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Quartet	By : OracleObscured Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 128263 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 11
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 46
- 47
- 48
A/N: Okay, here we go. This didn’t take too terribly long. The next release will be two chapters, so it might take me a bit longer to finish. (But they’re in fairly good shape, so no major rewriting to slow me down. And they’re two of my favorite chapters, so I might get though them faster out of pure excitement. Who knows.)
On a side note, my friend, Desert_Sea (DesertC on FFN) finished her most recent story yesterday. If you haven’t read it yet, it’s At the Headmaster’s Discretion, and it's my absolute favorite of all of her fabulous works. Give it a shot if you’re not already a fan.
Hope you all enjoy this chapter. Happy reading. (And thank you all again so much for all the reviews and love. Hugs for all my longstanding reviewers.)
47—Teneramente 
“But tonight, you belong to me.”—Patience and Prudence
(Draco) 
Draco hefted his weight onto his hands and popped out of the pool, flexing his chest and arms to tempt Hermione with a bit of the old pec-tacular magic. He may be thin, but he was cut, and he knew she liked the way his trunks clung to him after a long swim. When he chanced a glance in her direction, he was disappointed to see her stretched out on the chaise lounge with her nose in a bloody book. For the love of Nimue! She was missing some of his best work.
Picking up his towel and padding over to her chair, he wiped himself down, waiting for her to notice how delectable he looked fresh out of the water.
Unfortunately, her focus on the written word remained unwavering—his efforts completely wasted. He could parade around the yard with a big brass band and she probably wouldn’t even flinch. 
Hooking his thumb in the top of his trunks, he drew the waist down to point her gaze in the right direction. There were two shallow lines that ran from his hipbones to the base of his cock—lines he’d barely noticed before she came along—but apparently they had super powers. The mere sight of them usually made her knickers drop like a lead anchor. She’d dubbed them “lay lines,” and he hoped their influence would be strong enough to draw her to the sacred site growing in his trunks. Bonehenge. 
Nope. Still nothing. Damn. He’d have to forgo the subtlety.
Tossing his towel aside, Draco crawled up the foot of her chair and stretched out on top of her, resting his face on her stomach. She smelled of pool water and blue bathing costume. Propping his chin on her ribs, Draco looked up but was boob-blocked by her blasted book.
With a frustrated huff, he tapped on the cover with one finger. “Helloooo. Can Hermione come out and play?”
She raised the book a few inches and smirked at him through the gap. “Depends on what game you had in mind.”
“Oooooh, so you aren’t a reading robot after all. I am relieved.”
“If you’re going to be witty, I can go back to my story.”
“No, no, no,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean it.”
Grinning in triumph, Hermione carefully marked her place, set her book on the wrought-iron table, and then beckoned him closer with a curl of her finger. “Give us a kiss, love.” 
Draco broke into a delirious smile and scuttled up so they were face to face. Unwilling to waste another second without his lips on hers, he dove right in. This was his chance to have her all to himself, and he didn’t want to squander it. Lucius wouldn’t be back until late; and Severus was down in his potion-dungeon, where he’d probably remain until dinner. For the next hour or two, Draco could indulge in the full Hermione experience without fear of interruption. 
When he pulled away for air, she threw back her head and gasped in a breathless laugh. “What was all that about?”
“I missed you.”
“Draco, I’ve been with you since we got home. We haven’t been more than twenty feet apart since five o’clock.”
“I meant I missed being alone with you.”
“Ahh. It has been a few days, hasn’t it? You should have said something sooner.”
“I didn’t want to annoy you.”
Hermione brushed back his fringe with her fingertips and nuzzled his nose. “You’re too sweet to be annoying. And I missed you too. I felt strange all last night until you came home.” 
“What d’you mean?”
“I don’t know . . . just strange. Like a part of me wasn’t there.”
“I would’ve much rather been home with you,” he said, wiggling down and resting his head on her chest. “What a bunch of bloody palaver—going on about which countries have the most money and debating which dignitary has the hottest mistress.”
She snickered. “Who won?”
Draco snorted into her breast. “That berk from Andorra. He’s been shagging his kid’s nanny. But . . . I didn’t let on that I’d hit the nanny jackpot. Your secret’s safe with me.”
“That’s probably best,” she said, giggling under her breath. “Did you at least win for brainiest girlfriend or something?”
“Mmmm,” he murmured, his mouth too distracted by her slick, blue nipple for an immediate answer. “You won for Best Tits Usually Hidden by a Book.”
Her laughter made the world jiggle around him. “A dream realized,” she rejoined.
“And then you won for Most Loved Witch. I was unanimous.”
Hermione kissed the top of his head. “I love you too, Draco. Very much.”
Malfoy sighed in relief. Just what he’d been waiting to hear. “Love you too.”
“Draco, do you want me to tell you I love you when your father and Severus are around? Or would you prefer that I only say it when we’re alone?”
“You can scream it at the top of your lungs in the middle of Diagon Alley if you like. I want everyone to know. Especially father and Severus.”
Her arms slid around his shoulders in a snuggly hug. “Good. I like saying it.”
“Plus I want to rub their faces in it,” he added gleefully.
“What! Love is not for making people jealous!”
“I know. That’s just a bonus.”
“Draco!”
“What? It’s not my fault they’re too chicken to say it.”
“That’s not fair,” she said in a warning tone. “They’re doing the best they can. And I don’t like hearing you talk like that. Do you remember what I told Lucius about not making fun of other people’s emotions?”
“You mean the moment you successfully stuffed a sock in his pompous mouth? Yeah, I think I’ll be reliving that joyous memory until the day I die.”
Hermione made him look at her. “Well, that rule goes for you too. I don’t want to hear you belittle your father or Severus like that. They’ve both been through a lot, and I can understand why their pasts might make it hard for them to say something so difficult.”
“I’ve been through a lot too,” he argued. “But that didn’t stop me from saying it.”
“True.” She smiled softly. “But you were always more demonstrative than they were.”
“Maybe that’s because I love you more than they do.”
Hermione searched his eyes for a few seconds then combed back his hair again, raking her nails along his scalp so his eyes fluttered in ecstasy. “Draco, I love you more than I can possibly say, but I love Severus and Lucius too. I’m happy that you feel so strongly, but you can’t know what’s in their hearts.”
He made a face. “Do you seriously love them? Like you love me?”
“Yes.”
“And you think they love you?”
“I know they do.”
“I don’t know how you can tell with Snape. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I prefer him over father, but that man is hot and cold. One minute he’s hugging you, and the next he’s in the kitchen glaring at the roast like he wants to murder the entire world. It seems like he’s only nice to you when you’re naked or pressed up against him.”
