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She’s alone.
That’s the first thing that strikes me as odd. Surely the Golden Girl should be surrounded by a multitude of shoulders to lean on. It’s the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts after all. Has everyone finally realized how insufferable she is? That thought sends a warm trickle of pleasure down my spine. It’s possible that she’s waiting for someone, but as she’s been slumped over on her stool with one arm on the bar for two whiskeys now and no one has even spoken to her, it seems unlikely.
Two whiskeys for me, that is. There’s no telling how many she’s had.
She’s drunk.
That’s the second odd thing I notice. She’s so drunk, I didn’t even recognize her when I stepped up to the bar to order my first drink. So drunk she didn’t recognize me when I looked straight at her as I waited for my second.
Two drinks is enough for me to get used to the room. Enough for me to shed the usual caution that I carry when I’m out in public. Usually I wouldn’t have stopped somewhere like the Leaky Cauldron. Especially not on such a momentous occasion. But as Granger knocks her glass over and actually leans her head onto the bar, I am so incredibly thankful that I did. She lifts her head and her curls stick slightly to the glossed wood, and she is without a doubt the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen.
Tom the barman hobbles over to clean up the spill, and I can’t believe my luck when he offers to refill her glass—can’t believe he’s continuing to serve her. But as he misses the glass and pours a healthy jigger of firewhiskey onto the floor, it makes sense. He’s even drunker than she is. I scoff into my glass before swallowing the last of it. Pathetic. The lot of them. You’d think five years would be enough for them to figure out how to hold it together on this day but obviously not.
Granger digs around in her pocket, leaving it hanging out when she turns her attention to a small beaded handbag. I cringe in secondhand embarrassment as she spills the contents onto the floor.
Tom is waving her off, saying not to worry about the money, but she’s arguing. She won’t take the drinks for free. I watch as she teeters precariously on the edge of her stool, and I’m up and across the room in time to catch her arm as she topples off. She doesn’t even acknowledge me as she crouches to the floor to retrieve her belongings. I give Tom a reassuring smile, and he fills my glass. When Granger’s head reappears above the bar, I set a neat stack of galleons in front of her. Her eyes focus slowly on the gold, and after a moment, she smiles.
She looks up at me for the first time and, even though I paste on a matching smile, hers wilts at the sight of my face. So she does recognize me.
“Can I buy you a drink?” I ask lightly, tilting my head at her empty glass.
Her eyes narrow, and I don’t reach out to help her back onto her stool. She manages it after the second try.
“Okay,” she says after a moment, and I’m surprised by how clear her voice is. “I owe you, though. I’ll pay you back.”
The sight of Gryffindor’s Princess vomiting into the gutter later will surely be payback enough, but I nod as I slide onto the stool next to her. She watches me as Tom fills her glass.
“What are you doing here?” she asks when he walks away.
I give her another smile and the muscles of my cheeks twitch with disuse. “Drinking, of course.”
The corner of her mouth lifts slightly, and she picks up her glass. “Well, what shall we drink to, then?”
I consider coming out with something poignant about the war or sacrifice or friendship, but I don’t. She’s still conscious, so she’s not drunk enough to fall for anything so off-brand for me. I settle on—
“Whiskey.”
Her eyes crinkle with a genuine smile, and she clinks her glass against mine far too hard. She finishes hers in one, and I shrug before doing the same. The liquid burns my throat, and I take a moment to consider how deeply stupid she is not to immediately spot the fact that I am only here to contribute to whatever downward spiral she’s on. Has it not even occurred to her that I’m simply securing a front-row seat to her meltdown? I’m almost disappointed in her.
She looks over my shoulder and gives a pitiful whine. I follow her gaze to where Tom’s feet are visible, protruding from the bench of a booth in the corner.
When I look back, Granger is on her feet, the heels of her pumps anchored on the rungs of the stool. She actually puts a knee on the bar as she leans over to reach the bottle, and if she stretches any further, I’m sure her knickers will be visible under her skirt. I realize my brows are up to my hairline when she does a double-take at my face, and I quickly school my features as though she hasn’t just behaved like an animal. She fills both of our glasses again, setting the bottle between them. I sip mine this time, and she does the same.
She turns on her stool to face out into the bar, and I study her profile unreservedly. She would probably look tired if she wasn’t so drunk. There are light purple smudges under her eyes, and her hair seems... depressed.
