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Thawing The Ice Queen	By : soldiersgirl0709 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 18412 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to HP or the HP universe, anything recognizable belongs to JKR and WB. No money is made from the sharing of this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-Thawing The Ice Queen
- 1
<center>Thawing The Ice Queen

 By Snapes_Goddess</center?

The Ice Queen…that’s what they called her behind her back. She had no idea how long it had been going on, had been devastated when she heard Ron joking with Harry and his brothers about it. Not that it was the first time she had overheard him say something unflattering about her behind her back. He really was a sweet man, but at times he was completely clueless and unintentionally hurtful. Those three little words had been the straw that broke the witch’s back one might say. She had begun to bow beneath the weight of her life. The pressures of being famous, of a high profile high pressured job, the strain of a relationship going through a rough patch; they were all weighing heavily on her shoulders.

So, she took a break. She left her job, left her friends, left her life behind her and went into a self-imposed exile in a small cottage on the magical plane near enchanted Salisbury. That was a year ago. One year since she had done more than send a letter via a demented owl that could not be traced, one year since she had spoken to anyone aside from a cantankerous squirrel that threw nuts at her kitchen window. Sadder still was the fact that she didn’t miss it. She didn’t miss the constant strain of her job, she didn’t miss the public appearances or the almost rabid attention from fans and the press and while she missed Ron and Harry, she didn’t miss the feeling that she never quite fit in. She was content to be alone with the psychotic squirrel and her shelves overflowing with books.

Well, she had been content. It wasn’t that she longed for company or conversation, what she did long for was human contact. Of the naked, sweaty, skin on skin variety. She had never been an overly sexual being, not like some of her friends who pursued and collected wizards the way she collected books. She on the other hand had gone through only a few rather lack luster lovers in her 32 years. This is probably why her friends took to calling her The Ice Queen.

The sudden surge in her libido began in early autumn. She had been sitting on the hill outside of her cottage reading a book and enjoying the crisp scent of fall. The only sounds she ever heard were those of the wind rustling in the trees that surrounded her little cottage and the cacophony of animal sounds. The sound of thundering hoof beats had immediately put her on alert. Her eyes searched a small clearing at the base of the hill where the property lines met between her and her neighbor, searching for the source of the sound. As the sound grew so did her anxiety. She knew who owned the property that butted up against hers but had been assured that they never came this far from the house by the estate agent.

The estate agent was wrong because a gray stallion dappled with silver to match its flowing mane burst through the trees, its rider’s pale blond locks nearly matched as they blew in the wind. He rode as if the hounds of hell were on his heels, reigns tight, leaning low over the horse’s neck as they raced across the field. It was a glorious sight to behold, this beautiful man on a powerful stallion. He didn’t realize that she was watching. He never looked up as he dashed across the clearing and disappeared into the wood-line once more.

It had become a habit. Two or three evenings per week she would hear the thundering of hooves and then watch as he appeared and disappeared just as quickly on his mount. She couldn’t stop watching him in those brief moments and to her amazement her body reacted strongly. She would hold her breath, afraid to breathe lest he hear her and pause, realize who she was and then become incensed. After he was out of sight she would close her eyes and savor the soft hum of her body as it stirred to arousal, and then she would go inside her little cabin and pleasure herself to thoughts of the wizard who should have never crossed her mind in such a manner.

Yet, she was unable to control her reaction to him. Something about him drew her, despite their volatile history. And so she stood on the top of the hill, snow swirling around her, the wind stinging her cheeks as she waited, hoping he would appear. It was dark already, the winter sun setting earlier. She listened for the sound of hooves beating the ground but the snow would muffle the sound should he dare to ride on such a night.

She was just about to go in when the heavy, bloated snow clouds shifted and the moon shone through briefly reflecting off of the snow and illuminating the clearing.

He was there, sitting atop his horse, his cloak drawn around him and he was staring straight at her. She froze, unsure what to do. Instinct born of past experience told her to run from him, he was dangerous and he would hurt her, but desire told her to stay, watch him, want him. In an instant he dug his heels into the horse’s sides and they went racing through the snow, up the side of the hill. He was swinging down off of the saddle before she knew it, stalking towards her with narrowed eyes.

He stopped, the toes of his tall black boots an inch from her own bulky and rather ugly snow boots. His leather gloved hand clasped her chin firmly and tilted it up.

“Breathe!” he snapped. She exhaled loudly, fogging up the space between them with her breath. “Why are you watching me?” he demanded.

She said nothing, she couldn’t. She could only stare at him, stunned into silence. He leaned close, his nose nearly touching hers. He searched her eyes, unnerving her with the intensity of his gaze. His lips twitched, the corner of his mouth lifting into a hint of a smirk. “Is that right?” he asked softly. “Have you a stable? A barn?” She nodded and looked towards the back of the house. He turned his head, following her gaze and saw the small potting shed. “Never mind,” he said. He looked back over his shoulder at his horse, “Maximillion, home!” he said firmly. The horse whinnied and pawed at the ground then turned quickly and raced down the hill. “Inside, now.”

