Chapter Text
Draco’s phone chimed with an alert from the child monitor app and even though he knew Hermione, Lyra’s favorite babysitter, was boots on the ground and would have whatever it was in hand, he couldn’t corral the impulse to pull his phone from his pocket to check.
It was the single father in him, he thought, which made it impossible for him to not respond to that distinctive chime, even though he trusted Hermione implicitly. She’d been Lyra’s babysitter for years now, despite being busy with her last year at the local university. Perhaps after he made sure everything was alright, he’d silence the notifications until his boring business dinner was over in an actual showing of trust.
He unlocked his phone and swiped down, frowning slightly when he read the notification: motion detected in playroom. Lyra should be fast asleep by now, he thought, so opened the app to see what the girls were up to.
Girls, plural, was wrong but he was right that one girl — woman — was up there. Hermione was sitting on the settee in the playroom, looking at her phone. Probably just relaxing while she waited for him to come home, he thought.
His finger was on the lock button but before he’d pressed it, the hand not holding her phone moved. His brows furrowed further as he watched his daughter's babysitter begin to squeeze her own breast. It was a sight he’d never once expected to see, so was momentarily frozen, staring at the live feed on his phone as the hand located a nipple and…pinched.
A colleague down the table barked a laugh at something and Draco’s finger pressed the button reflexively, blackening his screen and removing that confusing image from his eyes.
What the fuck was she doing?
His pulse throbbed in his neck as his body cottoned on before his mind did. And then…
“Oh fuck.” He hadn’t meant to say the words aloud but luckily, he’d said them under his breath.
Hermione Granger was touching herself. On the playroom settee. In his home.
The thought sent a bolt of arousal through him, shifting his body from something socially appropriate to something that ought to remain in the bedroom. He was glad for the heavy napkin over his lap but shifted in his chair nonetheless.
He tried to forget it, to go back to the insipid small-talk around the table, but he didn’t have a head for it. He needed to confirm what he’d seen. It made his palms sweat to even consider having another look but there was no reality in which he could sit at this stupid dinner with these dull old men without knowing for sure what she was doing.
Under the table, he unlocked his phone.
A surreptitious glance informed him that no one was paying him a lick of attention, so he brought up the monitor app again and toggled to the playroom camera.
He had to bite his lip against the words that pressed on his tongue because Hermione was now reclined back, her legs spread and her hand working feverishly between them. His cock, already half hard, went rigid.
Oh fuck.
He wanted to turn up the volume, to find out if she was moaning softly to herself, to possibly even hear the sounds of those fingers between her legs. Her motions were urgent, her chest heaving even through the cotton of her t-shirt dress. She was still looking at her phone in her other hand and the thought that she was getting herself off to naughty pictures or even watching— Fuck, his poor cock couldn’t even take the thought of it.
He clenched his jaw, mouth literally watering as he imagined himself on his knees, shouldering those gorgeous thighs open to watch how she liked it first and then copying it with his tongue, maybe even showing her a few new things of his own. Perhaps she’d slip a few dainty fingers inside and let him lick around them, let him suck on her little clit until she was shaking and—
He locked his phone and picked up his water glass, drinking it down in a few desperate gulps.
He shouldn't be watching her.
He shouldn’t even be thinking about her like that.
Her father was a long-time acquaintance of his, for one, and she was an excellent babysitter for Lyra. He’d hate to lose her services. But fuck, he couldn’t deny how badly he now wanted to service her.
He barely made it through the rest of the dinner. All he could think about was if she’d come yet and how hard it had been, if it had satisfied her or simply left her wanting to be filled by something bigger, wanting the weight of someone else’s hands on her gorgeous tits.
He left as soon as he could but even so it was a full hour later until he was unclicking his seatbelt and walking up the stone path to his front door. He let himself into the quiet house, dropping his keys into the bowl of spare coins and Lyra’s ever-accumulating stone collection. The overhead lights were off so he followed the soft lamplight streaming out from the kitchen doorway down the hall.
