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Hermione kicked off her shoes as soon as she passed the threshold of the floo. Her discarded heels levitated along behind her as she stalked barefoot through the main hall of Malfoy Manor, blind to the opulence around her. Admittedly, she’d developed a sense of ambivalence toward luxury during her marriage to Draco, but today she was thoroughly in her head. Throwing open the heavy doors of the library, she quickly zeroed in on her query. The book on ancient magical law flew from the shelf, turning to the correct chapter as she approached the study table. Though she was home, the work day had not yet ended for Hermione Granger.
One hour or several may have passed. She could never tell when she was focused on a case - or a problem, or a task, or a debate. It was arguably the most endearing of her characteristics and the most vexing, or at least that’s what her husband told her. Lately, her energy had been devoted to passing a complicated series of laws pertaining to werewolf rights in her work for the Ministry. It was the culmination of years of service and sacrifice, and every ounce of her being was devoted to seeing the legislation over the finish line. It was the final days before the vote, and anything nonessential to getting the job done had long since slipped from her mind. She probably would have stopped eating all together if Draco didn’t regularly send meals to the office.
By the time Hermione looked up from the heavy tome the sun was low in the sky, brushing light over the treetops and casting the estate in long shadows. The chandeliers above her flickered on automatically with the growing dark, and she glared up at them. The timing of the lights was spot on, but it was still far too dim to save her eyes from straining as she read. Getting the scheduling and intensity right had been one of the first tasks she had undertaken when she became the mistress of Malfoy Manor. It was not like her magic to fail.
“Hello there, little lamb,” came a deep voice from the darkest corner of the library.
Hermione spun on her feet, clutching her chest as she faced the voice. Fear mutated into puzzlement as her husband strolled from the shadows clad in a white oxford, wool peacoat, and dark Muggle denims. His blond hair was spiked at the front with what looked like gel and his pale skin seemingly glittered in the candlelight.
Hermione quirked her head, looking toward the sides of the room as if more surprises were in store. “Hi…” she replied, searching for an explanation behind Draco’s bizarre appearance. The getup triggered a familiarity she couldn’t place.
He kept his distance, circling the table she stood at with a predatory elegance that made her pulse quicken.
“What are you wearing, Draco?” She laughed nervously, turning to move with him.
He smirked, a look that had the power to both infuriate and disarm her. Though something seemed off about the expression, the points of his canines too pronounced. “You don’t remember what day it is, do you?”
Hermione froze as Draco nodded along with the revelation. “Anniversary,” she breathed. Her hand slapped over her eyes as she groaned, falling back against the table behind her. “I’m so—“
“You can apologize to this Draco fellow when I’m done with you,” he growled, cutting short her mortification.
Hermione peeked out from behind her fingers, finding him markedly closer. His skin was well and truly glittering. “What is on you?”
"This is the skin of a killer, Hermione,” he said seriously.
Her hand dropped to her chest, the boom of her laugh echoing through the library. Her husband, Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Prince, one time Death Eater and would-be assassin, was dressed as Edward Cullen. For her. He’d suffered through hundreds of viewings of her favorite guilty pleasure movie, which should have been enough - but look at this man! This had taken time, planning, and an honestly questionable level of self-confidence.
“I’m trying something here, Granger,” he mumbled, struggling to keep a frown.
Hermione dropped her arm to her side as she stood, taking a deep breath to gather herself. “By all means, proceed,” she said with a stiff nod.
Straightening his features, Draco took a step toward her. “I don't have the strength to stay away from you anymore,” he whispered fiercely, perfecting the tortured vampire ethos. Merlin, the man had done research. “I’m dangerous for you, Hermione.”
“You always have been, but I’ve never cared,” she replied, matching the tone of his voice.
His eyes tightened at the corners as he drew nearer, understanding there was a layer of truth to her words. “You should have.”
Hermione grinned, crossing her arms. “Yes, well, unfortunately I’m unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you,” she said with a shrug.
Draco’s mouth repelled another smile as he took her in his arms, turning her about so her back was pressed to his warm chest.
