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It was a lovely day for everyone but Hermione. The sun had made an appearance, gracing the student body with a respite from being cooped up inside going crazy, but a giant black cloud hung over Hermione’s head, haunting her every step and souring her mood.

She looked out the window in the library and tugged at her tie in annoyance. It was stifling in the stacks, but it was also the safest place in the castle. Her eyes searched for a bright pinprick of blond in the crowd, absolutely sure that she’d be able to see it even at this distance—she could recognize one particular shade of platinum just about anywhere—then promptly yanked herself away from the windowsill, feeling like a maniacal stalker.

It was out of self preservation, though, in the way prey needs to know where the carnivores are at all times so as to stay a safe distance away. It was also justified.

She couldn’t shake him. She saw him everywhere, in classes, in the halls, at all meals. Oh, he did a fine job of ignoring her, but she kept feeling like she was being watched, a watchful pair of eyes glued to her back permanently. She could wager anything they were gray eyes.

Or maybe it was wishful thinking.

Hermione sighed and started shoving her notes and books into her satchel with more force than necessary. She may not have seen him outside, but she was sure he was out there, enjoying the sun, possibly with Pansy draped across his lap, tucking flowers into her hair—

Her quill broke. The third time this week.

Hermione held in a stifled scream then took a deep breath.

If he was outside, she was safe. If he was outside, she could leave the hot, dusty library and finally make it to her room, draw up the curtains, take a deep breath and sneak her hand into her—

No, Hermione. Get a bloody grip.

She shook her head and stared at the broken quill rather sadly. It was one of her favorite quills. She tossed it into the bottom of her satchel, then took off her tie and did the same. It was too bloody warm. She swung her bag over her shoulder, collected her other books and then walked briskly out the library. Not even Madam Pince had stuck around, refusing to miss the lovely weather thanks to Hermione of all people, having left her behind with I’m sure you’ll take good care of them—really, dear, should you ever consider a job as a librarian, please come to see me first. I cannot think of anyone more capable, other than myself, of course. Close the doors on your way out, will you?

Capable hands, indeed. The only thing Hermione was capable of right now was perhaps having a hormonal breakdown. She closed the doors nonetheless.

The halls were blissfully deserted. She hitched up her books a bit higher and turned the opposite direction of Gryffindor tower and towards the Great Hall, hellbent on ignoring the urge to go finger herself unconscious and deciding that a bite to eat was a better idea. She needed to stop fantasizing about a particularly snooty little ferret once and for all and move on with her life.

Not fifty steps from the library, Hermione choked on a shout as she was yanked by the elbow into an empty classroom, a heavy hand pressed to her mouth. She nearly dropped her books in a desperate grab for her wand, panic rising for a nanosecond until she saw who had grabbed her.

Her panic mounted for entirely different reasons.

“Shh!” Malfoy’s face was inches from hers, his brow creased and eyes slightly wild as he looked through the classroom door before promptly closing it. His hold on her wrist was made of iron. “Merlin’s beard,” he cursed, more to himself than her.

Looking at him brought it all back—the dark alcove, the heavy breathing, the filthy whispering in her ear as Malfoy forced her to fuck herself deeper while confessing to her how much he wished it was him doing so. She swallowed a lump in her throat, the feeling like trying to swallow a rock, then huffed and clutched the books close to her chest, her wrist twitching as she tried to mask the trembling of her fingers.

“Malfoy,” she said. She was proud of herself. It was aloof. Non-committal.

It effectively hid the fact that she was seconds away from declaring herself a basketcase and he was the reason why. The tightening around her wrist threatened to undo all that effort, but before she could let out a whimper, Malfoy seemed to get a hold of his senses and let go.

She watched him run that same hand over his face, skin dragging as he let out a strangled groan.

“Granger.”

Well, hello to you, too. Hermione thinned her lips, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “What is it, Malfoy?”

“I’m going crazy.”

“That’s nice,” she said, fighting hard to not have that aforementioned breakdown right then and there. What did he want? Wasn’t it enough that he’d been tormenting her for weeks now by doing exactly nothing? Why did he now have to also do something and make it worse?

Another groan. Another hard scrubbing of his face. He gave her a withering look. “Forget it.”

