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“Does that make sense?” Malfoy asks, cocking his head at her, his clear grey gaze seeming bored as he waits for her answer. And why wouldn’t he be bored?
Everything around him was a bit boring.
Their work, their colleagues. Her drab navy cardigan sweater.
Not him though.
He was a marvel. A pretty shiny thing in a sea of blah. His white blonde hair and his silver grey eyes and his—
“Granger? Are you—”
Hermione startles a bit, realizing a response is required of her. Malfoy watches her with something that looks suspiciously like concern. “I’m—hmm. What?”
She can’t get her mind right, not with him here, asking her questions she’s supposed to have intelligent answers to.
How can she when she can’t stop staring at his ridiculously perfect face, his annoying hands, that horrid strand of hair that hangs over his eye when he’s trying to write something down. His perfect pink lips, and the tongue that moistens them.
Repugnant.
How can he stand it?
Because she surely cannot.
She’s been working with Malfoy for awhile now, finding him a surprisingly decent colleague. Since she and Ron had broken up six months ago, she’s committed herself to her work in the Department of Magical Education.
Hermione hopes to one day teach at Hogwarts and she’d been surprised to learn that Malfoy shares this aspiration.
It’s becoming annoying how many other things they have in common: academia; their tea, a splash of cream, one sugar; a preference for cats; similar tastes in books.
She can’t help but wonder what else they might share. She also can’t help but admit that while she already knows too much about Malfoy, she wants to know more.
Hermione has been feeling rather…pent up lately. She hasn’t had sex in months.
Everyone from Hogwarts knew about Malfoy’s… proclivities. Rumor was he was quite adept at it. He’d shagged his way through all of Slytherin as well as a few Ravenclaws if the legend was true.
With Ginny’s not-so-subtle encouragement, Hermione had come to a startling realization—not only does she want sex, she specifically wants to see what the Slytherin Prince has to offer.
She’s nursing a little…crush.
And she wanted him to crush her under his body, preferably on a bed, but a desk would work too, or the floor, or up against the wall…
“Are you feeling alright, Granger?” Malfoy interrupts, breaking her reverie. “You look a bit… hot.”
“Oh… um,” she stammers, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. “It is a bit warm in here.”
The Ministry is almost always cold, even in June. But at the moment, she’s practically boiling. She unbuttons the top three buttons of her cardigan.
“Don’t you think?” she asks breathlessly.
His eyes are watching her fingers, tracking the slow movement of each button slipping through its hole. He looks dazed when his gaze drifts up her throat, pausing on her lips before finally meeting her eyes.
“It is, a bit.”
They stare at each other.
His throat bobs. He clears it, shifting their attention back to work.
She forces herself to focus, answering his questions, even managing to ask a few of her own. But in the back of her mind, a plan is forming.
She’s all too aware of what day it is. He’s already received several owls and a box containing birthday cupcakes. Surely a man like Malfoy would be busy on his birthday.
When the time approaches five o’clock, their usual quitting time, she expects him to leave, ready to hurry off to whatever date or occasion is planned for him.
When he doesn’t, she forgets about the time and before she knows it, it’s half seven. Malfoy, she notices, doesn’t look the least bit fussed to leave. Not only is it his birthday, but it’s a Friday.
Could it be possible that all of his friends were busy tonight? Surely the Sex God of Slytherin would’ve had something up his sleeve. But, of course, Hermione is nothing if not brave and so she shoots her shot.
“Malfoy?” she asks, voice slightly higher than normal.
He looks up and his eyes immediately lock on hers. “Yes?”
“It’s kind of late. Do you want to come over for a drink? Maybe a quick dinner? Nothing fancy. Pasta, most likely.”
His eyes widen and he swallows visibly, but he answers immediately.
“Uh. Yeah. Alright.”
Hermione exhales.
Half the battle is won.
She just wants to fuck him once.