“Then you know what I am,” he whispered in her ear. She shivered as his hot breath skirted down her neck. Hermione nodded, biting her lip. “Say it. Out loud,” he growled.
“Vampire,” she panted, squirming against him.
Draco pulled her hips back, grinding his growing erection against the plush of her ass. His lips ran a line down her neck, the rough drag of his transfigured teeth setting her ablaze. Hermione whined, placing her hands over his and pushing back against him. It was astounding how quickly this man could get her wet - like he could turn her on with a thought. It was a testament to Draco’s brewing that they only had two children.
“You’re like my personal brand of heroin,” he hummed, nuzzling into the slope of her neck. The quote had always struck her as rather contrived until the moment she heard it leave Draco’s lips. Somehow, he could just pull it off, the dusky timbre of his voice shooting electricity through her veins.
She directed their hands toward the juncture of her thighs, pressing his fingers into the growing heat. “Do you want a taste?”
Draco groaned, nipping at her skin as he expertly pulled up the hem of her robes - though he grunted unhappily when he encountered the pencil skirt beneath. “How many times do we need to discuss your obsession with layers?”
“It’s normal practice, actually,” she sighed, vanishing the skirt away with a flick of her fingers.
He purred in approval, kicking open her legs as he pulled her knickers aside. His lips found her pulse point as he thumbed her clit, running a finger through her wetness. Hermione closed her eyes, tipping her head up to the ceiling as her hands fumbled behind her, rubbing the growing bulge in his pants.
“You’re always so wet for me, little lamb,” he said, coating his fingers in the evidence.
Hermione’s eyes flew open. “I thought this was our first time, Edward.”
Draco huffed out a laugh, spinning her around. “Insufferable swot,” he tsked, grabbing two heaping handfuls of her backside.
His mouth crashed into hers, overtaking the breath in her lungs; he could have it, she needed him more. The passion spoken in their kiss was both insatiable and dangerous, a weapon against a world that had never wanted them together. But in the tease of his tongue and the demand in his lips Hermione had found both her beginning and her end. She'd never been selfish until he brought it out of her. He made her need more, and to guard what she had with a dragon’s ferocity.
Draco was equally as greedy. His hands only left her body to sweep her forgotten book to the floor before gathering her in his arms and depositing her on the table.
She pulled back, eyeing the maligned binding below. “That’s a priceless work, Draco,” she admonished. Even in the face of their lust, Hermione Granger was still Hermione Granger.
“So is this cunt,” he countered, cupping her between his hands and giving an approving squeeze.
“Draco Lucius Malfoy!” She hissed, slapping him on the shoulder.
“Edward,” he corrected, unbuttoning the front of her robes and sliding them from her shoulders.
“We respect books in this home, Edward,” she hissed.
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
With a snap of her fingers Hermione closed the spine and returned it to its proper place in the collection. “That edition is irreplaceable! The entire crux of my argument centers on a single passage and there’s not another copy in existence.”
His fingers stalled at the top of her knickers as he considered her, the tip of his tongue tracing the artificial peaks of his teeth. “Would you rather go back to your work, Hermione?” He asked flatly.
Hermione shook her head, pressing her lips together and returning her responsibilities to the periphery of her mind. The book was fine.
With a curt nod, he continued. “Lift your hips up for me, love.”
Hermione arched her back, falling back into the moment.
“Or should I leave these on and fuck you around them?“ He pondered, rubbing circles in her skin. ”You do so love your layers.”
Hermione throbbed at the intensity she found in his silver eyes, whimpering with indecision. She did love when he simply pushed her knickers aside, the delicious rub of the fabric adding to the sensation of him filling her.
“Surprise me,” she challenged.
Draco smiled devilishly, moving his hands to the center top of her knickers and shearing them down the middle. Hermione gasped as he gripped her thighs, pushing her legs apart and tearing the garment asunder.
“We don’t respect knickers in this home, unfortunately,” he quipped, falling to his knees before her. Wrapping his hands around her legs, he threw aside the tattered remnants and pulled her hips toward his waiting mouth.