She went still, and for a second, Draco thought he might have offended her, but then she resumed her finger-combing scalp massage and, in a calm voice, said, “Severus is complicated . . . like you and your father. He is nice when I’m not naked; it’s just easier for him to show affection when it’s couched in the guise of sexuality. I think he’s taught himself that the only time it’s safe to feel anything is when he’s fucking.”
Draco blinked twice, processing what she’d just said. “Where’d you come up with that?”
“Observation. Lucius is very similar—he just doesn’t wait for the sex to come to him. He spreads out the intimacy, initiating contact when he needs to let off a little love. But the moment he thinks he’s crossed the line and revealed too much of himself, he deflects with sexual suggestion. I’ve been trying to ease them into the idea that emotions are not their enemies, but it’s hard to reverse decades of conditioning. They’re both starting to admit they care, that it isn’t just the sex, so some of it is getting through. But you know what has the biggest effect on them?”
Fascinated by her insight, he dumbly shook his head.
“You. They see you, Draco. They see you being happy and sad and angry and needy, and nothing bad happens—I still love you no matter what. They see you getting exactly what you want, even if it's just a hug or a kiss on the cheek. They’re seeing that it’s possible to express affection for affection’s sake, that they don’t have to wrap their emotional needs in a canapé of sex to sneak them past me. You think they’re ridiculing you, but they’re both envious of your freedom.”
“Merlin’s beard, Granger . . . I’m scared to hear what else you’ve figured out about us.”
A mischievous smile erased the thoughtful purse of her lips. “Oh, that’s just the basics. I haven’t even delved into the psychological abyss of your sexual psyches. So many telling and juicy tidbits.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
“Oh, you know, just little things I notice,” she said nonchalantly. “You each have your own individual preferences and needs.”
“Tell me.” What minefields had Snape and Lucius planted for themselves?
“I don’t know if you can handle it,” she teased.
“I can. Try me.”
“Okay. Let’s start with you. You’re an intimacy junkie.” Her smile widened. “You prefer making love face to face . . . or breast to face as the case may be.”
Unabashed, he nodded in affable agreement. “So true.”
“But your fantasies are largely submissive in nature.”
Was he blushing? Why the hell was he blushing? “So what’s that mean, Doctor Granger?”
“I’m not sure, but I think there’s more you’ve yet to reveal.”
“What more could I possibly reveal?”
“Oh . . . you know,” she said, shrugging lightly, “something super sexy you might have been too embarrassed to admit up until now.”
Did she know what he’d been thinking? Was she saying she was okay with it? How had she guessed? “You’ll have to be more specific.” He couldn’t take any chances.
Hermione massaged the back of his neck, loosening the tension with a practiced touch. “The other night I had a dream. You and I were naked in a field of wildflowers. It started raining, but we didn’t go in—we just kept snogging and rolling around in the grass.”
That wasn’t his fantasy, but it didn’t sound bad. “So did you want to go out on the lawn and get it on?”
She shook her head, her smile growing. “In the dream I asked you what secret fantasy you’d been keeping from me, and you . . . admitted that you wanted me in your arse.”
His face went hot—at least a thousand degrees. Pressing his forehead into the safety of her bosom, he hid his reaction. Hearing it said out loud turned out to be far more humiliating than he'd ever imagined.
“I assumed you weren’t referring to fingers. Was I right?” she asked gently.
His heart slammed into his breastbone like a sledgehammer. Should he admit it the truth? She didn’t seem put off by the prospect. “Maybe.”
“Maybe,” she said, and he could tell she wasn’t fooled by his reticence. “I recognize that harness up in the playroom from the book Severus gave me. It’s for a strap-on. Some of those dildos aren’t for me, are they?”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed, Draco. I’ve been thinking about it since my dream, and I've become rather fond of the idea. I’ve never fucked anyone before—well, you know, with a dick. I think I might enjoy being the penetrator for once.”
Draco peeked up at her. “Are you taking the piss? You really want to peg me?”
Lips curling into a wicked leer, she stroked the side of his face. “That’s not all I want to do to you. I’ve been dying to try out that queening throne in the playroom. Maybe we should go upstairs and see how much Nanny Granger you can handle.”
Sweet. Fucking. Circe. Yeeeeees !
“I’m going to guess by that look in your eyes that the thought of me sitting on your face is already making you hard. I suspect you’re going to be one needy little boy by the time we get to the buggering.”
Fat chance he would last that long.
“Ohhhh,” she said, laughing with delight. “You’re ready to blow right now, aren’t you? Well I don’t think so. Stand up. I don’t want you humping the furniture.”
Stand up? Were his legs working? Ah yes, there they were. He backed out of the chair and staggered to his feet. Thank Merlin his cock hadn’t stolen all his blood yet; he was still mobile.
Hermione’s eyes trailed down to the thick lump tenting his trunks, and she smirked knowingly. “Okay, new rules for this round of Nanny Granger. Use your safe word even if things just get too intense.”
He wouldn’t.
“But I want you to say yellow or hold up two fingers if things get uncomfortable. I don’t want to have to explain to Severus or your father how I suffocated you with my pussy. Is that clear?”
“Yes, miss.”
Sitting up, she dropped her chin and peered at him through her lashes, her brown eyes fierce. “Then we’ll begin. First things first—you won’t be needing these any longer.”
Draco bit back his smile as she tugged his trunks over his hips, and the green material dropped to the ground with a heavy splat.
“Step out,” she said, nodding at his feet. “Lay them out nicely so they’ll dry.” 
He did as she said, spreading them out at the foot of her chaise.
“Spankings first.”
Yay! Draco glanced toward the house, eager to get to the playroom. When she didn’t rise, he realized she meant to do it by the pool. “What? Right out here where everyone can see?”
Her gaze narrowed. “If you don’t want anyone to see, I suggest you get over my knee before your father comes home or Severus finishes in his lab.”
With one last nervous peek at the house, he obeyed orders and lowered himself over her lap. His heart resumed its terrified tattoo, threatening to burst from his chest like that Alien movie they’d watched the other week. She’d never risked their exposure before, and it added a whole new dimension to the proceedings.
Hermione dropped her left knee so his bum was jacked up at a steeper angle, and then she swiped one hand over his cheeks and patted each side. “Now, tell me what naughty things you’ve done since you were last punished. I want to hear everything, and I know you want to get it off your chest.”
Draco stared at the concrete, almost too aroused to speak. “I was a bad boy, miss.”
“Go on.”
“I . . .” He had to wrack his brain for an appropriate offense. He did want to unburden his soul, but he didn’t want to say something that would really make her angry. “I pouted.” She hated pouting.
“And what have I told you about that?”
Draco mashed his lips together and took a deep breath. “Big boys don’t pout—they say how they feel.”