She shuffled in on auto-pilot, managing to put one foot in front of the other without really thinking about it. Before the situation could register she was stepping into the warmth of her cottage and he was following her. Her small home seemed even smaller with him in it, she thought as she looked up at him. He was eyeing her curiously; his brows furrowed slightly as he lifted one hand and slowly began to tug the leather gloves off finger by finger.

He watched her closely, taking note of every twitch, every slight change in her expression, reading her easily. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes glued to his large hands encased in smooth, snug leather. She looked…distressed and very aroused.

“You like the leather?” He smirked, stepping closer. “I’ll file that bit of information away for later.” He pulled his hand free and reached out to lightly touch her cheek. “You are cold and you look…” he furrowed his brow and scanned the length of her. She was wrapped up in an ugly black down coat that fell to the tops of her bulky snow-boots, her face shadowed by the large hood trimmed in silver fake fur. “You look…frumpy. I want you to go have a hot bath; I will wait for you here.”

“W-why?” she asked, finally uttering a word. Her voice was raspy and thick and her nerves were strung tight. Her brain wasn’t functioning as it should. Somehow she knew that she should run as fast as humanly possible from this man but she couldn’t make her feet obey. The most intelligent witch in recent history, the Ice Queen was reduced to molten jelly in the face of this wizard.

“You know why, Hermione,” he said softly. “You have been watching me ride for months; I’ve felt your eyes on me, picked up on some of your thoughts until I couldn’t take it anymore. You want me so here I am.”

“B-but you d-don’t want me,” she stammered as he pushed the hood back and revealed her face completely.

“Would I be here if I didn’t?” He looked at her creamy pale skin and rosy cheeks and thought she was more than passingly pretty. She was really quite lovely with her wide tawny eyes and lush pink lips. “I admit, I am rather surprised by your interest. Intrigued by the snippets of thought I was able to grasp,” he said, reaching up to fasten the frog closure at his throat. He removed his woolen cloak with flourish, draping over the back of a simple wooden chair. “Go have your bath, Hermione; I want you warm and soft, not frozen solid. When you shiver beneath my touch it will be from passion, not cold.”

“But I don’t…I mean…I’m not…they call me the Ice Queen,” she blurted out. Lucius smirked slightly and touched the tip of her nose with his finger.

“We shall see about that,” he chuckled. “Bath, now.”

She couldn’t really say what made her obey. She wasn’t exactly the obeying sort, but the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes made her want to do what he said, anything that he said.

When the water began to run in the tub, Lucius explored the tiny little cottage. His lips pressed tightly together as he took in the cozy little environment. Everything was sturdy and efficient, comfortable but in no way lavish.

“Well…this won’t do,” he muttered as he withdrew his wand and set to work. The hearth was widened and the fire stoked, he wanted the room warm and comfortable for his purpose. The rather ugly rag rug in front of the fireplace was transformed into a large, plush, shiny mink. The tiny cross stitch pillows on her small sofa were transformed into large, satin pillows in rich jewel tones and the knitted throw draped over the chair became a comfortable down duvet. Once he was satisfied that they could proceed in comfort he called for a servant to bring a tray of food and champagne from the Manor. When all was as he wished he settled onto the fur rug to wait.

A frosted champagne flute dangled from his fingertips as he stared into the flames dancing in the fireplace. He found himself puzzled by the curious little witch bathing in the other room. His experience of her in the past had been one of a frosty little termagant with a willful temper and an incomparable magical ability. While they had once been enemies he had none the less been in awe of her ability to wield magic with a skill and power unlike any witch he had ever known. Not once had it crossed his mind that she might not be quite so dominant in other areas of her life. Of course, such thoughts would have been perverted and highly inappropriate given her age during their previous acquaintance. As it was he was going against his better judgment to dally with a witch so much younger than himself. He tried to steer clear of younger witches; he didn’t need them forming unrealistic attachments to him. But, there was a pull that he couldn’t ignore this time. Something drew him and he couldn’t name it, couldn’t place it, but he had no choice in the matter. Tonight it had been too much. He had no intention of stopping, had fully intended to ride on through the clearing as always but it was impossible. It was as if an invisible net had been in place and he had been trapped, unable to do anything but stop and address the witch on the hill.

He heard the sound of the door opening and felt her standing behind him. She was uncertain and her heart raced with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. Her relative innocence was charming and refreshing for a man used to the debauched lifestyle of the obscenely wealthy.

“Come here,” he commanded softly. He didn’t turn to look at her; he kept his eyes trained on the dancing flames. He heard her sharply indrawn breath and smirked inwardly at the reaction. He waited, then heard the soft shuffling of her feet as she made her way onto the lush fur to stand before him. When he looked at her he nearly choked on his laughter. She was wrapped tightly in a lavender robe with tiny purple flowers on it. It started at her chin and went to the floor, pooling around her feet in a hideous draping of thick terry cloth. The robe was old and worn and clearly about eight sizes too big for the petite witch. He checked his amusement and lifted one finely arched brow as he gave her a blatant once over. “That….thing….has to go,” he said. “Remove it, please.”

“B-but I’ll be n-n-naked,” she stammered, clutching the ugly garment more tightly around her body.

