Chapter Text
This work was inspired by this artwork from Ivmaruva. I had *express permission* from the artist to include it embedded here.
Thirty-Six Hours with a Dragon
By Hermione Granger
“Does he know how to strum a body the way he strums a guitar”
…is the first text I saw when I opened my phone Saturday morning, after spending Friday night with Draco Malfoy, 23, at his friend’s movie premiere. Saturday was the day of the final show of his Dragon Heart tour, and I was about to spend that day with him as well. All of this came out of what was supposed to be one meal together to discuss his career. So I understand, of course, why my best friend—along with the rest of the world—would believe something happened between me and the Heir of Rock and Roll. My editor at The Daily Star had asked me to get to know Malfoy.
I guess I’m just really good at my job.
***
Hermione Granger fidgeted with the strap of her bag, gaze darting up and down the busy pavement, looking for some sort of disturbance. She figured that would be the sign for when he was here. She waited to see a flash of white-blonde hair, to see exposed arms covered in tattoos, to see a glint of rare sunshine on the metal of many piercings. She waited.
And waited.
She checked her watch and sighed. He was twenty-seven minutes late. She checked her mobile to make sure she hadn’t missed an email or call from his publicist. She hadn’t.
It would be just like the world’s most famous prat to be half-hour late to the sodding interview he wanted, or at least his publicist did. To be fair, Hermione didn’t know much about Draco Malfoy at all, beyond what the tabloids printed about him. As someone who worked in journalism, she was more aware than most how sensationalist those stories could be, so she didn’t put much stock in them. He’d never been interviewed, hoarding details of his personal life like a… well, like his namesake.
Given her knowledge of how private the famous rock star was, she had been shocked when her editor Rita had called Hermione into her office six weeks ago.
“Hermione, love. You have been chosen to interview Draco Malfoy. Can you believe it?”
Hermione all but shrieked: “Chosen by whom?”
“HIM. His people called. He’s doing his first ever interview. And he wants you to do it!”
“But–” Hermione paused, willing her racing heart to slow down. “I don’t do interviews. I don’t even cover music. I write book and movie reviews.”
Rita simply shrugged. “He wants you. He has you.”
What Draco Malfoy wanted, Draco Malfoy got, which was why Hermione was now waiting alone on the pavement—for thirty-four minutes now!—outside a chippy for the rock star to show. Tomorrow would be the final show of his first ever world tour: 36 shows in 29 cities in 44 days, with the final show taking place at Wembley.
Just when she thought it was time that she called his publicist, she heard a scream. Then another. Then a chorus of them. She turned her attention down the street to see a small mass slowly making its way toward her. The Heir of Rock and Roll had arrived.
***
Seven minutes later, Hermione slid into the booth across from what she could objectively admit was the most beautiful person she’d ever met. She figured celebrities often lost their sheen when they appeared in the flesh. Without the right lighting and makeup and retouching, they probably looked almost normal. They had visible pores and spots and wrinkles, and they sweated and sometimes smelled and spilled on themselves and just generally lost that lustre that came from the pages of magazines.
Draco Malfoy didn’t lose his lustre, not even in the harsh lighting of the chippy, which was really quite unfair. He had smooth alabaster skin that was covered in tattoos down his arms and across his neck and chest—at least what she could see from the deep V of his vest. His tousled blonde hair was so pale it nearly glowed white. His storm-cloud eyes were framed by long lashes under thick brows. And his lips—
Hermione blushed at the direction of her thoughts and quickly decided to jump in with the interview so that her mind wouldn’t wander to the pink fullness of his–
Sodding hell.
“Mister Malfoy. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
“God, no. Call me Draco, please.” His lips—they really were beautiful—quirked. “And actually, I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around.”
She blushed. Again. “Of course, Mister Ma- Sorry, Draco.”
They fell into a silence that felt uneasy on her end and amused on his. He didn’t seem to be someone prone to feeling uneasy. She wondered what that was like.