“That’s right. Why were you pouting?”
It was extremely difficult to think with her rubbing his arse like that. “You were sitting on father and not paying attention to me.” 
“Was I purposely ignoring you?”
“No.”
She slapped his left cheek. “No what?”
“No, miss.”
“That’s better. Did I pay attention to you after I spent some time with Lucius?”
“Yes, miss.”
“You need to learn patience. We’ll work on that later. What else did you do?”
“On the nights you were with Snape or Father, I touched myself.”
"And what's the rule?"
“No touching myself without permission.”
She pushed his legs apart and grazed the back of his balls with the blunt tips of her nails. “Do I need to start restraining you when it’s not your night?”
“No, miss. I’ll be good. I just get frustrated when you’re not with me.”
"I appreciate that. But you don’t need to abstain from orgasm when I’m not with you. You just need to ask my permission first. Can you do that?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Excellent. What else did you do?”
“I tripped that wanker Johnson at work with a hex.”
“Hmmm,” she hummed, trying not to laugh. “That was rude. Don’t do it again. But . . . Johnson is a wanker, so no spanks for that one. What else?”
“I don’t want to say. You’ll get mad at me.”
“No, I won’t. You know discipline isn’t about anger.”
He took a deep breath, and the confession came tumbling out with surprising alacrity, “I spit in Father’s coffee when he wasn't looking.”
“Draco!”
"See, you're angry with me.”
“I’m not angry with you—I’m surprised at you. Why on earth would you do something so vulgar?”
“He suggested that I take my coffee in a baby bottle and ask you to feed me.”
“When did he say this?” Her voice had become preternaturally quiet.
“Maybe a week or so ago.”
“Before we went to Veronique?”
“I think so.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to him about it. But that doesn’t mean you can spit in his coffee. If something makes you angry, you come and tell me.”
“Like a crybaby.”
She sighed. “No. Like an adult. You’re allowed to be angry, Draco, and you’re allowed to want to retaliate. But that was just petty. And juvenile. I’m not saying you have to be serious all the time, but doing something like that just makes you look bad.”
Well, great. Now he felt guilty about it. He’d been quite proud of himself before her disapproval. “I’m sorry, miss.”
"Is that it, or is there more to confess?”
“That’s it.”
“I think fifty with my hand sounds fair for all that. What do you say to me?”
Draco squeezed his eyes shut and hoped Snape hadn’t finished his brewing early. “I’ve been a bad boy, miss. Please spank me till I’ve learnt my lesson.”
“Keep those legs apart.”
She smoothed her hand over his arse a couple times, and then, with a loud smack, white hot heat burst through his bum. The blows came slowly, but he was anxiously wiggling and jerking around before she got to ten. Snape had taught her well.
Draco lost count somewhere around twenty. And he couldn’t stay quiet either. He didn’t cry, but he hissed like a viper, gritting his teeth to fight the sting. It was about that time that he began to seriously rethink his actions. Was wanking without permission worth all this? Did she really want him to ask permission? Or was that just a game, another excuse for a spanking? He kind of wanted it to be an all-the-time thing. He wanted her to know when he was touching himself, and he wanted her to tell him his cock was hers.
His arse was pretty much pure fire toward the end. He bucked against her thighs in glorious agony, fucking her soft skin the way he used to ride her couch cushions. Which was strangely comforting.
“Last ten on the inner thighs for masturbating without permission.”
Fuck, there were still ten to go. “Yes, miss.”
She gave his left inner thigh five fast smacks, causing his balls to duck and cover. The hits left behind a tingling heat that had him wincing and dripping with equal ferocity.
“Get up so I can reach the other side. Bend over and put your hands on the seat. Legs apart.” 
Draco did as she said, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
Standing to his right, she used her left hand to give his inner thigh five more sharp smacks. At the very end, he grunted and pulled away, but she didn’t reprimand him; she just placed her hand on his lower back and waited for him to calm.
But calm was out of the question. All he wanted was for her to start a whole new round. A harder round. Maybe with the paddle. He didn’t know if he should be worried by that revelation or not.
“All right,” she crooned. “It’s all over. You’re my good boy again.”
Draco smiled. He found being her good boy disturbingly satisfying.
“But you’ve got me all sticky. Kneel down and lick me clean, and then we can go upstairs.”
He glanced at her legs, noting the golden hue she’d acquired after weeks of pool play. His pre-cum glazed her burnished thighs in small dull patches where it had dried.
Kneeling before her, he bowed his head and lapped up everything he could find. The mild saltiness of his excitement blended beautifully with the warmth of her skin, and he found himself craving more. Dragging his tongue up her inner thigh, he pushed his luck and strayed far higher than necessary. That pussy was calling to him.
“Mmmmmm,” she murmured, grasping a hank of his hair to pull him off. “I think that’s good enough for now. Or do I need to take you upstairs and get the strap?”
If the promise of face-sitting wasn't looming on the horizon, he would have jumped at that offer in a second, but, at the moment, he felt far too desperate to play the naughty offender any longer. He looked up at her, pleading with his eyes. “I'll be good, miss.”
“Very well. Stand up. Hands on your head.”
He got to his feet and assumed the usual position. His dick already ached, and the prospect of what lay ahead did nothing to alleviate his discomfort.
Hermione ran one finger along his length, and when she reached the head, aimed him downward and slid off the tip so his erection bobbed obscenely in the open air. “This looks lovely. How does your naughty bottom feel?”
Ready for penetration. “Hot, miss.”
“I hope it reminds you what awaits future infractions,” she said, cupping his sac and squeezing lightly. 
A drop of fluid seeped from his engorged glans, and he watched in fascination as it painted her forearm. “Yes, miss.”
She moved in closer, the heat of her body baking his side, and when she looked up, her eyes flared gold. Her breathing cast a cool breeze over his shoulder that countered the muggy heat of the evening, but it took him a second to realize she was sniffing him—and getting off on his scent. His brain and dick both decided that was exceedingly hot and worth a rowdy round of cock-twitches.
As her fingers tightened around his bollocks, her thumb traced the underside of his shaft, gliding like a feather along his foreskin—two vastly different sensations warring for supremacy.
“This is mine now,” she growled, and the firm possessiveness of her declaration made his balls clench.
Over the previous months, she'd been slowly weeding out which phrases had the biggest effect on him, and she’d hit on a few that seemed to have magical powers. For instance, the words “You belong to me” made his dick do the hokey pokey.  A dance they both enjoyed.
But sometimes all he needed was her ball-busting attitude. She could slip into that no-nonsense lioness persona so easily, which brought back fond memories of the swotty know-it-all he'd butted heads with at school. She’d changed since the final battle, becoming much less prim and persnickety, but the inner-prefect was still there, ready to whip him into shape and get down to business when the need arose. 
