave of arousal washing over her and her hand instinctively slides down her body, under the soft nightgown.
Malfoy glances up and meets her gaze one last time, his chin glistening in the moonlight. He shoots her a challenging look, but instead of returning it, she turns on her heel and walks into the bathroom. She wonders if it upsets him. In the morning, she will blame alcohol on her bravery and stupidity; she will use it as an excuse to ease her own guilt. But right now, she knows she’s going to make herself come another time thinking of Malfoy and Malfoy only.
She silences the bathroom. She doesn’t want Ron to hear, or walk on it when she’s doing it. Not because she’s ashamed, or he didn’t see it before, but because she needs peace. Oh, how she wishes Malfoy was in her room now.
When she wakes up the next morning, there’s a bouquet of red roses and chocolates waiting for her on the desk. Atop lays a black envelope, with her name written on the front page. Thank Gods Ron is still sleeping.
She opens the envelope, a deep blush forming on her cheeks as she reads the neatly scribbled words.
I asked for the sweetest chocolate in the world, but I have a feeling nothing is sweeter than you. I hope you don’t mind that I got a little taste of it last night.
P.S. I would like my tie back. Meet me in my room tonight? — D.
When she uncovers the lid of the chocolate boxes, she notices one of them is gone. But she knows it’s not the taste he meant at all. She vanishes the presents from the desk and sends them to her flat in London. She doesn’t want Ron to make a scene, not when she’s not sure what her answer to Malfoy’s question would be.
She could have breakfast sent to their room, but after the surprise she found on her desk in the morning, it didn’t feel right to eat over there. Besides, she needs a few moments alone to think about—what exactly is she going to think about?
Her relationship with Ron needs to end.
It never worked, she knows that. But she kept him because she didn’t want to be alone.
“Miss Granger,” a low voice pulls her out of her thoughts. She knows to whom it belongs without looking over her shoulder. His presence is overwhelming, in the best way possible. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here this early. I heard you had quite a night.”
She scoops some porridge and almonds on her plate and pours herself a large cup of black coffee. It smells so nice; she considers drinking it straight from the pot. She doesn’t even realise she moans softly when the aroma fills her nostrils.
His hand is on her back, not too low, not too high. “Aren’t you making the sweetest sounds? Is the coffee this good ?” She shudders under his touch, but she keeps her face straight. He doesn’t need to say it, but he knows he’s itching to add Imagine what my cock would feel .
She will not fall for that so easily, oh no.
“You should try it yourself,” Hermione says, clearing her throat. She doesn’t move an inch but she feels his gaze burning her skin. “Would you like a cup?”
He chuckles and the moment the sound reaches her ears; she imagines him chuckling last night, when the girl lapped at his cock and when he looked at Hermione. “There’s something else I’d rather try,” he purrs into her ear. His hand trails only an inch lower, but it’s enough for the heat to spread across her body.
She finally gathers the courage to look him in the eyes. Her eyebrows rise high, and she settles her tray on the table. “Is there, Malfoy?”
He dips his fingers into her coffee and smears it all over his lips, completely ignoring that there are other people in the hotel’s cafeteria. It’s early enough for the place not to be crowded, even so, they’re not alone. “Why that face, lovely Hermione?” She has to clench her fists at the sound of her name rolling off his tongue. So intimate, so soft. “I thought you rather enjoyed being watched… and watching?”
She knows her cheeks blush a deep shade of red. Malfoy seems to enjoy it, though, never breaking eye contact with her as his tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Mmmm,” he hums in approval. “You do have an excellent taste.”
“Did you bring my tie?” He steers the topic of the conversation away from coffee when she doesn’t have an answer for him. Her face burns with shame.
“It’s in my room,” she breathes out. She’s glad she’s wearing trousers this morning because she’s sure her arousal would drip down her legs had she chosen a dress. “I can go fetch it—”
He cocks his head to the side. “Is Weasel still upstairs?”
“Yes.”
Draco raises a perfectly styled eyebrow. “That won’t do. I like an audience, but I don’t think he would appreciate me fucking you into oblivion.”
How—how does he even know about this?
“I will not let you do this!” she protests, though her voice comes out as a pathetic squeal. Malfoy gives her a patronising glance, his eyes trailing up and down his body. “I—look, he’s still my boyfriend.”
Malfoy takes another sip of the coffee, in a normal and civilised way this time.
“Did you enjoy watching my friend choke on my cock last night?” He asks casually, as though they are discussing the weather. “I thought you would look rather adorable with your mouth wrapped around it.”
