Chapter Text
She stared at the note he’d left her, arranged on the bed next to an outfit she hadn’t purchased, worn, or laid eyes on before that moment. Her eyes jumped between the clothing and parchment. Without lifting the blouse, she could tell its cowl neckline plunged. She wondered how much it exposed but felt certain it would expose the lacy green bra that paired with the outfit. At least he’d selected trousers, no doubt aware that the top would be well enough for her to handle. Nobody would see the matching emerald knickers. Nobody but him.
After a cursory survey of the clothes, she turned her attention to his note, scribbled on thick parchment in his unmistakable, elegant handwriting. Reading her name in his penmanship stirred a slight, ridiculous excitement in her. She was, for better and worse, a swot, in all aspects of her life.
Hermione,
I hope you will forgive this minor offence. Nothing was damaged by breaking into your flat. This, of course, brings up other concerns that will be addressed come Monday morning, but you’re not to worry about that. I have already arranged it. Before you argue, please know that yours was an atrocious security system and a person of your fame and stature simply cannot live that way. It is either this solution or you live at mine. I suspected, regrettably, that you would choose the former.
Now that you have agreed to our arrangement, I am eager for us to begin in earnest. Touching you is not enough. I have promised to take care of you as you recover, and I do not intend to waste time. We begin tonight.
Please follow the instructions below and take your time as you do. I expect you to follow these instructions precisely, but I know you may feel a little overwhelmed at the start. I will be waiting for you.
D
- Write quick notes to your parents and the Potters (and the other Weasley if you must) to let them know you will be unreachable until Monday afternoon at the earliest. This is non-negotiable, Hermione. Everyone will carry on without you.
- Head to the kitchen for a light refreshment, already prepared and waiting for you at your breakfast table. Yes, a house elf made the food. Yes, she’s paid richly. I am a Malfoy, after all. I can afford a handsome salary.
- Soak in your tub using the elixirs I left on your dressing table. I’m no Hermione Granger, but I do have some potions knowledge. At least, I know who to ask so that I can acquire the right elixirs for you. They will help you relax and ease you into the proper state for our trip. Nothing mind-altering, but I need you to be less anxious so that when I tend to every need and desire you have, you’re not in a state over it.
- Once properly soaked – and you should remain in the tub at least until your fingers and toes have pruned – dry that gorgeous body off and wear the clothes I laid out for you. Let your plait loose so that your hair can be free. You look beautiful, and I will tell you so in person soon enough.
- Apparate to my flat. I will take it from there.
She couldn’t deny it. She both bristled at the letter’s contents and felt thrilled by them. At 33, Hermione wasn’t clueless enough to believe she’d evolved into the sort of witch who existed without need; she knew that she needed and desired as much as anyone. And what she had learned about the adult version of Draco Malfoy during their recent interactions was that he was capable of arousing an obscene amount of desire in her.
The difference was that she had learned how efficiently she could function without tending to either as long as she was meeting the needs of those she loved. Before Draco’s resurgence into her life, she’d expertly whittled down her needs to the most essential physiological and safety requirements, though even in the latter category she skimmed at best. Since spring, they’d spent enough time together for her to understand it was futile to pretend that Draco didn’t sit squarely at the center of what she wanted and needed. More to the point, his ability to effortlessly blend his care with control was a critical part of the appeal.
As she wandered into her kitchen, his note still in her hand, she wondered, and not for the first time, what her desire for him meant when it was rooted in such a dominant performance. In the heat of the moment, with his tongue in her mouth, fingers digging into her hips, cock deep inside her, their language and behavior felt right, as necessary to her continued existence as the breaths she took, jagged and frantic, to keep from collapsing. When they had finished and the euphoria of needs met had receded from her body into the ether, she felt wrong, that she had crossed sinful lines and threatened a system that countless people relied upon. It was selfish. He made her needy, and he made her selfish. And though she had agreed to this, she could not stop these thoughts from intruding, muddying up the space Draco kept trying to protect.
A tap at the window jolted her. Draco’s owl sat at the ledge, a scroll tied to its leg.
Not to rush you, darling, but please stop thinking too much. An impossible task for thee Hermione Granger, I know. I’m not your doctor, but I have it on good authority that you’re supposed to give that brain of yours a rest. Please proceed to your tasks.
D
She laughed. For once, she was sure she didn’t want to know the thought processes or magic he’d used to know that she needed his written push. Instead, she let herself focus on what it felt like to be seen. She felt cared for, which she knew was the intention. Hermione fed his owl and did as she was told, each task easier than the last because there was no room for interpretation or confusion. Clean, clear, simple tasks.