She had channeled the drive that once fueled her straight-O average into her campaign for creature equality, and Draco could see how much it took out of her to constantly fight the system. Clearly she needed a break when she got home, and he knew Snape’s brand of domination gave her a much needed retreat. It was her stress-release. And that girl had a lot of stress. While Draco had adopted a take-me-or-leave-me attitude to survive the workplace, Hermione wore her heart on her sleeve day in and day out; it was part of her job. That had to be exhausting.
Draco’s stress was more self-inflicted. He kept his hurt and fears on the inside. But with Hermione, he didn’t have to. She was his escape. Or his savior. She made it possible for him to purge his anxieties in a healthy way, and just being with her made him less anxious overall. Which would explain why he was so addicted to her.
“I love you,” he blurted out and then tacked on a hasty, “miss.”
The corners of her mouth wobbled, but she nodded in understanding. “You know I still love you even though we’re playing, right?” 
“Yes, miss.”
She smiled. “Put down your hands and hug me.”
Draco wrapped his arms around her, and when she did the same to him, he pulled her in, pressing his body to hers and melting into her warmth.
“Uh uh uh,” she admonished, ripping her hips away. “No grinding. Just hugging. You know better than that.”
“Sorry, miss.”
“That’s better. Good boys don’t rub their cocks without permission.”
“It aches, miss.”
“I know. But we have some things to do first.”
“Yes, miss. I’m ready.” NOW!
She kissed his cheek, and the heat of her love blossomed over his face like bleeding ink. “Who’s my good boy?”
“I am, miss.”
“That’s right. And I’m so proud of you, Draco.”
With no warning, his stomach lurched into his throat. She was proud of him? The elation of hearing those words felt perplexingly painful, like a congratulatory punch to the heart. His reply came out a cracked whisper, “Why?”
“For being so brave; for having the courage to be honest with me.”
He couldn’t think straight; the profusion of bittersweet emotions evoked by her praise caused his brain to scatter. He wanted her say it one more time—I’m proud of you—but he was scared hearing it again would reduce him to a puddle of tears.
“Plus you’re the sweetest boy,” she added. “Best cuddler in the house.”
Draco breathed out a laugh. And then blushed. Damn straight he was the best cuddler in the house—but all the same, he hoped no one else ever heard her say that. Especially not his father. There were some things a man wanted to be known for, and cuddling skills didn’t rank high on the list.
Placing one last peck on his neck, Hermione patted his chest. “We’d better head upstairs. Don’t want to run out of time, do we?” 
“No, miss.”
“Then let’s get moving.”
Draco bent down to get his trunks, but Hermione stopped him with a sharp smack to the arse.
“You leave those there and let them dry.”
Warily, Draco glanced over his shoulder at the back door. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed to walk through the house naked. It was that he was embarrassed to walk through the house naked with a red bum.
What if his father came home early?
“You’d better march, mister.”
“Yes, miss.” Maybe if he got upstairs quickly, he’d be safe.
Hermione followed behind him as they made their way across the patio. When he was inside, Draco did a frantic scan of the surroundings, but there were no signs of life. Severus wasn’t in the kitchen. Thank Merlin.
They headed through the halls, the cold air making him shiver. He’d had the evening sun beating down on him outside, but without its heat, his wet hair chilled him like a freezing charm, and the resulting gooseflesh pulled his skin tighter than a drum.
Hermione kept patting his arse in the most demeaning manner possible, constantly reminding him of his nudity and sore bum. A fresh wave of humiliation colored his face. 
He fucking loved it.
They made it to the playroom undetected, and Draco heaved out a grateful sigh when Hermione locked the door behind them.
“Go ahead,” she said, motioning to the queening throne with a nod. “Get in place while I get things ready.”
Nodding blankly, Draco turned and found himself in a borderland somewhere between nervous excitement and zombified lust. He wasn’t thinking clearly—or at all—but he didn’t much care. Too much thinking could be problematic when a wizard’s imagination tended to get him in trouble. He didn’t want to come all over himself before they even got started.
The queening throne was basically just a small simple cube frame, except that the top looked like a blocky U, one of the squares’ sides being missing so it sort of resembled a square toilet seat. Maybe that’s where Snape had gotten the idea when he was making it. In the cube’s center hung a sling, like a little hammock where he could rest his head, and Draco plopped down on his back to test it out.
Not bad. He wouldn’t want to sleep there, but it was fairly comfortable.
The simplicity of the throne offered many options. She could face in any direction and force his attentions on her slit from a variety of angles. Or she could just smother him. He’d be happy either way. His cock seemed intent on casting a vote, but Draco couldn’t tell if its flailing indicated a preference for the former or the latter.
He reached down to restrain it before remembering he wasn’t allowed to touch himself. Snatching his hand back at the last second, he silently cursed his forgetfulness.
“I saw that,” Hermione muttered. “Be careful.”
“Yes, miss.”
He heard a soft fwump of fabric and raised his head. She stood there totally starkers, her swimming costume in a blue heap on the floor. His brain began to flash warning signals, alerting him to the presence of her breasts and bush. Fucking hell, as if he needed any more reminders.
Hermione plucked a riding crop from the wall and approached him with all the grace of her house’s mascot. “Ready, love?”
Possible heart arrhythmia in progress, but certainly ready. “Yes, miss. Please!”
Smiling, she spun around and straddled his chest, her back to his face. As soon as she began to squat, his cock surged, smacking his pelvis several times like an impatient Beater priming his bat for practice. Her furry little kitten closed in on him and blotted out the light in a total pussy eclipse. He kept his eyes wide open, spellbound. If he had to pick one vision to sustain him for the rest of his life, it might be that one. Or her tits. Hmm, hard call. 
When she was in place, his nose slotted into her crack, and kissing heaven required nothing more than the puckering of his lips.
“I cleaned my arse for you,” she purred. “I know how much you like sticking your tongue up there.”
Smiling, Draco silently agreed—he did like sticking his tongue up her arse. The naughtier the better. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled her scent. She smelled of sex and swimming, the dark heat of her crevice holding just a hint of salty sweat. Delicious. How many nights had he driven himself spare dreaming of that mouthwatering aroma? And now here he was, pinned beneath the real thing, completely at its mercy. Was it possible to be forced into paradise?
With a slow swipe of his tongue, he parted her labia and carved through the satin nectar lining her folds. Oh gods! Sweet didn’t do that pussy justice. He couldn't get enough, slithering into every pocket, sucking up her essence.
The cool tip of the riding crop teased his lower belly, encouraging his oral exploration with a swift flick, and his cock strained toward the stimulation, hungry for some attention. Any attention.