Draco apparently took pity on her. “Why don’t you start with all the questions your editor wants you to ask.” He offered her another tilt of his beautiful lips. “Then we’ll get to the good ones.”
***
As is often the case with celebrity, Malfoy’s reputation doesn’t match the person he actually is. He’s often called a playboy, a prima donna, and a prat. People “close to him” call him arrogant and obnoxious and say he has an inflated sense of his own talent and importance. After all, the media has dubbed him the “Heir of Rock and Roll” thanks to him being the son of one of the greatest drummers of all time and the grandson of one of the first true rock stars. Of course he’d think he’s special.
I’m here to tell you they’re wrong. Malfoy was nothing but personable throughout our meal, which almost felt like a date. My editor had told me to get to know him, and Malfoy only made it too easy. His smiles came effortlessly, as did his laughs. He was charming and sweet, humble and self-deprecating. He flirted, but it never felt predatory. To put it plainly, Draco Malfoy was a dream, one I never wanted to wake up from.
***
Hermione looked around the empty chippy—his people had paid to have the place shut down for the afternoon so that he could eat in peace—and asked the question that had been burning in her mind all day. “Why here?”
He smiled, showing his perfectly straight white teeth. Her parents would be so proud to have him as a patient. “This is my favourite place to eat.”
She tried and failed to keep the incredulity out of her voice. “Here?”
He nodded, putting his piece of fish back down before continuing. “Aunt Andie used to bring me here when I was younger. She said it wasn’t normal for children to only eat meals prepared by French chefs. Plus, my parents were too recognisable to take me much of anywhere, what with Father being… well, you know. Mother retired from modelling when she became pregnant, but people still recognised her at that point. Still do.”
He lifted a chip into his mouth and chewed, considering, before he continued. “Honestly, I was a bit of a prat as a child. I loved being the son of famous parents and the grandson of a legend. I loved that nothing was denied me. But when I look back, I realise how lonely I was. We never went out as a family, unless it was to some charity gala. Father was in and out of rehab over the years. Mother often went off with her friends to Monaco or the Maldives or Positano. I mostly just spent a lot of time with Aunt Andie. When I did hang out with other children, it was always during playdates Mother arranged, not necessarily with friends I’d pick for myself.”
Hermione’s heart squeezed at the thought of what that life must have been like for a kid. She’d had trouble making friends in school, but at least she always had her parents and knew that they loved her and loved being around her.
Suddenly Draco’s entire demeanour shifted, as if the melancholy were simply a cloak he could strip off. “Hey, do you want to get out of here?”
“What about the interview?”
“We can continue it later. I have a premiere I’d like to go to. You can come along.”
***
What was supposed to be a two-hour interview in a chippy turned into thirty-six hours of food, drinks, conversation, laughter, and… moments. How else do I describe what came to pass between my subject and me?
***
When Hermione insisted there was not a single item in her wardrobe that was appropriate for a movie premiere, Draco called his assistant. After he got off the phone, he gave Hermione an easy grin. “She’ll meet us there. You can change in the car before we head in.”
“I just… I don’t know. I don’t think this is what Rita had in mind.”
“Are you telling me Rita Skeeter would think a bland little interview over a meal would make for a better story than a whole evening spent in the company of a rock star? Come on. Think about how much material you’ll get out of this!”
Hermione sighed. He was right. Rita would love this. “Fine.”
He reached his left hand across the table and grabbed hers, causing Hermione to suck in a sharp intake of breath. His hand was greasy from the fish and chips, and she could feel the calluses on his fingers from his guitar. She looked down to study his tattoos: a small collection of lines and X’s and O’s on his fingers, a large eye on the back of his hand. Up his arm was a much more intricate sleeve: narcissuses interwoven with a massive dragon. The work was stunning.
She looked up to see his attention already fixed on her face. She tried not to shift under the intensity of his grey gaze. “Your eyes are so unique. They’re incredible.”
“Oh, no, they’re just brown. Nothing special.”
He shook his head. “No, believe me. They’re not just brown. You have these gorgeous flecks of green and gold that make them… so stunning. They’re beautiful, just like you.”