“He’s having an affair.”
My brows rise again, and I wonder if there’s more than the anniversary of the battle at play here. The Weasel stepping out on Granger? It would be delicious if the thought of any Weasley engaging in sexual activity didn’t make me physically ill. Still, for the-girl-who-thinks-she’s-better-than-everyone to be cast aside for someone else... I quickly scan her fingers, but she’s not wearing a ring. And when I look back up to her face, she’s smirking.
“Who?”
She tilts her head, and I turn on my stool. There’s a man in the corner with his hand up the skirt of a girl half his age. I cringe again at the idea of anyone planning an illicit rendezvous in the sodding Leaky Cauldron.
“I can’t believe he’s meeting her here,” Granger snorts into her glass.
I cut my eyes back to her. “Indeed.”
She continues smirking and seems to have forgotten that I have no idea who this man is. “How do you know?” I ask.
She swirls the whiskey in her glass. “Because his wife works in my department, and that’s not her.”
Her nose scrunches with distaste as the man dips his tongue into the girl’s mouth, but her smirk is still in place. I’m surprised she doesn’t have more bleeding-heart Gryffindor sympathy for her coworker. As if she’s heard my thoughts, Granger looks over at me.
“She’s a cunt.”
I worry my eyebrows may stay permanently affixed to my hairline. Despite the fact that I was having a similar internal reaction to the thought of her misfortune only a moment before, I decide that this tawdry gossip makes Granger shallow and classless.
As I excuse myself and stand in the loo, I wonder why she doesn’t seem to be spiraling.
When I return to find the bar empty, I’m struck with panic that I’m missing the grand finale. I turn to rush outside, but instead of being violently sick in the alley, Granger is standing by the door, wrapping the flaps of her coat around her. I shake my head at the thought that she’s too drunk to do up the buttons. How embarrassing.
I follow her outside and our breath instantly mists around us in the unseasonable chill. I shove my hands in my pockets as she walks over to a small group of people near the edge of the building. I think some of them may have been in our year at Hogwarts, but I don’t care enough to look properly. It’s not as though any of them would be pleased to see me anyway.
Granger returns after a moment with a lit cigarette. She leans sloppily against the brick wall, and her eyes fall closed as she inhales. The tip glows orange for a moment, and her jaw hangs loose as the smoke billows out of her mouth. If she had any idea how disgusting it makes her look, she would probably never touch another one.
I only hesitate for a moment when she holds it out to me. My tongue presses against the back of the filter as I inhale, and the hot smoke fills my lungs. I think they crackle slightly. The sensation is surprisingly pleasant. Granger watches me with unfocused eyes as I hand the cigarette back to her, and I wonder if she thinks I look disgusting. She only gives me one more drag before she crushes the butt under the toe of her shoe, and I find that both selfish and rude.
Her shoulders slide suddenly against the wall, and my eyes widen in anticipation. She doesn’t fall, but instead adjusts the coat around her and opens the flaps. She’s smirking again, and I feel my own lips curling as I spot the whiskey bottle tucked into an inside pocket.
I fall into step beside her as she starts up the street, and I take a pull from the bottle when she offers it to me. As I watch her tilt her chin back and swallow, I decide that Granger has become a drunk. And that’s sad. I don’t know why she’s smiling.
“You didn’t ask me why I’m alone,” she says after several minutes.
I don’t care why she’s alone. She leans slightly against my arm for a moment as her balance fails.
“You didn’t ask me why I'm alone,” I return.
She snorts, and the pressure on my arm is gone. “Because you’re an arsehole.”
She hiccups on the last word, and I smile, too. She’s right.
The bottle is nearly empty when I realize I’ve walked back to my flat. I stop in front of the wrought iron fence and watch as it takes her several steps to realize I’m not with her anymore. She turns and gives me a questioning look. I decide that even if she finishes the bottle right there, she probably won’t be sick in the gutter. What a waste of an evening.
“This is me,” I say with a jerk of my head.
“Oh, right.” She starts forward and pauses in front of the gate.
I stare at her.
“Well?” she asks after a moment.
“What are you doing?”
She blinks slowly at me. “Aren’t we going in?”
We? My brows are back at my hairline. I search her face, but the smile is gone. She’s serious.