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Her fingernails bit painfully into her palms in a failed attempt to hide the shaking. He stopped rubbing his face and looked at her then, scrutinizing her with those infernal clear gray eyes, his stupidly chiseled jaw hardening and a downward turn to those idiotic, pouty lips.

“Exactly what I shouldn’t—look, this will sound insane, but I just... can I touch you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Grang—Look, just—forget it, okay? I really am going absolute bloody mental. Ignore I said all that. You can leave.” He immediately opened the door for her to step out of the classroom, his face turned away towards the front of the room and decidedly away from her. She saw the tic in his jaw and the hard bob of his throat.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, realization dawning on her. “Were you waiting for me?”

Malfoy turned his head slowly to look at her. She saw him, as if in slow motion, as he drew himself taller. For a split second, Hermione saw every inch of the man he would one day become. Powerful. Envied. Gorgeous. An absolute menace of a man who would get exactly what he wanted when he wanted it. Hermione despised that sort of man.

The taller he stood, the more she had to crane her neck to look at him. His expression was inscrutable, but there were signs. He seemed uncomfortable in his own skin despite standing stock still, a white-knuckled grip holding onto the door jamb. His hair looked as though he had taken up finger raking as a competitive sport, and though the heat was insufferable, and his tie had clearly been yanked on too many times, and Malfoy never, ever rolled up his sleeves, the buttons were undone.

Then he deflated, and she saw him in a way she never had before. Human.

The face scrubbing returned.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, okay? I was waiting for you. I’ve been—trying to—“ he stopped then looked skyward as if the high ceilings held all the answers. “I’m going mental, Granger. Go ahead, laugh at me, but I’m going certifiable, and trying to find a moment to talk to you is worse than—than anything, to be honest. And you’re so blasted sneaky. How is it I can be looking at you in the Great Hall one minute, and the next you’re nowhere to be found?”

Hermione watched him as he closed the door again, seemingly without noticing, and then slowly started in on her. She fought the urge to recoil, but it was a near thing as he got in her face and his expression grew even more tense.

“So, yes,” Malfoy’s jaw ticked, fingers twitching at his sides as he loomed large, larger than she thought possible. Every bit of him seemed to inch forward towards her, trying to swallow her whole, “I’ve been waiting for you. When else could I possibly get a word in? Do you enjoy it, Granger? That I’m here essentially begging for a minute of your time? Because trust me, I’m ready to let myself be committed to St. Mungo’s any second now. You are the last person I should be chasing after, and yet here I am because I can’t fucking stop thinking about you and that Merlin-forsaken alcove.”

His voice had both raised in volume and lowered in timbre, and the soft warmth of his harsh breaths blew against her cheeks. She inexplicably had an image of him breathing fire any moment now and had to bite her tongue to stop a chuckle from escaping, though it at least helped in diverting her away from the uncomfortable need to press her thighs together.

“So sitting in empty classrooms waiting to pounce on women isn’t one of your regular pastimes, is it, Malfoy?” she said, trying for bravado. Her stomach clenched at the heated look he gave her, though whether it was out of want or out of irritation, she could not tell.

“Is masturbating in empty alcoves close to the dungeons one of yours?” his brows rose slightly. Hermione’s face warmed. Touché.

The silence extended. Hermione shifted from side to side, trying to dispel the spreading heat coursing through her. His unblinking gaze held the same intensity as it did the day she’d walked in on him with Pansy, pinning her in place and leaving her no room for escape. Hermione felt her face heat. It was silly, and infuriating. He was supposed to be her worst enemy, not—Whatever this was. It became borderline uncomfortable.

Malfoy broke first.

He groaned and raked his fingers through his hair, looking like he might jump out of his skin any second now. “Look, forget I said anything, I’ll just go—“

She reached out on impulse, then froze with her hand fisted in the cuff of his sleeve. It was one thing to allow herself the reckless moment of self indulgence in the dead of night, in a tiny hole in the wall with Malfoy whispering things that lit her skin and imagination on fire, but where the most physical contact she had exchanged with him was a bump of his fist on her clothed skin and her cheek on his shoulder for thirty seconds. It was something else entirely to admit to wanting him in plain daylight. She looked at her shoes.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what, Granger?” His voice was strained. “Use your words. I’ve been doing an awful lot of talking for the both of us, lately.”