Lifting his chin, Draco laved her firmly from clit to perineum, which evoked the most alluring sound of pleasure from his mistress. Success! He did it again, burrowing into her fissure for more. The smell of her musky approval surrounded him like an olfactory cocoon, but since his breathing had been reduced to random gasps and sniffs, he could only catch her full flavor on the odd inhalation. He was being suffocated, yet he had no desire for breathable air. Only one thing could slake his yearning. Reaching up, Draco caressed the sides of her calves and thighs, skimming his hands up and down her silken skin. He needed more, more contact, more Hermione. Leather was not sufficient.
Hermione gently tapped his knob with the riding crop, bouncing it against his belly like a football. His cock began to drip again, and he wondered how long it would take before his navel overflowed with the runoff. 
“That’s it, love,” she moaned. “Get me nice and wet. You know what I like.”
Mmmm, he did indeed. She liked to build the fire slowly, stoking the kindling until it roared—and when she was writhing with need, desperate to come, that was when he'd pour petrol all over the flames by sticking his tongue straight up her arse. He fucking loved that sound she made when his face was buried between her cheeks—but not as much as he loved the way she quivered when right on the edge, the muscles in her legs rigid as steel but the padding on her thighs and bum trembling so hard it blurred. Although he worshiped her body in all its perfection, part of him hoped she’d put on some weight so that shimmy would rattle his brain straight out of his head.
Hermione chose that precise moment to jerk her hips back and roll her sweet cunt into his mouth. Draco tried to drink it all up but couldn’t get deep enough. When her movements became measured and purposeful, indicating that she’d reached the proper temperature for climax, he dipped back and lapped her arsehole, swirling around the puckered star until she cried his name. That’s it. Squirm for me, Nanny Granger.
“Ah! Yes! Just like that. Now go back to my clit.”
Said clit had swelled to twice its normal size; she’d be coming any second. Sucking steadily, he urged her toward release.
“Good boy,” she panted. “Now stick your tongue inside me like it’s your cock. Fuck me with it the way you did the other night.”
Draco plunged into her pussy, gathering as much of her honey as he could and gorging himself on her meaty interior. She carefully slapped his balls with the tip of her crop, and he whimpered as a frisson of electricity shot through his core. His erection, desperate for a jolt of its own, leapt toward the leather and demanded equal time. 
“Oh gods! Back to my clit.”
Draco buried his nose in her opening and flattened his tongue against her sugared pearl. He didn’t know if Lucius and Severus noticed, but as her orgasm neared, her flavor shifted from musky to sweet. Sometimes when she came, it was like licking a honeycomb.
“I'm getting close, Draco. Show Nanny Granger what a good pussy licker you are. Make me come all over your pretty mouth.”
His pretty mouth? That was a new one. Did he have a pretty mouth?
Draco grinned. Yes, he did.
Granger tossed aside the riding crop and wove her fingers through his, holding his hands to her thighs, and the intimacy of the gesture turned his stomach to pure liquid. His heart went all fuzzy, as if the two of them were cuddled up on the couch with a basket of puppies, yet his balls had gone soprano-tight, undaunted by the sentimental stirrings in his chest. Or perhaps spurred on by them. How did she do that to him every time?
Draco pressed his tongue to her clit and gave her all he had. He was at the wrong angle to implement the upward drag she loved, but he could get her there with relentless rhythm. Opening his mouth wide, he tried to cover as much surface area as possible. There were so many places inside and out that could curl her toes. He’d try to hit them all. 
“Faster,” she hissed. “I’m so close.”
Praying his tongue wouldn’t cramp, Draco put on another burst of speed.
“Don’t stop!”
Never! But he would moan to give her a boost of vibration.
“Uuuuuunh!”
Her body flexed, and a stream of crystalline desire trickled down his chin, but Draco stayed focused on her folds, licking her through the peak, spurring her even higher. Her entire body trembled above him, almost shaking him senseless. It was like hitting the top speed on his broom and then pushing it till it wobbled with effort. Such a rush.
“Bloody hell,” she panted as she came down. “Keep going. Soft. You know what I need.”
He did. And he gave it to her. His jaw was sore, but he’d be damned if he lost another drop of that champagne dripping from her chalice. She calmed as he worked, her body going slack as the last aftershocks faded into stillness. 
Releasing one of his hands, she leaned down to stroke his chest. “Mmmmmm, you are such a good boy.”
Glowing pride beamed in his belly, warming his face. Or maybe that was just residual heat from her pussy.
Hermione rose from her throne and looked down at him between her legs. “Are you ready for more?”
His cock twitched affirmatively, but he answered out loud in case she didn’t speak Knobenese. “Yes, miss.”
“Okay. I want you to go over to the chest of drawers and pick one of the dicks I set out. Whichever one you select is going up your arse, so choose wisely.”
Draco was off the floor and at the table before he knew how he got there. Hermione stayed right beside him, running her hands over his arse, probably admiring her spanking handiwork.
The tabletop looked like some kind of perverse jailhouse lineup at the Emasculation Station. The choices went from slim and short to one that was so long and fat it made him wince just looking at it. It was even bigger than Snape. What anal champion could take a cock bigger than Snape’s?
Some of her candidates were realistic looking, and some were bright and artificial. Draco didn’t have any preferences in that department. Having his girlfriend fuck him didn’t exactly scream reality, so choosing something believable seemed a bit pointless—he wouldn’t be able to see it in his arse anyway.
Malfoy studied the middle dildos closely, inspecting them to gauge girth and length. He hadn’t used anything sizable on himself in months, and now wasn’t the time to test his limits. He’d be nervous enough without having to worry about actual pain.
Draco poked a pitch black phallus that he estimated to be about six inches in length. It wasn’t too thick, and the poke told him it was a softer material that hopefully wouldn’t feel like a lead pipe when it was rammed home.
He could go smaller, but he didn’t want her to be fake-balls deep in his arse and discover he could barely feel anything. Besides, it didn’t seem fair to wuss out after she’d taken on all three of them. He needed to man up.
So to speak.
“This one,” he said decisively.
“Maybe we should get out some plugs to loosen you up first.”
Draco looked away. “That won’t be necessary.”
It took her a second, but then she started to giggle. “I thought you’d never been buggered before.”
“Not by a person.”
She must have found that even funnier, because she snorted loudly and then clamped her hand over her face. “Have you been practicing when I’m not around?”
“Love, I’ve been practicing since we were in school.”
“Is that what the Slytherin boys do in their dorm rooms?” she teased. “Buggery practice after Quidditch practice?”
“It was less practice by then and more play,” he said casually. “But somehow I always wound up on top.”
