Bring Him To His Kness

16.

Draco examined the bottles and carafes, considered the brandy, then glanced at the closed bedroom door and selected whiskey. The neck of the bottle rattled against his glass as he poured. When he set the bottle down, he flexed his fingers in an effort to ease the shake out of them. "For god's sake, man," he muttered to himself. "You weren't this nervous your first time."

Then again, he thought, back then he hadn't been planning a seduction of a woman he'd been wanting for three years. For weeks, he and Hermione had been teasing each other, dancing around this possibility, both of them thinking the other wasn't interested. Thinking the other was only acting. Building a tension that neither of them expected would be released.

Now, they'd learned better, moved past that misunderstanding and realized they wanted each other, and proceeded to lean even further into teasing. The day before, he'd caught Hermione in the archives and picked her up for a kiss that turned into one of the most fervent moments he'd had in his life.

It wasn't until he'd received a strange look from a clerk dropping off the post at his desk that he'd realized Hermione had popped one of the buttons off his shirt in her rush to get her hands on his skin.

We shouldn't, not at work, he murmurs into her hair, and Hermione's gripping his collar, pulling herself up, skirt rising to her hips as she wraps her legs around him. Clinging to her, kissing deep, reaching up to take off his glasses. No, she's grabbing his wrist and staring into his eyes, leave them on. Shoving her back against the wall, hands sliding up her thighs, grinding against her. She's biting his lip, pleading with him in heavy whispers. One hand under her skirt, one hand over her mouth to muffle her cries.

All he'd been able to smell for the next three hours had been salt and musk and Hermione and every time he so much as thought about what they'd done, his glasses started to fog over. He hadn't been able to concentrate at all. Not when he knew that was a prelude to what they intended to do later.

Tonight.

He settled into the Chesterfield sofa, careful not to crumple the points of his shirt collar. Sipping his whiskey, he watched the bedroom door. Hermione had been very firm that she wanted her dress to be a surprise. He knew it was blue, but that was it.

Draco drummed his fingers on the three velvet cases sitting on the table next to his elbow. Blue, so he'd chosen sapphires out of the vaults. He'd included his favorite: a single, large sapphire surrounded by diamonds, with earrings to match. If she hesitated, the other two choices were much simpler.

Shockingly more expensive, but simpler.

Draco lit a cigarette with a snap of his fingers and adjusted the set of his bow tie. A small program had been waiting on the bed when they arrived, detailing the night's schedule and events. Draco wasn't certain what demonstrations Hermione might want to see, though he suspected wax and ropes would play at least some part.

He didn't object to that, but he had to admit, he had his own ideas for her. He'd looked over her marked-up pamphlet again, paying close attention to how enthusiastic her circles, stars, and underlines seemed to be, using that as a guide for his plans.

Draco leaned his head back on the sofa to blow a smoke ring at the ceiling, trying not to remember the last time he'd been sitting in this spot. Hermione kneeling between his legs, her hand moving, her tongue flickering–

He grunted and rubbed his forehead, then dropped his hand and rubbed his twitching cock. Even thinking about her had him hardening. "Slow it down," he told himself, and drained his whiskey. "You've got all night."