Draco’s eyes never left hers as he offered an exploratory taste. “Delicious,” he remarked, licking his lips as if she were the finest vintage.
Hermione keened, bracing herself against her elbows as she wiggled her hips closer to his glistening lips. A pleased smile overtook them at the open display of her need.
“Take off the rest,” he commanded darkly, tipping his head toward the blouse she still wore.
Hermione grunted, rolling her eyes as she sat up and vanished the remainder of her clothing. His cocky smile faltered as he took her in.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, exhaling across her bare skin.
Settling back against her arms, she smiled down at him. Mother of two and circling her forties, Hermione was the most comfortable she’d ever been in her skin. Her body wasn’t perfect, but she felt at home in its power; it could both bring forth life and make the wizard kneeling before her see god.
Draco ran his hands up her thighs appreciatively, keeping his eyes on her face as he leaned forward to take her clit into his eager mouth. Hermione threw her head back, moaning loudly with abandon. But the noise suddenly caught in her throat and she swallowed it, sitting back up.
“Where are the children?” She squeaked, tangling her fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck and pulling him from his feast.
Draco groaned, sitting back on his heels. “I took care of it, Hermione,” he said, dragging out the syllables of her name.
Of course he had. Draco was a true partner by every definition, but sometimes she still projected the deficiencies she found in others onto him. His steady patience was just another trait that set him apart from other men. Though her career and ambition frequently dominated the trajectory of their lives, he knew he was her equal. Draco had not always deserved her, the missteps and bigotries of his youth a shadow that still haunted his public image, but he’d put in the work to be worthy. He had chosen to be a good man, and it was this strength of will that fueled both her love and desire.
Hermione played her question off as a tease, smirking as her hand reasserted itself at the back of his head and pulled him forward. He frowned up at her skeptically, but he let her lead him back to her aching core.
“I always take care of it,” he snarled softly.
“I know you do, Edward,” she reassured, patting his cheek. She shimmied her hips toward him as she laid back down against the table.
Hermione could feel his smile against her center, the warm dance of his breath as he reveled in her scent. Any insecurities she had about herself had long been subdued by his persistent need to drink her in. His warm hands held her open as he traced his tongue through along folds, administering a skillful flick with each pass of her clit.
“Oh, Edward,” she moaned.
He paused his ministrations, abruptly serious once again. “On second thought, let’s stick with Draco.”
Hermione cupped his jaw, running her thumb along his wet chin. “I’ll moan whatever name you tell me to, darling.”
His fingers deserted her warmth to guide her knees up to rest on his shoulders. Turning his head to each side, he placed a series of slow kisses on each thigh. “Only my name, Hermione. Only ever my name.”
It fell from her lips as he slid his tongue inside of her between his returning fingers, twisting his wrist so his knuckles dragged deliciously against her inner walls. The wet noise it produced almost made her tense up, but he never allowed her shame. Draco had never felt bashful or embarrassed by the instincts of his body, lending her the confidence to cast aside her own.
Their eyes meet over the swell of her belly and the connection ripped lightning through her core. “You taste like a dream, love,” he murmured.
“Like heroin?” She whined. Her legs began to shake as he nodded, charging the tension growing within her.
“It feels like a similar addiction,” he said wistfully.
His tongue slid from her entrance, circling her clit before pulling it into his mouth. He kept the suction light, using the tip of his tongue to tease her release forward as his fingers thrust inside her in a primal rhythm. Consistency was where Draco’s talents truly lay, allowing her body the freedom to bloom with pleasure until she finally broke apart. Hermione’s entire body trembled with the towering wave she now rode, chasing the crash.
“You’re so close, Hermione. I can taste it,” he moaned against her. His belief made it so and she came, screaming his name.
Black specks decorated her vision, a roaring sound overwhelming everything but the hurried beat of her heart. Hermione fought to catch her breath, running her fingers through Draco’s gel-hardened hair as he licked her clean. He was methodical about it, easing his fingers out and catching every drop of her on his tongue.
“Too sensitive,” she hissed, trying to push him away.
“Mustn't waste,” he cooed, finally withdrawing to plant a kiss on her mound.