She swallows hard and coughs at the directness. “She seemed good at what she was doing.”
“I never said she wasn’t. But I think you can do it better ,” he smirks. “I would make you swallow every drop.”
Hermione hates how he knows she can’t resist a competition. Of course she would do it better than that girl. Of course she wants to prove it to him. She doesn’t know what to say to make it look better for her, so she remains silent. Malfoy, however, seems desperate to draw any reaction out of her.
With a lazy grin, he asks, “Did you like that I kissed her afterwards?”
“Yes.”
“I would kiss you too,” he says. “And then I would fuck your cunt with my mouth.”
Is it possible to come just on his words? Hermione thinks it is.
He says nothing for a while and she realises he’s waiting for her. He seems like a very patient man, but Hermione is not patient at all. Draco must know it. He guides her to one of the tables, his hand resting on her arse. He’s close enough so that only she can see—feel it, only she can feel how his fingers knead and squeeze her. They never reach the table. “You know I can see you’re already drenched?” His voice is a low purr, his breath hot against her neck.
“And do you know I can feel you’re already hard?”
He chuckles, pressing his chest to her back. “I was hoping you would.”
“We shouldn’t—”
“We don’t have to.”
“But you want to.”
“Don’t you?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes, I want to,” he says. “I want to fuck you in the bathroom and watch your pretty cunt clench around my cock. I want to rip those Muggle jeans to shreds and spank your perfect arse until it bruises. I want to fill you with my load and watch it drip down your thighs, maybe smear it all over your tits, too. And then, when you can no longer breathe or walk or think, I want to get on my knees and taste your sweet juices, getting drunk on the taste of you.”
Her knees threaten to buckle, and she has to grab his thigh for steadiness. Her voice doesn’t come as steady as she wants it to, which doesn’t escape his attention. “All that in the bathroom?”
She can feel him smirk against her neck. “We can stay here if you want some audience.”
“I didn’t agree to anything yet,” she counters, though she already knows she’ll go with him. Gods, she would let him fuck her here if that was her only option. “I have a meeting in two hours—”
“With the French Minister’s daughter?” He asks, and she nods in response. Does this man know everything? She nods, letting him guide her out of the cafeteria. “She’s really tired. Her throat is a little sore. I don’t think she’s going to make it that early, Minister.”
“Was that—?”
“Mhm. She’s a good friend of mine.” He spins her around the moment they leave the cafeteria and pins her to the nearest wall. His mouth is on her neck, her hands on his back. His breath is hotter than fire and she desperately needs to cool down before she burns. “Is there a problem?”
“N-no,” because why would there be? She only wonders if he—“Did you come to Paris because you knew I would be here?”
His hand slides between her legs, rubbing at the seam of her jeans. She has to swallow down a particularly loud and desperate moan; her vision blurs at the edges as he adds more pressure. “Maybe I did. It’s so hard to get an appointment with you in London, Minister Granger. I had to… get more creative this time.”
She brings her hands to his cheeks and tilts his head to meet his gaze. His chest is pressed against hers, so close that they will soon melt into one. He leans down and locks their lips in a kiss, even more passionate than the one she watched in the club. He tastes like coffee and mint and sin and she wants to explore every inch of his mouth, and his body too. “Perhaps you ought to talk to my assistant the next time.”
“Ah,” he chuckles, pulling her lower lip between his teeth. “But isn’t this more exciting? It was so fun to watch Weasel trying to fuck you. Gods, does he even know how to use his cock? You looked like you were going to cry.”
She grimaces, thinking of the pathetic fuck her boyfriend gave her. “Is this what you want to talk about? Because it’s a real turnoff for me.”
“No,” he admits. “But you know I can’t help myself when it comes to mocking the poor bloke. So, want me to fuck you in the bathroom before you make me come in my trousers with all that grinding and touching?”
“I think I’d enjoy seeing that,” she smiles, palming him through the fabric and gives him the best fuck-me-eyes she can muster. “But maybe let’s leave some fun for the next time.”
“Such a dirty mind, Granger, already planning the next time,” Malfoy says, pinching her nipples and drawing a strangled moan out of her. “Shush, you don’t want anyone to hear, hm?”
“I don’t care. And it’s Minister Granger for you.”
He sketches a theatrical bow before he kicks the door to the bathroom open. “Apologies, Minister Granger,” he corrects himself, his tone dripping with mockery. “Would you do me the honour and let me fuck you?”
She rolls her eyes, locking the door with her wand. At the same time, he silences the bathroom, his eyes already surveying the space. “Do your worst, Mr Malfoy.”