Bring Him To His Kness

6.

Draco stood in the shower, head tipped back, eyes and mouth shut tight, to let the hot water pour over his face. He'd dreamed all night of the way Hermione had felt in his lap at the club. The heat of her leg under his palm, the warmth of her hair around his fingers, the scent on her skin.

Holding her that close, he hadn't been able to ignore the perfume she'd chosen. Deep and musky, a primary note of amber. He recognized the blend, one of his lifelong favorites, though the minor added note of cinnamon said they'd changed the formula slightly since he was a teenager.

Mugs of mulled cider, ceramic warm on his icy fingers. Blaise's deep laughter and Daphne's higher giggle. A slice of orange floating on the surface of the cider. Pansy's green eyes gleaming in the firelight as she licked cider off a cinnamon stick. A stolen kiss and a whispered offer. A hard sweet to take the tobacco off his breath. Snowflakes in her dark hair, robes blanketing the ground beneath a tree, his hands on her hips and stomach and breasts. The pain in her eyes shifting to sudden, astonished pleasure as she took him in. Her nails digging into his shoulders when she arched under him.

Draco tipped forward and put his forehead on the cool tile to stare at the water pooling around his feet. That perfume had called to him, reminded him of a moment of pure joy. It had pushed him to ignore the reason he and Hermione were at the club. For a few minutes, he'd tried to erase it from his mind so he could forget Hermione was playing a role and he could let himself explore her.

He'd stopped himself from that third, final tap because he hadn't wanted to do it. He hadn't wanted to remind her, or himself, that it wasn't real. Every brush of her lips on his throat, every shift of her legs around him, had been intoxicating to him. He'd ignored their assignment and their acting deliberately. He'd wanted her to do what she'd done, straddle his lap and suck on his throat, drag her hands over his chest. He'd wanted her to do far more.

The narrow dip between her collarbones begged for his tongue. The sweep of her spine cried out for his lips. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of her body and follow that with his mouth, leaving behind his own scent on her as a mark. He wanted to see her eyes widen in pleasure when he pushed into her, to feel her nails in his back as he moved in her, to hear her calling out his name.

He dropped his hand to his cock, foreskin gliding smoothly down the head, thumb brushing over the glans. Half-hard already from thinking about her, he closed his eyes and called up the night before in full, glorious detail.

Her reaction to his quickly chosen nickname of 'pet,’ the heavy lust in her voice when she bit his ear and called him 'Sir.’ Her spread thighs on his legs, her tongue on his neck. The slow drag of her fingers across his stomach. The throb in his cock when he grabbed her wrist. The fight within himself, pull her hand away or push it lower. His sudden and desperate want to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, and haul her upstairs to his suite.

He braced his right arm on the wall of the shower and leaned his head into it. He concentrated on the weight of her in his lap and the brush of her nails on his stomach, the soft sounds she'd made as she kissed him.

He stroked himself slow, listening to the sound of her breathing in his memory, smelling the hint of jasmine in her hair, feeling her mouth on his throat. Feeling her teeth against his neck.

Draco shuddered and gritted his teeth on her name. He came with a grunt, head burrowed into the crook of his elbow, heat rolling across his skin. A heavy salt scent rose up through the falling water before diluting. He sighed, dropping his arm to rest his heated cheek against the cool tiles.