Hermione looked down at the palms of her hands, exhaling a laugh at her sparkling skin. Large swathes of body glitter were absent from his face, no doubt now bejeweling her most intimate areas. “Is this Muggle body glitter?”
“Authentic,” he said proudly, throwing her a wink as he continued to drag his tongue absently along her skin.
“Color me impressed,” she sighed contentedly.
Slowly, Hermione pulled her knees from his shoulders, groaning as she stretched the muscles out in her legs. Draco sat back, helping her to her feet. His hands grasped her hips, pulling her down toward the ground so her naked body straddled his.
Hermione settled in his lap, kissing him without hurry, almost drunk off what he’d just given her. Considering the month she’d been having, she could easily fall asleep. As if sensing the threat to his plans, Draco’s hands cupped her ass, pulling her against his neglected cock and guiding her into a slow, steady grind. The rhythm was just easy enough to not overstimulate, working to gently build her back up.
“You ride me so well,” he praised. Hermione preened at the compliment, bowing her spine to call attention to her breasts. Draco didn’t immediately fall for the bait. Instead, he released the clip restraining her hair, a deep rumble erupting from his chest as chestnut curls unfurled down her back.
“Vampires have a thing for my hair too?” She asked, hissing out a breath when he tangled his fingers in the strands and used his grip to peel her torso away from him.
“Everyone has a thing for your hair, Granger,” Draco said, peppering her breasts with his hot mouth. His lips found one of the aching peaks, cradling the weight in his hands as he sucked the pert nipple.
Hermione tried to force the heavy peacoat from his shoulders, desperate to feel his skin against her, but it didn’t seem to want to budge and she huffed out an irritated breath. “Off,” she demanded.
His silver eyes matched the artificial shimmer of his skin as he smiled around her flesh. “Don’t be a brat,” he chastised, smacking her ass in mild reprimand.
“I want to see more of that killer skin. I’m curious about how much of you is painted,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.
Draco switched his attention to her other breast, flicking his tongue against the flush of her areola. “You know how committed I am,” he drawled.
Hermione groaned at the conclusion forming in her mind. This man was an impossibility she had never seen coming, and he could still surprise her.
“Show me,” she whispered, outlining his ear with her tongue. Her command didn’t stray him from his task, so she forcibly pried his mouth from her and pushed his shoulders back. “Please,” she begged, loving the way her breathy plea lit up his stormy eyes.
She was on her back in an instant, the scratchy texture of the Persian rug biting into her flesh. Hermione couldn’t care less, too enraptured by the way his long arms shrugged out of the peacoat and discarded it into a pile behind him. His movements slowed as he unbuttoned his oxford, revealing the metallic glint of his broad chest. As stunning as the view was, Hermione couldn’t help but notice the streaks of glitter marring the inside of his shirt.
“I couldn’t quite get the sticking spell to work,” he admitted, catching her gaze. His frown was genuine, and he was clearly disappointed with himself for not mastering the magic.
Her fingers reached up to trace the outline of his faded Sectumsempra scar, faint beneath the silvery paint. “I think you look beautiful.”
Draco shivered at her words, attempting to disguise his fluster by tucking his chin into his chest and concentrating on pulling his shirt from his pants. Despite her husband’s healthy ego, Hermione still retained the power to move him.
His shirt joined the coat piled behind him as he leaned back on his heels, thumbing open the button of his denims and easing down the zipper. The path of silvery hair that led downward from his belly button filled out as he revealed the base of his straining cock. His hand slipped into the opening to palm his balls, lifting the entire glittering package up to the light.
It was like Hermione was being presented with a trophy. Not the gold she was used to, but rather a invaluable quantity of platinum. Her mind emptied of everything but raw lust as she reached for where he kneeled between her open legs, wrapping her fingers around the throbbing base of his cock. Draco’s eyes fluttered closed as she leisurely pumped him, swiping at the precum gathering at the tip with her thumb. She introduced a little nail, running the edges of her fingers along his length as he thrummed in her hand. Just a bit of pain, to ensure his attention.