Her eyes widened and flared with gold fire, her hand dropping away as the laughter died. “You’ve buggered other boys? Do I know them?”
“Yes you do. And I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“I had no idea,” she said with a thoughtful smile. “Was it just when we were in school or more recently as well?”
Bloody hell, she wasn’t going to let it go, was she? “Both.”
Hermione suddenly made a face and stuck out her tongue. “Eww, it wasn’t Crabbe and Goyle, was it?” 
“Don’t be disgusting! I do have standards, you know!" 
“Thank Merlin. There aren’t enough bathtubs in this house to wash that image out of my head. What about Blaise? Is that what you do when you two go out?”
Her delight was palpable, and Draco almost laughed at her gleeful expression. What a bloody perv. “Blaise is nothing compared to you, miss.”
Hermione nodded, her smile growing. “It’s Blaise. That is so hot. I can’t believe you never told me this before.”
“There’s not much to tell. It was just a thing.”
“A thing?”
“Yeah, you know . . . something that happens. A shag. It’s not important.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed—you know how much I love some good Slytherin-on-Slytherin action.”
“I’m not embarrassed. I just don’t want to talk about it because it didn’t mean anything. It was just a bit of fun.”
Hermione reached out for him, and when he met her gaze, she placed her hand over his heart and stroked his chest. “I get it,” she said softly. “He helped you forget.”
Draco relaxed a little, glad he didn’t have to explain. “Yes. I just needed to blow off some steam.”
Hermione took the dildo from his hand then slipped her fingers between his and tugged him toward the bed. “But now things have changed, and you don’t like to remember how you used to feel.”
Bloody hell, maybe she was a mind reader. “Yes.”
Hermione patted the bed and motioned for him to climb up. “You haven’t gone out with Blaise in a long time. Are you avoiding him?”
Draco crawled across the snow-white comforter and settled against the pillows while she gathered the harness from the nightstand. “Kind of. I don’t want to lose him as a friend, but I don’t really know what to say to him.”
“Does he know about me?”
He nodded. “The last time we went out for drinks, I told him I was seeing you.”
“What’d he say?” She pushed the dildo through the hole in the front of the harness then studied the straps and started to adjust the fit.
“He asked me if you still know entire textbooks by heart.”
Hermione smirked. “Only select passages.”
Draco rolled over and got the lube from the bedside table. “I think he already knew I had a thing for you. I must have mentioned you more than I realized.”
Smiling, she stepped into the harness and pulled it up, fiddling with the sides to make it as snug as possible. “He probably misses you.”
“I know, but . . . I don’t want to shag him anymore, and I don’t know how to tell him.”
“Just be honest. If he’s really your friend, then I’m sure he just wants to spend time with you. He might be pissed off that you’ve been shutting him out though.” She stopped suddenly, hands on her hips, and looked down at the cock protruding from her pelvis. “Holy fuck, I have a dick.”
Draco snorted but somehow managed to choke down the rest of his laughter. “No you don’t. You have a toy attached to some strappy knickers.”
She touched it with one finger as if she’d never seen a dildo before. “This is so weird.”
“Come up here where I can see.”
Hermione climbed up on the bed and knelt in front of him, moving her hips awkwardly and staring at her new appendage. “I don’t know how you get around on a day-to-day basis. How is this not constantly getting in your way?”
Chuckling at her bewildered expression, Draco reached out and wrapped his hand around the shaft. “I’m used to it. Besides, I don’t usually walk around with a hard-on. That’s just asking for trouble.”
Slapping his hand away, she muttered, “You’ll wait until you're asked,” and then proceeded to stroke her fake length. “This isn’t at all like I imagined.”
“Do you want to stop?” Please don’t stop.
“Hell no! I just suddenly understand why guys want to stick their dicks into everything.”
Draco burst into peals of laughter. “No we don’t.”
“Yes, you do. Nature demands it.” She flopped down next to him, and wanked her new wand a few times. “Suck it. I want to see what it looks like.”
Draco couldn’t stop laughing. “Yes, ma’am. Don’t come in my mouth.”
“I actually do know a potion that can turn me into the male version of myself. Maybe I will come in your mouth sometime.”
Draco settled with his face at her hips. “I don’t want you to be male.”
“You want Nanny Granger to bugger you till you’re a good boy again?” she asked with a suggestive purr.
“Pretty much. Do you think that’s weird?”
She shrugged. “No.”
He had to hand it to her, she always took his predilections in stride. She hadn’t denied him a single suggestion yet—possibly because she was thinking even dirtier things. Or maybe she just understood his needs. She’d certainly hit the nail on the head with this one. Draco stuck out his tongue and licked the tip of her ebony cock, but he kept his eyes on her face to see her reaction.
She appeared enraptured, and he couldn’t blame her. Head was a potent aphrodisiac. Licking his way up the entire length and swirling his tongue around the flared knob, Draco gave her good show. If she liked this game, she might want to bugger him on a regular basis.
Hermione carded her fingers through his hair and gently urged him to take in even more. He smiled to himself and engulfed the majority of the shaft in one smooth slide. It hit the back of his throat, but he’d mastered his gag reflex ages ago.
“Oh my God,” she muttered. “You look really good with a cock in your mouth.”
Draco sputtered out a laugh, coughing as he pulled up and over the top. “Thanks,” he said as he wiped his chin. “I think.”
“I want to fuck you. Are you ready?”
“Bloody hell, love. Don’t be in such a hurry. You’re starting to scare me a little.”
Growling playfully, she rolled over on top of him; the faux phallus had nowhere to go except the space between his thighs. She began to grind, and the shaft slid back and forth under his balls like a piston. “Don’t worry. I’m going to take such good care of you tonight. And you know I would never hurt you . . . unless you asked me to.”
She kissed him then, gently, adoringly, and his anxiety floated away. Draco didn’t know he could go from panic to snogging-high in less than ten seconds. Nanny Granger certainly had a persuasive tongue. When she drew back, he nodded and handed her the lube. “I’m ready. Stretch me out with your fingers first.”
Hermione kissed his cheek. “How do you want to do it?”
“I want to be able to see you.”
Leaning down, she brushed her nose over his. “Okay. Don’t come until I tell you to.”
“Yes, miss.”
“Good boy,” she whispered.
Hermione knelt before him, the black harness and dildo breathtakingly stark against her skin, and when she wrapped one hand around the shaft and guided his knee to the side, Draco's heart began the race. He pulled his legs to his chest so she could see what she was doing, and she smiled as she greased her fingers in lubricant.
Reaching down, she patted some lube over his arse, and Draco’s breathing pinched to a wheeze. This was it. It really happening. Someone was finally going to own his body inside and out. But it wasn't just someone—it was Hermione, the witch who already owned his heart . . . and quite possibly his soul.
