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What Happens in Bulgaria...	By : jadedust Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 12205 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters and make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-What Happens in Bulgaria...
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 4
- 5
- 6
The Present

“Drayo, tay thish aw ow!”

The light from the fire Draco had started flickered golden along Hermione’s soft (he knew) skin. She was trembling. With rage.

Draco covered his mouth with his hand; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak around his smile. The picture she made. Physically tugging down his lips, he made an attempt.

“I know you won’t agree, but my father is a genius.”

Her eyes, a rich brown in the fire’s glow, burned into his with reprobation and the promise of something that made Draco’s smile falter. Maybe he ought to stop toying with her. Maybe he should untie her immediately.

But, he figured, if he couldn’t bring her around, he was done for either way. She would take all her wrath out on him. He might as well play while he could.

Besides, he was fairly certain he would bring her around. If there was one thing Draco had learned these past few weeks spent snogging and getting one another off, it was that they had what Granger called “chemistry.” Sexual chemistry. And it made her as easy as a mind on Veritaserum with him, pliant yet bold.

Just not pliant or bold enough for actual sex.

It bewildered Draco, given all the other things they had done together, that she always stopped him, stopped them, whenever he’d begin urging, verbally or non-verbally, that they take the final step and just do it. It seemed a technicality at this point (an argument he’d tried with her—and lost), but the most crucial technicality of Draco’s teenage life thus far.

He just wanted to get laid already.

He was tired of hearing the other boys talk late at night in the Common Room, tired of his own hand and imagination, dirty magazines and his father’s “secret” collection of erotica, tired of girls like Pansy dangling themselves just out of reach, as if holding his prick hostage.

When he and Hermione had started up, and so bloody quickly, hot and heavy from the get-go as if the tension had been building between them for years, he’d thought his chance had finally come. Nevermind that it was her: Hermione Granger, a girl he’d loathed since first year, one whose bushy hair and buck teeth guaranteed she’d never make an appearance in his fantasies—until the Yule Ball where she’d arrived on the arm of a Quidditch star and Triwizard champion, the eyes of every bloke on her pretty dress, her new smile (You’re welcome, Draco had thought peevishly), her pert tits (Where had those come from?).

Later, half-drunk on the special Slytherin punch he and a few others had managed to sneak in, Draco had practically dragged Pansy from the dance floor at the first opportunity, found a suitably dark corner of the hallway (dismissing its former occupants with a snarl and a threat), and begun plastering her with messy but insistent kisses. Confused by the mix of emotions a girlish, gorgeous Granger had caused, he hadn’t bothered restraining his impulse to touch all he could, get as close as he could—which is when Pansy had shoved him back and flounced off. Draco’s confusion followed him to bed where he put up only mild resistance to the fantasies of Granger that sprang to mind as he reached for his swollen prick.

The next day he’d been prepared to exile his moment of weakness to the far recesses of his neatly compartmentalized mind and was both reassured to hear snippets of vulgar conversation on the topic of the “hot Mudblood” (he was not alone in his shameful desires) and faintly appalled to think a Malfoy like himself would not rise above such simple enticements as a nice dress and a pair of (possibly magically enhanced) breasts.

Thankfully, the return of classes and Granger’s generally wretched personality cured him of his fantasies. For the most part.

Now here they both were, in Bulgaria of all places, Hermione wrapped up and ready for him (well, wrapped up anyway), her personality not nearly as erection-wilting as at Hogwarts.

Draco thought Divination was a load of crap most of the time, but he had to admit this seemed too perfect, too unlikely, to be anything less than destiny.

He was destined to lose his virginity to Hermione Granger. Right fucking now.

A plan forming in his mind, he bent down, and her features softened slightly from their taut mask of fury at the prospect of freedom. But his arms remained at his sides.

“Do you know how delicious you look tied up like this? Do you know how badly I want to just turn you over, prop you up with your arse in the air and fuck you blind?”

A sound of distress.

Draco watched as she squirmed on the fur rug and avoided his eyes. He frowned. Was she frightened of him?