She let go of his sleeve. Her little finger grazed his hand, and a jolt of electricity ran through her palm. Hermione pursed her lips. She was a Gryffindor. Where the hell was her bravery now? She forced her eyes up. Malfoy was two seconds away from flying away like a spooked pixie.

“Why do you want to touch me?” she asked, leaving the unspoken question—why did she want him to so badly?—then shifted slightly closer. “I’m not… I haven’t said no, yet. I just want to know why.”

Malfoy tilted his head, a minuscule slant that made her squirm. It was a near magical transformation. One moment he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, his cheeks flushed—Hermione relished in the idea that she made Malfoy uncomfortable—then he exuded calm and confidence the next. He took a step closer and reached out for her, his hand hovering near her cheek, and for a moment Hermione warred between her inexplicable desire to meet him halfway, and her horror at the knowledge that she’d put herself out there and he seemed ready to change his mind.The muscles in her lower abdomen jumped in anticipation, and she could feel every stray movement of air on her skin.

He gingerly grabbed onto a lock of her hair. His brows rose as he looked at it. Her stomach tightened—what did he think of it? Malfoy then wove his fingers into her curls and pulled her closer, closer, ever closer, until his mouth and hers were inches away. The gentleness with which he tucked her hair behind her ear nearly broke her as she fought to steady herself and hold his gaze.

“I want to touch you,” he said, and took a step closer, gently turning her until her back was to the classroom. She could see the clear trajectory in her mind that would end with her pressed against the teacher’s desk, and she let it happen, entranced by the low rumble of his voice as he whispered his intentions. “I’ve wanted to touch you for weeks now, but you know that, don’t you? You’re all-consuming, Granger. How could you believe that one night, one miniscule taste would be enough?”

He kept walking; she kept being walked back. His one hand cradled the back of her neck, ever so gently guiding her, while the other slowly took her books from her arms and dropped them carelessly along the path. Part of her wanted to complain, and she could hardly avoid the quick glances she took to make sure the books were undamaged. Malfoy noticed as his lips twitched up slightly. “Forever a swot. Here I am, hoping you’ll let me pleasure you, and you’re more worried about the books.”

Her satchel met the same end as her books on the ground.

“But that’s your appeal, isn’t it?” he said, sighing into her mouth. Her rear met the edge of the desk, and she startled, and he took the window of opportunity to grab her by the waist and hoist her into sitting on it in one fluid move. It brought her level with him. Hermione never thought of gray as a color that could make her think of burning. “The buttoned up little swot who hates my guts above anything on this planet, giving me the most insignificant of tastes and then wielding her power over me. Are you going to lie again and say you haven’t been avoiding me?”

“I didn’t stay behind so you could insult me, Malfoy.” Damn it, but she hated him. She hated that her thighs were trembling where they cradled his hips, and that he noticed and gently ran the lightest of touches with his index fingers from knee to the hem of her raised skirt.

“My apologies. I’ve just been developing fantasies over the last so many weeks, you see?” he sighed again, this time for drama. Hermione refrained the urge to roll her eyes even as her breathing hitched, fighting the compulsion to hold it in. “In all of them, you’re scolding me about something or other. It’s a thing with you, the scolding. I’ve watched enough to notice you do it to your poor, long-suffering friends.”

“Malfoy,” she said. He smiled at the warning. Then the teasing leeched from his voice. She caught him chewing on his lower lip, though he seemed unaware he was doing it.

“That. I want to touch you because you do that, what you just did right now. You know your limits, and you let me know my limits, and when you let me get close that night in the alcove it was the hottest thing known to mankind even though I didn’t lay a finger on you. It killed me that I couldn’t lay a finger on you.” His long fingers returned to her knees, wrapping around the back of them as he pulled her closer in one short yank, pressing her flush with him. He was so hard that she was amazed he could still talk. “And you’ve kept me dancing on my toes since, unable to think of anything else. I know if this bothers you, or if you don’t like it, you’ll tell me, and I’ll back off immediately, but I want the chance to try. “

It was hard to hide the fact that he had gotten to her. Her short breaths bounced off him and warmed her cheeks even as they already burned, and she could feel her heart hammering. She tried to swallow past her nerves. Malfoy leaned in further, hooded eyes dropping to her lips as he wet his, a tiny flick of his tongue that sent adrenaline rushing through her limbs.

