Archive of Our Own ^beta

Everything is messy. The poker table is littered with crisp crumbs, empty shot glasses, and three dislodged ties. Nott lost his shoes somewhere between the second and fifth hand (his inhibitions around 1995) and is telling all how he bent a witch over this table just hours earlier.

“Eurgh,” says McLaggen, removing his forearms from the rounded edge. “Is that what these stains are?”

“Oh, missed one—tergeo,” says Nott, with a quick tap of his wand.

“No wands,” warns Potter.

“Fine.” Nott pockets his hawthorn wood. “Although you're being a little pedantic—no one is going to bother transfiguring the cards.”

The gold-framed paintings jitter from the pulse of bass three rooms over, their awoken occupants grumbling until Nott charms the volume lower. Then the dance music is abruptly replaced with a Sonorus’d countdown and a rendition of Auld Lang Syne as the main party rings in the New Year. Meanwhile, Draco takes stock of the fact he's sitting in a dim space with five other men and has agreed to play a muggle card game to avoid attempting to kiss a witch he's pathetically obsessed with. Messy, all of it.

It's not all too bad, though. Draco's pile of winnings is the largest.

But he can't seem to find all too much pleasure in gold when his pining for Hermione Granger outweighs his poker chips. Since a brief drunken kiss at her birthday party months prior, he’s been praying to the gods that it happens again. Or at the very least, that he finds the courage to ask her out. Which is exactly why he is hiding from the witch.

Draco can’t do this any longer. It’s pathetic. He has no chance with the woman. She’s revered, highly capable, desired by every other man, and he refuses to hold out hope any longer.

New year, no pining is his mantra.

Perhaps the only positive tonight is that McLaggen is here, so Draco is not the most pathetic man in the room. The wizard only appears more dimwitted due to the fact he brought Magical Games and Sports colleague Oliver Wood, who can seemingly bluff as well as he plays Quidditch. Wood’s winnings are closely followed by Michael Corner's, who exists in a suave quiet and, if the silent movement of his lips are anything to go by, appears to have a peculiar ability to count card patterns. Unspeakable Nott (who in their right mind let him do that?) is now too drunk to tell a Royal from a Straight Flush and may as well be donating his chips elsewhere, while Auror Potter is wonderfully middling for once. Probably due to the fact he’s meticulously note-taking after every play, determined to beat the Weaselette next time they face off.

“Call,” says Wood.

A shadow falls into the room and every wizard’s attention is stolen away from the game. Granger is at the threshold of the door.

Draco’s heartbeat kicks up and his mouth is suddenly parched. His plan to avoid the witch is failing miraculously. And his plan to avoid pining is not helped by the fact she's in a short red dress that flits around her thighs as she walks in. But that’s all Draco catches. Despite the fact her gaze lands directly on him, he quickly peers down at his cards.

New year, no pining.

“This is where you all are,” she says.

“Has the party taken a turn without me?” asks Nott.

“A turn?” she asks with a laugh. “If anything, it’s rowdier.”

“I suddenly can’t recall why I’m here,” mutters Nott.

“You thought it was strip poker,” says Potter, as he deals the cards. “Pull up a chair, Hermione,” he adds.

It seems as though everyone suddenly registers that there's not a single spare sitting surface.

Nott taps at his knee. “You can sit here, darling,” he says, despite the fact Granger could conjure a chair with little effort. “I promise I’ll keep Nott junior restrained.”

McLaggen’s mouth furls and Potter lets slip an “ugh.”

“I won't say anything quite so sleazy, Hermione,” begins Wood, “but the offer’s open here too.”

“And here,” adds Corner with the jolt of his eyebrows. “To be honest, I’d give you my role in the Time Room just for an ounce of your attention.”

“Or you can sit here,” offers McLaggen, reclining back into his chair to better reveal his lap. “I recall you enjoyed it immensely last time.”

“There was no last time, Cormac.”

“Well they don’t know that, do they?”

Potter rolls his eyes. “We’re still waiting for you to decide what you’re doing, McLaggen. Get on with it.”

Everyone ignores Potter as Granger strides around the table.

“You’re all being ridiculous,” she says.

“Emphasis on the dicks,” mumbles Potter.

Granger passes behind Wood and then McLaggen who both stare up at her with pathetically hopeful expressions, while opposite, Corner and Nott keep their gazes trained on the witch with equally stupid looks. She has that allure about her lately, like a siren and her sailors. But it’s not just her new confident beauty Draco enjoys, it’s everything. It’s all of her. It’s the way she spoke for him at his trial, the way she makes conversation with him in the Ministry lifts when others appear wary, and the way she remembers his birthday every year for the past three they’ve been working in the same building.

