Fourteen Thousand Galleons

Say the Word

Hermione's knees catch as they land in her flat. There's a quick breath against her cheek and then Draco grips her hips to hold her steady. She's pressed into the wall with his hands roaming along her sides. He wastes no time crashing his lips down to hers, she has barely a second to catch her breath.

This is twice now that she's made the choice, that she's made the advance, that she's apparated them away into her flat and broke another piece of her sparse decorations. Twice now, she's been fired up enough by them that she's not thinking about all of the implications of what this means and where this is going, but entirely enraptured in the feel of a body – their bodies – pressed into hers. Hermione gasps against his lips as Draco's hands move along her ribcage and then up to her breasts and yanks down the cowl. There's a rip, beads fly around her, and the cool air of her flat meets the warm skin of her chest.

His hands aren't as gentle as Harry's had been. He's not tentative either. He knows what he wants and she's thankful not to have time to think about it. She wants to feel this, wants enjoy the way his palms cover her breasts and draws a sharp sigh from her lips. Hermione is a master of getting caught up in her own thoughts, living there, and ignoring everything else around her, but she doesn't want that to happen now. She wants to appreciate every sensation, from the way his teeth skim along her throat to the eager way Draco bunches her fancy dress up to her hips.

The similarities of the night she was with Harry only enhance every shiver that dances along her nerves. She loses her underwear and his fingers are against her, but rather than the slow deliberate movements Harry made, Draco applies more pressure, moves faster, draws her to the very edge of crying out and doesn't relent. He's smiling around her nipple and his teeth tug gently at the sensitive bud. Hermione's arching into him, panting, and every thought of comparison between him and Harry flies out of her mind.

"Bed-room," she breathes heavily, hands pushing against his shoulders. He pulls his hand away from her and stares up at her through thick lashes. His tongue darts out and swipes once more against her breast. "Draco, please ."

They knock against several walls and every time, they're distracted and kissing and moving against each other to create delicious friction. She's lost her shoes and her bra, but he makes her keep the pearls on her neck. They're both all but naked when she sits on the bed and slides herself back on it. There's not a moment that she's self-conscious about her body and she attributes it to the way her magic is sizzling within her, sparking every single time his eyes dip along her curves. He doesn't allow her to dwell on all the things she believes is wrong with herself and it's the most freeing feeling she's ever had.

Draco climbs up after her but he stops when his face is over her hips. There's a wicked smile on his face and he doesn't give her a chance to protest before his mouth is pressed against her most sensitive area. His hands push at her thighs, grip them so tight that she can't move, and her head falls back just shy of the pillows at the headboard. She writhes under every swipe of his tongue and pass of his fingers inside of her.

"Draco," Hermione calls his name out when he nibbles at her. He likes to use his teeth, she thinks somewhere in the far recesses of her mind. Her hands are in his hair and she's pressing him against her and it makes him move like a man possessed. She's clawing at the roots of his hair and he's pushing her down harder into the mattress so that she can't possibly buck against him like she wants to do.

He brings her to the edge again, she's straining against it, chanting his name over and over like a plea for release. But he pulls away just as she's about to freefall and a feral whine tears its way from her throat. She glares at him when he chuckles and crawls along the length of her body. His knees push her legs further part.