“I won’t pretend that I haven’t been a rightful arsehole to you. I am. I’m aware. I won’t pretend that you don’t hate me. I know that.” His words were nearly inaudible. Hermione could not help but notice that he didn’t mention where he stood in regards to her, which left her doubly confused. “I can’t demand that you trust me on this, but I’m not a monster. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, and if you don’t like something, you can get up and leave. I’ve been dreaming of this, and all I want is one single opportunity to prove you it to you.”

Hermione drew in a shuddery breath. Malfoy had the look of someone haunted. “Please say something, Granger.”

“Okay.”

She said it so low she could barely hear herself. Malfoy blinked at her, but it was clear he understood. He’d been watching her mouth like a hawk. Hermione dug into herself for some of her house courage.

“Okay,” she repeated. “On one condition.”

Malfoy said nothing, so she continued. “No kissing.”

There were few things she knew to be as true as this one thing—if she kissed Malfoy, there’d be no going back. Malfoy seemed to know it, too. He stared at her for a very long time. His hold on her knees, for once, felt heavy as he tightened his hold reflexively. She wondered what he must be thinking of, for his body to attempt to keep her in place of its own volition. His eyes strayed to her mouth once more, and the amount of time he spent looking at them as if deciding whether that was one rule he wanted to adhere to made her squirm again. She felt herself growing hotter, and wet.

“You promised, Malfoy.”

All the air was knocked out of him, and he sagged, his hair tickling her forehead. His eyes were still on her mouth. “Can I do so elsewhere?”

She refused to think too long on where exactly elsewhere he was bargaining for. She also refused to hand over all power. “From the shoulders up.”

Malfoy smiled like he’d been handed a thousand galleons and leaned in, gently nipping her earlobe and startling a squeak out of her, soothing it with a gentle suck that made her stomach flip. He had the audacity to kiss behind her ear and chuckle, “I can accomplish quite a lot with that real estate, Granger.”

Smug little wanker.

Hermione pinched her eyes closed, trying hard to breathe through her nose as he trailed his lips from her earlobe to her jaw and his hands from her knees up her thigh, past the hem of her skirt. Her body struggled to focus on just one sensation. She let out a short little gasp and felt Malfoy shudder next to her in response. His hands inched up and up under her skirt, the graze of his fingers feather-light and the motion bringing him still, his lips making a detour towards the column of her neck. Any closer and she would be completely flush with him.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered.

His fingers reached her underwear. They were unimpressive white cotton—it’s not like she expected to be yanked into an empty classroom to be fucked—and her brain spent a nanosecond on the fact before her mind went blank when Malfoy splayed his fingers, his thumbs dipping down over her pubic bone, framing her mound and the neediest part of her. He was taking his sweet time, and it was driving her insane. He deftly pushed the bands of her underwear down, leaving no barrier between her hips and his palms. Hermione’s rational mind vaguely sounded the alarm that he was but a moment away from yanking off her underwear and leaving her entirely exposed.

“So warm,” he said. Hermione could not tell whether he was talking to her or himself. That misunderstanding was soon cleared when, much like three weeks ago, the dam broke and filth started pouring from his mouth.

“I thought I’d imagined it, last time, how warm you were so close to my hand. I’m so glad to be proven wrong. Are you always this warm, Granger? How searingly hot is your cunt, then?” His thumbs dipped again, still under the fabric, and he used one thumb to spread her open and the other to coax a wet line from her entrance to her clit, giving it the lightest of feather touches. Hermione felt herself spasming from surprise and gasped, her body jerking back and undoing all the distance they had between them. She had to catch herself, elbows on the table, as she swallowed repeatedly to keep a moan down. Malfoy finally had a perfect, full view of her, and smiled.

“Just as pretty as that night.” He leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on her stomach, clearly testing his limits on the kissing, but Hermione said nothing—it was over her jumper, right? No harm done. He looked at her from under long lashes and trailed another kiss up as he circled her clit, and her toes curled. His head rose and fell with the hard dip of her stomach as she exhaled then tried to get air back in her lungs. Another swirl on her clit, another spasm up her legs, another kiss on her stomach, now dangerously close to her breasts as he made his way up.