Then she can get back to focusing on her job, and her life goals, rather than his hands, and his lightly muscled forearms and his silly height, and stupid hair, his piercing eyes and the annoying bulge in his trousers he’d definitely caught her gaping at more than once.
His seeming bewilderment at her lingering glances only adds to her confusion.
Does he want her too, or not?
He’s rumoured to be a good lay; there had been plenty of rumours back at Hogwarts and there were even more now.
His cock, from what she can tell by the outline in his trousers, would be a lovely proportion to her mouth and cunt. Enough to stretch her, to hit all the sweet, sensitive parts of her.
And yes, he’s fit.
So once is all she needs, she’s certain of it.
He’ll give her the ride of her life and then she can finally move on.
Unclench, as they say, once she’s done clenching all over his cock.
***
Hermione makes clam linguine and hands a bottle of viognier to Malfoy to open. He pours them each a chilled glass and they sit down to dinner.
They chat about the wine, the food, their work, classmates they have in common.
She tries not to stare at his mouth from across the table but his lips are plump and his tongue darts out to lick along his bottom lip. She crosses her legs, uncrosses them when the pulsing of her clit is too much.
They take their wine to the settee after dinner.
They talk more. Laugh, even.
She notices that he stares at her lips as often as she does his. She licks hers and he watches, transfixed.
The wine loosens them up and they get closer, leaning into one another as they reminisce about their school days and dunk on Cormac McLaggen who hasn’t changed one iota.
She’s always found Malfoy to be infuriatingly intelligent, but it turns out he’s also—Merlin help her—quite funny.
And attractive. Obviously.
She’d already known that, but somehow, sitting here in her home, watching him sip wine and lean back in his seat—it’s all so much worse. The heat in her belly, the subtle clenching of her thighs. At least, she hopes it’s subtle.
He looks at her over the rim of his glass, his eyes hooded.
“So…” he drawls, swirling his wine lazily. “Why exactly did you invite me over, Granger?”
Her stomach clenches.
She swallows, presses her lips together as she thinks.
Act casual.
“Well,” she says, feigning nonchalance as she takes a slow sip. “I just thought…being your birthday and all and I’m the reason you had to work late. I’m sure you had places you’d rather be.” She sighs. “I thought it would be nice.”
His lips twitch up in a half smirk.
“Nice,” he repeats.
“Yes,” she says. “Nice.”
“Well, it’s very nice,” he agrees and sips his wine, eyes still on her.
She takes a slow breath in through her nose and releases it even more slowly.
They’ve run out of work to discuss. Now it’s just them and wine and her hopes and dreams.
Her wet cunt that desperately needs to be filled by him, specifically. If that’s something he wants. And she doesn’t even realize she’s still looking at him, biting her lip, her eyes fixed on his unfairly perfect mouth.
There it is, the moment he realizes. His brows shoot up and his eyes widen. His tongue sweeps along his lower lip and she still can’t look away.
“I don’t have other plans,” he confesses. “I wouldn’t have wanted other plans.” And it’s funny because he almost looks like he feels guilty. Little does he know all she wanted was to get him alone.
Setting her glass down, she hesitates for a moment. With a pounding heart, she leans in, and she’s so relieved when he does too that she almost feels the ground drop beneath her.
They both sigh a little as their mouths meet. He tastes like wine and sin and a very good time to be had.
He’s a very good kisser. So far, the rumours check out.
He licks along her lower lip, and curls his tongue around hers, gently teases her tongue with his.
Hermione is on fire.
She waits, breathless, eager to see if he’ll push things further. But he doesn’t. His hands hover over her breasts, but they don’t touch. Instead, they settle on her hips, squeezing gently.
Of course, she thinks. He’s been raised as a pureblood gentleman. He’ll be waiting for her to make the next move.
She imagines Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, and a whole host of others making their moves on him and him responding in kind. She hates the burning stab it causes in the pit of her stomach.
She has no right to be jealous; all she’s trying to do is fuck him. One time.
There are no feelings involved, unless one counts the way the thought of his cock inside her makes her cunt tingle.