He sighed, disappointed in more ways than one, and slowly brought his hands to the back of her head to untie the gag. He expected yelling, screaming, a torrent of threats, anything but the silence that followed. She merely flexed her presumably sore jaw, licked her lips, and lay there.

And rubbed her thighs together.

Oho!

Hopeful, Draco studied her and noticed her fingers clenching, the flush on her neck, her nipples peaking through the satin covering her breasts. His grin made a triumphant return.

Bracing his hands on either side of her, he hovered inches away, his pajamas grazing her skin but otherwise not bodily touching her, and put his lips to her ear.

“Nice try, Granger. You’re just too easy, wordy word-lover that you are. And here I thought you were scared.”

She harrumphed, but he ignored it, noting the way her body jerked on a shiver of pleasure as his breath tickled her ear.

“You taste even better than chocolate cake, Granger. Don’t you want to be the best present I’ll ever have?” As he spoke, he trailed a finger lightly up her thigh, making his way under and between her legs. Just as he reached the edge of the ribbon, she clamped her thighs together, momentarily trapping the digit. She turned her face to his, her expression absent all indignant lust.

“Would you have enjoyed your present even if we hadn’t already been seeing each other?”

Draco drew his brows together in confusion, the sort that shielded him from things that, deep down, he truly understood. “What? What do you mean?”

She looked him hard in the eye. “I mean, had you and I not bumped into each other here in Sofia and started up, or even if we had met and gone our separate ways and remained enemies, and your ‘genius’ father kidnapped me—as he indeed did—would you have taken your ‘dirty fuck on the sly’?”

He jerked up and away from her, the question as good as a slap. “What do you take me for, Granger? As if someone like me couldn’t get it any other way. Pansy may have made a bitch move, but there are dozens of girls in Slytherin—and other Houses—who’d scheme and maim for a chance with me. Not to mention I need only say a word and my father could procure companionship to my exact specifications.” He sat back on his heels, pointy chin in the air. She was completely ruining the mood.

Hermione turned her upper body toward him as best she could. “Why haven’t you, then, since virginity is oh so bothersome, according to you?”

He shrugged. “I like a challenge.”

“Pansy wasn’t proving a challenge?”

“Pansy was proving a slag.”

A familiar eye roll. “Oh come off it, Draco. Own up to the fact that what you want is some sort of relationship along with the sex. Or at least a little compatibility.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I’m not a girl, Granger, which I’m quite sure you’ve noticed,” he added wryly. He’d been at least half hard since his father had revealed her beribboned form, though this useless conversation had fixed that.

At his response, she let out a great, exasperated sigh and twisted about in her bonds, grimacing.

What a disaster. What a waste of that “chemistry” stuff.

Wait. What was it Granger said about her and Krum? They weren’t compatible. It’s why she’d broken it off with him. And just before doing so, along comes Draco himself, quickly followed by a meal in which the oversharing witch reveals that Weasley’s told her she can’t be “completely compatible” with anyone, what with her brains.

It was like someone had let loose fairy lights inside his head.

He would have his birthday night yet.

“Do you want to just leave, then? Since clearly we’re not compatible.” He did his best to sound disgruntled but not too whiny.

Her eyes shot to his in surprise. “Um, but what about your father?”

“I’ll tell him you escaped.”

She looked skeptical. “You’d do that? He’ll see me as a threat and punish you and who knows what else.”

Breaking eye contact, he played idly with a loose thread on his sleeve. “Then I’ll simply unbind you and we’ll wait for his return. There’ll be nothing worthwhile for him to Obliviate.”

Wresting her arms as if she’d forgotten they were tied, Hermione strained up from the floor. “Nothing except the fact that he took me against my will to deliver as a sex present!”

Draco hung his head, working the angst, and stood, turning his back to her as he walked to his bed and flopped dramatically down onto it. “Right. The thing is there’s nothing I can do about that. You know I had no idea he was going to do this. You heard. Unless you’ve got some brilliant idea…”

He heard soft, carpet-y sounds and a series of thuds. “As a matter of fact, I do. Regardless of what does or doesn’t happen, I will be the one Obliviating him!”

Shoving himself into a sitting position, he goggled at her. “How can you possibly be able to do that?”