“I want you, Granger,” he said between kisses. She could see how frayed he must have been. He looked as feverish as she felt. “And I know it’s insane to do so, and I know you probably think I’m lying, but I want you so fucking bad. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

He slipped one hand from underneath her knickers and used it to pull down, maneuvering the other so that he only lost contact with her clit for a second. “You have no idea how hard it is, standing here, feeling exactly just how fucking wet you are, and knowing I can’t have more of you.”

He made his way to her chin and kissed it, then gently brushed his nose with hers, testing, ever-testing her boundaries. It wouldn’t be Malfoy otherwise. His crawl up her body brought his torso flush with hers and that’s when he started touching in earnest. He wrapped his arm around her midsection, locking her in place against his body, then began teasing her clit in ever tightening circles, gradually increasing the pressure until Hermione was shaking and unable to keep her moaning locked in her throat. She let her head droop, and Malfoy simply adjusted to keep eye contact, his body encasing hers.

“Do you know just how absolutely fuckable you look like this? How much it makes me want to just take you for myself and fuck you until we both collapse, covered in come, and spent? It’s all I could think of any time you waltzed into the great hall with your flouncy little skirt showing all that milky thigh, and me knowing just what they’re hiding between them. You’d sit there and ignore me, and I could have just come in my trousers any time you looked my way and—Fuck, Granger, what have you done to me?”

“You talk too much, Malfoy,” Hermione laughed, or tried to, but what came out was a short little gasp as Malfoy inserted a finger in her.

“You didn’t complain last time, Granger—fuck, you’re so fucking tight. God, is that how it always is? I want to stretch you. Fuck, Granger, this is so fucking unfair. I want to take you so hard your little cunt gives out. My god, it’s so tight. Do you feel that?”

Hermione did indeed feel that. She felt every bit of his ministrations. She closed her eyes tight and tried to breathe, but it was getting harder to do so. He pumped inside her slowly, making her insides twist.

“Do you want another one, Granger? Please. Please let me give you another one.” Malfoy sounded feverish to her ears. She didn’t dare look at him. She gave him a small nod, though, and felt him twitch above her. Another long finger joined the first, and Hermione very nearly swallowed her tongue.

“Merlin have mercy...” he whispered. She felt him move and opened her eyes on automatic, then watched in morbid fascination as he pressed the heel of his palm into his trousers to relieve pressure. She remembered exactly how big and how hard his cock could get, and a forbidden image of her on her knees in front of him flashed behind her eyes before she could stop it. The sloshing sound of his fingers slipping in and out of her intensified as he leaned back, moving his free hand from his crotch to push her skirt up through the waistband, holding it in place. It afforded him a perfect view.

“So damn wet, Granger.” Malfoy’s eyes were pointed decidedly down at her cunt, no doubt marveling at the sight, and Hermione forced herself to breathe. The look of hunger in his eyes was unmistakable. She knew if she gave him permission, he’d be inside her in no time.

“Talk to me,” he said. She forced her eyes away from where he joined her, panic building in her stomach. He, too, looked away from his fingers slipping in and out of her cunt, his thumb bumping her clit gently making it hard to coherently process what he’d said. Malfoy’s lips tipped up for a second. “Tell me how to make you come. How do you want me to do this? I can’t lie and say I didn’t wish you’d let me eat your pretty little cunt until you creamed all over my face, but since you won’t let me kiss you...” he gave her a pointed look.

“I—“ she began. Malfoy leaned forward, intent on her answer. His brows furrowed. She had his undivided attention. Hermione licked her lips. He groaned. Her face burned. She looked away and took a deep breath. Was she really going to do this?

Mustering all her strength, Hermione bunched her hands in her skirt at her sides.

“Another,” she said. The request was barely audible to her own ears, but she could not bring herself to look him in the eye as she said so. Malfoy’s fingers stopped. She stole a glance and found him staring dumbly, and the look of adoration on his face only made her laugh. It helped her nerves. “Malfoy, give me another.... please.”

Malfoy wasted no time. He pulled his fingers out and she was ready to whine, but stopped short when she saw him push his already wet fingers into his mouth to suck off her juices. Then a third finger joined the others. She caught a hint of his tongue and very nearly regretted her decision to not let him kiss her.