Draco is still collecting all of the qualities he enjoys about Granger when she stops beside him at the end of the oval table. She rests a hand on the top of his chair, her fingers brushing his shoulder.

“May I?” she asks with a faint but beautiful smile that causes Draco to briefly hold his breath.

With his lips curved, he replies by forgoing his lean on the table and resting back deeper into his chair. He needs to stifle a broader grin, knowing he’s won something over the other men that’s far more precious than poker chips.

Granger sits on his lap, and although he’s fairly sure he's exhibiting his usual confidence, Draco tenses his whole body. She's warm against his leg, scented with vanilla and berries and something floral, and the weight of her is perfect. Hermione fucking Granger is sitting on his lap. She flashes him a smile past her shoulder before turning to face the other players.

“I think you just chose the wizard with the largest pile of winnings,” says McLaggen.

“Then better step up your game,” says Draco with a quick arch of his brow.

Draco is all talk. He’s still tensing his legs and his fists. What does he do with his hands? Is he supposed to touch her? This feels an intimate move for Granger to make if she didn’t want to be touched. She answers his silent questions by leaning back against his chest and then picks up his left hand to place it on her hip. The beautiful heat of her bleeds through his shirt. Her hold of his hand stays and it’s soft and delicate. Her curls are so close, he can smell the berries of her shampoo, and he's realising the vanilla is her lip gloss. How is she so perfect?

This is not going to help with the pining.

“Do you know how to play, Granger?” he asks, only soft enough for her to hear.

She turns to look him in the eye. She is so close he could easily claim her lips. So close he needs to stop himself.

“Do I know how to play?” she repeats. “Do you know me at all?”

He laughs gently. “Of course you have a textbook passage memorised, don’t you?”

“You do know me.”

“You may have knowledge of the rules, but do you know how to bluff?”

Her smile broadens, then her next words arrive as a whisper: “Have I fooled you?”

Is she saying what he thinks she is? He can’t find any other meaning in her words, and as Draco’s eyes dart between hers, he can’t see anything except seduction. He tries to convince himself it’s not genuine. It's the haziness of the alcohol or the early hour of the morning. It must be anything but Granger suggesting she might hold the same feelings.

“Enough canoodling, Malfoy,” says McLaggen. “What are you going to do?”

With that, Granger leans forward to take the cards dealt their way, and Draco’s hand slips ever so slightly from her hip to the round of her thigh, his thumb in the crease. He curses McLaggen for inadvertently drawing her away until Granger curves back into his chest, holding the playing cards close enough so they can both see. Close enough that Draco can covertly view the way her breasts are pushed high. He wants to run his palms up her waist until he can grasp at them, dig his fingers into her naked flesh, tweak her pebbled nipples—

Draco gently clears his throat. He’s getting carried away in a stupidly precarious position. What is she going to think if his erection arises between them? He needs to think of something else. Anything else. Poker—that should do it. Four of a Kind, Straight, Royal Flush and such.

Granger pulls her gaze from the cards to look him in the eye. “What should we do?” Her whisky-breath teases at his lips. He wants to taste the alcohol on her tongue.

Instead, he flicks his eyes between hers: molten brown, invariably curious, incredibly beautiful. Would she mind if he told her? He’s been meaning to tell her. Draco vaguely registers the passable poker hand they've been dealt. “Check,” he says loud enough for the table to hear, despite the fact he wants nothing more than Granger’s eyes to remain on his.

There comes a relay of “fold; check; raise” and then after Wood forfeits, it’s only McLaggen, Draco and Granger left in the round. She makes the next move, briefly sitting forward to push a ten galleon chip into the pot and says, “Raise,” before settling back against Draco.

His hand again takes purchase on her hip, and his belly swoops at the way she so easily moulds into him. How warm and lax she feels. How she’s taken charge, determined to win the round. Over the years, he’s witnessed her boldness and determination around the Ministry, and it may just be his favourite quality—and that’s saying a lot considering how her breasts look in this dress.

Potter turns over the final card and before Draco can even register what it is, Granger sniggers. She’s laughing at McLaggen’s overdone look of defeat and Draco revels in her reaction, grinning widely as she inches forward and extends her arms to scoop in the winnings. His smile droops, suddenly noticing how she’s now perched forward on his knee with a perfect little waist, hips that flare out, and an un-fucking-believable arse. He’s certainly noticed it before, but like this—up close. Fuck.