“I don’t see the problem,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Surely you are not laboring under the assumption that I came here simply to have a cup of tea?”

“N-no,” she answered.

“Perhaps I should be clearer about my intentions,” he said. He kept his voice quiet and controlled, but she understood very clearly by his tone that he was not playing games, he expected her to listen and obey. “Your thoughts, occasionally, broadcast. I am not a skilled legilimens, but have some ability to pick up on other’s thoughts, especially when those thoughts are particularly loud. Usually it is because they are fueled by strong emotion of some kind, anger, fear or…lust.” He enjoyed her little gasp at his last word. “Snippets of your very interesting, very lustful thoughts were powerful enough to transmit. I tried to ignore them. After all you aren’t my type—and before you get indignant it has nothing to do with your heritage and everything to do with your age, you are young enough to be my child,” he said. His hand rested on his knee where his fingers tapped lightly against the snug black material of his riding breeches. “But I picked up on your thoughts with increasing regularity over the last few months and tonight…well, they were glaringly loud as if you had a direct link into my mind. I couldn’t ignore them any longer, nor could I ignore my own curiosity, or my reactions.” He set his glass on the nearby silver tray and leaned back against the pillows propped up by some invisible force. He bent his legs, his feet braced on the rug, his knees shoulder width apart, his hands resting lightly on his thighs. “I want you, Hermione. I want to explore every inch of you inside and out. I want to taste you, to touch you, to possess you in every way imaginable. I want your passion, your willfulness, your pride, your fire, your magic and above all, I want your submission. I want you to want me, all of me, the evil and the good, I want to see you war with your desire and I want to see you succumb to it, succumb to me. I want you to accept me, my power, my magic, my authority, all that I have to give you, “he said softly yet earnestly. “Is that what you want?” Her nod was nearly imperceptible, but it was an affirmation. “Then remove the robe.”

She hesitated, her pulse and her thoughts racing. This was Lucius Malfoy! She had to be dreaming, there was no way that it was real, that he was really sitting there telling her that he desired her. And surely she would not be responding so eagerly were it anything other than a dream? Yet, her skin burned and itched with the desire to be touched. Her mouth watered for the taste of his kiss, of his skin. Her body hungered for his possession and her mind screamed with the need to succumb to him. He was a dark fantasy come to life, the forbidden fruit, one taste of him would change the course of her life forever. Yet no force in hell or on earth could make her step back and flee. So, with shaking hands and clumsy fingers she un-knotted the sash at her waist and dropped her hands to her sides. The robe slid open, gaping down the center, revealing almost nothing.

“I said remove it, not open it,” he said. She swallowed hard and with a backwards roll of her shoulders the robe slithered to the floor at her feet. With a flick of his fingers in a gross display of wandless magic, Lucius sent the robe into the fire, destroying it with a quick burst of intense flame. “Now that we have dispatched with that monstrosity, let us have a good look,” he purred, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her boldly. Her eyes were closed tight and her cheeks flamed in embarrassment. “Open your eyes, Hermione,” he said quietly. “You will not retreat into yourself. You will be present for every moment of our time together,” he said. Slowly she opened her eyes, lowering her glance to where he sat on the floor at her feet. “That’s better.”

His first thought at the sight of her naked was that she looked like a painting by Ruebens. She had beautiful ivory skin, her cheeks flushed lightly. Her breasts were tipped with deep pink nipples that mirrored the color of her lush lips. She was petite, her curves delicate with plump breasts and rounded hips. Her lower belly was pale and had a slight curve to it above the neatly trimmed triangle of hair guarding her sex. Her legs were long and toned with thighs that appeared soft and perfect for wrapping around a man’s waist, or neck, whichever may be.

“You are quite lovely,” he said, meaning it to his very core. She looked away, her teeth sinking into her lower lips nervously. “Look at me, Hermione.”

“I can’t…not when you are staring at me,” she said. She heard the rustle of movement and then suddenly was overwhelmed with the scent of him. He smelled like the outdoors, a bit woodsy, smoky. She couldn’t place the scents, couldn’t distinguish them from one another, but she liked it, very much. Warm fingers clasped her chin gently and urged her to face him. She licked her lips nervously as she met his gaze. His eyes were so familiar yet the man was essentially a stranger. A dangerous stranger.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

“A little,” she replied.

“There is no need to be fearful, I don’t want to hurt you…anymore,” he smirked slightly and saw her lips twitch with the threat of a smile. He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, watching as her eyelids fluttered and her neck arched as his touch slid lower. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he said softly, so close to her that she could feel his breath on her skin. “Is that alright?”

“Y-yes,” she responded breathily. Her lashes fluttered but she couldn’t open her eyes. Her lips were parted, trembling with anticipation as she waited. She whimpered when his lips lightly touched one closed eyelid and then the other. Then the tip of her nose, the corner of her mouth on one side and then the other, the anticipation was so intense that when he finally took her lips in a real kiss she nearly collapsed in relief. He was so gentle, so tender in his thorough exploration of her mouth that she trembled as desire flamed hot and insistent within her. Her hands flexed at her side, itching to touch him, to hold on for dear life because the longer he kissed her, the longer his lips nipped and suckled at hers, the longer his tongue explored the heated interior of her mouth the more certain she became that she was going to splinter off into a million pieces.