Fingers all wet, he went back in in earnest, giving her just enough time to help her accommodate before he experimentally started fucking into her. Hermione’s muscles clamped down. The stretch was nearly too much, but it was just enough to mimic what she imagined his cock would feel like, a feeling she was memorizing so she could recall it later. She threw her head back on a long whine, a needy little moan that had Malfoy’s body jerking next to her knees. She drew them up and used her leverage to plant her feet on the desk and shut down the voice in her head that told her she had essentially just bared all of herself to Malfoy, focusing instead on chasing that heat uncurling in her lower belly and making her abdomen shake. Malfoy followed her, curling himself over her, his panting joining hers as his hot breath ghosted on her collarbone.

“Fuck me sideways... Come on, Granger. Tell me how to make you come.” His words were raw, stoking the hunger gnawing at her insides for his touch. She bit her lip. God, she was going to come if he kept talking to her in that shredded voice of his. He sounded manic, and his urging did depraved things to her imagination. Hermione unwound a hand from her skirt and placed it on his shoulder, refusing to think about what a mental situation this was. She rotated her hips a bit, whimpering, and gasped in short puffs of air. The motion made his fingers caress her insides as if beckoning.

“Like that,” she said, doing it again. Electricity ran all the way to her toes and her thighs trembled. “Move them inside like that.”

He was a quick learner. He simply picked up where she’d left off and started dragging his fingers right behind her clit like he was calling her home, his expression so focused she could have sworn he wasn’t breathing. But she felt it. Oh, she felt it. His other hand sneaked its way back around her to grab her by the arse and hoist her up ever so slightly, giving him the room to maneuver her and get it just right. It also brought her so close to him she wondered how he was going to keep this up. Malfoy buried his face in her neck and breathed in deeply, then started talking. Again.

“You’re so tight. So wet. So good. Your cunt is so perfect, Granger. You’re so perfect,” Malfoy said. Hermione jolted. Had he really called her perfect? He was tight as a bow under her fingers, his muscles straining from the tension they held. His head drooped further into her neck. She felt his teeth at her pulse. He’d opened his mouth, canines grazing her skin like he was ready to bite, to eat her up and consume her whole after breaking her into tiny little pieces with his hands. Every soft breath through his mouth scorched her. Her skin prickled with goosebumps. He soothed them with his tongue.. “I’ve wanted this ever since I found you in that alcove. I’ve wanted to see you naked. I’ve wanted you bent over the Gryffindor table at breakfast. I’ve wanted you sprawled over my Potions desk. I’ve—fuck, Granger, fuck me. Do you know how fucking amazing you feel right now? I’ve dreamed of this. I’ve dreamed of you sucking my cock. Do you suck cock, Granger? I bet you’re great at it. I bet you can take a load like a champ, and if you’re not, I’m sure you’d learn fast, you being so damn stubborn. I hope that turd of a boyfriend Weasley has appreciated that. Is he still your boyfriend?”

Why was Malfoy even asking her if she had a boyfriend as he’s standing there finger-deep in her cunt? Hermione dug her nails into his shoulder.

“Malfoy, for the lo—fuck, god, yes, right there—for the love of magic, shut up,” she snapped. Malfoy chuckled and only intensified the pace at which he fucked her. She started seeing stars.

“No, I won’t stop. You don’t want me to stop. I can feel you clamping down on me whenever I say I want to fuck you, just like—“ she involuntarily bore down—“that. What I wouldn’t give to feel that on me. I want you to come, Granger.”

“Malfoy, I—“ she was so close. Her pulse sped up, her legs began trembling. Malfoy’s fingers beckoning inside her had short-circuited her ability to speak. All she could do was hold back her moans, every attempt a small sob, as her walls began fluttering. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood as her muscles began tensing. Malfoy felt it. His thumb planted itself on her clit, the moving of his fingers inside forcing it to glide back and forth on those overly sensitive nerve endings. Her chest rose and fell erratically, and throughout the whole thing, all she could do was drown in Malfoy, his body pressed to hers, his hand fucking her, the other bunched in her jumper at her back, tugging her closer, as if he wanted to absorb her, his hips grinding into her thigh as he searched for a bit of relief; above all, she suffocated on his voice. He wouldn’t stop his endless stream of filth and praise for her, and Merlin forgive her, she ate up every word and got impossibly wetter, making his job easier.