He imagines sinking his fingers into the round flesh as she slides down his length. Imagines taking her on her knees. Leaving a palm mark on her honey-toned skin as she begs him to fuck her deeper.

Draco swallows coarsely. He shouldn't be having these thoughts with her in his lap.

He shouldn’t be having these thoughts at all.

This is worse than the pining. It’s only the first hour of a new year and he knows this is going to be his toughest test. But it worsens as Granger draws their winnings into Draco’s pile of chips and slides back into his lap.

Back squarely onto Draco’s cock.

Her arse brushes against his length in the most unbelievable way and he needs to tense his body again. If there were fewer people in this room, he'd be standing to attention, but seeing as Potter is currently staring at him as he deals new cards, Draco hurriedly ignores the quirk in his trousers.

Granger angles her hips as she tilts her body to meet his eye and her change in position brushes him all over again.

“Raise, Malfoy?” She’s smirking as she holds their new cards in front.

A slightly strangled noise comes from his mouth. Then he recalls they're playing poker.

He swallows. As confidently as he can manage, he says, “It’s your call, Granger.” Then she shifts to face the table, her arse caressing him again.

Draco grinds his back teeth. Every time she moves, it’s like lightning. His body is electrified. If she does it one more time, he’ll have no say in the matter where his erection is concerned.

They make it through one round with Granger sitting square in his lap. As she rocks forward to place their new cards down to forfeit, caressing along the head of his cock, Draco holds his breath. When she settles against him, her back to his chest, he grasps at her waist with both hands as though he might keep her still. Except now he experiences the fresh thrill of feeling a novel part of the witch. She's soft beneath his fingers. Can she feel his heart against her? It feels like it's going to break clear from his chest as he battles to keep his blood supply firmly above his waist.

As they watch the round unfold—Corner raising the bet—Granger’s hand finds the side of his thigh and she grips on to him while she shifts in place as if searching for a comfortable position. The swirl of her bum is lightning all over again. His body thrums right to the end of his fingertips. The heat of her against his chest and across his lap is so inviting, his mind fills in the blanks and he imagines her snug, wet and warm around his cock. He throbs inside his trousers.

Draco is certain Granger felt it. She hums lightly—only soft enough for him to hear—then rocks forward an inch to glance back at him. “Is this uncomfortable for you?”

Draco hurriedly shakes his head.

But he mustn't have been convincing enough.

This time when she moves forward to pick up their dealt hand, she perches towards the end of his left knee and remains there, her own legs at either side. Somehow her dress is now pooled over his trousers rather than slipped neatly beneath her behind and Draco is certain he can feel the deeper heat of her. As she waits for the remainder of the table to state their play, she tilts her pelvis forward. It is so fractional he assumes it’s unintentional… until she rocks back again. Not only is he certain he can feel the fiery heat of her centre, but there’s now a dampness as she grinds back and forth again.

It’s so covert, so incremental that he’s sure the other players can’t see it occur past the ledge of the poker table. He’s sure Granger thinks the same, for she picks up his hand and places it on the bare skin of her thigh. His fingertips tingle. Twitch to feel more of her. She curves forward further, the tilt of her pelvis deeper, the press of her against his knee a little more desperate. She’s found friction against her clit, and he can’t think straight. He can’t recall his own name. Draco’s fingers desperately clench her thigh.

Granger rocks back and forth again.

The veins in his hand and into his forearm have bulged.

She grinds once more.

Draco’s cock twitches and he fights the feeling.

Then she goes again and again.

Draco’s breathing is erratic. His insides tighten with opposing forces: the desperation to play with the witch and the desperation to ignore the wetness leaching through the wool of his trousers. The scent of her—sweet vanilla on her lips and heated floral on her skin—the faint sway of her curls against the small of her back as she moves, the little huffs she expels now and then are all working in tandem to torture him. If not for the music several rooms over, he's sure the other wizards would hear him on the verge of panting.

They're all watching Potter turn over the next card when Draco chances a glance at Granger’s arse—he needs to know if he’s imagined the bare feeling of her. He lifts the hem of her dress for only a split second and finds nothing but the curve of her bare bum. Nothing.

Fuck.

Draco brushes a palm down his mouth, overcome. Granger is knickerless and riding his thigh. He's half hard now, and he doesn’t have the wherewithal to fight it any longer.

After Granger folds for the next round, she grinds down on him harder than before, then turns back to look at him past her shoulder with the most salacious expression he’s ever seen on the witch.

