Malfoy's Rope Bunny

Regret

Hermione

It was a raw, sexual attraction, that's all it was. And absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Natural.

Still, it was supposed to just be a fleeting thought, a fantasy. It wasn't supposed to be this. What the hell was wrong with her?

Grabbing his tie, she tugged his head down to her level and kissed him. It was slow, at first, but she pressed her lips to his with a force that was building up to release that tiny ball of rage she felt inside her.

Rage from years of being picked on, years of the need to out-perform him in (essentially) everything fuelling her in the form of violent spite.

Frustration that he had the audacity to make her feel like she was flying earlier, or that the way his eyes were full of reluctant curiosity instead of the hatred she'd expected. That she couldn't, in good conscience, take out the years of pent-up aggression on him, not when he was looking at her like that. Anger that he'd grown to be. . . quite attractive.

He froze for a second, maybe out of sheer confusion. He's either about to yell at me or fuck me, she decided, concluding that she didn't really care which.

The tightness in her muscles released as Malfoy wrapped his hand around the back of her head, pulling her closer and deepening their kiss. The only thing separating them was the large leather-bound first edition (signed!) copy of her book.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, grasping at the roots ever-so-slightly, just enough for Hermione to let out a tiny moan against his lips. Then he slid his tongue in to meet hers, exploring the sensations.

Neither of them seemed to be in a hurry. It was as if they were simply allowing their curiosity to get the better of them — proceeding slowly as if the other were likely to bring the whole thing to a screeching halt at any moment.

What the fuck was she doing? Making out with Malfoy? Was she drunk? She'd only ordered one glass of champagne and admittedly didn't finish it.

She pushed her lips against his, demanding his reaction. He was holding back. Shit.

She dreaded what he might say as he pulled away, but his expression held none of the expected disgust or revulsion.

"You hate me," he said, his eyes wandering over her as if he were seeing her for the first time. It wasn't a question, just a statement that hung in the air until she figured out what to do with it.

She couldn't deny it. She had hated him. Did hate him. It would take more than a single evening of him not looking at her like she was the scum of the Earth to change that.

"I can still hate you," she stated. "This doesn't mean anything."

He searched her eyes, either trying to figure out if she was telling the truth, or deciding if he cared.

"Right." He nodded, apparently accepting her answer as good enough before wrapping a hand around each of her thighs and raising her into his arms. Hermione allowed her legs to straddle him and hook around his back as he turned to push her against the brick wall of the alley.

"Put your damn book away," he said, and Hermione obeyed, squirming against him until she'd slipped the giant book back into her tiny bag.

A fire burned between her thighs as he pressed against her, the hunger in his eyes searing through her. She might have let him fuck her, right here in this alley, where anyone could walk out and see them.

Pulling away, he whispered, "Do you want me to carry you across the gallery with your legs wrapped around me, or do you want to follow me?"

"Where are we—"

He slammed his lips into hers, cutting her off as he tasted her with an undeniable need. The feeling of his teeth gently biting into her lip before trailing across her cheek and neck sent a shiver down her spine.

This couldn't be right, she was in an alley kissing Draco Malfoy? Draco fucking Malfoy? And it felt. . . she was ashamed to admit how incredible it felt. The little fireball of rage and hatred roiled inside her, but all it did was make her want more.

Hot breath grazed her ear as he growled into it. "That's not important. Just answer my question."

No one she'd kissed before made her throw her inhibitions out like that. It could have something to do with her still being in rope space. Or the half a glass of champagne? But it definitely didn't have anything to do with him. Right?

"We shouldn't do this," she breathed. "I... can't do this." She wasn't sure why, it was just that making out with her arch nemesis in an alleyway wasn't where she envisioned her night going.

In an instant, she was on her feet again, left to catch her breath as the heat of his body and his touch disappeared, leaving the air feeling somehow colder than before. A tinge of regret made her stomach clench, and she opened her mouth, hoping the right words might come pouring out.

"We shouldn't do this," he echoed. "You're right. I shouldn't have... You..." His hands dug into the pockets of his robes as his eyes darted anywhere but at her. "Well. Enjoy your book, Granger," he finished simply, turning away only to pause for a beat and shake his head before opening the door and disappearing into the banal chatter of the party.

Shit.