The Shattered Dragon

Chapter 11: Ice

"Strip."

Without so much as a blink, Hermione slid her white robe from her shoulders, letting it fall at her feet. He was amazed that she complied without question, eyes locked on the hollow of her throat as she pushed at each strap of her nightgown. The fabric slid down like cream over the tops of her breasts, revealing her completely when it fell from her hips, a puddle at her feet. She stepped forward, arranging her hair into a knot that somehow held itself together and he was finally jarred from his trance.

"No," he said, a bit too abruptly, and she froze midstep. "Crawl. Get on your knees and crawl to me."

"Yes sir," she said, the corner of her mouth turning up into a smile.

For some reason her submission angered him. Her willingness to reduce herself to an animal for him, to let him push her to her knees made his blood boil.

And it made him want her even more.

She approached him with long strides, her arms stretching far in front of her, shoulder blades poking up from her back like a stalking cat, her hips swinging with each forward thrust of her leg, and all the while she kept her caramel colored eyes locked on his, her lips parted, deep pink like the color of her nipples. Her heavy breasts swung between her arms, her cheeks flushed and he felt his mouth go dry with want, a thirst to feel her own mouth against his, her tongue between his lips, the silken walls of her pussy, the ruched skin of her breasts beneath his fingertips. She knelt in front of him, looking up, her neck long and slim, her thighs spread enough that he could see the glistening pink of her sex. She was smiling. Draco rolled his neck, working the tension from his jaw, his hands dug deep in the pockets of his dress trousers, flipping a galleon coin between his fingers to stay focused.

"Why did you come here today?" He asked, looking down at her, running one fingertip along her jaw line, one word running through his thoughts.

Mine, mine, mine, mine.

"I wanted to say Happy Christmas," she said. "And to thank you for the book."

"You're welcome. But you could have just come to breakfast and thanked me there. Is there some other reason you came to my room?"

She didn't answer right away, but he could see the answer in the expression on her face, the heat in her eyes before she lowered them, her parted lips.

"Could it be that you want me to fuck you again?" He asked, his fingers combing through her hair, pulling it free to tumble down her back, massaging the back of her neck.

"Do you want to fuck me again?" She purred back at him, smiling, leaning back into his palm.

His face went dark, eyes flashing with something she couldn't name...something between rage and surprise.

"I'm not answering questions today little sparrow. Only asking them. I've told you before that you aren't here to plumb the blackened depths of my psyche. You're not here to take care of me." He reached for the buckle of his leather belt and tugged it free, letting it hang loose as he pulled down the zipper. "The last time you were here I slept peacefully, no nightmares, for the first time in months. You're here to make me feel better, aren't you?"

"Yes sir," she answered, watching with a slack jaw as he stroked himself at a slow, leisurely pace, thumbing the head of his prick. She licked her lips. He made her feel better, too. The rougher he took her, the harsher his words, the more perverse his demands, the more she fell into that haze of endorphins, high on arousal, jittery with need, the world around her, the walls, the wards...fading to black as she sunk into pleasure.

"You told me I should take what I want, didn't you?"

She went up on her knees, her eyes darting from his prick to his face, waiting for his instruction.