He shakes his head as he returns the smirk.

Draco belts an arm around Granger’s waist and draws her back into him, pressing her as close as he can. He nestles his nose in between her curls until he finds the shell of her ear. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Granger,” he whispers, voice gravelly.

He sees the corner of her eye crinkle with her smile. “Am I?”

He bucks beneath her, gentle enough not to be spotted by the other players, yet hard enough he's certain she feels him. “You know exactly what you're doing.”

“Hm,” she says, her eyes still on the poker table.

She tilts her head a little, revealing the slope of her neck, and Draco can’t help himself. He presses his lips against her skin and lingers for a beat. As he retracts slowly, he hears her urgent sigh. Then her breathing quickens. Her hand rediscovers his thigh and fingers bite into his muscle. Draco's spare hand moves into her lap and he ghosts his touch beside the hem of her pooled dress until his fingertips rest where her thighs are pressed together.

“Can you feel what you've done to me?” he asks softly.

She nods hurriedly and it feels like permission. His body is charged—vibratory—with his desire for the witch and he no longer fights the blood rushing to his cock. He’s rigid, aching to feel her centre.

Pulling her in tight, Draco thrusts as covertly as he can manage. Granger gasps. 

Past her shoulder, he witnesses the sharp rise and fall of her cleavage. She moves her hips again twice over. Short, barely imperceptible rolls, stroking him in the most beautiful way.

Suddenly Draco feels heady. Breathless. He moves his arm from around her waist, gliding until his palm is heavy on her pelvis, and when he stops, she pulls in a deep inhale. The tip of his pinky finger rests at the top of her slit and he feels her legs quivering against his as she clenches her thighs together.

When he presses his erection against Granger once more, her back arches, brushing more of him, and he just stops a small moan at his lips. Draco’s fingers twitch where they rest on her thigh and abdomen as he teases the idea of inching them in between her legs, sliding the tip of his forefinger into her folds to feel her arousal.

Both keep their poker faces, but their breaths are fervid. Granger’s dress has ridden up, barely covering between her legs. With a contented little hum, she rolls her head to the side and Draco runs the tip of his nose along her skin until he meets the dip behind her ear.

“Granger,” he whispers, attempting to keep the desperation in his tone clamped. “You’re killing me.”

She answers with the swirl of her hips, and Draco’s cock throbs and hardens further in reply. He stifles a groan.

“If you do that one more fucking time…” he begins, close to her ear, the timbre of his voice lower than usual. “I'm going to have you warm my cock right here.”

As Granger emits a little huff of amusement, she turns to meet his eyes. “What if I want you to?”

Draco can feel pre-cum making a wet spot in his pants. He’s aching at the thought.

She rakes her teeth over her bottom lip as they share a calculating stare.

“Are you ready?” she whispers.

Is she serious?

“Granger.”

She sends him a look that tells him she’s completely serious, and the throb of his cock is now a persistent ache with only one solution.

Draco lowers his voice to barely audible. “Are you going to be quiet for me?”

She nods quickly.

“Because I don’t think you understand what you’re in for,” he says.

“You don't think I can take you?”

“I think you can take me, Granger, but without a little moan or whine? No.” He sniffs a laugh.

She smirks. “I think there’s only one way we’ll find out.”

“What are you two gossiping about?” asks Nott.

Granger raises her voice. “Our game plan,” she says with the confident point of her chin, and apparently that’s enough for Nott to go back to peering at his cards.

Her palms are suddenly heavy on his knees, bearing more weight as she readies to reposition herself.

Granger angles forward, and he catches sight of the damp patch on his trousers. With her knees pinned together, she hovers above his cock under the guise of reaching for their newly dealt cards; but even after she’s snatched them up, she remains with her forearms on the table, her behind perched over Draco’s lap. 

Waiting.

It feels like his heart is going to give out as his fingers snake beneath her dress and make a line along her arousal, pressing between her folds. She’s drenched. Draco feels his cock weep as he teases her open with the tip of one finger. Then he pushes in another, both down to the knuckle. She’s snug and wet and fuck, he just needs to feel his cock inside.

Wordlessly and wandlessly he unfastens his trousers, and in one swift move, he has his length slotted out of his pants. Beneath her dress, he brushes the tip up and down her slickness twice, then notches at her entrance.

After he hears Granger say, “Call,” to the table, he presses inside. His sensitive cockhead is in, and he needs to dip his chin to his chest and inhale a controlled breath to avoid making a sound. The heated tightness of the witch is unbelievable. Fucking fuck he's not even half way in and it feels like this? Granger is going to be the death of him.