He pulls back, and rests his forehead against hers, taking a beat. His breathing is heavy and she’s sure he’s wondering what her next move will be. Perhaps he finds it amusing even, to compare her with the Slytherin girls.
“Granger…I—Do you know—?” he starts to ask but then she’s moving to the floor, on her knees between his legs.
She slides a hand up his thighs and the protruding tent in his trousers makes her cunt ache.
Looking up at him, she arches a brow, waiting for him to ask his question.
“Do I know what?” she asks. “Know what I’m doing?” She scoffs.
“Just because I didn’t fuck my way through Hogwarts—” she pauses to rip open the buttons of his trousers and his hips jerk up“—or the Ministry, doesn’t mean I don’t know my way around a cock.”
He’s silent then and her gaze darts up to meet his, and is it her imagination, or does he appear a bit…dumbstruck?
Is he that shocked at the thought of her not being a virgin?
She makes a show of pulling his boxers down just enough to pull his cock out and all the while, he just…lets her, watching her with eyes full of wonder and slightly parted lips. Those full pink lips she used to fantasize about kissing just to get him to shut the fuck up.
“We can’t all be sex gods, Malfoy,” she huffs, mesmerized by the sight of her hand wrapping around his thick, leaking cock. The head is swollen and shiny and she wants to feel it on her tongue, all silk and salt.
“I suppose you think I won’t know how to suck you off properly?”
He shakes his head, and his breathing is heavy, his cheeks pink, his pupils extremely dilated.
“N-no, I—I imagine you’ll be very good at it,” he says and she wants to roll her eyes.
Is this his line? He gets so much pussy he can just stutter through it until he comes?
Hermione leans down and flicks her tongue against his tip, swirling it around the sensitive ridges. She smirks inwardly at the way his breath hitches when she takes him into her mouth, suckling at his tip, then taking him deeper.
The sound he makes is in line with something like a strangled groan. She wonders if it’s been a while for him. She can feel his cock throbbing between her lips, and then after three bobs of her head, she feels him squirming, hears him whimpering in a way she…wouldn’t expect from someone with his level of experience.
She knows she’s at least passable at this. Is he not enjoying it? Perhaps the Slytherin girls have fancy parlour tricks. Would Pansy Parkinson be able to show him a better time than she—
He makes a sound like he’s in pain and she pulls back to look at him, to ask him what he needs her to do, and then all of a sudden his cock jerks. It takes her until she feels the first warm rope on her cheek to realize and then immediately puts her mouth back on him, letting him finish coming in her mouth, swallowing it down. He comes for what seems like a very long time and she takes it all.
Even his cum tastes expensive, she thinks, derangedly.
Her clit is throbbing and her knickers are soaked clear through. She’s a soggy mess and Draco Malfoy, Slytherin sex god extraordinaire, has just come in her mouth after just a few short bobs of her head.
Perhaps he has a short refractory period. Maybe this is how he manages to please all of his partners: by having a quick come first and then getting down to business.
When she looks at him, he looks dazed and more than a little flushed. And…sheepish.
Oh gods, she’s sure he regrets ever letting her get this far. And he probably feels obligated to her now or something.
“Malfoy, I know you do this all the time but just know you don’t owe me anything,” she says, shifting to sit back on her heels, giving him space. She wipes delicately at her lips and chin with the back of her hand, trying to avoid his gaze.
But when he doesn’t speak, curiosity has her glancing at him.
Draco blinks at her, still catching his breath, his jaw tightening as if bracing himself. Then, to her utter confusion, he barks out a short, breathless laugh and runs a hand through his already-mussed hair.
“Granger,” he says, still looking dazed, “you think I do this all the time?”
She frowns, tilting her head. “I mean… don’t you?”
His cheeks redden further, and he glances away, exhaling through his nose like he’s preparing to admit something painful. “Not exactly.”
Something about his tone makes her very, very curious. “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”
He hesitates for half a second before looking back at her, his silver eyes meeting hers and…he looks quite vulnerable.