The realization hits me like a bludger. Fucking hell, she thinks I’ve been picking her up. I rub a hand over my eyes as I realize that I spent all night buying her drinks and then walked her to my doorstep. What else should she think?
My head snaps back up when it occurs to me that she has gone along with it.
I have a new plan.
Surely the only thing worse than the monstrous hangover she will have tomorrow would be the crushing regret of having slept with a fucking Death Eater on a drunken whim.
My eyes narrow as I inspect her again. She watches me look at her and overbalances slightly in her heels. She takes two tiny steps forward and then sways ominously. I frown.
There’s no point if she won’t even remember.
“You’re too drunk,” I say flatly.
She frowns, too. Her foot takes another involuntary step, and she reaches out for the fence this time to steady herself.
“You don’t have Sober Up?”
I bristle at that. I’m a Potions Master, of course I have Sober Up.
“I’m a Potions Master, of course I have Sober Up.”
Her brows rise.
I take her hand to lead her through the wards, and it is soft and warm. I don’t know if I’m surprised by that. Her heels click over the polished floors, and the sound seems incredibly loud in the empty space.
I’m still leading her by the hand for some reason, but I let go when we reach my bedroom.
“Loo?” she asks with another hiccup. I point to a door across the room and leave her to go prepare the potion.
I measure out two doses and take mine while I’m still in my lab. I’m not that drunk, but I’ll need to come as quickly as possible if I want her to be absolutely sure that she has been utterly and completely used. Which I do.
When I return to my room, she looks barely conscious in the door where she stands. She leans one shoulder on the door frame and her hand grips the other side. But she looks up when I enter, and she smiles. I wonder what the hell is wrong with her.
I hold out both hands, and she takes the potion in one and the glass of water in the other. The potion slides down easily, and she smacks her lips appreciatively as she sets the vial down on my bureau. She gives me a look over the rim of the water glass, and I don’t care that she approves of my addition of mint.
As she sips, I watch the light slowly return to her eyes. The glassy sheen fades, and the amber glows brighter than I remember. The slackened look of her face fades, too. Her cheeks draw up, growing fuller. Even her curls seem livelier.
I tell myself that this is good. It will only make my job easier.
She sets the empty glass down and looks at me. I give her ten fully sober seconds to change her mind. She doesn’t move.
Her eyes follow my hands as I slide off my jacket and start on the buttons of my shirt. They widen at the sight of the Sectumsempra scars, and I smirk at the thought of Potter seeing his tarnished Golden Girl now.
I pull my shirt off and drop it onto a chair. When I turn back to her, I angle my forearm out. I want her to know exactly who she’s fucking with. She looks at the Mark for a long time, like I knew she would, but she still doesn’t move. When she meets my eye again, I step forward into her space, crowding her against the wall.
My fingers skim up the row of buttons on her coat, and I wonder when she had time to do them up. Her eyes are back on my hands, and I hear her breath shake as she draws it in.
“Scared, Granger?” I ask in a low voice.
She looks up at me through her lashes before lifting her chin. She draws her bottom lip between her teeth, pausing for a moment, and then whispers.
“Yes.”
I wonder if she’s trying to be cute. I wonder if it’s working.
My fingers start on her coat, and I realize that the brass buttons are shaped like hearts. I almost feel sorry for what I’m going to do.
I slide the garment off her shoulders and it pools behind her legs. I lean into her and put my hands on her waist. She sucks in a sharp breath, and I look quickly up to her face. There’s a small space between her blouse and her skirt where I can feel her skin beneath my fingers. At first I think my hands must be cold, but she’s blushing and biting her lip again.
There’s an inkling of an idea in the back of my mind, and I slide my hands up onto her lower back. Her head falls back against the wall, and she practically moans. I glance over at the empty potion vial as my suspicions are confirmed. With the level of alcohol in her system, she must have been completely numb. The sudden absence is making her feel hypersensitive. It’s a phenomenon I’ve read about but never observed before. I tell myself it’s academic curiosity that makes me reach up and drag my thumb along her lower lip. Her eyelids flutter closed and her hips press forward into mine.
I have another new plan.
Surely the only thing more humiliating than being used by a Death Eater would be enjoying it.