Draco clenches his jaw. His thighs ache painfully from the overwhelming desire to buck deep into her, unleash a moan and then a throaty swear, but he sits rigid in place, holding the base of his length, watching as she slides down. Slowly. Inch by torturous inch until he feels the slick heated hold of her all over.

When her back meets his chest, cards held in her hands, he takes hold of her waist and chokes out, “Fucking, fuck, Granger” into her curls. She shifts a little, resting firm against his shoulder, and he dips his head to stifle a broken sound against her skin. When she clenches around him in reply, he bites down, marking her neck and hoping nobody witnessed the break in his composure.

What did he expect? He’s sitting here with his cock in the woman. It feels good at the best of times, but when he’s just been teased for twenty minutes, it’s covert and dangerous and it’s Granger… it’s fucking unbelievable.

She leans her head back far enough to line her lips up with his ear and it causes the head of his cock to brush her cervix in a way that briefly blacks out his vision.

“Mmm,” she hums. “Was I quiet enough for you?”

He breathes a laugh. “I should've known you're incapable of failure.”

“Not incapable,” she says, “but I enjoy a good challenge.”

“So do I, Granger.” He presses into her ever so slightly, claiming her deeper, and watches as her brows briefly curve in at the incursion. “I bet I'll have you screaming my name before the night is out.”

She pricks up her eyebrows. “Oh really?”

Draco simply smirks in reply, but they spend a lengthy moment staring into each other's eyes, their gazes occasionally sliding down to their lips, and Draco is aware that they are being blatant. He's aware that the other players likely think they should be fucking, not knowing that they're already halfway there.

Granger readjusts on him to play their poker hand. The little roll and sway of her hips causes the drag of his cock against her walls, and all he can think about is painting them white. He's grasping at her hips like she’s his last lifeline before falling through the veil.

His lower stomach twitches. His chest heaves. His body feels like it’s on fire. And all he can think about is trying not to come while wanting nothing more.

After folding their poker hand, Granger leans back. “How good am I at warming your cock?” she whispers.

Draco’s neck is straining with his tight breaths and his efforts not to unload in the witch—and then she goes and says that. “Are you trying to make me empty into you right here and now, Granger?”

“If you’d like,” she says casually, like she’s informing him about the weather. Then she again lowers her voice to a sultry whisper. “I want you to fill me with your cum. Can you do that for me? I want to feel you drip down my leg.”

Draco whimpers. Fucking whimpers.

“Are you okay there, Draco?” asks Nott, and as if they’ve been caught, Granger sits herself up straighter, and the brush and then clamp around his length nearly causes him to lose his load while maintaining eye contact with Nott. “You’re looking a little sweaty. Feeling pressure of the game?”

Draco clenches his abdomen, inadvertently causing his cock to twitch. A rush of excitement runs the length of his spine as he considers the dangerous position he's in. “I’m fine." He swallows harshly. "Granger has it all under control.”

“I can see,” he says, arching an eyebrow. “The witch is going to take all of our winnings.”

Draco realises they’re still playing a round of poker. He only notices when Granger says, “Raise,” and angles forward to push another chip into the centre of the table, journeying so far forward that she pulls away from his cock, and he feels the delicious drag along the crown. He can’t help but watch as his length is revealed from her, glistening. Draco holds his breath, staring at the place where they join, steeling himself for the way she’s soon going to inch back down and test his resolve all over again.

His fingers dig into her waist as if he might steady her. As if he might save himself from the torment. But he simply holds her, verging on a white-knuckle grip as she eases down and causes his toes to curl. Draco yanks Granger close to his chest, only seating himself deeper inside the witch and inciting a little squeak from her. He hisses in a breath through his teeth.

They’re dangerously close to fucking. He’s dangerously close to coming.

She rocks her hips to swivel a little, to look him in the eye. “Do you think you can last until the end of the game?” 

“Not if you keep doing that.” He punctuates his sentence with a buck from below and she creases her brows in with a faint mewl.

Draco vaguely registers Potter saying his name for some stupid reason and he only just stops himself from wordlessly hexing the wizard.

The rest of the table is bickering.

“Corner, you just lost half your winnings! You’re terrible at this game,” says McLaggen. “You need to learn how to put on a poker face—show him the face Nott.”

Draco returns to Granger’s insistent gaze. “Your place,” she hisses. “Now.”