Hermione was sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island, sipping a mug of tea and looking at her phone. The sight of that alone had him half-hard again. He cleared his throat softly so as not to startle her and she looked over, smiling when she saw it was him.
“Oh, hi Mr. Malfoy. You’re back early.” She checked the time on her phone and then placed it face-down beside her. He wanted to know what she’d been looking at, both now and earlier on the sofa.
“Yes. The business element finished over dinner so I left during drinks and dessert.” His feet were walking him toward her but he stopped himself with a hip against the island counter, a full two chairs away from her.
“You didn’t want dessert?” she joked, giving him a teasing smile and then laughing. “How unlike you.”
He was known for his sweet tooth. He wondered what she’d do if he admitted the exact sort of dessert he was in the mood for. The sort which would have her whining and moaning and pleading for him to finish her off, but which he would ignore, favoring always to savor.
“I suppose I just wanted to come home.” He slid his hand into a trouser pocket in an attempt to disguise the way they’d become slightly tented by his thoughts.
“Fair enough.” She hopped down from the stool in a graceful glide, padding barefoot toward him. He sucked in a quick inhale as she neared, but she diverted around him to the hallway — obviously.
He shook himself mentally and followed her to the foyer. She bent over to slip on her trainers and then looped her purse across her chest.
“I hope you had a nice night,” she said, giving him another friendly smile. She was so pretty, it almost pained him to see it.
“I did. I hope you did, too.” He hadn’t intended for his voice to drop a register like that, the words sounding knowing and daring all at once.
She nodded easily but he didn’t miss the faint blush dusting her cheekbones. He watched her open the front door and step outside, watched her turn back and smile at him a final time (he even managed to return the smile), but as soon as the door clicked shut behind her, he blew out a low exhale and scrubbed at his face.
He shouldn’t.
It was inappropriate and wrong.
But fuck, he needed it. He’d been hard for what felt like hours and his body was practically pulsing for a release, his blood surging close to the surface in an effort to cool him down.
He forced himself to wait another minute but once he was sure she’d gone, he slipped off his shoes and went up the stairs two at a time, treading quietly so as not to rouse Lyra as he passed her bedroom.
The door to the playroom was ajar but the lights were off. He left them like that, walking straight to the sofa and dropping to his knees in front of where she’d been sitting (only, what, an hour? Half?) before. His hands were at his trousers instantly, pressing a palm against his erection and groaning softly at the promise of imminent relief.
He had his cock out only seconds later, his fist collecting the precum already gathering at the tip and stroking it down his shaft in greedy motions. He pressed his forehead to the sofa cushion, pretending it was between her legs, imagining that he was teasing up her thighs with kisses and then licking through her, tasting how desperate she was for it. He’d fuck her however she wanted: with his tongue, his fingers, his cock; any of it, all of it until she was coming, hot and tight and so fucking wet around him.
“Oh fuck,” he hissed through his teeth, his cock pulsing with the nearness of his orgasm. “Oh fuck, little girl. Gonna make me come.”
He couldn’t help the words from spilling out. Draco loved talking in bed, loved letting his partner know exactly what she was doing to him, so the fact that the object of his desire wasn’t physically there did nothing to stem his tongue.
He squeezed around the head of his cock, and then again down at the base, pretending it was her cunt holding tight to him as she came. The thought sent him careening over the edge he’d been tiptoeing up to since he’d first checked his phone.
“Shit, baby. Shit, you’re making daddy come. Oh…Christ.”
He let his orgasm grind through him, the tension hot down his spine until it was spilling out his cock in heavy pulses, painting his shirt and then dripping onto his hand as he fucked his fist.
It wasn’t until he was done, panting but only barely sated, that he realized he hadn’t disabled the motion alert for the monitor yet.
And that Hermione had the app on her phone, too.