Hermione, who’d somehow wriggled off the rug and closer to his bed, smiled righteously. “After Lockhart second year I set about studying Memory Charms.”

Draco barely managed to suppress his grin. He slid down onto the floor beside her. “Impressive, Granger.” He desperately wanted to add that she’d hardly even gloated, but he didn’t want to risk setting himself back. She beamed. He reached out as if to stroke her hair, then withdrew his hand in feigned apology.

“You said regardless of what does or doesn’t happen. It’s cruel getting a bloke’s hopes up, you know. And you don’t want to be labeled a tease,” he mumbled, staring down at his clasped knees. He added the last, mean little bit to be convincing; she might find his wounded act too see-through otherwise.

“Draco.” Her voice was quiet, and when he looked he found her biting her lip but gazing at him steadily. “I do think we’re compatible, as previously unthinkable as it was. I told you as much. You can’t blame me for being angry that your father did this.”

“No. But I can make a suggestion and an observation.” This was it. Dear Merlin, let it work.

She looked as ready and eager as on an exam day. A good sign.

He let his legs collapse to the side and bent down close. “I suggest revenge. And in this case, the best revenge would be enjoying the evening with your consent, with the knowledge that my father has no idea we’ve already been giving each other ‘presents’ of a similar sort and that it has nothing to do with shameful desires or blood status. The joke, as they say, would be on him.” He smiled and risked laying a hand on her knee, fingers splaying to caress her lovely calf as he waited. She might counter that the best revenge of all would be telling his father everything. And Draco was not ready for such a conversation. Or bloodletting. His or Hermione’s.

She lifted her chin. “I’m not generally a vengeful person, and I think having sex as revenge is a bad idea.” Draco’s heart, spirits, and hormone levels fell, along with some invisible tears. “However,” she resumed, eyes sparking, “I must admit your father is so vile the thought of his displeasure if he knew does fill me with joy.”

It was like the first time he had held his wand, the joy that filled him at that moment. There was finally no need to contain the grin that took over his face, though it still required a massive reserve of restraint not to kiss her lips swollen.

Hermione returned his smile and laughed. “I thought you’d be defensive about your father, but you look like a child on Christmas morning.”

He squeezed her leg and leaned in closer, their noses nearly brushing. “You underestimate how much I want you. And it’s my birthday, or was,” he breathed before capturing her lips. She responded immediately, mouth opening to accept his tongue, and Draco’s cock twitched. Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.

She broke the kiss, gasping, and his hands went for the big bow at her breasts. “Shall I unwrap you?” he smirked.

“Oh,” she sighed, relieved. “Yes, but,” she bit her lip, “would you get me a blanket?”

Perturbed, Draco raised a pale brow. “I’ve seen pretty much everything already.”

“‘Pretty much everything’ and ‘everything’ are not the same. Especially ‘everything’ all at once. Anyway, you’ve actually touched more than you’ve seen, mostly under clothing. So if you don’t mind, I don’t think it’s terribly unreasonable of me to request that I show you what I want, when I want, given the circumstances.” Despite her resoluteness, the flush had returned to her neck and spread to her face, and Draco wasn’t about to waste any more precious time. This was proving a hundred times more complicated than he’d envisioned when his father had left the room earlier. In his mind, the evening was going to start with some warm-up teasing, followed by foreplay, unwrapping, and sex. Simple but satisfying. Still, he would take complicated and satisfying over unsatisfying any day.

He smiled graciously and bowed at the waist. “Of course. I am a gentleman, after all.”

Hermione snorted, but his smile only grew wolfish in return. “I don’t know how I keep forgetting,” she remarked wryly.

“Let’s get you on the bed first, shall we? Wouldn’t want your delicate skin to get carpet burns.”

Pleased to see her nodding, Draco slid one arm beneath her knees and the other around her upper back and lifted her to the bed, positioning a pillow beneath her head.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” she sighed. “My neck is killing me.”

“I’ll fix that in a moment,” he said, fetching the cashmere blanket from the foot of the bed and settling it over her.