The room took on a surreal quality, and he could swear the furniture in his periphery vision became animated—but when he turned his head to check, nothing was amiss. Just stress, he told himself. Maybe everyone hallucinates their first time. 
Hermione ever so carefully inserted a finger and, curling up, found his prostate. Each little bump sent a zing of pleasure from his balls to his stomach. He whimpered for more in record time.
And Nanny Granger was certainly obliging.
Two fingers went in no problem. That was how many she usually used on him. When she slipped in a third, he clenched his teeth and hissed. It didn’t  hurt, and he’d been expecting the stretch, but his body went into some kind of pre-orgasmic panic mode, which must have shut down his brain, because he couldn’t think. At all. Yet his body was still on board, every muscle primed and ready to spring.
“I’m going to put in the tip now,” she murmured. “But I won’t push in until you tell me you’re ready. Do you remember what you say if you get too uncomfortable?”
He wracked his empty head but came up with nothing. That couldn’t be good. “No. What was it?”
“Yellow. Or hold up two fingers,” she said, demonstrating with a peace sign. 
“Right. I’ve got it.” I think.
“Okay. Just relax.” She pumped her hand up and down the dildo, slicking it to a high shine. “I’ll go in as slowly as I can.”
Draco nodded and kept his eyes on her face—she was rather cute when she was concentrating, her tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth. Dull pressure pushed at his back door, and the very tip tip top of her dick dipped into his arse. Just for a second. She didn’t try to enter him; instead, she circled the border and teased him with her new knob.
Groaning low in his throat, Draco pulled back his legs even further, silently begging her to go deeper. With an indulgent nod, she nudged her way past his sphincter, and the head slid in with almost no resistance.
“Fuck!” he growled, closing his eyes when he saw stars.
“Are you hurt?”
“No! Just fuck me. I can take it,” he pleaded.
“Noooooo,” she crooned with a breathy laugh. “I want to enjoy this. A girl likes to remember her first time with a dick. We’re going to ease in nice . . . and . . . slow.” She punctuated her words with a circle of her hips, the rounded glans sinking in a fraction further and then rubbing his rectum just the way her massaging fingers had earlier.
Draco’s hand shot to his cock. He didn't know if he was trying to encourage its throbbing or stave off the approaching explosion. His tight grip offered a taste of both.
“Remember what I said,” Hermione warned.
“Yes, miss. I won’t come.”
“You’d better not,” she replied, rocking an inch deeper to emphasize her control.
He must have conquered the widest part of the dildo, because everything felt smooth and steady as she thrust in and out. Lifting his head, Draco peered down his body to see how much she had left to go. It looked like about half from his vantage point.
“How’s that feel?”
Draco nodded and swallowed, his throat dry from breathing so hard. “It’s really good.”  
“No pain?” 
“No. I can take more.”
Hermione hooked her hands behind his knees and, looking into his eyes, leaned her weight into him. Tipping his hips afforded her some much needed traction, and the angle of penetration shifted, allowing her to go deeper. So much deeper. Deeper than he ever imagined. His chest tightened—and it wasn’t because she was crushing his lungs.
She looked angelic above him, her curly hair backlit by the sparkling chandelier, and her face was peaceful, as if she were reading rather than reaming his arse. How was she so calm?
Her brown eyes met his, and glittery gold rippled through her irises like a dazzling sunset on the Thames. A wave swelled in his chest, battering him with unexpected emotion. The sudden tempest made his eyes bulge, and he was startled to feel the familiar burn of tears raging for release.
“Are you all right, love?”
He nodded. “Are you all the way in?”
She looked down. “Mostly.”
“I think I’m going to come.” Or cry. Or both. What the fuck is happening to me?
“Then get your hand off your cock. We haven’t even started yet.”
Oh gods! Wait, did he just say that out loud? He wasn’t sure anymore what was going on in his head and what was real. His body felt flowing and loose, but at the same time, his muscles contracted and gathered like a storm about to break. Or was that just tension from holding back the blustering typhoon in his heart. Why did it feel as if his chest was about to explode?
Hermione spread his legs a little and rested her belly against his. She hovered above him for a moment, and then the heat of her breath puffed over his face and she was kissing his chin. Then his cheeks. Then his forehead.
The pressure behind his eyes increased with every buss of her lips.
Releasing his leg, she reached up and stroked his hair as she continued to bugger him with the finesse of a pro. She’d taken to pegging like a Grindylow to water. He didn’t know anything could make him love her more, but he couldn’t deny how smitten he was by her cock-wielding prowess.
Yet despite all the love and trust and closeness he felt, Draco was floundering, disoriented by how greatly her invasion affected him. He’d been expecting a downpour of uncontrollable pleasure, but instead, he was being drowned in an undertow of emotion. The sweeter she made it, the more lost he felt.
Hermione nuzzled his neck and bumped her abdomen along his cock, probably bathing herself in the pool of his pre-cum. “You’re being awfully quiet,” she whispered in his ear.
He couldn’t very well tell her he was scared he’d burst into tears if he spoke. That would require speaking. His throat squeezed tight with restraint, and his nose felt congested and clogged, as if he’d been sobbing for hours. He was walking a razor’s edge.
When he didn’t answer, she lifted her head, and her features knitted into a tangled knot of concern. Her hips stilled. “What is it, Draco? What’s wrong?”
He didn’t know, and that scared the shit out of him. He didn’t feel sad, but apparently his eyes had decided his humiliation wasn’t complete. Nothing said hot sex like a good cry in the middle of your first pegging.
“Are you hurt?”
He shook his head.
“Is this upsetting you for psychological reasons?”
Not as far as he could tell. He shook his head again.
“Does it just feel really intense?”
That was a bit closer, but not quite right. He shrugged.
“Should we stop?”
If she stopped, his world would end—and he had absolutely no idea where such a idea had come from. Draco bit his tongue to keep himself in check.
“Do you just need to come?”
He did, but that didn’t explain the tidal wave in his chest. “I don’t know,” he whispered through his teeth.
Hermione reached up and caressed his cheek with such tenderness it felt as if his skin had grown a new layer just for her, producing nerve endings that only she could touch. And with that dermatological miracle, the overflow from his eyes broke through and spilled down his face. 
Her brow furrowed with worry, and she brushed away one wet track. “Draco?” Her eyes went shiny, and she blinked rapidly to dry them. “It’s okay.”
Well this is bloody fabulous. Asking her to bugger him wasn’t embarrassing enough—now he was crying. For no sodding reason. His father was right: he was a baby, a child, a weak little wanker who wept at the drop of a hat.
With a kiss to his temple, Hermione gently rolled her hips, reawakening the heat in his arse. “I know how you feel,” she murmured in his ear. “Like everything’s rushing around you and your heart’s going to explode.”