God, was Draco Malfoy flirting with her? Should he be flirting with her? She was here for work. Surely this wasn’t appropriate. Hermione considered what Rita would say. She almost snorted aloud. Rita would probably tell her to flirt back. It would make for a better story.
Maybe that’s exactly what she should do.
Hermione smiled, hoping it came off flirty instead of pained. She’d never actually been in a relationship before and at the age of twenty-three, had only been on a handful of dates, none of which had ever ended in her engaging in more than kissing. What a joke: Hermione Granger, the 23-year-old virgin, trying to flirt with arguably the most eligible bachelor in the world.
But she could do this. She was smart. She was capable. Sure, she wasn’t someone who flirted—or, quite frankly, someone others often flirted with—but she could pretend. She decided to channel her best friend, Ginny. Ginny was the funniest and most confident person Hermione knew. It didn’t hurt that Ginny was a literal goddess, but that was okay.
Hermione-channelling-Ginny leaned in and felt a flash of triumph when the movement caused Draco’s gaze to drop to her lips. She flicked her tongue out to wet her lower lip, hoping it appeared sexy instead of deranged. The way his gaze darkened told her she’d achieved her aim.
“What do you want to do until the premiere?”
His eyes came up to meet hers. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to say.”
***
It was noteworthy that, as someone who’d been covering movies for The Daily Star for almost a year, I had never actually been to any sort of red carpet event, not until the subject of my newest assignment invited me to one. I was there for work, in a sense, but not to cover the movie itself. No, I was there to cover him, and was there a lot to cover.
It was clear that, if Malfoy weren’t such a supportive friend, he wouldn’t have even considered attending the event. While his entire demeanour was relaxed, his smiles easy, and his greetings warm, a steady hum of discomfort emanated from him the whole evening, which was obvious to anyone who got close enough to him to sense it. I was lucky enough to spend the whole night right on his arm.
***
Draco’s driver had pulled the tinted SUV into an alley near ODEON Leicester Square, where the premiere was being held. After a few minutes, the door opened, and a stunning woman slid into the backseat next to Hermione. Her black hair was cut into a severe bob, and her flawless makeup only served to highlight her sharp features, from her pouty lips that were painted a matte red to her bright green eyes that were framed by a black liner drawn into a perfect cat eye. She looked Hermione up and down, and the lift of one shaped brow seemed to indicate the woman found her lacking.
Without a greeting, she asked, “What will you be doing with your hair?”
Hermione unconsciously lifted a hand to pat at her curls, which felt like they had frizzed up a bit over the course of the muggy May day. “Um, well, maybe a braid, or–”
The woman gasped, and Hermione heard Draco let out a breathy chuckle behind her. At least one of them found the woman’s clear disdain for Hermione’s appearance funny.
“A braid? How old are you?”
“Well, I’m twen–”
“Nope, that was a rhetorical question.” She paused, further considering Hermione’s appearance. “I think we can make this work.”
She pulled a massive makeup bag seemingly out of nowhere and went to work on Hermione’s face. After ten minutes of painting and prodding and plucking, Hermione was starting to get antsy. What more could this woman have to do?
Finally, she pulled away, her green gaze scrutinising and her lips pursed. “This is about the best I can do.” Hermione tried not to bristle at the very blatant dig at her appearance. The woman turned at Draco, who had sat silently the whole time, and asked, “What do you think?”
Hermione turned to face him, feeling a hot flush rise up her chest and neck. As soon as her eyes met his, his face broke out into a wide smile. “Pansy, she looks incredible.” She tried not to be annoyed by the fact that he was talking about her instead of to her, or the clear approval on his face at her altered appearance, as if how she looked before didn’t quite cut it.
The woman—Pansy, apparently—grabbed Hermione by the shoulder to turn her back around. “One more thing.” She was rubbing some sort of lotion between her palms. She ran her hands through Hermione’s curls, roughing and scrunching them. “We’re going for that messy bedhead look, so feel free to keep messing your hair up throughout the evening.”