“Come for me, Granger. Please, come for me. I need you to come for me, I want to feel it. I want your cunt to grip me and coat me in your come.”

It was the rambling of a madman, and Hermione rose to his madness as she finally let her mouth fall open, wailing, her orgasm hitting her so strongly she started losing focus.

Then the sounds muffled to her own ears, and her moan turned to a shout. Malfoy swallowed it. His mouth drank in every one of her moans as he forcefully kept dragging the pleasure out of her, claiming it for himself with every swipe of his fingers inside her. At some point he’d removed the third so he had more maneuverability. He was relentless, and Hermione knew her come must now be coating all of his hand just as he’d wanted. She couldn’t verify, though, not when he refused to let go of her face. His hand at her back had worked itself up to her neck, making her remain in place as he swallowed her every sound.

He tasted like the tart apples she often saw him munching on. Tart apples. She would never see them the same way. He grunted against her mouth, and as the last of her orgasm pulsed through her, Hermione felt a dampness against her thigh. Draco Malfoy had come in his trousers for her. A moment later, his face was buried in her hair.

“Sorry, I just—“ he began. Hermione nodded.

“It’s alright,” she said. She was too busy trying to hold onto her sense of reality after that mind-blowing orgasm to use the moment to gloat, or to do much of anything, including complain. Instead she gulped in the stale classroom’s air and stared at the high ceiling, feeling Malfoy’s frame twitching against her hand on his shoulder.

What now? Was she supposed to say something? Thank you for the most amazing fingerfuck I’ve had in my life? Absolutely not. Then she remembered how absolutely filthy she must look with her knees completely splayed, and slowly started closing them.

Malfoy caught on. He withdrew his fingers—gently, thank Circe—and licked them without saying a word to her. She finally snuck a glance down; there was a wet spot on his trousers. It was barely visible as the fabric was black, but she’d felt it, and could see just the vaguest hints of it. She finished closing her legs. It didn’t escape her that, although he was refusing to look her in the eye, he kept sneaking glances at her bare cunt. A visible flash of disappointment fleeted by when he no longer had access.

She pulled her skirt out of her waistband, smoothed it over her legs, and then curled her hands on her lap. Her feet dangled over the side of the desk. She felt wrung out, and small, and as realization dawned that she’d let herself be fingered by Draco fucking Malfoy, Hermione started panicking.

That is, until she saw him bend down.

“Wait, what are you—“

Malfoy had picked up her knickers and pocketed them unceremoniously. The absolute wanker didn’t even look at her.

“Malfoy, those are mine.” Her nervousness completely forgotten, Hermione jumped off the desk and started walking towards him as he backed away. He gently toed a book in her direction.

Oh, right. Her books.

All strewn on the floor. Along with her tie. He picked that up, too. Into his pocket it went with her knickers.

“Malfoy!”

He was moving faster. Hermione’s legs were wobbly. He noticed, watching her knees shaking. For the first time, Draco Malfoy gave her an honest-to-god smile. Prancing fucking peacock.

“Your books, Granger.”

“My clothes aren’t trophies, Malfoy!” She would not let him get out the door with those. She would not. She would not. Not her tie, and most definitely not the knickers she knew she had completely soaked.

Malfoy shrugged. “Consider them payment for my services.” He pointed at the table behind her. Hermione looked. There was a wet spot—her come, oh God—on the desk where he’d fingered her. “Madam Pince won’t like that.”

Wait. This was Madam Pince’s room? Of course, of course it would be. Madam Pince oversaw study hall.

She felt her heart give out and ran back to the desk to clear the offending spot with a shriek, muttering to herself as she frantically used the hem of her skirt to wipe at it.

There. Done.

Hermione turned, intent on getting her underthings, but by then Malfoy was gone.

Trembling fingers touched her still tingling lips. The bastard had kissed her. Draco Malfoy had kissed her.

She was fucked.

Quite literally.

Hermione grabbed her belongings and practically ran back to her rooms. It would not be happening again.