“Mm, the pillow smells like you,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

Draco’s breath caught. He wanted this so badly. And he realized she was right: it was her he wanted badly, this girl he’d loathed and who’d forced herself on him socially in a foreign country and with whom he’d enjoyed himself more than he ever had with his ex or Slytherin posse.

“I’m ready,” she said softly, the blanket pulled down to expose the big bow.

Draco launched himself down onto the bed beside her so that they lay face-to-face and brought his shaky hands to the bow.

“Nervous?” she giggled.

“Impatient,” he corrected. He grasped the ends of the ribbon in his long fingers and pulled, slowly but firmly. With a whisper, the satiny material loosened from its knot, and, marking Hermione’s rapid breaths, Draco quickly undid the second, exposing her rather perfect breasts, all creamy and pert. His cock strained insistently against his pajama bottoms.

“Finally.”

It took Draco a moment to realize the words of relief had come from Hermione, not him (or his potentially sentient cock). There was a lot of wriggling under the blanket, as if she were having a fit.

“‘Finally’? You’re the one who’s been holding things up,” he groused playfully, eyes transfixed on her jiggling breasts. After another moment of struggle, she stilled, pulled out her arm, and whapped him lightly on the side of the head.

“Arse,” she smiled.

“I was thinking tits,” he smirked and pulled her close, sinking down to bury his face in his favorite pair. She made a small, pleased sound and brought her hands to his head.

“Weren’t you going to get rid of my neck pain?” Her voice was amused but tinged with arousal.

“Yes.” He kissed the valley between her breasts. “Just give me a minute.” He mouthed and nibbled his way to a nipple and sucked. The sensation throbbed in his cock.

“Ah!” She bucked against him, and he rubbed himself against her leg. At this rate, he’d blow his load before he’d even gotten inside her.

Reluctantly, he pulled away and sat up, making a show of cracking his knuckles and shaking out his hands. “Now, let’s see about those achy muscles.” He just hoped giving her a massage would calm rather than further excite him.

“Yes, let’s.” Hermione pushed herself up into a sitting position, clutching the blanket to her front but leaving her naked back exposed to him, all tan and smooth.

“You could stay lying down, you know.”

“You’re all right,” she spoke over her shoulder. Her lips quirked in an embarrassed smile. “I’m a little afraid I’d fall asleep. It’s been rather an exhausting night.”

Draco scooched forward, bringing his front right up against her back, the “v” of his legs framing hers. “I imagine, what with all your unnecessary thrashing,” he grinned against her neck before planting a wet, sucking kiss there. He withdrew and began kneading her shoulders with his hands, carefully and firmly but not too vigorously, copying what Pansy typically did with him as he’d only ever been on the receiving end of these things. Hermione’s noise of indignation at his comment turned to a low, content moan, and he could only hope his touches were as arousing as her reactions were turning out to be for him. So much for calming down.

Soon, they both became lost in the sensations of touching and being touched, as Draco worked his way over Hermione’s entire body (save for the very best bits). She shifted the blanket when necessary but didn’t appear too concerned for her modesty. As she’d said, it wasn’t so much what he saw as how much all at once. He found it both maddening and erotic.

“What was your observation?” Hermione’s voice was languorous but characteristically insistent. It was the first either of them had spoken since the massage had begun, and Draco blinked as if he’d been in a trance.

“Hm?”

“Earlier you said you had a suggestion and an observation, but you only made the suggestion that we get revenge on your father. What was the observation, then?” Now sitting back against the headboard, blanket across her lap, she looked at him inquiringly. Somehow it managed to be intimidating, even with her breasts all bare and high on her chest distracting him.

Oh, right, he remembered after another moment’s muzzy-headedness as his thumbs pressed into the arch of her right foot. Crap. The observation had been his back-up plan in case the suggestion didn’t work; at this point it could only ruin the mood. Unless he played it off right.

He shrugged a shoulder and snickered. “Only that I’d finally caught onto your very Slytherin scheme and was going to blackmail you with it like the Slytherin I am.” He finished with her foot and placed it gently on the bed then crawled up to lie beside her, head on one hand.

She turned on her side, mirroring his position, brows furrowed in confusion. “My ‘Slytherin scheme’?”