“I mean,” he says slowly, “this was… the first time.”
Hermione blinks. Once. Twice. Then she snorts. “What? That’s impossible. I’ve always heard—”
But he doesn’t laugh. He just keeps looking at her with that same unreadable expression. And then he shakes his head.
“I’ve really never…done this before. Or…anything else really.”
Oh.
Oh.
Hermione’s brain short-circuits. He’s…
“I’m a virgin,” he admits in a quiet voice.
“Oh,” she says softly. “I—I don’t—”
“My parents…” he explains, sounding uncharacteristically awkward and she could just hex herself, “they always said I needed to wait. There was going to be a betrothal and um. If I were to…” he pauses, appearing as if this conversation is physically painful for him, “you know, waste my seed, I’d ruin my life.”
“The indoctrination,” she says, trying not to sound judgy and he nods vigorously.
“Exactly.” He swallows and looks away. “You must remember how I was as a child. I—I was too set on traditions to defy my parents or actually enjoy myself. I was too afraid of disappointing my father.”
Hermione’s heart clenches. He had been a nasty child, but he’d been just that: a child. A boy with no choice.
“The rumours were just that. Rumours,” he says, looking away.
“And now?”
“I—“ He stops and takes a shaky inhale. The way he’s looking at her is making her squirm but she doesn’t want to jump to any more (false) conclusions.
“I want to make you come.”
Hermione suddenly realizes she is still on her knees and that his cock is still out, mostly soft now. Her knickers are soaked and he’s looking at her as if he wants to devour her.
“It’s my birthday,” he reminds her, and suddenly she’s swept up in a vision of the pompous young boy he was. But now he’s looking at her in a way she thought she’d always imagined.
“Come here,” he implores, and she’s helpless to do anything but, taking his proffered hand and rising, sitting next to him on the sofa. His eyes trace over her face, then his hand comes up to lay against her cheek.
“It’s my birthday,” he says again, “and I want to make you come.”
Her breath is shaky, but he’s pulling her towards him. Then they’re kissing again, eager and warm and her cunt is aching and then his other hand is working its way up her dress, slowly but steadily moving up her thigh, then between her legs and then freezing at the gusset of her knickers.
She’s embarrassed, certain that she’s soaked clear through the sofa cushions. Is he disgusted? Is that why he stopped? His eyes are soft when she meets his gaze. He looks nervous and it makes her heart clench to match her cunt. It’s his birthday and he’s with her. Doing…this.
“Is—is this okay?” he asks. “I want…can I touch you? Inside your knickers?”
Fuck yes, she thinks.
“Mhmm,” she says. “That’s fine.”
He breathes out a bit shakily and then his long fingers are slipping under the elastic of her knickers and he makes a strangled sound when his fingertips brush against her heated center. She’s so wet, she’s practically a faucet, and the first touch of his fingers to her clit has her gasping, hips jumping.
“There?” he asks and she nods. He’s a quick learner, finding her entrance and slipping a finger inside, as his thumb swipes over her clit.
“Fuck,” he breathes, sounding utterly wrecked. “You’re so wet.”
Her body is trembling and she’s whimpering, and when he adds a second finger, she cries out. His thumb brushes her clit and her hips buck up. He does it again.
“Yeah?” His voice is low and breathy, and she watches his cock twitch as she clenches around his fingers.
“Y-yeah…” she responds. “Malfoy, I’m going to— oh gods—“
“Yeah?” he asks again but this time there’s a bit of cockiness in his tone.
She leans over to press her face into his neck and comes all over his fingers, crying out into the collar of his Oxford shirt.
Her vision goes, followed by her hearing as her body pulses and throbs, the burn of her orgasm against his fingers better than anything she’s ever felt before.
When she finally regains her faculties, she sighs and slumps into him. He’s removed his fingers from inside her, soothing her with wet circles of them on her inner thighs.