“It’s okay, you can touch me if you like,” he chuckled against her lips.

“Where?” Her voice wasn’t working and the word came out on an odd squeaking sound. He lifted his head, reluctant to release the sweetness of her mouth. She was delicious and her response was so innocent, so sweet that it was like indulging in a decadent dessert. He couldn’t wait to savor her further.

“Where do you want to touch?” he asked, fascinated at how he could be both amused and aroused at the same time. It was a novel emotion, and an oddly enjoyable one. She stared at him for several seconds before slowly raising her hand. He leaned forward slightly, assuming that she was going for his hair as most women did. He stunned to feel her fingers tugging at the buttons on his shirt, sliding them through the holes and revealing his chest. “You want to touch my chest?” It was more of a statement of incredulity than a question. Women rarely surprised him; they generally followed pretty consistent patterns where he was concerned. It was a pleasant change to be with Hermione he thought as she laid her palm directly in the center of his chest, his heart pounding against the sensitive skin. “Making sure I have a heart?”

“I never thought that you didn’t,” she said softly, sliding her hand over the broad expanse of his chest. He was fairly smooth with only a thin patch of golden hair right in the center of his chest. She could see the fine, downy hairs on his abdomen shimmer in the firelight. They began right around his navel and trailed lower, disappearing into the waistband of his breeches. “Will you take off your shirt?” she asked softly. “Please?”

“Now how can I possibly ignore such a pretty plea?” he said softly as he pushed her hair back from her shoulders. The damp curls had been blocking his view of her breasts and he just couldn’t have that. He pulled his shirttails from the waistband of his breeches and quickly dispatched with the last few buttons that had been out of her reach. He removed his shirt slowly then tossed it behind him and onto the chair before placing his hands on his hips and waiting as the witch looked her fill.

Without his shirt he was as handsome as she imagined. He wasn’t a ridiculously chiseled muscle bound brute of a man. He had broad shoulders and nicely muscled arms, a toned torso with a flat, yet soft stomach. He looked strong and powerful yet somehow at the same time he looked…comfortable.

“Do I pass inspection?” he asked. Hermione nodded slowly, her hands itching to touch him anywhere and everywhere. Was he as warm as she imagined? How was it going to feel to be pressed against him skin to skin? “Hermione,” he said her name quietly as he stepped towards her. She lifted her gaze to meet his in answer, struggling with the urge to lean forward and throw herself into his arms. He searched her face, gauging her reactions. He wasn’t certain exactly what he expected to see, perhaps regret, fear, or guilt. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that he was standing in the little cottage with a young, naked, very aroused witch who might not be a virgin but was far more innocent than any woman he had ever known. He did not want her to walk away from him disappointed in any way. “I want to touch you.”

“Oh,” she whimpered, her heart stuttering in her chest for a moment. He laid his hands on her throat, lightly collaring her with his fingers. With a light, feathery touch he stroked her skin, tickling and exciting the nerve endings, causing her to shiver slightly. He slid them over her shoulders and she was surprised to feel the slightly rough texture of his palms. She would have thought the hands of a Malfoy would have been soft and un-calloused, but clearly there were hidden facets to Lucius. His hands slid along the outsides of her arms until his fingers could wrap loosely around her wrists.

“I want you to lift your arms above your head,” he whispered, guiding her arms up to cross loosely over her head. “Keep them just like that.” He let his fingertips trail back along the extremely sensitive skin of her inner arms. “Breathe,” he ordered when he realized she was holding her breath. She trembled beneath his touch, every muscle in her body taut with anticipation. “You don’t have to be quiet, Hermione,” he said as his fingers skimmed her underarms. She made a small, tight sound as if she were struggling to contain it. “I like to hear the sounds of a woman in the throes of passion, I want to hear you respond to me,” he said softly as his fingers skimmed her sides.

“Oh!” she gasped, her nipples drawing tight and aching for him to touch them. He was moving so slowly, torturing her with the anticipation. His smile was disconcerting as drew his fingers back up along the same path as before. She felt like one giant raw nerve ending, every inch of her skin prickled and itched for contact.

“There’s a good girl,” he said. He laid his hands on either side of her ribcage, his thumbs settled just below her breasts. “If you are displeased by anything that happens here, if at any time you want me to stop, simply say the word ice and I will stop immediately.”

Ice? It was funny how such a little word, only three letters, could elicit such an intense and negative reaction from a witch. Her blood was already heated to the boiling point; the sound of that word on his lips nearly sent her into pressure cooker status. Ice Queen played over and over in her head, mocking her. She was no ice queen and she would not utter that evil little word no matter what he did to her. She would prove to herself that she wasn’t as they said; she was capable of fiery passion. She certainly felt as if she might go up in flames standing there naked in front of Lucius.

“Do you understand?”

“I do,” she replied softly. He nodded and then sent her reeling when he cupped her breasts firmly in his hands.

