Limerence; Draco Malfoy

Chapter Fifty-Five: Idolatry

Draco

He was nervous.

In truth, despite his usual arrogant, carefree attitude, the knot of anxiety that Draco was currently experiencing as he held Violet Lockwood's trembling, limp body in his arms, wasn't something he was a stranger to.

His nails (bitten raw and bloody from constantly biting them) provided enough evidence for that. Not to mention the panic attacks he'd endured since childhood. The nightmares. And those bitter intrusive thoughts that just wouldn't leave him alone -- ever.

They were creeping up on him again, now, those thoughts were. Putting bleak ideas into his head about what to do with her.

Leave her here. Tie her up and leave her. It'll be better for both of you if you stop treating her like a human.

Draco pursed his lips and hugged Violet tighter, kissing the top of her silky hair.

But take what you want from her first.

Violet leaned further into his hold. She trusted him.

You know you want to see her cry.

He did.

Stick that knife into her throat and see if she's still wet for you then.

"Shut up!" He muttered harshly; causing Violet to tense in his arms. She must've assumed that he was scolding her for breathing heavily, but still, she made no reply. Guilt clawed at his stomach. "I mean-- accio, sofa,"

Draco had quickly zipped his trousers back up now, and he'd spun Violet around by the waist, letting her go as he sat back down onto the leather. She could stand on her own bloody two feet, couldn't she?

Violet sank to her knees without having to be asked twice. Her eyes were lowered; her expression slightly dazed. Draco's heart rate sped up into something feverish.

The rosy flush tainting her cheeks made her look positivley ethereal, and he couldn't stop staring at the crease at the top of her thigh, where blood was still lightly seeping out of the D.M wound he'd inflicted on her.

He'd carved a loveheart around his initials as well, just for some extra added detail. Only now he starting to regret that move, because love hearts symbolised, well, love -- and he didn't want Violet to get the wrong idea.

It was also a bit tacky, wasn't it? A bloody love heart.

Violet had lowered her head now, maybe in the hopes that her hair would cover her chest, but since her hands were still tied behind her back, staying modest wasn't an option. Draco stared. He stared and he stared and he stared - and he waited until she'd started squirming uncomfortably in her kneeling position before finally breaking the silence.

"Move closer,"

She was still too far -- a few feet away. Draco opened his legs and Violet shuffled forwards on her knees until she was between them. She glanced up. Their eyes met. Baby blue against emerald green.

Draco's hand reached out, readying to caress the side of her face, but he stopped himself abruptly. Ground his jaw and glared down at her instead. Violet's eyes grew wide when he promptly slipped his thumb past her lips. A warm, wet tongue which felt velvety on his skin, greeted him. He eyed her coldly as he pushed his thumb in deeper, and deeper, and deeper still - until she moaned, softly.

Smiling darkly, he slid it back out. Started brushing it across her bottom lip instead, watching her chest rise and fall. Watching as she pressed her thighs together tighter.