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers in a teasing near-kiss. “You’re so naughty, pretending you don’t know,” he said in a low, rough voice, each word bringing their lips into contact. “I mean how you’ve been using me as some sort of test case for compatibility. Evading questions as to why you wanted to spend time with a git who’s been nasty to you since you’ve known him. Snogging me—practically shagging me—just after you’ve broken up with your Quidditch star boyfriend with whom, according to you, you’ve little chemistry. That comment Weasley made. How we’re far away from everyone we know and who knows us, a perfect little place to experiment. But like I said,” he added quickly when he saw and felt her bite her lip, “it’s not like I’ve minded. It’s been bloody brilliant. And it’s about to get even more brilliant.” He licked at her lip and looked into her eyes with all the desire he felt, his free hand reaching to caress her side.

Hermione shook her head. “Slytherins are so…odd.”

He grinned and tangled his hand in her hair, holding her fast so he could put his Slytherin tongue in her silly Gryffindor mouth for a good, thorough snog. When they broke apart, panting, he was anxious to see she still looked worried.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

He growled and shoved at her left shoulder, pushing her back against the mattress. He climbed over her, placing his arms beside her head, body lying atop hers. “Yes, I’m sure,” he hissed. “The fact that you manipulated me only makes me want you more. And sod Slytherin, Granger, I’m fifteen and a bloke. I’ve been fantasizing about this since the Yule Ball.”

Shit. He hadn’t meant to admit that.

Hermione’s mouth dropped open then spread into a bright, beaming smile. “You have?” Not a trace of self-satisfied triumph could be found in either the smile or tone of her voice; she was all girlish wonder and pleasure. Draco relaxed and meant to smirk roguishly but felt his lips form a genuine, happy grin. He nodded, face flushed.

The pleased sparkle in her eyes flashed sharply, and suddenly she looked dead serious. In a voice thick with urgency she ordered, “All right, take your clothes off.”

Not about to protest, Draco immediately scrambled off her and fumbled at the buttons on his pajama top. Breathing fast, eyes unable to look away from her intense, hungry gaze, he struggled with the first few before regretfully breaking eye contact to focus on his task. He heard the sheets whisper and mattress creak as he quickly untied and shucked off the bottoms beside the bed, nervous but eager above all as he stood naked before her, cock already hard and ready.

She took him in, eyes dark, tongue sneaking out to swipe at her bottom lip, and then tossed the blanket off from across her lap decisively and stood, hands loosely grasping the edge of the mattress behind.

She was right. The all-at-once thing was different. It was amazing. She was amazing. From her disheveled, wild mass of hair, all the way down to her pink-painted toenails. Firelight flickered warmly over her tan skin, creating tantalizing shadows and accentuating the soft lines of her curves. He tried not to stare too long at her nice, pert breasts, the nipples pink and peaked, or the dark curls between her legs hiding the delectable intricacies of her sex—and failed.

“You’re bloody amazing,” he blurted.

She giggled, her shy but provocative gaze rising to meet his. “You’re not so bad, either.”

He huffed in mock-offense. “Understatement.” She rolled her eyes, and he stepped forward, bringing his hands to her hips possessively. He rested his forehead against hers and exhaled, trying to keep control. “It’s going to take everything I have not to throw you down and fuck you hard and fast. But I don’t want to make it any more painful for you than it has to be.”

“Painful? Oh,” she seemed to catch herself.

He drew back. “You’re not…you’ve…what the fuck, Granger? You said you and Krum weren’t compatible or lost it or whatever. You slept with a bloke you didn’t feel that with? Aren’t you all about the search for chemistry and all that shite?” Draco blamed the night’s pattern of arousal and denial on his bout of hysteria. Honestly, he reminded himself of Pansy.

“Draco, relax,” she said soothingly, taking hold of his upper arms.

“Can’t believe I’m the only bloody virgin in the room,” he grumbled, glaring off at the drapes.

“You’re not,” he heard her say softly. “Not that that should be such a catastrophe,” she added somewhat indignantly. She released her grip on him, and he looked down, arching a brow to indicate he was waiting for an explanation.