“Very nice,” he squeezed her breasts tenderly, weighing their softness in his hands. She filled his hands perfectly; the plump globes just slightly more than a handful, their tight nipples stabbing impudently against his palms. He released them, watching them bounce slightly. He didn’t think that anyone other than another man could appreciate the enjoyment to be found in the bouncing of a woman’s breasts. He feathered his touch over the upper swells, then down into the valley of her cleavage before tickling the sensitive undersides. She was panting, her chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. “You like this?” he asked, slowly circling the circumference of her areolas with his index fingers.

“Y-yes,” she breathed.

“Hmmm—and this?” he flicked his fingers against the straining nub of her nipple.

“Oh! Yes!” she gasped. His lips twitched briefly before he pinched the nipples between his thumb and forefinger, tweaking them gently. She couldn’t believe the sounds that came from her mouth as he manipulated her nipples. He tweaked and flicked at the tips until she was ready to scream, and then, as if testing her resolve, he pinched them between his fingers and began to apply steady and increasing pressure, tugging slightly until she whimpered. He released her, watching once more as they jiggled slightly.

“You are a fascinating little creature,” he whispered, almost as if he were talking to himself. He switched his attention from her breasts to the soft curve of her tummy, stroking the tender skin and circling her navel with his fingertips. She tightened her abdomen, the muscles contracting involuntarily at his touch. “So responsive,” he muttered, slowly easing onto his knees in front of her.

She stared down at him, amazed to see the handsome blond on his knees before her. His hands cupped her hips, slid up and down her sides, following the curve of her waist and sliding around to caress the rounded globes of her backside. He squeezed her buttocks, his fingers plying the firm, resilient flesh for a few moments before sliding down the backs of her thighs. He might be in the one in a submissive position but there was no doubt in her mind about who was the one in charge.

He cupped the back of her knee with one hand and her calf with the other, bending her leg and placing her foot on his thigh. He tickled the sensitive skin at the back of her knee, holding tightly to her calf when she tried to jerk away in reaction.

“Easy, we don’t want you to fall,” he chuckled. He stroked the top of her foot, tickling her toes and causing her to laugh. He looked up at her and saw her confusion. “Sex isn’t all about sex, you know,” he said softly. “It isn’t just two bodies rutting together for a few minutes before going to sleep. It can be so much more than that, so much better than that.” He leaned forward and kissed the spot just above her knee. “It’s about exploration,” he said between the kisses he was trailing up her thigh. “It’s about touching.” He stroked his hand up the back of her other leg. “It’s about teasing.” He dragged his tongue along her inner thigh until his nose felt the soft tickle of her nether curls. He looked up at her and with a cheeky grin leaned forward to place a soft kiss against her mound before rising up on his knees. “It’s about tasting.” He whispered, licking his lips before capturing a tight nipple between his lips.

“Lucius!” she moaned his name as he lashed at the nub with his tongue, circling and flicking at the sensitive flesh before sucking her into his mouth. While his mouth tugged at one nipple his fingers plucked at the other, causing her to whimper and moan. The sensation was like lightning, electricity arcing down her spine and heating the moist furrow between her thighs.

In an instant Lucius was on his feet and his arms were winding around her waist, pulling her taut against him as he took her mouth in a kiss that could only be described as feral.

“Put your arms around me,” he growled into her mouth. As if she could continue to hold them above her head anyhow! She was going to shoot into orbit if she didn’t hang on for all that she was worth. As he pulled her into a duel of tongues, teeth and lips, intoxicating her with his heady flavor, she was being burned alive by the heat of his bare skin against hers. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, her nipples abraded by the light smattering of hair. She clutched at his shoulders, her nails biting lightly into the tight musculature. Her thoughts consisted of nothing but the heady buzz of intense arousal. All that existed in the universe was Lucius and the tight coiling of desire threatening to break loose low in her belly.

He broke the kiss and drew in a ragged breath, for just a moment she saw him weaken but it was just a flash of vulnerability, he was back in control so fast that she had yet to draw in enough oxygen to stop her head from spinning.

“You make me…dizzy,” she panted.

“Good, get on your knees,” he demanded, his hands putting light pressure on her shoulders. She swallowed hard and slowly did as commanded. She sat back on her heels, her hands resting in her lap and stared up at him. She should feel weak kneeling in front of him as she was. She should feel demeaned, abused; any number of negative emotions should be battering her. But she felt surprisingly powerful as the wizard loomed over her. His steely silver eyes glittering in the firelight. He might be in charge of their interlude but she clearly held the power.

Somehow he didn’t need to say anything; his message was clear in his eyes. He was still wearing the black breeches and shining black riding boots, he needed to be as naked as she was. Her fingers were surprisingly calm as she reached up and worked the buttons on the fall of the breeches. She could feel him, hard and hot beneath the fabric. Her insides burned and quivered in anticipation. She wanted to feel him, to look at him, to taste him. As she released the last button and the material fell away she gasped. He was a thing of beauty. He was within a normal range length wise, but he was thick, straight, throbbing and the purple head pushing past his foreskin was moist and leaking cloudy drops of fluid in his excitement.

“What do you want, Hermione?” he asked, noting the hungry look on her face as she stared at his cock. He had enjoyed many women who had wanted him in his lifetime, but couldn’t recall a single one of them ever looking at him quite like she did. She looked as if she might eat him alive, and he hoped like hell she was brave enough to try it.