Fuck the poker.

Fuck the winnings.

Fuck Granger—that’s all he wants.

“Hold tight,” Draco tells her, then he takes to his feet while still inside the witch and Disapparates the fastest he’s ever done in his life.

***

As soon as Hermione’s feet land on solid ground, she spins around, causing Malfoy’s length to slip away from inside.

“Did you just—” she began, but Malfoy’s lips are suddenly on hers and although it’s a testing press at first, his tongue is quickly insistent, swiping along the seam of her mouth and then delving in to meet hers. He’s cupping her face and tastes vaguely of mint, whiskey and him, and all she knows is that she wants more.

She wants all of him.

“That was devilish, Granger,” he breathes against her lips, but she answers with another urgent kiss.

Every inch of her feels ablaze. Her nipples are tender against the silk of her dress, her skin thrums with anticipation for Malfoy’s next touch, and her centre burns to feel him push into her again. And again and again.

Hermione feels overcome.

Dizzied.

“You don’t understand how long I’ve wanted this,” Hermione whispers.

She can see nothing but Malfoy’s eyes, yet still knows he’s wearing that trademark teasing smirk. “Believe me, I do,” he says, before recapturing her lips and sliding his tongue along hers.

Hermione winds her fists into his shirt and Malfoy guides her back until she feels the hard press of the wall. His hands are all over her body as if unsure where to journey first—massaging her breasts, grasping at her waist, snaking beneath her dress—but his large palms end up grasping beneath her arse, holding her weight as he pins her against the wall with her legs tight around his waist. His erection is hot and sticky as he grinds it against her centre, pressing into the slick of her folds, the swollen head dragging across her clit.

Hermione moans into his mouth. Her thighs quiver. She’s already throbbing from chasing pleasure on his thigh, and the grind of him against her is heavenly. As she grasps at the corded muscle of his arms, she rocks her hips, trying to catch the head of his cock at her entrance. She needs him desperately. The way he stretched her earlier had been unlike anything else.

But she loses the opportunity when he takes hold of his length and flicks the tip against her clit, back and forth and back again, and she needs to press her head against the wall with a moan.

“You’re brave, Granger,” he says between hot, wet kisses down the column of her throat.

His fingertips are on her clit, winding her tighter, sending little jolts of electricity through her body. Coaxing a beautiful heat.

“During a poker game?” he continues. “In front of all of our co-workers?”

“I need you to fill me again,” she rasps out. Hermione reaches down and almost palms at his length before he snatches her wrist.

His pupils are blown wide. “No you don’t, Granger.” He lets her feet meet the floor. “It's my turn to play.”

She should have seen this coming. The way she'd caused him to tense beneath, teased him until he grew hard and then sat on him deeper and tighter until he throbbed inside her… she had revelled in the power and of course he wanted the same. If she knows anything about Auror Malfoy, it’s his desire to play with his prey. And between how gorgeous the man looks with his unsettled hair and angled pinkend cheekbones, and the way her centre aches to feel him, she’ll let the wizard do absolutely anything he wants.

“How attached are you to your clothing?” he asks, brushing the straps of her dress off her shoulders. But before she can answer, he says, “Doesn’t matter—I'll buy you another dress. I'll buy you ten.”

Malfoy wordlessly vanishes every last piece of material on her body, leaving her in nothing except black high heels.

“Fuck,” he says, his gaze firmly on hers. “Look at you.”

She bats away the tiny voice that tells her to hide. Instead, she pulls back her shoulders.

Malfoy creates some distance between them, angling his head. His eyes snake a path from her breasts to her navel and between her legs, and from the opening of his undone trousers, his cock bobs. It’s the first opportunity she’s had to sight it and she smiles. Not simply due to Malfoy’s open appreciation of her, but her own appreciation for his long, thick cock and the way it’s flushed at the head and pearling pre-cum.

Finally, as Malfoy rids of his shirt, Hermione takes a moment to register that they’re in his flat, surrounded by modern white walls with a lively fire at one side and a grand bed at the other. Behind Malfoy is a giant gold-framed mirror. She’s watching her own reflection when he kneels before her and grasps at her thighs, fingers digging in.

“Fucking hell, Granger,” he says, and the reverence in his eyes as he gazes up at her sparks another wave of pleasure.

Malfoy grazes the pad of his thumb over her swollen clit and she flinches. Clenches her thighs together. Below her navel tingles with a fresh pulse of arousal.

He rediscovers her eyes. “I want you to watch how beautiful you are as I make you come.”