He perked up. Yes! She knew.
“That’s what it’s like when you bugger me, like you’re penetrating my heart.”
Another tear rolled down his cheek. “Why haven’t I ever felt like this before?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But it was the same for me. I got off on all the toys and fingers—it was exciting—but when you three took me . . . it was like you woke up something inside of me.”
Draco sniffled. “But you only cried when Snape buggered you.”
She went silent for a few seconds, the rustle of the bedding and his ragged breathing all that could be heard. Before answering, she pulled back to look in his eyes, and Draco was ashamed to have her see him in such a state. He felt too exposed.
“When Lucius first entered me, it felt like an avalanche of sensation. I was overwhelmed by the newness and intimacy of the whole experience. Then I came so hard I thought my body going to rip apart. But when you buggered me, it was totally different. I could feel your heartbeat against my back, and it was like you were breaking me open with joy. It wasn’t what I expected at all. I was too lost in your love to cry.”
“You weren’t lost in love with Snape?” He didn’t understand. She said she loved them all.
“When Severus got inside, the stretching was intense, but that wasn’t what did me in. It was the realization of what I had with all three of you. There was a point where it felt like my mind was shattering, and when it came back together, everything was different. Better. Clearer. It was like a revelation forced on me through anal sex.”
Draco just stared at her. His issues were sounding less bizarre by the second.
“I felt so connected to all three of you in that moment, it was like we were one. I know how crazy that sounds, but I know I felt it. And then I fainted, and . . . when I woke up, I couldn’t tell what I’d been imagining and what had really happened.”
“Me too. Except I can’t stop crying.”
Hermione kissed his lips. “So? You’re allowed to cry.”
“I feel like I’m losing it.”
“You’re not,” she assured him. “And even if you do, I’ll still love you.”
That did nothing to slow his tears; if anything, her blessing made them fall faster. “Why the fuck am I always crying? I’m supposed to be a man for you.”
“You are,” she insisted. “I don’t know who made up this rule about men not crying, but it’s absolutely ridiculous. Tears don’t make you weak. Caring is a strength, and it’s a virtue I value.”
Draco wiped his face. “I think you’re in the minority with that opinion.”
“Caring can feel like a burden sometimes. I know. But you are so fucking sweet, Draco. I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
“Really?”
“Really. I love the man you’ve become. When we were kids, I never imagined you’d grow up to be so thoughtful and sensitive.”
“I was an arse.”
Hermione smiled. “The past is past. It’s who you are now that I love.”
“I love you too,” he said, and his face crumpled. A hairline fracture splintered his heart as the internal pressure finally cracked his aortal levees.
“I love you, Draco,” she whispered in his ear. “Every second of every day. No matter what.”
Hermione continued her soothing song, rocking into him as if rocking him to sleep, and the tears poured down his face like rain. 
“Come for me,” she whispered, and her hand, still damp with his tears, clasped his cock.
That was all it took. As soon as she squeezed, he came, his dick pulsing and twitching so hard he was surprised it didn’t leap from her grip and go flying around the room. Warm seed shot out with blinding strength, and she pressed her body to his, spreading his release over them both like butter.
As the tension in his balls faded, the storm in his chest dissipated, and a cool stream of relief coursed through his core. The muscles around his eyes relaxed, and the lump in his throat melted away. He suddenly felt clean and weightless, high as a kite.
“That’s my good boy,” she said, nuzzling his ear. “Just breathe.”
Her hips slowed to a stop, and Draco hugged her tightly so she couldn’t pull out. “Love you.”
“Love you. How do you feel now?”
“Bloody amazing.”
“Is your bum sore?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Still feel like crying?”
“No. I feel kinda shaky . . . but relaxed.”
“Veronique said orgasms are the best medicine.”
Draco nodded. “Second best. She hasn’t seen what your love does to me.”
Hermione lifted her head, her lips twitching. “See, I just can’t imagine Severus or Lucius saying something like that.” She gave him a loud kiss on the cheek. “I can only get that from you.”
Draco’s responding smile was overtaken by a yawn. Fuck. That post-coital grogginess always caught him off guard.
Hermione giggled and kissed him again, this time on the nose. “Are you sleepy, little boy?”
“Yes, miss. Very.”
“You wanna take a nap?”
“I’ll stay awake if you want me to.”
“Don’t be silly. You should rest. It’s been a long day. Do you want to sleep in here?”
“No,” he said, yawning again. “I don’t want father to suspect what we’ve been up to. I’ll go to my room.”
“Do you want me to tuck you in?”
His heart pounded with excitement, and his cock attempted to resurrect itself. Draco preferred not to delve into the reasons why that phrase turned him on so much. “Yes, miss.”
“Then I’d better get my messy boy cleaned up and under the covers. I need you rested for any future fuckings.”
Draco closed his eyes, a sated smile lighting his face. “I can’t wait.”
Teneramente—Musical direction meaning “tenderly.”
“Tonight You Belong to Me” sung by Patience and Prudence in 1956. Written by Billy Rose and David Lee in 1926. I usually stick with the original recording artist when crediting songs, but this time I decided to go a different route. This song has been covered by MANY people (Eddie Vedder being probably the most well-known/popular) but after listening to the various recordings, Patience and Prudence were the first to do the harmony and melody in the way we do it today. Plus they were the first people I ever heard sing this, so they get preferential treatment.https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fOjVjc5vJ6I
The movie Alien is owned by 20th Century Fox. Not by me. And I make no money from mentioning it.
The lines that go from a man’s hipbones to his junk wiIl, henceforth, be known as Lay Lines (as decreed by me, Oracle Obscured on the fourteenth of December in the year two-thousand and seventeen). These sexy little indentations have no fucking name, and it’s ever so difficult to write about something that has no fucking name; so I have taken it upon myself to give them an official title.
*EDIT* A reader has informed me that these lines DO have a name: the Adonis belt. (Thank you Empress-of-Verace.) Yeeeeeees! I’m so glad I’m not the only one who felt the need to name these things, and that’s an excellent descriptor. Further searching has lead me to a whole host of names. Apollo’s Belt, Aphrodite's Saddle, Hercules' Girdles, athlete's girdle, and (most appropriately) iliac furrow (as the peaks of your hip bones form the iliac crest.) I’m rather fond of Aphrodite’s Saddle. That’s great. (But I’m going to have to stick with lay lines in my head because it makes me laugh.)
For those not familiar with the term, actual ley lines are “apparent alignments of land forms, places of ancient religious significance or culture, often including man-made structures. They are ancient, straight 'paths' or routes in the landscape which are believed to have spiritual significance.” (Source Wikipedia)
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