“I’m not good at this…” she muttered, her mouth watered for a taste of the ruddy staff bobbing in front of her.

“You never will be without practice…and instruction,” he rasped. “Lick the tip, Hermione, taste me.” She reached up and he stopped her by laying his hand on the top of her head. “I said lick it, not touch it,” he said firmly. So instead of wrapping her fingers around him as she longed to do she laid her hands on his thighs and leaned forward, hesitantly swiping her tongue over the plumy head of his cock. She jerked when his shaft twitched and Lucius laughed softly. “Open your mouth and take me inside,” he said softly, his fingers moving gently in her hair. “Don’t try to take me too deep, you aren’t experienced enough to handle it,” he loved the eagerness on her face as she opened her pretty pink lips and wrapped them around him. “Now, use your tongue and suck gently,” he said. Her mouth was hot and snug. Her inexperienced tongue danced over and around his sensitive tip and he responded strongly.

He realized that he had become immune to the ministrations of experienced, jaded women over the years. It was exciting to be with a woman who had no idea what she was doing but was full of innocent curiosity. He began to move his hips, slowly sliding his shaft between her lips. Her hands clenched on his thighs and a soft whimper vibrated around his cock.

“Don’t worry, I won’t push too far,” he said huskily. “Your mouth feels wonderful, Hermione, so good,” he encouraged. He continued to stroke her hair and pump in and out of her mouth with careful consideration. She grew bolder, more enthusiastic with every accolade he uttered, until she was suckling noisily and making little sounds of enjoyment as she ministered to his erection. Lucius prided himself on his control, and for the first time in many years he was threatening to lose it. He tightened his hand in the back of her hair and pulled her head back, shaking his head at the disappointed moue of her lips. “You look like someone stole your sweets,” he laughed softly, running his thumb over her slightly swollen lips. “Lay back, Hermione, and spread your legs.”

He took a step backwards and bent over to remove his boots, but he kept his eyes trained firmly on her. She shifted backwards, her lush bottom lip between her teeth. She jolted when he tossed a boot onto the floor, the thud startling her. She lay back against the pillows, the fur rug beneath her felt decadent on her naked skin. He removed his other boot and then the socks and then, to her great delight, the breeches. He stood, tall and proud and allowed her a moment to look, to admire the long legs and beautiful piece of equipment between them.

“Place your feet on the floor and let you knees fall out to the side,” he said.

He knelt between her feet and admired the succulent banquet of flesh laid out before him. She was young, soft and trembled with relative innocence. She was flushed with a mixture of passion and embarrassment, her cheeks rosy and her skin beginning to glisten with a fine sheen of moisture from the warmth of desire and the healthy fire crackling in the hearth. No doubt she had never had a man look at her, touch her, as thoroughly as he. She had likely been serviced by far younger bucks than he who had little to no control over themselves and had not yet gained the finesse that came with age and experience. Just as he had become jaded by demanding women of experience she had become jaded with the impatience of youth.

“You are quite lovely,” he said softly. He reached out and with gentle fingers touched the softness of her belly. She gasped softly, the muscles contracting involuntarily as shivers raced up her spine. She wondered how she had been reduced to a mass of sensation in so short a time-span. When he touched her it was as if a current were racing through her continuously, it was completely unlike anything she had previously experienced. His lips twitched slightly at her reaction but he did not remove his touch. He continued to let his fingers dance over the skin of her tummy. He circled her navel, tickling, causing her insides to clench and quiver as heat rushed to the apex of her thighs.

“Lucius,” she breathed. Only a soft, reedy sound made his name audible as it passed her lips. Again, he could not fight the urge to smile, the corners of his mouth lifting.

“It sounds sweet to hear my name on your lips,” he said. “I think that I can say with no uncertainty that you never imagined to say my name with such sweet passion.”

“N-no, I s-still am n-not sure this is r-real,” she managed, her voice wavering as his fingers trailed lower, skimming the hairline of her nether curls.

“Mmm, do you imagine you are dreaming?” he purred. His other hand came up suddenly, cupping her breast and tweaking her nipple. Without warning he cupped the other hand over her sex and pressed, eliciting a hiss of surprise. "Does it feel like a dream?" The heat of her burned against his palm and he cursed inwardly with delight. "I don't know what burns hotter, the fire or your hot little quim."

His hand abandoned her breast for the heated delta between her thighs. He gently pried the plump lips apart to reveal the turgid little pearl of her clit to his gaze. She was certainly a delight for a man who had long grown bored with sex. The deep pink flesh was swollen and glistened with the evidence of her arousal. With one hand holding her open he circled the throbbing nubbin with the index finger of the other. She bucked hard, biting her lip to hold back a scream.