Pansy pulled out a small mirror and handed it to Hermione. “Well?” Hermione looked at herself, and now it was her turn to gasp. She looked good. The deep mauve shadow and smudged liner turned her normally innocent-looking doe eyes into sultry bedroom ones, a look that was only enhanced by the nude gloss on her lips, the light dusting of blush across her cheekbones, and her voluminous mess of curls. For the first time in her life, Hermione felt sexy.
Hermione was happy to hear her voice come out strong. She felt like she might cry. “Thank you.” Pansy handed Hermione a garment bag, dropped a pair of heels on the floor, and, without another word, exited the vehicle.
Hermione turned her attention back to Draco, whose gaze had turned… hungry? Could it be? Or did she just want him to want her? God, what was she doing?
She fingered the bag absently. “I guess I should change.”
Draco nodded and quickly exited the car, the driver up front wordlessly following suit. She unzipped the bag and pulled out a black top, quickly realising Pansy hadn’t provided any bottoms. Was Hermione supposed to wear her denims? Surely not.
That was when the startling realisation hit her: it wasn’t a top, it was a dress. She was meant to wear this by itself. Hermione almost rolled down the window to let Draco know that she’d changed her mind and that she’d be going home, but then she asked herself her new mantra for the night: What would Ginny do?
Ginny would put on the sodding dress.
***
For someone whose job normally entails reviewing movies, I found myself having a hard time concentrating on the experience of attending my first movie premiere. The cameras were flashing. The attendees were beautiful. The fans were screaming.
And I could only pay attention to the tattooed rock star at my side.
(Honestly, though, Smoke and Mirrors was excellent. See my review in the 16 June issue.)
***
The afterparty was held in a dark hotel bar just around the corner from the cinema. The space was lined with deep booths, and it was in one of those booths that Hermione found herself, her entire right side lined up with Draco’s left, his tattooed arm draped over her shoulder, his fingers absently playing with her wild curls. Across from them sat Blaise Zabini, an actor who, like Draco, was just as beautiful in person as he was in the pages of a magazine, and Blaise’s boyfriend Theo. The place was already buzzing with praise for Blaise’s lead performance in Smoke and Mirrors.
Draco lifted his lowball glass, holding it up towards Blaise. “To the man of the night. Enjoy it, because tomorrow everything goes back to being about me.”
The actor threw back his head and laughed, the pulsing lights playing across his flawless umber skin. Theo nestled his mop of brown curls into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. The easy intimacy caused a pang in Hermione’s chest. She watched as Blaise brought his hand up to Theo’s chin, then slowly lifted it until they were face to face. Blaise leaned in, taking Theo’s bottom lip between his teeth. Even over the deep thump of the electronic music, Hermione heard Theo’s answering groan.
She dropped her attention to the martini in front of her, feeling her cheeks heating from the display. She felt Draco’s chuckle vibrate through him. He leaned in to whisper in her ear: “I give it two minutes until they’re disappearing into the loo.”
Her eyes jumped to his. “You mean they’d… You know… Here?”
He tilted his head, looking bemused. “You mean you’ve never shagged in the toilet?”
The startled look on her face must have told him all he needed to know because he chuckled again. “You haven’t. It’s alright. Honestly, you’re not missing much. Not much space. Also no surfaces you really want to put your bare bum on. A bit gross, really.”
Just then, Blaise and Theo practically collapsed trying to get out of the booth with their lips still attached to one another.
Draco downed the rest of his Scotch and whispered in Hermione’s ear, “Want to head back to my place?”
***
After I’d had two drinks at the afterparty, Malfoy invited me to stay the night at his flat, which was much closer to the venue than my parents’ suburban home, where I still lived. I accepted, not relishing the idea of taking a taxi home that late at night.
He was a perfect gentleman. I slept in the guest room, and he made me pancakes in the morning.
***
As soon as they made it through the front door of his flat, Draco’s hands were on her waist. He dropped his mouth to her ear and groaned. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night. Please, Hermione, can I?”