I leave my thumb on her lip, swiping it gently back across, and the heat of her breath washes over my hand. When the tip of her tongue touches lightly to the pad of my finger, I draw it away. Her eyes open at the loss, and I replace it with my lips. She sighs heavily as she kisses me, and I know I have her.
Her hands are tentative at first, slowly sliding over my neck and shoulders and arms, but as I push harder into her mouth, they grow bolder—fingers pressing and gripping on my chest and stomach and back. I start slowly, too, taking careful note of the places that elicit a strong response. Along the tops of her hips makes her squirm, over her ribs makes her whine, across the center of her back makes her bite my lip. She breaks the kiss when I unclasp her bra, and she moans into my neck as my hands move forward to touch her under the cups. Her nipples harden under my palms, and I can feel more and more of her weight pulling on my shoulders as her knees give out. One of my rings catches the peaked flesh, and she lets out a sharp cry.
I snatch her up then, lifting her around the middle and dropping her onto the bed after a few short steps. My fingers rake up under the edge of her blouse, and she doesn’t complain when I pull it over her head. She pulls off the bra herself and lays back without me even telling her to. There is a distinct moment of unreality as I take in the sight of her on my bed. Her curls spread over my pillows, her flushed skin against my blankets. The edge of her skirt is hiked up, and it seems surreal that Hermione Granger doesn’t mind that I can see her blue lace knickers.
I reach down to slide off her shoes, and her chest heaves as my fingers trail up her ankle. I watch the skin of her breasts tighten in gooseflesh as I kneel on the bed and lift her foot to my shoulder. Her eyes are wide as I let my tongue drag heavily over the side of her calf, but they close and her hands come to her chest as I reach the inside of her knee. I pause there, licking and sucking and biting gently at the sensitive skin, and she’s writhing. I smirk against her until she nearly kicks me with the other leg. I pin it to the mattress with one hand and lean down to give it the same treatment. I’m nothing if not meticulous.
I’m holding both legs down, and her hips are twisting and her breasts are shuddering and—
“Please...”
My mouth leaves her knee as the syllable sinks in.
Yes. That. That is good. Not just Granger enjoying it... Granger begging for it. I lean forward on impulse and plant a hand by her head. I search her eyes as my left hand quickly slides up the insides of her thighs. She arches towards me as my fingers slip under the edge of her knickers, and my own eyes widen at the feel of her.
“You’re fucking dripping,” I say without thinking, and she presses her cunt into my hand with a moan.
What a desperate little slag.
I withdraw my hand and flip her by the hips onto her stomach. The zip on the back of her skirt buzzes quietly, and I slide it off with her knickers in one.
Now, it’s time to put my research to use. I drop a hand flat onto the center of her back and she moans, drawing a leg up and grinding against the mattress. I shake my head at how ridiculous she is before leaning down to run my tongue between her shoulder blades. Her hands fist in the blankets, and I slip my fingers back between her legs as I leave a row of red marks along her spine. I can feel her cunt clench as I push a finger into her, and I wonder if she could come from this. Her back is such a stupid place to be so sensitive. I doubt anyone else would have ever found—
I drop the thin skin from between my teeth as the next step of the plan suddenly becomes clear to me.
“I’m going to ruin you,” I mutter absently as she works herself onto my finger. I leave it in place, but lean my head over to the other spot I discovered. I drag my tongue across the bumps of her ribs at her side and she nearly screams.
“I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”
I give her a second finger and begin to pump them in a slow rhythm as she twists her shoulders to expose her front to me.
Such a needy little thing.
I follow the line of her ribs with my mouth until I reach the side of her breast, and I feel her quiver around my fingers.
“No one else will ever make you feel like this.”
It occurs to me as I let her roll the rest of the way over that I probably shouldn’t be telling her my plan, but I’m not sure she can even hear me. I squeeze the heel of my hand onto her clit, and her eyes roll up.
“Oh, god,” she moans, and I feel her quiver again. I bring my mouth back to her ribs.
“Oh fuck, oh god, oh please,” she repeats, chanting over and over as I work up along the edge of her breast, across the top, and down to the center. I let my breath ghost over her nipple.
“No one else will ever make you come like this.”
“Please, please, please,” she babbles as she rocks her hips against my hand, and I smirk as I close my lips around her.
She lets out a guttural moan as she comes, and I work my fingers through the waves of spasms. I appreciate fully for the first time how fucking tight she is, and my cock twitches eagerly. I keep my tongue against her as I watch her other breast shake with the tremors.