"Lie still, now, I'm quite busy here," he said, flicking her clit gently back and forth as he watched her face. She writhed and arched, fought against the sensation as he expertly manipulated the sensitive protrusion. He eased his touch, stroking so lightly that she barely felt it before dipping lower to slide two fingers inside the honeyed warmth of her vagina. "Oh yes, this is perfect," he purred, stroking the hot, silken walls gently. He couldn’t recall the last time a witch had responded so eagerly to his touch. He struggled to recall a time when a witch's body had wept so deliciously for him, had pulsed and shuddered, vibrated with such pure emotion. His head swam as if he had drunk the entire bottle of champagne that sat forgotten a few feet away.

He fingered her gently, carefully stroking her with his fingers. He didn’t need to ascertain her readiness, the witch was soaking his hand with evidence of her arousal, but he did need to prepare her, to stretch the tight and fairly inexperienced channel for his possession. The feel of those silken walls pulsing around his fingers, the hot, slippery fluid easing his trespass was driving him insane, it took all of his control not to cover her with his body and pound his cock into her until he could no longer think straight. He brought his thumb into play, worrying the tight bundle of nerves that was the center of her pleasure. She shook, crying and gasping as her body was wracked with sensation. He reveled in it, loved the desperation in her eyes, the pleading moans and erratic, uncontrollable movement of her body as she strived for more.

She was going to die. She couldn’t take the assault on her senses any longer. At any moment she was going to burn up in a fiery inferno generated by her own body. Spontaneous combustion was looking more and more plausible as she was tormented and tantalized by the wizard kneeling between her thighs. Hermione had known sex, she had known pleasure and she was familiar with orgasm. But not on the scale in which it was currently being measured. She was dying, aching with want, desperate for release yet she fought it. If she found release he would stop. He would stop touching her, stop teasing her, he would stop giving her the most incredible pleasure she had ever known. His fingers were long and skilled as they twisted and wriggled inside her. His thumb tormented her clit with constant pressure and a slow circular motion that made her want to scream, kick and, gods help her the urge to bite him was almost overwhelming. She had escaped this man's clutches time and again previously, but tonight she would finally be destroyed by him.

"Please," she pleaded. He watched the tears roll down her cheeks from beneath her lashes. She was overwhelmed with emotion; the feelings surging inside her were beyond her control and comprehension.

"Please?" He repeated. "Please what?"

"Please do something before I die," she whimpered.

"You won’t die," he chuckled softly. "Well...not in the literal sense," he said. "Are you ready for a little death, Hermione?" He withdrew his thumb from her clit and she cried out in protest. "Shhhh...trust me," he whispered. She shivered; her brain couldn’t decide if the comment was decidedly evil or decadent. Her body opted to believe the later and another little gush of moisture coated his fingers. "You are such a treat," he murmured, spurred on by her receptive response. "Not just because of who you are but because of how utterly delightful your reactions are. You had no idea you were such a little wanton, did you?"

"You're killing me," she cried.

"Tsk, Tsk, you shouldn’t say such things," he murmured. "No one has ever died from excess pleasure," he said. "Though I am willing to attempt it. Let us see how close to heaven we can bring you." What he did next was nearly her undoing. Before she could consider his words he leaned over and placed his open mouth directly over her clit. The heat of his mouth was intense, but the light, precise flicking of his tongue was stimulus overload. Her body bowed, her back arching beneath his onslaught. She felt every lick like a fiery whip against her aroused and overly sensitive flesh. Her head tossed restlessly on the pillow as she fought to get closer yet struggled to get away from the incredible sensations of Lucius licking at her flesh. His fingers continued to wriggle and pump inside her and she writhed, the silky wet walls rippling and pulsing around his marauding digits.

He wanted...no, he needed to get inside her; he needed to bury his cock inside her and ride her receptive young body into oblivion. He curled his fingers up, pressing firmly against the upper walls of her vagina, against the elusive spot that would intensify her pleasure at the same time that he sucked her turgid clit into his mouth. She nearly jackknifed as the orgasm coursed through her. Muscles contracted and trembled, heat pulsed through her body and stars danced behind her tightly clenched eyelids. She couldn’t control her reactions, a hoarse guttural scream rent the air as she convulsed. Her hands immediately fisted in his hair, holding on to the silky strands as if they were tethers holding her to the earth.

He slid his fingers free of the greedy clasp of her pussy and reached up to free his hair from her grip. In an instant he had her once more on her back as he rose over her and without warning thrust his erection into the slippery channel still pulsing and undulating as her orgasm ebbed. He didn’t give her a chance to calm down, gave her no quarter as he thrust powerfully with long, sure strokes. It was beautiful, she was beautiful, a whimpering, trembling mess of a witch with tears staining her cheeks. Nothing appealed to him more than the sight of her complete surrender and the knowledge that it was his patience and skill that made it so.

She felt like perfection; hot, tight and wet, gripping him like a pulsating fist as he slid his cock in and out of her creamy depths. She shook beneath him, panting and struggling to regain her breath. But he didn’t want her regaining her calm, regaining her control; he wanted her wild and completely without inhibitions. Her jerked his knees forward and braced his weight on them. He clasped her at the waist and pulled her hips up, her shoulders still resting on the fur rug. She was startled, her eyes widening as she stared up at him, unsure what to do.

"Again," he growled, his fingers digging into her skin as he thrust hard and deep, circling his hips and grinding into her.