“Fuck,” he breathes after a silent moment. “Well. It’s a good thing I already came because I surely would have come watching you just then. Feeling you…” He shivers a little and she looks up to find him staring down at her with molten heat in his expression.
“I’ve…pictured it before but my imagination couldn’t possibly do justice.”
“Pictured what? Me?” she asks incredulously.
He scoffs. “Who hasn’t?”
Her eyes widen more in what she’s sure is a comical expression but he doesn’t laugh. His gaze is level and calm. Her brain isn’t fully working yet, so instead of asking nosy follow up questions (is it nosy if it’s about her and he brought it up first?) she’s suddenly quite sleepy.
“Let’s just say it was a beautiful sight,” he tells her. “The perfect birthday gift.”
And oh—she’s dazed, her body limp, thrumming with the aftershocks of a powerful orgasm, her limbs pleasantly heavy.
“Happy birthday,” she says drowsily. “You have a beautiful cock.” The wine, the orgasm, leaning against Malfoy on her sofa have her extremely relaxed, half drifting off.
“Granger,” he laughs, “you can’t just say things like that and fall asleep on me.”
But she does, quite literally fall asleep on him.
***
Hermione feels safe and extremely cozy.
That’s the first thing her sleepy mind registers as she drifts somewhere between consciousness and dreams. There’s warmth at her back, a steady rise and fall beneath her cheek, the scent of expensive cologne, and something uniquely comforting wrapping around her like a blanket.
As her mind slowly wakes, she remembers—his fingers inside her, the way he had looked at her as if she were the most fascinating thing in the world.
Draco Malfoy, of all people. A virgin, and—
Her eyes snap open.
Oh, bloody hell.
She’s curled against him on her sofa, half-draped over his chest—and drooling—and his arm is still around her. His breathing is even, but she can feel the faint tension in his muscles. He’s awake and appears to be overthinking something.
Which, fair. So is she.
She shifts slightly, and his fingers tighten at her hip, as if he’s afraid she’ll move away from him.
Something deep in her stomach flips.
Because this is Malfoy.
The man runoured to have fucked his way through Slytherin house and half of the Ministry had come apart at the slightest touch of her mouth, had looked at her like she was unreal, had touched her like she was something precious.
She’d fallen asleep on him, given him ample time to escape.
But he hadn’t left. He’s still here, holding her.
She lifts her head to look up at him.
His eyes are already open, watching her with something carefully neutral, but his fingers give him away, still resting at her hip, his thumb ghosting over the fabric of her dress as if he doesn’t quite realize he’s doing it.
“Hey,” she whispers.
His lips twitch. “Hey yourself.”
Her gaze flickers to his mouth, always fascinated by the way it curves in a sneer or a smirk or a genuine smile. His eyes darken as he watches hers. For a moment, they simply stare.
“Granger,” he whispers, and his pupils are blown wide.
She can feel her heartbeat in her clit.
And then they’re kissing again. Desperate, needy, with none of the hesitation from before. He presses her down into the sofa, her legs parting instinctively to make space for him. He’s hard, so fucking hard, and she throbs at the thought of him pushing inside her, stretching her, filling her. The need is overwhelming, and she rocks her hips up to meet him.
He groans, breaking away from her lips to pant against her neck. “If we don’t stop…” He sounds half-wrecked already.
She shivers as she kisses along his jaw and his cock jerks against her center. “Then what?”
“Then I’m going to want to fuck you.”
The keening sound she makes should embarrass her. But it doesn’t, especially when he rears up between her legs, starting to push her dress up above her hips. His sudden boldness spurs her into action and she reaches down to shove her knickers down as far as she can get them.
He freezes momentarily, but then he licks his lips, rearing up and helping her pull them off.
“Fuck, Granger,” he groans, “I want to be inside you so badly.” The open want in his voice makes the walls of her cunt tighten.
His cock bounces and jerks between them, and she remembers she’d torn his trousers open to get to his cock. Like a cock-starved harlot.
Still on his knees, he looks into her eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks, and it only makes her wetter.