She folded her arms across her chest, which, he wasn’t too angry to note, pushed her breasts up appealingly, and shrugged. “I have a few sex toys, you know,” she said defensively.

His brow remained arched.

The arms came down, and she sighed. “You really think I wouldn’t want to be as thorough in my knowledge of my own body and desires as anything else? The point is I haven’t had intercourse with anyone, but you don’t need to worry about hurting me. Understand?”

Draco had seen pictures of such things in the magazines that made the rounds in the boys’ dormitories. His father had a few rare pieces in his collection as well. Now he pictured Hermione on her back, knees spread, small, delicate hand working a fake, pink dildo into her tight, wet, equally pink cunt.

More than assuaged, he nodded rapidly and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her hungrily. Obviously surprised, Hermione made a small sound in response, especially when his cock pressed intimately against her belly. She eased into the kiss, bringing her arms round the back of his shoulders as their tongues met and tangled.

When they broke apart, she backed up toward the bed and led him with her by the hand. They crawled onto it, and Hermione lay on her back, Draco positioning himself above. She spread her legs and bent her knees a bit, cradling him as he settled between them. They kissed some more, and Draco palmed her breast, warm and soft in his hand. She squirmed beneath him, and his cock jumped. He chuckled against her mouth.

“Don’t make me come before I’m even inside you,” he warned, wagging a finger.

“I’m sorry. I’ll just lie here,” she said with false apology and stared determinedly at the ceiling.

He grinned and headed south, trailing his tongue down along her sensitive neck, then mouthing and nipping at her collarbone. Muscles in her face twitched, and he saw her fingers dig into the sheets at her side, but otherwise she lay still. As his mouth descended to wetly surround then suck one nipple into his mouth, his left hand stroked down her side, over her hip and rounded belly, to cup her sex, curls already damp with arousal. She whimpered, hips rising of their own accord, and Draco bit gently on the tender flesh in his mouth. She cried out and reached for his head with both hands, fingers twining in his hair.

Snickering, he raised his head. “Oh, did you like that?”

“Are you ever not a prat?” she groaned, head twisting to the side. His left hand still between her legs, he’d slipped two fingers inside her slick channel, thumb rubbing at her clit the way he’d learned she liked. Peering down at her pleasure-tense face, he brought his other hand to her mouth and traced her lips with the pads of his index and middle fingers. Head lolling back so she could stare dazedly back up at him, Hermione caught the digits with her teeth before he slid them inside. She might have whimpered, but Draco wouldn’t have known, what with his own moan at the erotic sight and feel of her hot mouth surrounding the fingers of one hand, her even hotter pussy grasping at his other fingers below. Soon he was thrusting both inside to the same rhythm, and the blood in his prick seemed to pulse against her thigh similarly. Her hips rose to meet each deep plunge, and he could tell she was close, her nails biting into his back, the high-pitched whine, the tautness of her I’m About to Come face (his favorite by far). He withdrew the fingers in her mouth for fear she’d bite them and watched as ecstasy overtook her, eyes squinting shut and body shaking with it. Her pussy spasmed, and he couldn’t wait to feel the sensation around his cock.

Gently, he removed his fingers and made sure she was watching as he licked them clean of her juices. If she could be more flushed after her orgasm, he was certain she would blush. He loved tasting her, but he loved how flustered she grew when he did so even more. It made him feel powerful; it made him hard, though currently it was impossible for him to be any harder.

When she’d caught her breath and smiled at him encouragingly, he kissed her lingeringly. “It’s a good thing you like prats, Granger.” He took himself in hand, and their eyes met. “Can I—”

“Do it.”

He looked down the length of her body and prodded around her sex. He’d touched her there who knew how many times over the past few weeks, including moments ago, yet suddenly he couldn’t find the right place for the life of him. He didn’t think she’d appreciate a surprise fuck in the arse or something. Frustrated, he sat back.

“Do you want me to—”

“No, I just need to…wait! Shit,” he swore as something crucial occurred to him.

“What?” She sat up, looking worried.

“Contraceptive potion. Did my father—” He looked wildly around the room as if the stuff would appear from thin air without so much as an Accio.