Her cries quiet slowly, and I release her nipple from my mouth. I press hard over her g-spot to trigger a clenching aftershock before I remove my fingers. Just because I can. She gives a contented sigh, but I’m not letting up.
I slide down her body and close my mouth over the top of her hip bone. Her eyes fly open, and her hands clutch at the back of my head. Her hips roll up again, and I’m sure that she’s clenching around nothing.
“Such a stupid spot,” I murmur around the flesh between my teeth. She whimpers.
I trail kisses down over her front, toward the crease of her thigh. Suddenly, her hands tighten in my hair.
“Oh, erm...”
I look up at the hesitancy in her voice, mouth hovering over her cunt.
“You don’t—erm—you don’t have to...”
I blink at her. She’s mistaken. I absolutely do have to. If I want to destroy her every chance at future sexual satisfaction then I most certainly do need to lick her clit until she forgets her own name. Until she forgets everything except mine.
But if she doesn’t want it...
“Do you not want me to?”
“Erm...” She lets her head fall back onto the pillow, but I can still see the blush rising in her cheeks. She squeezes her eyes shut. “It’s just... No one has ever...”
I’m glad she’s not looking at me because I have no control over the truly malevolent grin that crosses my face. This is too good. Too easy. She is truly done for.
“Oh, Granger,” I whisper against her skin. “Will you let me?”
She’s still for a moment, but then she lifts her head just enough to meet my eye.
“Yes.”
Such a good girl.
I give her a warm smile as I settle my weight between her legs. “I’ll start slow.”
She gives a little nod before she drops her head again.
I use my fingers to gently spread her open, and she’s glistening from her first orgasm. My mouth fills with saliva for some reason, but I resist the urge to plunge my tongue straight in. I trace the edge of one of her lips with a fingertip.
“I’m going to lick you here first,” I tell her.
Her voice is breathy when she answers, “Okay.”
I trace the same path with the tip of my tongue, and she sighs at the warmth and wetness. I let my lips close over it and suck. I caress her gently inside my mouth with my tongue. Her chest is heaving again, and I’m smirking again because we haven’t even come close to the good part. I trace the lip along the other side with my finger before following it with my mouth. Her hips roll up into my face, and she’s moaning on nearly every breath. And as I savor the feel of her silken lips between mine, it occurs to me that the side effect of the potion must have faded by now. I consider whether it’s possible that she’s actually just this responsive.
That concern pales to utter insignificance as my tongue sweeps along the bottom edge of her slit and the sweet tang of her arousal fills my mouth. I wrap my arms around her thighs as I delve between her folds, and she screams. I lap at her again and again—each time pushing deeper. Her hips are rolling against me on every stroke now. Fucking herself on my face. She cries out suddenly, and I realize it’s from the vibration of me moaning into her. I’ve been grinding my hips against the mattress, and I can feel the damp stain of precome in my boxers.
I don’t care.
I moan again. Her back arches, and I bring one of my hands back down to stroke over her lips again. They are so soft and sweet and perfect, and I’m alternating lick, stroke, kiss, suck over every inch of her. She’s begging again, but I can hardly hear her over my own fractured murmurs.
“—fucking delectable cunt, Granger—”
“Oh, fuck—”
“—like bloody heaven—”
“Oh, god—”
“—fucking crime no one has tasted you—”
“Draco, please...”
I hear that one though. Loud and clear. It ignites a fire in my gut and sends a jolt to my brain, and I remember that this is about making her forget everything except my name.
“Say that again.”
She whines high in the back of her throat. But she obeys.
“Please, Draco.”
I finally close my lips over her clit, and I can hardly believe the noise she makes. I can’t think of a suitable word for it. Something desperate and disbelieving.
I’m rolling the flat of my tongue against her in time with her hips, and I know she must be close. I consider sliding a finger inside her again, but no—I want her to know that she doesn’t need it. That, because she let me have my way, I’m going to tear her apart with only my mouth.
And when she comes, that’s exactly what it sounds like. I have her clit between my lips, and she clamps her thighs against my head. Both of her hands are tight in my hair, and I think she might scalp me from the way that she pulls as she fucks herself against me. And I don’t care.