Her legs fall open in answer and he stares at her as if hypnotized, his eyes hot on her cunt, his lips parted, breathing out harshly.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “Better than I ever could have dreamt. Granger…you’re fucking perfect.”
Her cunt twitches at his praise and he meets her eyes. He swallows, appearing suddenly nervous again.
She sits up, placing a hand on the back of his head to bring him in for a kiss. “Come here,” she beckons against his lips, and then he’s kissing her, hot, wet, filthy licks into her mouth, and she’s pushing at his trousers.
He pulls back just long enough to rid himself of the offending article of clothing and then he falls onto her, his cock hot, rigid, and sticky against her belly.
They’re still half-dressed, but Hermione doesn’t care. She needs him inside her, filling her over and over, now.
She squirms a bit to get him where she wants him and they both gasp when the swollen tip of him nudges her entrance.
Hermione freezes momentarily, drawing his face to look at her. “Are you sure?” she asks. “We don’t have to—”
Malfoy swears, and grinds his hardness against her slickness, and then he shifts ever so slightly, his tip breaching her cunt.
“I’ve never been so sure of anything—fuck—in my life.”
He pushes in slowly, then withdraws. Then again, and again, sliding deeper with each pass and they groan together when he’s finally buried to the hilt.
“Gods, Hermione,” he pants, “if you only knew how long I’ve wanted this.”
Hermione arches up, locking her feet around his hips, holding him in place, and he throbs inside her, his face falling to her shoulder as he battles for restraint against the force of her fluttering cunt. She tries not to clench but he’s filling her so perfectly, so deliciously, that it’s a reflexive move on her part.
“Shit. You feel… so fucking good. I can’t even explain it,” he grits out shakily, reverent, as if he can’t quite believe this is happening.
Neither can she.
She tightens her legs around him and rolls her hips experimentally, drawing a sharp hiss from him. His hands fly to the backs of her thighs, fingers digging in and he whimpers when she squeezes the muscles of her cunt.
“Draco…don’t stop. Please…”
He pulls out almost entirely, before pushing back in, hips rocking in slow, deep thrusts, each movement accompanied by a ragged breath or a soft groan.
It’s overwhelming—the weight of him, the stretch of him, the way he fills her up so perfectly. And the way he looks at her makes her heart flutter as much as her pussy.
“Oh gods,” she whimpers, clinging to his shoulders as her orgasm builds in her womb, her legs beginning to tremble. “Draco—”
His hips stutter at the sound of his name on her lips, and then he’s kissing her again, messy and desperate, swallowing her moans as he fucks her with unrelenting precision.
It turns out Draco Malfoy has a surprisingly filthy mouth.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, his jaw clenched. “I’m not going to last. But I need—fuck—I need you to come first. I need to feel you squeezing around my cock as tight as you did my fingers.”
Her mind reels. He was a virgin? This confident, dirty-mouthed, cunt-drunk man above her? A marvel, indeed.
At her delayed reaction, he ceases thrusting and her cunt clamps down hard, as if afraid he’ll withdraw.
“What is it?” His brows furrow and he appears concerned. “Do you not like—?”
Hermione immediately cuts him off, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. She just hadn’t expected him to be so…good at this. Not just the sex, but the dirty talk. He’d always seemed so proper. But then, she also thought he was the Sex God of Slytherin and this whole time, he’d been—
“No, no, you’re perfect,” she assures him. “It's just that you’re a very fast learner.” She grins at him and purposefully clenches around him. “The mouth on you.”
“Oh,” he says, grinding against her. “I’m sorry if it’s too much.”
“No,” she reassures again, rocking her hips up into his. Her entire body is tingling and she’s pretty sure she’s about to come. “I like it.”
He huffs out a harsh breath. “Okay, good,” he says, and she pulls his face down to her so she can kiss him deeply. He begins to fuck her hard, with purpose, each thrust making her breasts bounce, the sound of skin on wet skin getting louder as do their moans.