Malfoy’s hot mouth meets Hermione’s stomach and she lets slip a little hum, grasping at his shoulder. This time, his kisses are void of any desperation and full of curiosity. He maps a path south with the graze of his lips, brush of his tongue and the glide of his palms, and she quickly loosens up for the wizard, legs parting slightly and posture lax as she leans back against the wall. He playfully nips at her inner thigh, and she throbs with desperation to feel his tongue. She wound herself up so tight earlier that she knows it’ll take him no time to finish the job.

Malfoy’s fingertips part her lower lips with achingly slow care, and she heats further from his teasing. Her cheeks are flushed in the mirror. Breasts jolting with her breaths. She’s desperate and aching and considering hurrying the wizard just as his hot exhale caresses her clit, then she flinches. But he holds her steady. Holds her open for him to devour.

“Malfoy,” she whispers, as though it might deter him from drawing out the moment.

But that’s not really what she wants. She feels the flood of her arousal dripping as he peers up at her with hunger in his eyes.

With his gaze locked on hers, he finally makes contact with her needy clit and the buck into his mouth is automatic. The wet, hot drag of his tongue causes her to choke out a whimper.

“Malfoy,” she breathes, this time emitting his name like a prayer.

Gods, he feels divine. Hermione is realising she's never seen anything more attractive than Draco Malfoy on his knees. She feels another surge of arousal at the sight and the feel and the sounds. He’s groaning against her. The beautiful vibration causes her to jerk against his tongue.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he tells her.

Hermione smirks down at him. “You’ve imagined?”

“Every single fucking night, Granger.”

Hermione presses her shoulders back harder against the wall, smiling at the way his words further stoke her pleasure.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks.

As she views their reflection she nods, her breaths tight.

After he pulls her leg over his shoulder, he eats deeper. Messy. She can see the way her arousal covers his muzzle. His fingers drive back and forth inside while his tongue beats across her clit, and she trembles as her pleasure mounts. In her reflection, her lips are pink—nearly red—for the way she’s only grasping at the beginnings of breaths, and she can't recall sliding her fingers into his hair, but clutching at it seems to make Malfoy tend to her even faster. His fingertips are caressing her front wall, flooding warmth into every end of her body with each new stroke, and when his teeth scrape over her clit, her knee trembles. When his teeth tug gently, her knee nearly gives way.

“Malfoy,” she says. “I'm…”

In the mirror, she sees how he now strokes himself as he devours her, and the scene is more erotic than she’s ever dared to imagine.

Her orgasm is heavy on top of her. She’s going to collapse. Her weight is held by one quivering knee, threatening to fold as he draws her closer and closer to her release.

“I can feel you, Granger,” he says. “Let yourself go. Come for me.”

Suddenly, his palms are firm around her waist, fingers nearly touching at her navel, and he steadies her against the wall as his tongue flicks faster and faster. She follows his command, leaving her weight in his hands and letting the warmth break. A beautiful rolling, lingering warmth. Hermione scrunches her fingers in his hair as she moans. Her thighs shake, but he keeps her steady. He doesn’t stop the snapping of his tongue until he earns every final hip-jerking aftershock, moaning as he savours the taste of her release.

“Fucking hell,” Hermione whispers as she slides down the wall to meet the ground. But she’s barely allowed a breath before Malfoy’s mouth is on hers.

He’s insatiable, dragging her closer to him without unlinking their mouths. She ends laid on her back on the rug, staring up at him as he kneels between her legs, wondering how she's finally managed to nab the most gorgeous wizard she's set her eyes on and how he’s made her come in a way very few men had ever managed to do.

His silver scars glint in the lowlight as he leans forward to sweep a curl away from her face. “Have I told you how beautiful you are? Actually, it doesn’t matter,” he quickly adds, “because I’m going to tell you every single day from here on.”

She can’t stifle her smile. “What took you so long?”

His brow creases. “You went out with that wanker from Magical Transportation.”

“That was one date.”

Malfoy misses her frown as he grasps at her breast and claims her nipple with his mouth in the gap between his finger and thumb. He swirls his tongue, causing her to arch closer and grasp the little hairs at the back of his neck.

“Well you appeared fairly taken by him the last time I saw you two,” he says, and switches his attention to her other nipple, sweeping his tongue then scraping his teeth.

“I was never taken by him. I’m taken by you.”

Hermione reaches down and finally feels him in her palm, searing and sticky. He pulses in her grip. When she gives him a little squeeze, he abandons her nipple to groan as he watches how she tends to him. She thumbs at the ridges before sliding her grip down and up again to toy with the pre-cum leaking from the tip.

