Tastes the Sweetest

Part Six

Part Six

Draco tightened his hold, squeezing the sides of Hermione's throat as his other hand twisted her braids. She had no choice but to part her lips for his tongue, lest he suffocate her with his desire.

He dragged her head back far enough to hurt, and then he kissed down into her mouth like a man who'd been wandering the desert for thirty-five years. She could taste her blood in his mouth, coppery and overwhelming—reminding her of both her humanity and his lack thereof.

What...the Hell...was going on?

What was he doing?

What was she doing?

Why was she kissing him back?

On the tips of her toes, Hermione balanced herself with her hands anchored to the sides of his face. She pulled him closer. Closer. Closer still. As their kiss intensified, all thoughts flew out of the owlery in her mind, off to deliver knowledge to other places. All that remained were his lips, pliant and soft. His arms, toned and corded. His hair, silken and unruly. His hands, strong and possessive as they roamed her sides and back.

To the wizarding world, she was a war heroine with power swimming in her veins. To him, she was breakable. He could snap her bones into splinters if he wanted to. And he would get what he wanted, if he decided to take it from her.

Why?

Because she would give it to him.

That thought sent a wave of confusing, dangerous lust fluttering through her stomach like butterflies, and she felt herself beginning to freeze up. She knew she should pull away, but everything about him was like a drug—the little moans he made at the back of his throat when her tongue stroked against his. The way he was sliding his fingers in-between the neatly-sectioned boxes of her braids. The way he tilted his head to the left and to the right, kissing her like her mouth was the antithesis to everything that had ever gone wrong in their lives.

Was it too much?

Hermione turned her face away. Still held by the neck, she couldn't do much more than separate their lips. She gasped for air as he pressed kisses along her jaw, making his way down to her throat.

"Should we slow down?" she panted.

"I don't know," he said between kisses on her neck. "Do you want to?"

"No. Yes. I don't know."

"How about this? If you want to stop, tell me to stop. Until then, we keep going. Yeah?"

Hermione nodded and he leaned closer.

"Good."

Hermione let out a cry as he spun her around and pushed her away from him. She tripped over her boots and fell face-first across the bed. Her hands reached out to brace her fall, and it seemed like the moment she felt her stomach hit the mattress, he was on top of her back.

"I care about you, Granger. I really do."

He dropped his face down close to hers, grabbing her braids and pulling to arch her head back. Her eyes stung. His nose brushed along her jaw, under her chin, and down to the base of her throat. He nipped the skin there, and the sheer thrill that ran through her body was enough to make her want to cry at the conflicted feelings it sparked within her. She didn't know what she wanted, and yet she did.

It was the surreality of it that was the problem.

"I don't enjoy hurting you."

He yanked on her braids again, and she slapped his hand in irritation. It didn't faze him.