Broken Open

Chapter Thirty-One - The Silence Tempting

McGonagall was still eyeing me with suspicion-and who could blame her? I'd literally confessed I was going to break the rules. The mere fact that I'd failed did not excuse me...

I watched with mild disinterest as Padma transfigured Parvati into a songbird. In fact, most of the class had chosen birds. Why was that? Was it easier? Less embarrassing, should one get stuck that way?

I didn't know.

Malfoy's knee brushed my thigh and I shivered, shooting him a warning glance.

He grinned, raising his hands and feigning innocence.

Grumbling under my breath, I turned back to the front of the class, my eyes glazing with boredom. It seemed to take every pair at least ten minutes to present. Moronic imbeciles...

Jesus, I was starting to sound just like Malfoy, wasn't I?

I heard his quill scratching-thought stupidly for a moment that he was taking notes-and then felt the parchment slide under my palm.

I narrowed my eyes at him, and another innocent smile graced his features.

With a sigh, I lowered my gaze to his cramped and boyish scrawl.

Thinking dirty thoughts, Lafette?

Almost instantly, a throbbing began beneath my waist. I scowled at the front wall, clenching my thighs together in protest. This wasn't fair...

Why? Are you? I scribbled my response.

Always.

The word made my brows shoot up-the honesty of it. The shamelessness. And then a playful grin spread across my face.

These presentations were long...we could afford to fool around a little bit. Couldn't we?

Sliding my hand casually toward the paper, I allowed my fingers to brush his, just barely, before neatly writing,

Oh? And may I inquire as to what they are?

He flashed me a wicked smile.

No.

Another scowl broke my reverie.

No?

No.He gave it a thick, dark underline. But just when I made to roll my eyes, he added another line.

Why don't you tell me what I'm thinking about?

My lips twitched. A challenge?

Oh...but I had a way with words. Malfoy had no idea what he was up against.

Twirling my quill, I watched Seamus chase a mouse around the professor's desk, his cat form very convincing. Then I dabbed the tip sensuously on my tongue, making sure Malfoy was watching, and dunked it in the small ink pot between us.

Malfoy sat back contentedly, threading his fingers behind his head.

Now, I could be wrong...but I thought perhaps you were imagining a strip of satin. I began, and the words started to flow through my effortlessly. A long, blue strip of satin, with no embroidery-just a sleekness that glides beneath your fingertips. Maybe you pick it up...maybe you don't. It doesn't matter. Its color is vivid enough to set your teeth on edge.

I thought perhaps you imagined a dark figure, with no defining features-just a shadow in the dark. Did it touch you? I don't know. But I thought perhaps it took up this satin. I thought perhaps it curled it around your bare torso, pressing it to you, molding it to your muscle. The grooves...the curves...

I thought perhaps it yanked it swiftly away-and friction, love, is a dangerous tool. Do you react? I don't know. Do you moan softly at the sensuousness? Or do you groan with longing-with impatience?