“Hermione,” he moaned, tilting his pelvis forward as he began to thrust up into her fist. She savored the way he said her name, like it was the only word he knew. Draco’s hand encircled hers, tightening its grip. He threw back his head, the muscles of his chest tensing as he angled his entire body toward her touch.
Hermione slipped out from his hold, sitting up enough to grasp her hands behind his neck and pull him down with her. Draco nestled between her thighs, draping his long body over hers and bracketing her face with his arms. His fingers tangled in her hair to keep her in place as he kissed her hungrily, his hips assuming a slow rhythm as he coated his length in the wetness found between her open thighs.
Hermione gasped against his lips, drawing up her legs to frame his hips. Tilting her pelvis down, she tried to meet his teasing thrusts and draw him home, but he kept to her torment. His mouth left hers to explore the incline of her neck, running his tongue down the gentle slope.
“Draco,” she whined, wiggling beneath him.
Despite her plea, when he kissed her again it was slow and purposeful. His tongue explored her as if it was new terrain, though her body had long been his second home. Single-minded in her pursuits, Hermione reached down between them to grasp his slick cock and guide it toward her entrance.
Draco pulled back from the kiss, ceasing the motion of his hips as he grabbed her wrist. He looked down between them at where he restrained her, clucking his tongue. “You needy little thing.”
“We don’t have all night,” Hermione argued, still struggling to have her way with him despite his complete control of the moment.
A wicked smile crossed his lips and he leaned forward to rub their noses together. “Don’t we?”
“The childr—”
“Are spending the night at the Potters,” he replied.
His lips hovered over hers, but he did not engage them. Draco used his grip on her hand to guide his length toward her entrance, deflecting the aim just enough to miss and graze her clit. Hermione’s body seized in pleasure, spectacular bursts of sensation vibrating up her bones as he ran his cock through her folds. Her hips surged forward when they reached the base where their fingers were entwined, grinding herself against his knuckles.
“Let me take my time with you, love,” he murmured, greedily watching her writhe beneath him.
“This isn’t taking your time, this is torture,” she seethed, rolling her sweaty brow against his glittering shoulder. At this point, she was going to be positively silver by the end of the night.
“Be patient,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple.
Draco Apparated them from the library floor, the plush of the downy comforter and their combined scent cocooning her body as she came to rest atop their bed. A rather daft hand at Apparition, her husband materialized across the room. He made no move to join her, though he’d disappeared the remainder of his costume and stood like a naked Adonis before her.
“Draco,” she whispered hoarsely. All of her desire was packed into the way she exhaled his name and he had to close his eyes to maintain control.
“I have plans, Granger,” he groaned.
Hermione nodded sympathetically. “I know you do, darling. And I appreciate the effort, but I want you inside of me now.”
Reaching down between her legs, she swirled her fingers in their combined essence and dragged them back up her body, drawing a glistening line across her skin. Draco’s chest heaved as he watched the journey, prodding the tips of his fangs with his tongue. A low growl penetrated his chest as she traced the peaks of her breasts, dipping down along her shoulders and back up her neck. His eyes darkened when her fingers reached her lips, and within a breath he had Apparated beside the bed. His hand shot from his side to grasp her wrist, stopping her fingertips from reaching her open mouth and redirecting them toward his own. His back bowed low to receive them, using his tongue to suck her skin clean.
Hermione whined at the rhythmic pull of his mouth, rolling her hips in a desperate search for fulfillment. “Draco, please. You can have me any which way next time, just appease me this time.”
“Appease you?” He laughed, giving her fingers a few more cursory licks before he set her arm down gently at her side.
When Hermione hissed out an irritated breath his silvery erection bobbed in the air, seemingly sensing her proximity. Draco’s eyebrow skirted his hairline as she watched her take another exaggerated exhale, tempting his cock toward her.
“I’m not looking to appease you, Hermione,” he said, moving around the foot of the bed and climbing up between her legs. He sat back on his heels, pulling her forward by the thighs and draping her legs over his glittering shoulders. She could feel the head of his cock against her entrance, allowing another whimper to escape her shameless lips. “I’m looking to astonish you,” he smirked.
