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Hermione awoke to a room filled with golden light.
It danced upon glassware scattered about the hotel suite, crystal martini glasses and champagne flutes refracting sun beams into prismastic hues. Hermione let her eyes wander as she basked in the sun’s warmth, savoring the feel of satin sheets against her aching body. Her chestnut curls gleamed, a tangled mess after last night’s revelries.
Her gaze landed on her evening gown, now a heap of black silk on the floor. It’d been peeled off her with exquisite slowness— anticipation building as dextrous, sun-bronzed fingers unwrapped her like a silk-clad present, short dark hair brushing her cheek as he loomed behind her, his stubbled mouth pressing gin-soaked kisses to her throat as the gown pooled to the floor, a gasp escaping her, spinning to face him, clutching his suit’s lapels, lips crashing together—
Her thighs clenched, skin tacky from the remains of last night’s pleasure. Rolling to her side, she closed her eyes and exhaled a happy, lust-filled sigh.
Eyelashes fluttering open, Hermione finally met the burning gaze from the next pillow over, from the man who’d been glaring at her since she’d awoken. He was beautiful— stormy grey eyes, long platinum hair cascading down his pale, naked chest— but seeing his furrowed brow and impressive pout filled her with amusement.
Despite his assurances otherwise, she knew he’d be in a strop this morning. When his pout advanced to a scowl, Hermione couldn’t resist needling him.
“My husband has finally joined me! Good morning, love! When did you get in? I must’ve been utterly knackered. The stamina of that man…wore me right out…” she trailed off, grinning and reaching out to caress his smooth cheek.
Draco smacked her hand away with an annoyed huff.
“That old bean fucked you right to sleep, did he? Tsk. I shouldn't have expected anything less from the James Bond.”
“Pierce Brosnan as James Bond, I needn't remind you. And hardly old, though certainly… distinguished.” She hummed in fond remembrance. “He was lovely. Exceeded every expectation.”
“Oh? Every expectation?” Draco sneered.
He was making this too easy.
“Well, he did keep his fancy suit on the entire time. Too bad," she sighed wistfully, "I've been fantasizing about him bollock naked since sixth year…”
They both glanced at a midnight blue dinner suit, neatly folded and topped with a stainless steel watch on the credenza, the surface of which had been clear the night before.
Pushing up on his elbow to loom over her, he growled, “No fucking way, minx. You know bloody well you were never going to lay eyes on that body.”
She did know. It was one of Draco's surprisingly few hard limits for the evening. She'd easily complied, knowing how much she stood to gain from the encounter— a years-long fantasy unbelievably coming true.
Draco glowered at her smug expression, then pounced— yanking her underneath him, caging her in. She spread her legs in eager welcome, and hissed when she felt the wet slide of his cock parting her swollen lips.
Groaning, he lowered his mouth to her ear. With lingering notes of vodka and gin, he breathed out, “Ohhhh… but that 007 saw you, didn’t he? Every— filthy— bit.” He punctuated each word with a deep grind, teasing her empty core. “My wicked wife, so desperate to be ravished by another man's cock… on Valentine’s Day, of all days.” He gave her earlobe a sharp nip, making her writhe.
Lewd squelching filled the room. “And what’s this? Baby, you're a mess. Dripping wet, already… Just from seeing me? Or is this,” —he swirled his hips— “all from him? Is this James Bond’s cum oozing out of you?”
“You ridiculous man!” she panted. Lust and pedantry warred within her. “Pierce didn’t— ngnh! You know bloody well— good Godric— that it’s yo—”
Draco tsked. “Aht aht, little witch. You let Bond fuck his cum into your needy cunt all night. Now, I do believe," —he reached down, positioning himself— "that it’s my turn to do the same. Be good and let your husband fill you up, baby.”
Her pulsing core demanded she capitulate rather than quibble any further.
She gasped as Draco surged forward, burying himself with a deep, punishing thrust. A brutal pace was set, him fucking her with a possessive fury that was nothing like the treatment lavished upon her body the evening before.
Backlit by the morning sun, he resembled a celestial creature with long, glowing hair as he hovered above her, but the savage pounding of his cock spoke of a devil hell-bent on reclaiming what he'd been promised. Hermione was captivated by the fervid display as she sang out her own adulations, raking nails adorning his flesh.
Last night, each climax was coaxed out of her with tantalizing precision. Draco demanded it of her this morning with purposeful strokes that soon had her careening into a mind-numbing orgasm, muscles clenching as she cried out his name.
He quickly followed, hilting himself with a mighty push. A satisfied groan rumbled through his chest as he spilled into her, her insatiable cunt milking every last drop.
Hermione smiled as they caught their breath, though hers hitched when she noticed Draco watching her with a tenderness that belied how voracious he was moments ago. His inner-beast must be sated, with spend from three different bodies starting to trickle out of her.
A pulse of awareness shot through her. Bugger. She hadn’t meant to start the day with such cheek. She had an important question for him– one that still needed asking.
She started by saying, “Well. Consider my cunt thoroughly filled. Though, I'd suspected it was in for some rougher handling this morning.”
Draco shrugged, unrepentant. His cock slipped out of her, releasing another gush of cum as he rolled them to their sides. “My wife needed a firm reminder that she belongs to me, not him.”
Her brain stuttered as silver eyes glinted with mischief. The audacity.
“I'm burning to list every reason in which you are an utter cunt, but before I do, I must ask: you all right? Or was this weekend all a bit much? You seemed keen, and made all the arrangements for us… I meant to ask straight away, but your pout was so funny, I couldn't help—”
He shushed her, eyes now brimming with fondness. “Darling, yes I’m fine, and appreciate you checking. This was loads of fun, truly. I just—” He paused, thinking. “Upon waking, I realized I rather didn't like another man seeing and touching you like that.”
“For fuck’s sake— Draco! You’re the one who saw Pierce in London, and grabbed—”
“—Sh, I know. Your husband is patently ridiculous.” He chuckled wryly. “But a truth has been revealed about myself: I abhor any other man laying a hand on you.”
Hermione glared, waiting for the rest.
“And…” he continued, “that evidently includes me, polyjuiced as a Muggle celebrity, one you obsessed over as a teenager.”
“A particularly formative and turbulent time, my teenage years.”
“Famously harrowing, it’s true.”
She laughed, placated, and pressed a kiss to his nose.
“You didn’t enjoy reducing me to a cock-hungry Bond Girl?” she teased. “I still can't believe you made my dream come true for Valentine's Day. You even recreated the suit Bond wore to Carver's party, along with that absurd watch…”
He threw an admiring glance at his new belongings on the credenza. “Oh, believe me, I enjoyed it. I'm just unsure if it's a kink I'll want to revisit anytime soon.”
“Mmm, is that so? Because I’ve an idea…”
Draco gave her a flat look. “Another emotionally significant Muggle of yours I'm to impersonate?”
“Rude, and no— for me returning the favour.”
“...Oh?” he stammered, surprised by the turnabout.
“The next Matrix film is coming out soon. Carrie-Anne Moss will be in London promoting it, along with the cast. We could attend a tour event…” Her eyebrows raised meaningfully.
Draco’s cock twitched against her stomach. “You’d… you’d be Trinity for me?”
Hermione nodded.
“And wear that one trenchcoat?”
More vigorous nodding.
Draco swooned, gathering her close. “Sweet salazar, Hermione,” he spoke into her curls. “Fuck, yes. Absolutely. I have the best and most devious little wife.”
Hermione nestled into his embrace. She had plenty of time to change his mind about grabbing a tiny bit more hair. Draco needed a trenchcoat of his own.