“Fuck, Granger.” he pants. “You feel so fucking good. I’m—gods, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Don’t stop,” she pleads. “Please don’t stop—I’m so fucking close.”
He chokes on a moan. “Can—can I come in you?”
“Yes,” she manages. “Please. Inside me.”
Her impending orgasm is coiling tighter and tighter in her womb, his cock swelling and throbbing, dragging along all of her most sensitive nerves.
“Oh fuck. Granger, I’m—”
And she is too.
He groans as her cunt twitches and throbs around him, milking his release from him, the feeling of his hot spend extending her own orgasm. She can feel each warm pulse of it painting her walls, and it’s satisfying in a way she can’t even explain.
“Merlin,” he mutters, after collapsing on top of her, resting his weight on his elbows so as not to squish her. “You really were Potter’s secret weapon. A cunt like that could have stopped a war.”
Hermione can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous the words are, despite how sincere and utterly destroyed he sounds.
She runs a hand down his back possessively. “So,” she says, “it seems I was wrong about two things.”
Her voice is still breathless, but she can’t seem to stop talking.
“Oh?” He lifts his head, curious. “What’s that?”
“Well, one—that you were some kind of sex god.”
Malfoy huffs a laugh. “That’s what you get for believing rumors.”
She sniffs and rolls her eyes. “Well, now I don’t want to tell you the second thing.”
His lower lip juts out and he’s so fucking adorable she wants to bite it. And so she does. Which inevitably leads to another long, slow snogging session.
When she pulls away, they’re both panting, and his cock twitches inside her.
“And two…” she says softly, “that once would be enough.” She bites her lip watching his smirk fade, and his face soften.
“I thought…it might get you out of my system. But the truth is I…really like you, Malfoy. And not just for the…” she waves her hand in the general area where they’re joined. “I like working with you. And I like talking to you and…kissing you.” She’s babbling now.
“And I quite like this,” she waves her hand again, “as well.”
He looks so relieved, it makes her heart beat fast.
“Good,” he says, smirking again, pulling out, then rising up to his knees. He rolls her onto her stomach, and pulls her hips up. “That’s very good.”
She gasps feeling his thumbs spread her lower lips, his hot breath caressing her cunt from behind.
Hears his sharp inhale when she clenches around air.
Releasing a shaky breath, she turns her head to see him, tries to speak. “What are you—?”
“It’s—I can see my cum dripping out of you. It’s so fucking hot.” He’s whispering, like the sight of him oozing out of her is sacred.
“I’m on the potion,” she blurts out, realizing she should have mentioned this back when she begged him to come inside her.
Especially knowing how precious these purebloods were about their seed.
He hums, his breath closer to her clit now. “You know, there are a few more things I’d like to try. And it just so happens you’re the only one I want to try them with.”
When he drags his tongue from her clit to her slit, she shrieks into a sofa pillow.
“Good?” he asks smugly. So perfectly Malfoy.
“Better than good,” she mumbles. “More like the best sex of my life.”
He swirls and stabs, flicks his tongue expertly as she wails into the pillow, her body trembling under the onslaught of pleasure.
“Please,” he murmurs into her cunt, his fingers spreading her open. “I’d really like to hear you.”
As if he’s done this particular act on her a million times before, he makes her come on his tongue so quickly, so effortlessly, it’s almost laughable.
After, she stands on shaky legs, and leads him to her bedroom. They pull the rest of their clothes off and fall into bed.
She’s taken his virginity but he takes her three more times that night. And by morning, she’s sure of two things:
As suspected, he truly is a marvel.
And also, she may not, in fact, ever get enough of him.
When Crookshanks jumps on the bed and curls up on his chest, that seals the deal. She’s fucked, in more ways than one.
She can’t bring herself to be mad about it.
“Malfoy,” she murmurs, as she presses kisses to his shoulder. “Why didn’t your friends take you out for your birthday?”
“Because,” he responds with a smile in his voice, his hand tightening on her hip, “they knew it would ruin my plans.”