“Take me,” she says softly, and he doesn’t hesitate in positioning himself at her entrance.

She needs to feel the stretch of him again. Craves to feel him delve in and out.

Hermione feels the slide of her slick folds as she wriggles closer to him, and when she sends down two fingers, she finds herself swollen and still dripping. As she spreads her legs then lower lips wider for the wizard, the tendons in Malfoy’s neck sharpen. He takes in shallow breaths as he lines himself up.

“Gods, you are gorgeous,” he tells her.

His movements are tentative and teasing again. His palm is heavy on her abdomen. He slides it up her stomach to end cupped around her breast as he uses the head of his cock to play with her clit.

Hermione lets out a whine of protest, writhing beneath his touch, aching to feel him deeper. Feel his weight on top of her.

As he takes her lips in a demanding kiss, tongue forceful against hers, she feels him shift her legs up. Her knees are against her chest when he sheathes himself in one quick stroke and Hermione cries out into his mouth. The angle. The depth. The size of him. She needs to thread her fingers back through her curls, elbows pointed to the ceiling, as she adjusts to the stretch of the man between her tightly pinned thighs.

“Fucking Salazar,” pants Malfoy, voice low and husky as he curves into her. "Look at how good you are at taking me."

The sounds are devastating. Slick and wet. Arousal runs down her thighs and bum, and the snap of him along her walls is like nothing she’s experienced. All Hermione can do is part her mouth with desperate breathy noises. She watches Malfoy, adoring the disbelieving hum he makes as he takes in the sight and feel while he rhythmically thrusts into her. His fingers squeeze at her flesh, dig into the muscle of her arse like she's not real, his brow occasionally crinkling like he never thought this a true possibility, and it all works together to stoke the heavenly tension in her body.

The warmth is building again. Pricking in her nipples and cheeks, centred between her legs. Then when he rearranges her to work at her clit with his fingers, the tension in her body winds tighter, burns hotter. Her womb feels fiery with the build of her release, and she can’t believe Malfoy is going to coax another orgasm from her.

“Fuck, Draco,” she moans, and his strokes stop abruptly.

His eyes are a little wider, lit with amusement. “What did you just say?”

She tries to stifle her laugh, clamping her lip with her teeth. “Malfoy,” she says with a guilty smile.

“No—you said Draco.” He flashes a wolfish grin. “And I’m going to make you say it again. Scream it, Granger.”

She’s already clenching around him, quick pulses of her building orgasm like nothing else she’s ever known, and she can feel the way this release is going to rack her body. She's going to lose their earlier bet.

Suddenly, Malfoy kisses her so delicately that it robs her breath in a way she hadn’t expected this evening.

He moves his lips to the pulse point at her throat before his thrusts start up again—gently, at first—and the break has only served to make her centre more tender. Her skin prickles. She’s heated with an electric pleasure. 

It’s not long before her stomach twitches, thighs shudder, fingers grasp at the muscle in Malfoy’s arms, and she needs to scream his name for the way he’s earned her intense orgasm with short, quick snaps into her centre and his mouth on her nipple. Her vision whitens, but she can hear how he groans into the dip of her neck. Her inner walls are still pulsing around him when he sighs, “Fuck, Hermione,” into her skin.

With a throaty groan, Malfoy suddenly slides out and fists his cock to paint her skin with white, hot ropes of cum. Across her stomach, into the dip of her belly button, and right up to her pebbled nipple.

He’s still panting when he says, “I told you, didn’t I?” He flashes a slanted smile, baring his teeth, then swipes a thumb across her lower lip. “You’re so pretty when you scream my name.”

“Well,” she begins breathlessly, “you made a very convincing case.”

His humour droops a little. “Sorry, I know you wanted me to come inside you.”

With her body still pulsing deliciously, Hermione drags a fingertip through the cum on her stomach, enjoying the way he’s made an absolute mess of her. “I want all of it,” she says, dipping the tip of her finger into her mouth to taste him. “Everything.”

Malfoy rests his forehead against hers and they bat their hurried breaths between their lips. “Good, because we’re doing that all over again right now. I’m not allowing you to leave for at least the next twelve hours.”

Hermione laughs. She feels Malfoy press his smile against her cheek before laying a kiss and she grins to herself thinking about how efficiently she’s already met her biggest goal. She can’t wait to strike ‘no pining’ off her New Year list.

NSFW art incoming...