Her pulse skittered. He wanted to kiss her? She nodded against his temple, and he let out another groan. “Thank fuck.”
His soft lips pressed hard into hers, ravenous and demanding, as he bit and sucked at her bottom lip first then her top. She’d been kissed before, but never like this. Her gasp apparently stoked the flame of his lust even more because he pressed his tongue into the seam of her mouth, demanding entrance. She opened for him and felt a cool metal ball against her tongue. She pulled back. “Is your tongue pierced?”
He stuck out his tongue where, sure enough, there was a silver ball in the centre of it. He smirked. “Have you ever felt a tongue piercing on your clit before?”
She shook her head, knowing she should tell him she’s honestly never felt anything down there before except her own fingers, but she couldn’t make herself do it. She didn’t want to break the spell of this: him, a sexy tattooed and pierced rock star, wanting her, bookish, awkward Hermione Granger.
“You’ll feel it soon enough, my sweet girl.” And with that, he leaned in to take her mouth with his again. This kiss was softer, less aggressive, but that didn’t make it any less intense. Her tongue played with the little ball on his, and she smiled into his mouth at the funny sensation. With a final quick playful nip, he wrapped his large hands around the tops of her thighs and hoisted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. Of course, the barely-there dress Pansy had given her rode up completely so that her plain cotton thong was completely exposed. Malfoy smirked when he saw the pale pink of her knickers. “They suit you.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.”
He leaned in to run his lips and tongue along the side of her neck, hitting her in spots she never knew to be so sensitive. She felt down there give an incredibly indecent throb when he began sucking just below her ear and let out a rather indecent moan to match. He began shifting his arms slightly so that he could rub her covered lower half against his hard stomach while he continued to nip and suck at her ear and neck. Hermione felt herself growing increasingly wet as the throbbing became more intense. She started gyrating her hips to get even more friction, losing herself in the sensation of feeling this with someone else.
She’d always worried there was something wrong with her. While she’d enjoyed a number of the dates she’d gone on and even found a few of the men to be pleasant company, she’d never had any desire to go beyond kissing anyone. She’d seen it as a defect in herself that she hadn’t desired sex with any of them. Clearly she just hadn’t found the right person for her because now here she was, rubbing her body against a man she met not even twelve hours ago and on the verge of an orgasm.
Draco sensed her urgency. “Oh, that’s it, sweetheart. I can feel how close you are, and I haven’t even touched you yet.”
He squeezed her bum as he helped her rock into him and brought his mouth back to hers. He whispered into her mouth, “Come for me, Hermione,” and that was enough to send her over the edge. She panted and moaned onto his lips as her channel clenched around nothing, her legs shaking where they were wrapped around him. He whispered quiet words of praise that she could barely make out over the sounds of her own breath, then finally pulled her mouth into a sweet, slow kiss. “You came beautifully for me.”
He turned with her wrapped around him and made his way across the massive living space that she was only vaguely aware of. He entered a dark room and, clearly using muscle memory, made his way to the bed in the middle of it. His bedroom, then. He deposited her there before making his way over to flip on a low lamp on the bedside table. Her gaze wandered the space—Draco Malfoy’s bedroom—and noted how sparsely decorated it was. A bed, a table, an armoire, and a chest of drawers, with a few odds and ends littering the surfaces. She considered asking him about it but decided it wasn’t that important when she locked eyes with him and saw the heat still in his gaze.
Her attention then dropped and snagged on the rather large bulge in his black trousers. Right, she’d gotten off and he hadn’t. Hermione’s insecurity came back in full force. What an idiot she was. She should do something to reciprocate. But what, exactly? She knew she could touch him there with her hands or her mouth, but she’d never done either and wasn’t sure how to start. Should she just undo his zip and get started? Should she ask him to sit? Lie down?
He moved, and Hermione realised with a fierce blush she’d been staring at his bulge. Her gaze dropped to her lap as he came to sit next to her on the bed. “Hermione, we don’t have to continue if you don’t want to. You don’t owe me anything.”