I keep my mouth tight on her, and every pulse is reverberating through her cunt like a fucking tuning fork. I can feel each one on my chin, even as her slick soaks it. Her whole body is humming with pleasure, and I don’t stop until she drops her legs back to the bed. I press a final kiss to her clit, smiling at the feel of it retreating from my touch and the sound of her soft cry.
I watch her carefully as I slide off the bed to remove my trousers. She’s still writhing slightly, feet tangling in the bedclothes as she sighs and moves her hands over her body. Her hair—
I look down in a panic. The front of my boxers is completely soaked. I worry for one ridiculous second that somehow I’ve already come. That I’ve been stealthily undone by Granger’s perfect fucking cunt. But my cock throbs greedily in my hand as I draw it out, and a clear bead of precome gathers at the tip before I even have a chance to squeeze.
“Oh.”
I look up and find Granger with eyes wide and staring. Her lips are still holding the shape of the word as she looks at my cock in my fist. And I’m glad again that something else has her attention because she doesn’t see the way that I grin at the idea of being bigger than anyone she’s had before. She truly never stood a chance.
I finish shucking my boxers and kneel next to her on the bed. She hasn’t looked back at my face once, so I keep grinning as I take one of her hands and slide it over me. I let her fingers trail across the tip first, mixing the fresh fluid with the rest already slicking the underside. My teeth grit at the feel of her skin sliding over mine, and I let out a shaky breath at the memory of her tight cunt clenching around my fingers. My eyes follow her hand as she pumps me slowly with a loose fist, and she only looks up when I rest my palm over her soft belly.
“The charm?”
She nods and immediately looks back to my cock as I cast it. And that’s when I know. I’m not going to make it good for her. I’m not even going to make it great. It’s going to be devastating.
And when I move between her legs and lean forward to fist a hand in her curls, forcing her to meet my eye, I tell her.
“I’m going to fuck you within an inch of your life.”
And for some reason, she says, “Yes.”
I mean to hold her gaze as I enter her, but when I feel her thighs pulling back from mine, opening for me, I can’t help sitting back on my heels and looking down. I can’t resist tracing my fingers one more time along her slit—dipping them in, just barely, for a taste of what’s waiting for me.
I spread her lips and watch as the head of my cock slides inside. She keens at the stretch, and I withdraw, anchoring my hands to the back of her thighs, under her knees, holding them down. I push back in, just as slowly, and watch her open around me.
“Oh, god—fuck, like that.”
My fingers dig into her legs in response. I pulse my hips, thrusting in that same shallow way—forcing her to spread around the tip over and over. I felt with my fingers that her g-spot is low, close to her entrance. As I give her just a bit more length, I know the flared base of my head is rubbing over it.
“Oh my god... that’s—it’s... oh fuck—”
Her eyes are squeezed shut, and her hands are pressing against my stomach. Holding me back, keeping me in place, as I drive hard against her inner wall over and over.
“Oh, fuck, Draco, don’t stop—”
She doesn’t need to worry; I know exactly what I’m doing. Fucking her like no one else would ever think to fuck her—with my cock barely inside her. Fucking her like no one else would ever be able to fuck her. It takes all of my control not to slide home deep into her perfect, tight, wet cunt, but this is not about me. This is about destruction.
And that’s exactly what I see in her eyes when they fly open. When she watches in open-mouthed shock as I push her over the edge with less than half of what I have to give her. Her legs push against my hands, and I let go. I let her move beneath me exactly how she needs to ride the waves of pleasure. She’s pulsing around me, again and again, and the bottom edge of her slit is pressing against the underside of my head on every one. And that. I hadn’t accounted for that.
“Fuck,” I bite out.
I’d thought to tease her a bit more before giving her the rest, but I can’t stay like this. And the thought of pulling out is too painful to even consider. So I push into her with the aftershocks still rippling around me, and she screams again. I bottom out inside, and her eyes find mine as my hips come flush with her thighs.
I wonder if she can see it on my face as my mouth falls open. I wonder if she knows that she feels like... like everything.
I think she might know when she yanks my arms out from under me and my weight falls on top of her. I think she has an idea when she puts both hands on my jaw and kisses me like her life depends on it. I think there’s no possible way she doesn’t know when I roll my hips and groan into her mouth.