What surprised her about the process was the effect it had on her. The bath was lovely, and as she rinsed off the day in the water that smelled of bergamot, every knot loosened. Her body began to wake up. When she finished and stood up, the cool air bit at her clean skin in sharp but welcome ways. Her pebbled nipples never softened even as she dressed, and she felt her cunt pulse, weakly at first but with a building frequency in anticipation of what was to come. Maybe she could get used to tending to her needs.
She apparated to Draco’s flat and let herself inside, but only because the note at the door instructed her to do so.
She found him in his study, his back to her as he poured glasses of firewhisky. As he did, she took in his long, lean form. His transformation from childhood bully and bigot in training to social philanthropist appealed to the Hermione lived in the world and felt responsible for it. His transformation from a spindly boy to a solid yet lithe man appealed to the Hermione that she rarely acknowledged. His trousers clung perfectly to his thighs and arse. She knew that, when he turned, they’d be tight enough to make out other parts of his figure she wanted to feel. His oxford matched the green of her bra and knickers precisely. They weren’t coordinated. They were the same. They belonged to each other.
The study was lit by the fireplace and a lamp at his desk. The same parchment he’d used to write her notes sat stacked in the center, waiting to be used. She felt a kinship with them when he turned and stared at her.
“You are stunning. You know that don’t you.” It wasn’t a question nor was it a confrontation. It was a statement, a truth he expected her to acknowledge. The best she could do was to take the glass he offered her and sip, letting the warmth of the liquor mask the blush his words stirred across her skin.
He emptied his glass in what Hermione considered an uncharacteristic speed and pulled at her hand, leading her to a plush, velvet settee. “Our plans will need to be adjusted slightly.”
“Why? Where are we going? Is something wrong?”
He took the glass from her hand, setting it on the side table nearest the settee before his slight nod and look told her to sit down. At that, he towered over her. His hand tilted her chin so that their eyes could meet.
“Not that you need to worry, but no, there is nothing wrong. There is simply a flaw in my initial planning. I neglected to consider that your need would be as strong as it is, and I cannot let us continue without first addressing it.”
Embarrassment threatened to douse her arousal. This was too much. She was excited, yes, but she hated the thought that not only could he tell, but he also assessed that she was so excited that she couldn’t control it enough to carry on as planned. Frustration flooded her as quickly as the embarrassment. How dare he suggest she couldn’t handle her libido! He did not know her if he thought she couldn’t get by without an orgasm.
“I’m fine, Malfoy,” she said. She tried to jerk her head away, but his grip tightened, keeping her head firmly locked to look at him.
“Don’t call me that. Not here. Not now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry, Hermione. You’re not in trouble.” He bent down, his mouth at her ear. “Not yet anyway.” He nipped and kissed at her earlobe and neck before standing again. She couldn’t help but consider that if he would let go of her chin, she’d be nearly eye level with his crotch, which did not appear unaffected by their interaction.
“Even if I weren’t an expert legilimens, which I am, you aren’t being subtle about what you want, darling.”
She closed her eyes in hopes that she could block him from reading her further. What else could he pull from her body just by looking at her?
“Eyes open.” She obeyed and waited for him to continue. “I’m going to taste what I’ve done to you already, and you’re going to come. Then I’m going to fuck you on this settee, or maybe the desk since you like it so much, and you’re going to come again. Maybe I’ll give you a third orgasm if you’re being good. And when I’m finished, I’m going to come inside you so deep that you’re going to feel it when we apparate to Rhodes.”
She had tried to follow what he said to her, but it was as if he had dragged her into a haze. It was a thick, lust-fueled fog, and she couldn’t think. She knew that this was his intention and that her only requirement was to lean into it, but the part of her that never quieted still felt a little annoyed that the only response she could muster was: “We’re going to Rhodes?”
His only response was to smile at her before offering her his hand, which she accepted. Her brain struggled to process his movements. The only thing it appeared able to process was the work her body did to prepare itself for him. She felt the sticky wetness of her cunt as he pulled her trousers and knickers off her, only briefly registered the way the velvet felt on her arse before he pushed her legs open.
He called her out of her stupor. “Hermione.” His hands gripped her knees, then ran up her thighs as she focused on him.
She thought she acknowledged her name. Maybe she spoke. Maybe she couldn’t anymore.
“Is this what you want?”
Her mind stirred. She knew, somehow, that she had to respond with her words now. That was a rule. She remembered the rules. She loved rules.
“Yes.”
His hands ran from her thighs to her arse, which he gripped to pull her to the edge of the settee. Once he seemed satisfied with her position, he grabbed her chin once again, demanding her eye contact once again.
“Yes, what?”
She didn’t need to think anymore. She was ready to let go.
“Yes, Daddy.”