“No! I want to. I truly do. I just…” She closed her eyes, taking a deep fortifying inhale, letting it out in a slow exhale. “I’m a virgin. Before tonight I’d never even… been brought to orgasm by another person.”
She went silent, waiting for him to scoff, or worse, to ask her to leave. What would one of the world’s most famous men want with her? He probably had at least a dozen beautiful men and women—probably all actors and actresses and models and socialites—on rotation. He could call any of them up for a much more exciting night than what she could give him.
Suddenly a large callused hand gripped hers. She opened her eyes to see the eye on the back of his hand staring back at her.
“Thank you for trusting me with your pleasure, then.”
Her gaze snapped to his face. “You’re okay with this?”
His brow furrowed. “I mean, well, yeah. And it’s not really my business to be okay or not okay with it. It’s just a fact of who you are. I wish you’d told me sooner just so I could make your first partnered orgasm a little more special than rubbing your cunt against my stomach, but oh well.”
She cringed at his crass language, and he let out a small chuckle. “Do you not like the word ‘cunt’?”
“Well, it’s just a bit… icky.”
He brought his mouth back to her ear and dropped his voice to a raspy whisper. “I bet by the end of the night I can get you to love it when I talk about your cunt.”
And with that, he moved—rather gracefully, in her opinion—so that she was on her back with him braced on his elbows over top of her. His mouth found her ear again, nibbling and sucking as she started to pant and moan again beneath him. He trailed his soft lips down her neck, across her collarbone, and down her chest, visible thanks to the dress’s low scoop neck. He pulled back, causing Hermione to let out a surprised whimper at the loss of his touch. He smirked down at her, clearly pleased at her displeasure. He quickly divested himself of the shirt and jacket he’d changed into for the premiere, then leaned in to plant a rough kiss on her lips before working his hands under her, pulling her up to a sitting position.
His hands came to work the zip as he growled into her mouth, “The way you look in this dress was enough to drive me to the point of distraction all evening. I couldn’t stop thinking about dragging you to the loo and making you scream for me.” She shivered at his words, as well as at the air on her heated skin.
Once she was stripped to nothing but her knickers, he pushed her onto her back once again and continued his trail down her body, stopping to run his tongue around her belly button. She felt him smile into her stomach as she giggled. Her giggle cut off abruptly when he kissed her over knickers and suddenly her feeling of self consciousness spiked again. Was he really going to… there?
She looked down to see his darkened grey eyes fixed on her. He caught his teeth on the top of her knickers and pulled, using his hands to assist him in removing them completely, leaving Hermione completely bare to him. His eyes dropped, and he let out an obscene groan. “Hermione, your cunt is divine. And soaked for me. Can I use my mouth on you, sweet girl?”
She felt herself flush a brilliant shade of red, both at his words and at how wet she was. He apparently didn’t mind though given how ravenously he was studying her. “Okay.”
He licked a long, slow strip from bottom to top, letting out a groan that she felt vibrate through her core. Oh. His attention became fixed on her bundle, where he alternated between sucking and licking. She could feel the ball of his piercing, which was slightly cooler than his tongue and felt smooth against her most sensitive skin. Oh, yes, this felt good. She wasn’t sure if the piercing really made any difference since she had nothing to compare it to but decided at that moment she never wanted someone else’s tongue—pierced or unpierced—on her.
Her hands worked their way into his hair, which was soft and fine between her fingers. He moaned at the contact with his scalp, the sound and vibration causing her to clench around nothing. She suddenly, for the first time in her life, wanted to be filled. “Draco, I– Oh god. I need–”
He must have sensed what she wanted, because she suddenly felt one of his large fingers at her wet entrance, slowly pushing in and causing her to pant at the intrusion.
“Just breath, love. I’ve got you.”
Hermione tried to force her body to relax, to accept his callused but gentle touch. He continued to work her bundle with his lips and tongue as he began to move his finger in and out of her, building a slow rhythm. She felt overwhelmed at the sensations, unsure if she’d even be able to climax in the face of the newness of it all. It felt like too much.