Her hands find my back as I start to move, and she holds me tight to her chest. But I break the kiss as I begin to search. There is one more spot I need to find. And if she’s been dealing with little-dick boys who don’t eat cunt then I know there’s a good chance she won’t have felt it before. And that will be her downfall.
I look for it in the crease of her brow. I listen for it in the space between her breaths. I feel for it in the dig of her nails across my skin.
And when I find it, I know it’s over. I pound against it, again and again, and I nearly laugh when she realizes it after I do.
“Oh, fuck, right there!”
What a silly little witch.
“You like that?” I ask because I can’t help gloating.
“Yes, fuck, yes, yes.”
“How does it feel?” I don’t know why I ask that. I know it’s good.
“So fucking good. Your cock...”
My cock? What about it? Suddenly I’m desperate to know.
“Tell me how it feels.”
“Oh god, it’s so... big.”
“Oh! Such a sweet girl.”
“So deep, so full.”
“That’s right, take it.”
“Want to feel you...”
“Yes, feel it.”
“... come inside me.”
I think a small explosion actually occurs in my brain when I remember that I’m going to come, too. This is her last one. When I feel her clench on my cock this time, I’m going to fill her sweet cunt so full of me she’ll taste it on her tongue—
“Fuck,” I mutter again as that thought nearly pushes me over. She moans loudly, and I wonder if she can feel me throbbing. I shake my head. This is not about me.
I look back down to where we’re joined, where I’m pounding into her. Her tits are bouncing on every thrust, and I push her just a little bit faster.
“No one else is ever going to fuck you like this.”
“Fuck, it’s so good.” She’s babbling again.
“Every time there’s a cock inside you, you’re going to be thinking of me.”
“Oh my god, I’m gonna come again.”
“No one else.”
“Oh, god, Draco, please don’t stop.”
As if I could stop. I’d have to die first. My eyes fall closed, and I let myself really feel the grip of her walls as I slide between them. The supple stretch. The perfect squeeze.
“Oh, fuck, I’m coming!” Her voice is hysterical, halfway between crying and laughing, but I don’t care.
I let go as her first tremors flutter around me, and the pulsing of my cock drives her over the edge. The pleasure is blinding as it rips through me like lightning—up through my thighs and down along my spine. Her cunt is relentless, clamping down on me over and over, and long, low groans are pouring off of my lips as I feel her growing slick with my come. Her hands are still tight on my back as my hips jerk into her, and her chest shudders against me with sobs of relief.
Finally, after what feels like minutes of ecstatic torture, the pulses fade and she grows still beneath me.
I roll onto my back next to her, and we both stare up at the ceiling. Well, I assume she’s staring. Her eyes may be closed, but I don’t know because I don’t look at her. I try to quiet my breaths to hear hers, but my lungs are greedy—sucking and gasping in the quiet room. My heart is hammering against my ribs with the force of my orgasm, and the tingle of apprehension building in my chest isn’t letting it calm.
She sits up then, and I watch from the corner of my eye as she slides out of the bed. She keeps her back to me as she gathers up her clothes from around the room, and I feel my lips curl into a sneer.
There’s no use hiding from me now, I say to her hunched shoulders. I’ve seen every inch, to her crossed arms. I know what you look like, to the curtain of hair across her face.
I’m almost surprised the regret has hit her so quickly. She doesn’t even get a five-minute reprieve from the crushing weight of expectations that she carries. I wonder what it sounds like inside her head at this moment. Thoughts drenched in shame and—
She turns to face me and drops the pile of clothing onto the foot of the bed. I stare at her as she lifts her arms over her head and gives a distinct murmur of delight at the stretch of her spine. She sees me watching, and she smiles.
I don’t even have the presence of mind to frown. Doesn’t she get it? It’s over for her now. No one else will ever compare. She has nothing but disappointment to look forward to.
She tucks her hair behind her ear and licks her lips before she speaks. I consider that maybe the smile was an unnecessary attempt at softening whatever blow she’s about to deliver. That this was a mistake. That we need to pretend it never happened. That she doesn’t know what she was thinking. That—
“When can I see you again?”
The words hit my ear like a foreign language. I almost ask her to repeat herself. I’m nearly certain that I’ve misheard. Because that. That was not part of the plan.
I open my mouth with every intention of asking why she would ever want to see me again, but for some reason, I say:
“Stay.”