Draco’s hips snapped forward, pulling her lower body up from the bed as he buried himself within her. The thrust forced a scream from her lips and she ground up against him, searching for relief from the stretch but also never wanting her body to acclimate. Hermione wanted to feel him inside of her forever, the dance between pleasure and pain so exquisite she was happy to teeter here on the edge with him for eternity.
Draco crossed his painted arms across her thighs, sealing her against his chest as his hips pumped furiously. Hermione was a fan of all types of sex, but she found a particular satisfaction in this wild abandon. It made her feel less crazy, when he made it so obvious that he needed her just as much as she needed him.
Turning his head, Draco bit into the sensitive skin of her inner knee, causing Hermione to flounder. Her back arched off the bed to meet his furious tempo, her arms reaching up over her head to brace her body against the headboard.
Draco grinned down at her, appreciating the way he made her breasts bounce with every thrust. “This is what you should look like in your portrait when you’re Minister,” he grunted. Hermione’s laugh quickly morphed into a gasp when he paused the drive of his hips to roll his pelvis forward. “And don’t tell me you’re not running, because we both know you’ll win.”
Her hands abandoned their positions on the headboard to grab at the flare of his hips, letting the sharpened points of her nails break the skin as she kept him in place. Draco hissed in pain, but followed her direction and continued to grind himself against her. The friction was perfect, but his arrogant claim still got stuck in her mind.
“Kingsley isn’t retiring - ahh,” she said, fighting off a moan.
The determined frown of his mouth titled into a dark grin. “Do you want him to?” One of his hands dropped down between her thighs, expertly finding her clit and circling it with the pad of his thumb.
“No,” she cried, violently shaking her head. Hermione was not about to tempt fate, even if she wanted Kingsley out of the way. Nothing was worth jeopardizing Draco’s freedom when it had been so hard-won. “You’re just going to have to wait to fuck the most powerful witch in the world.”
A bead of sweat trailed down his silver forehead, rolling along the concentrated furrows of his brow. It looked like a comet streaking through the cosmos, kicking out starlight. “Oh, love, I already am,” he replied, abandoning the lazy rotation of their hips to pound into her with renewed vigor.
Hermione's entire body flushed as she clenched around him, the steady strum of his fingers against her clit a perfect complement to the unforgiving surge of his cock. But it wasn’t enough
“I want to be on my knees,” she begged. Draco’s eyes lit up, though his knowing smile said he had anticipated the request.
Releasing her legs, he slowly pulled himself from her sopping center and helped her onto her hands and knees. Looking over her shoulder, Hermione watched him get into position behind her.
“Tell me again,” he murmured, running his hands down her spine and cupping her ass appreciatively.
Hermione rolled her eyes, again regretting what she’d once told him in the throws of passion and more than a little firewhiskey. “You’re the only one,” she recited impatiently.
Draco’s eyes darted up to meet hers. “The only one, what?”
She turned to face forward, snarling at the headboard. “The only one who gets to have me like this. The only one who’s ever had me like this.”
With a derisive scoff, Draco notched his cock at her entrance and pushed in the curve of the head. Then he stopped, apparently content to rest within her heat. “Like what?”
“Draco! What happened to my astonishment? I don’t feel astonished!” She snapped.
“Tell me what my privilege is and you’ll have it.” He said calmly, inching his cock forward at an infuriating crawl.
Hermione screamed in frustration, slamming her fist against the bed. “Breed me,” she demanded. “You get to breed me.”
“Then you best hold on, spider monkey,“ he said huskily, driving into her to the hilt.
Draco was a whirlwind of motion, propelling their bodies forward every time he bottomed out within her. His hands jerked her hips back, crushing her against him before he rescinded and thrust again.
There was something elemental about having him like this, holding firm against his raw power and harnessing it into naked pleasure. Every time his cock receded from her she fortified her stance against the next onslaught, a deep moan vibrating up the column of her throat when he plunged forward into her depths. The animalism of it lit her on fire, channeling something primal that sought only to take.
So she took.
