The Shattered Dragon

Chapter 7: Requested

She got to the room early, wearing the gunmetal grey pushup bra and lace panties that had appeared in her armoire, her hair pulled back halfway and braided down the back as her client had requested. The room was spacious, decorated differently from the first room she'd been sent to, with a downy soft king sized sleigh bed covered in snowy white linens and a small leather love seat in front of the roaring fireplace. It was homey...comfortable. There was no champagne, no potions or toys, no further instructions. No books. All she could do was wait.

This would be her second client and now that she was aware of the protocols, there was something about knowing that Draco would be watching this later while she sat right in front him that triggered a flare of heat on the back of her neck. It would be different now when she spoke or posed or moaned with pleasure. For some reason the fact that it was essentially all for him increased her arousal tenfold: a lust potion in itself. She wondered if that was the case for all the girls, if they'll upped their performance knowing it would be pulled from their heads the next morning. They were clearly angry that Draco was close with her and she was confident that countless women had tried to seduce him over the years; either because they truly felt something for him or because they knew he had the power, money and influence to change their lives. Still she doubted that any of them knew the weight of the chains he wore, the past horrors that the two of them shared. The war was like a disease the two of them carried, leaving them immune to each other.

Her client knocked on the door at ten minutes after eleven and her heart leapt, filling her with nerves and excitement, a sort of anticipatory fear.

"Come in," she cooed, undoing the knot on her robe and leaning back on her forearms seductively.

After a moment more the door swung open and Draco walked into the room. She stood up immediately, retying her robe, thinking she'd made a mistake, she'd gone to the wrong room, her guest had changed his mind. He was in his black suit, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, his black silk tie hanging loose beneath his collar. Although he looked tired, nearly tormented, his eyes were clear and he was steady on his feet. He was sober.

"Sparrow," he said, stepping further into the room, but staying near the door. "I shouldn't be here."

"...Mr. Malfoy..."

"No..." he said, holding a hand up to silence her. "Don't call me that. Not tonight."

"Draco..."

"No!" He snapped, almost too loud, too harsh. "I'm not him. Don't let me be him. Pretend I'm someone else."

Hermione nodded and took a few steps closer, loosening her belt again and letting her robe fall open. His eyes fell to her breasts, his tongue darting out over his lower lip.

"What shall I call you then?" She asked, slipping the tie from around his neck.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep, working his jaw as if he wanted to speak, but nothing came until she touched his face, forcing him to look at her.

"Atlas," he said, pushing the satin robe from her shoulders. "I want you to show me," he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck, the hollow of her collarbone. "Show me how to block it all out and just feel. Show me how to feel good. I want to feel good. I want to come hard enough to feel it in my toes."

Again Hermione nodded in full understanding, letting the robe fall from her arms, standing before him in her bra and panties, waiting for him to move, to say something – to touch her, to take her. He was frozen, staring as she moved to unbutton his shirt, pushing it back and down over his shoulders, stroking the warm skin on his chest, the tattoo on his arm. Her own hands were shaking, trembling with nerves, but also with arousal. She'd known from the moment she set foot inside the Dragon that this day would come, that the two of them would come together like this somehow. It was a strange, thrumming tension she'd felt between them since they were just kids, some sort of crackling energy that sparked back and forth even as they fought, spitting insults and invective that cut to the core. Friends had made jokes about it over the years...can you imagine...it would be so funny if you guys... And now, twelve years later, that tension was about to snap. But even as she felt that energy throbbing in the air he only stared, his shirt halfway down his arms, untucked at the waist, his jaw slack as his eyes followed the movement of her lips as she placed a trail of kisses to his collarbones.