He began to work a second finger into her, and she froze.
“Sweetheart, I need to prepare you for my cock. I need you to take it.”
She felt another deep throb at the thought of him inside her, and she willed herself to relax enough to take his second finger. Soon enough, he slipped inside, and she groaned again at the stretch.
She felt herself beginning to crest again, amazed that she could actually come in the face of how new everything was. The attention of his mouth, the glide of his fingers (which were now hitting some spot inside of her that felt incredible), the view of his head between her legs with her fingers in his hair. Hermione’s breathing became harsher, her moans louder, until she suddenly shattered. There was no other way to describe the convulsions that overtook her body, the way her vision blurred and she lost all control over the sounds and words pouring out of her mouth.
When she finally became aware of her surroundings again, Draco was back over her, the lower half of his face soaked and a smug smirk plastered on his beautiful mouth. Feeling bold, Hermione surged forward to capture his lips in a kiss and gasped at the sharp taste of herself on him. She worked her tongue into his mouth and swirled it around, finding she strangely wasn’t grossed out at what she was doing. She liked it. He apparently did too because he panted harshly against her lips. “Fuck.”
Draco divested himself of his trousers and pants, bringing his cock to line up at her entrance. “Are you sure you want this?”
She nodded, leaning in to plant soft kisses along his neck. She’d never kissed anyone like this, but she liked when he did it to her and figured he might like it too. The way he shuddered told her he definitely did.
“Just know, you can stop me at any time.”
She hummed on his neck as she kissed and sucked his skin, loving the way his body seemed to react to her. She felt powerful here with him, something Hermione had never thought possible.
Slowly, he pushed his hips forward, breaching her entrance. She gasped at the sharp sting, tears pricking her eyes. He murmured into her ear, soothing her with his sweet words and endearments, encouraging her to take deep breaths. He pulled out slightly and pushed back in, going a little deeper, then repeating the motion until, finally, his pubic bone came flush with her body.
“That’s it, love. You’re doing beautifully. Your cunt is squeezing me so perfectly.”
At that, her body throbbed again. He let out a low chuckle. “I knew you’d end up liking it when I talked about your gorgeous cunt.”
He pulled out and pushed back in, building into a steady rhythm that caused Hermione’s body to hum with pleasure, the earlier hurt completely gone in the face of how good he felt. His mouth found hers, and the kiss that followed was sensual, their tongues lazily twirling together. Her body once again felt like it was being wound tight, and she wondered at how easily he could make her feel good, trying not to think about how much practice he’d probably had. No, just as he didn’t hold her lack of experience against her, she couldn’t hold his experience against him.
Draco’s pants started to become harsher, the snapping of his hips picking up speed. She assumed this meant he was getting close, and she wasn’t sure if there was something she was supposed to do.
Suddenly, she felt his hand making its way between their bodies, and she shook her head. “Oh, no. I don’t think that’s possible.”
He laughed, bringing his mouth to her ear. “Believe me, my sweet girl, it’s definitely possible.”
His calloused fingers rubbed purposeful circles on her bundle of nerves as his tongue and teeth attacked her neck again, him whispering sweet praises in between bites and soothing licks. “Your cunt is milking me, Hermione. Give me another one. I want to feel you come on my cock, baby.”
Hermione’s fingers dug into his muscular shoulders as she felt her body drawing tight, ready to snap. His words, the urgent pounding of his hips, and the beautiful way his fingers rubbed her all combined to send her over the edge one more time, his name on her lips. He followed her with a strangled shout, his body shaking.
Immediately, Hermione felt herself fading from consciousness, the combination of shock at the improbability of the last twelve hours and the complete weightlessness of her satiated body pulling her under. She was vaguely aware of Draco leaving the bed and returning with a wet cloth, wiping between her legs. She was then aware of him situating her body under the covers, and of him pressing a kiss to her temple before sleep claimed her at last.