Bracing herself against the headboard with a single arm, she reached between her legs and balanced on her knees. Draco’s arms came around her hips, supporting her as her fingers swept across her clit in tight, concentric circles.
“I’m so close,” she gasped, closing her eyes to concentrate on the tension mounting between her legs.
Draco panted, maintaining the pace and trajectory of his thrusts. “You take me so well.”
“More,” Hermione whimpered, closing her eyes to focus on finding her release. Her second orgasm had the tendency to be demanding, requiring more tribute to manifest itself than the first, but Draco was an experienced devotee and knew exactly how to coax it forward.
“You feel so good, Hermione. You have no idea how much I want to come right now, to fill you until it runs down your legs. You work so hard,” he said, punctuating the word with a savage thrust. “Let me give you something in return.”
A ragged sob threw back her head as her orgasm took shape within her, slowly forming low in her belly. Holding her breath, Hermione shattered in an explosion of pleasure. Every muscle in her body seized and released, dropping the front half of her body to the bed as Draco continued to pound into her from behind. The sensation was almost too much, his pace too frenzied as he found a burst of energy and chased after his own release.
Though her body wasn’t quite up to the task, she tightened the muscles of her core and answered the demand of his hips, plucking his orgasm from its cage. Draco roared, draping his body over her as he continued to bury himself in her wet heat. His thrusts soon grew sloppy, but he was dedicated to pushing his seed as far into her as he could. When he finally collapsed atop her his breath sawed in and out of his lungs, stirring her hair and tickling her back. He was heavy, but Hermione was content to have his familiar weight holding her to this place and time.
They laid like that for sometime, plastered together with sweat, come, and silver body paint before they slowly slid apart. Draco performed a rushed cleaning spell on both of them and Hermione flopped on her back, pulling him toward her as he slumped at her side. His head came to rest on the swell of her stomach and he released a contented sigh.
“I needed this,” she admitted softly, forcing her fingers through the dried clumps of gel in his hair. Everything their bodies touched was painted with improvised streaks of silver, glinting darkly in the warm light of their bedroom.
“I know you did, love. Happy Anniversary.” Draco turned his face down toward her stomach, murmuring a litany of protective spells against her skin. He always did that, whether she decided to take the contraceptive potion he brewed or not. Some pureblood superstition about ensuring healthy bloodlines, though inbreeding seemed a bigger hazard than anything else.
“You know, I don’t have to take the potion,” she said absently. It was only half a thought, but she was relaxed enough to have no guardrails.
Draco’s head snapped up, gray eyes studying her face. His hand found hers in the chaos of the bedding, knitting their fingers together, but when he didn’t immediately say anything she began to chew on her lip.
“If that’s what you want to do,” he said slowly and with intention. Hermione’s nerves evaporated when she realized he was hedging his hope. Their youngest was already five, and any talk of extending their family had been lost to the demands of her position in the Ministry. The conclusion of her current case offered an opportunity that they hadn’t had in years.
“It will give us something to do while we wait for Kingsley to retire,” she smiled, cupping the side of his face. “We can name her Renesmee.”
Draco pulled from her touch. “Please don’t joke about that horrid little gremlin, Granger,” he chided.
“I think the name is pretty,” she shrugged, watching his reaction from the corner of her eye.
Draco was repulsed by the claim, recoiling his head with an animated grimace. “You have better taste than that. Perhaps not when I first met you, but I have had some effect.”
Hermione laughed, tracing the sharp planes of his face with her fingertips. “You give yourself far too much credit.”
“I think I give myself the perfect amount,” he sniffed, sweeping a thumb over one of her nipples and watching it respond. Hermione wiggled beneath him, not quite ready to go again. Draco’s refractory period wouldn’t even allow it, but her husband did enjoy a long warm-up to any sexual encounter. She imagined their next foray would be taking place in their walk-in shower.
“The roleplaying was… new,” she commented, appreciating the sheen of his skin.
“I needed something drastic to force you out of your brain, Granger,” he said, clearly proud of his unorthodox tactics.
“Quite right,” she hummed, tapping her finger against her smirking lips. “Do you know who Peeta Mellark is?”