"I-I c-cant!" she whimpered, convinced that it was impossible to come again after what she had just experienced.

"Au contraire, ma chérie," he said on silky purr. He adjusted slightly and slowed his pace, gentling his thrusts as he brought his hand forward to twiddle the red and sensitive bud between her thighs. He stared at his cock buried inside her as he played with her clit. The inches revealed with every short, slow thrust glistened in the flickering firelight. It was mesmerizing to watch his possession of her, to feel the renewal of desire, the re-sparking of his darker, baser instincts. He could feel the renewed twitching of her arousal as she clamped down tightly around his cock. She was coming, her body vibrating with sensation as a smaller, but no less intense orgasm rolled over her. She sobbed her pleasure, her neck arching as her face contorted into grimace of uncontrolled pleasure.

She pulsed and contracted around his cock, milking his length and driving his need higher. He fell forward, covering her body completely with his before he rolled, taking her with him so that he was lying on the rug and she was plastered across his chest with her lips pursed into a little moue of surprise. His hands glided over the damp, sweaty line of her back, curving over the fleshy globes of her backside. She pulled her knees up and braced herself just before he began to move beneath her, thrusting up into her body with fast, firm strokes. She could literally feel every inch of him, her body primed and highly sensitized. Every nerve ending felt raw and exposed. He pumped into her like that for what seemed like an unusually long time before she realized that she had begun to move with him, driving her hips down with every upward thrust of his. She rode him hesitantly at first, and then, to her utter shock, she felt her body tighten in anticipation of yet another orgasm. She lifted off of him, bracing her hands on the pillow beneath his head, unable to stop herself from rocking, grinding and bouncing on his cock. He smirked, cupped the back of her head and pulled her down for a kiss.

It wasn’t gentle; he kissed her hard, bruising her lips and thrusting voraciously into her mouth with his tongue, mimicking the possession of her body by his cock. She cried out softly as he sank his teeth gently into her bottom lip, laving it with his tongue before letting her pull away. She threw her head back, her eyes squeezed tightly as she rocked over him, grinding her clit against his pelvis with every move. Lucius watched through slitted eyes as her breasts danced above him, the nipples tight and red like little cherries begging to be devoured. Unable to resist he lifted his head and sucked hard, the pleasure/pain racing through her until once more she convulsed around him. This time he followed, thrusting high, hard and deep, his thick semen jettisoning into the witch who swayed dizzily above him. Blackness overtook her and she collapsed onto his chest. He held her tightly to him as he continued to pulse and twitch inside her with his own release.

He chuckled as aftershocks raced through him. It had been so long since he had felt anything with such intensity, since he had engaged a witch with such passion and responsiveness. He rolled her gently off of him, tucking a hand behind her head as he lowered it carefully to the pillow. He pushed the hair back from where it clung to her sweat dampened face and admired the rosy glow that flushed her cheeks.

"Sweet little witch," he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. Who would have thought she would be the one to make him feel again? He kissed her swollen, slack lips as she lay in exhausted slumber. He reached for a blanket and covered her before rising on shaky legs to gather his things. He dressed slowly, his body relaxed and lethargic in the pot coital glow. His mind was energetic, however, concocting a plan for future visits to the tiny cottage and its tenant. With a lingering glance at the witch who snored softly on the rug, Lucius swung his cloak around his shoulders and departed quietly into the night.

 *****************************

Hermione slowly began to emerge from the depths of sleep. She stretched and whimpered as her muscles protested the movement. Her thighs ached and the flesh between them felt wet and tingly. She blinked her eyes open and flinched as bright sunlight poured through the window and enveloped her where she lay on the thick silky fur rug.

"It really happened," she murmured as she sat up and looked around her. The fire still crackled in the hearth and a silver tray with champagne and a small tray of food sat forgotten at the edge of the rug. The pillow beside her still bore the imprint of another's head and the scent of him clung to everything, including her. "I slept with Lucius Malfoy....I had sex with Lucius Malfoy..." she said as if in awe. "OH MY GOD!" she screamed, laughing hysterically as she fell back onto the pillows. She kicked her feet and banged her fists on the floor, laughing and giggling like a giddy school girl as the memories flooded her. When she finally relaxed, sighing as she turned her head to stare at the door, she realized that he hadn’t stayed. Not that she expected him to, but he could have said goodbye.

It was then that she saw the white box sitting on the chair tied with a bright yellow ribbon. She pushed to her knees, clutching the blanket around her naked body as she tossed her tangled hair back over her shoulder. She dragged the box towards her and gingerly lifted the lid. Beneath the scented tissue paper was a beautiful satin robe, lavender with tiny cream colored roses decorating the lapel. She lifted it out of the box and a small card emblazoned with the Malfoy seal fell onto her lap.

A gift to replace the hideous one I destroyed. Wear it and think of me until next we meet. Yours, L

"Oh, my," she whispered softly, her body already beginning to hum at the thought of another night in his arms. As she wrapped herself in the satin robe she felt the heat tingle between her thighs and found herself smirking softly, "So much for the Ice Queen."

AN I had to write this....after The Prude I needed dominant sexy Lucius again LOL
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Thawing The Ice Queen