“Your father cast some spells after he bound me. That was one of them. Also some others in case I did turn out to be slag, I suppose” she frowned as if she’d tasted an unpleasant Every Flavour Bean.

Draco sighed in relief. His father’s way of doing things may have almost cost him this opportunity, but as far as Draco was concerned, his talent for anticipating needs was outmatched. He stifled a small smile and, hoping to restore the mood, crawled predatorily back over Hermione. Idly fondling a breast, he smirked before leaning down close to tug on her earlobe with his teeth. “But you are a slag,” he said lowly. “You’re my slag.” She gasped and clutched at his sides. “Aren’t you? Answer me, Granger.”

Her breath fanned against his cheek as she whispered, “Y-yes.”

His cock, which had wilted some at the fleeting prospect of teenage fatherhood, leapt to attention in response. “It’s really a wonder you held out so long, seeing as you want my cock so badly. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. She’d buried her head against his neck, a tendency of hers, he’d noticed, when he talked to her like this.

He positioned himself at her sex and moved his hips, rubbing his hardness along her slick folds. She cried out, and it was all he could do to stifle the sounds of his own pleasure. “How bad do you want it?”

She surprised him by pulling back to look him in the eye. Her pupils were huge as she said, “I want it, I want you—I want your cock inside me so bad. Please. Draco, please.”

A jolt of something hot and cold at the same time razored through Draco’s body then radiated out in waves of warmth. He swallowed. “Put me inside you.”

She reached down between them and took him in hand, guiding him to her entrance. With a lift and angling of her hips, he felt the tip of his cock breach her, and, unable to wait, he pushed the rest of the way inside.

Absolute fucking bliss. She felt millions of times softer, hotter, tighter than she had around his slender fingers.

After a precarious moment during which Draco was certain he’d come if he moved even a millimeter, he released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and looked down.

Hermione’s eyes were closed, lips parted, brows drawn together. Beneath him, her breasts rose and fell, brushing his chest, each touch sending tingles of escalating arousal straight to his tightly sheathed cock. Her hands smoothed their way down his sides to his hips then back up to his shoulders, and her eyes blinked open. “Aren’t you going to move?”

“I…uh, yes,” he managed. Carefully, he withdrew from her heat until just the head of his cock remained inside then slid back in, a groan escaping from the back of his throat. Yes, still brilliant, he thought. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant… he chanted silently as he repeated the motion, Hermione’s pussy gripping him with each thrust. Their bodies grew slick with a fine sheen of sweat, the silence punctuated by the sounds of their panting, Hermione’s breathy moans, and the snap of Draco’s hips as he rocked into her faster and faster, and she rocked back. He felt her legs tighten around him, heels at the small of his back urging him on, and he lifted his head from where it had dropped to her collarbone to give her an enthusiastic, messy kiss.

“Brilliant,” he finally couldn’t keep from groaning aloud when they pulled apart. One hand still cupped her breast, the other tangled in her hair as they just watched each other’s pleasure.

“I’m going to come so fucking hard,” he said between breaths. “I can’t—soon.” It felt like forever and only seconds since they’d begun.

She nodded, somehow understanding. “Yes,” she gasped. “I want to feel it.”

“But what about—” Draco’s hips were beginning to stutter in their movement.

“I did before. We can do it again later. Just, harder,” she breathed into the crook of his neck. “You can fuck me harder.”

Sweet Merlin, that was it. Draco could only manage a few thrusts of “harder” before his orgasm tore through him, and he grabbed at Hermione’s hips to ride out the waves of intense pleasure, so overwhelming he cried out, hoarse and high-pitched (he’d remember later with some embarrassment). He buried his face in her hair as his hips completely stilled at the top of a final thrust, coming inside her harder, he was sure, than he ever had before with her or alone. Or possibly harder than anyone in the history of coming ever had.

With great effort, he pushed himself up and off her, flopping onto his back. They lay there and caught their breath, the fire in the grate finally dying to low embers, the only light from the ornate sconces on the walls.

“Happy Birthday to me,” Draco grinned through his haze of absolute contentment. He turned his head to look at his favorite gift, yawning and stretching languidly. “Mm, I need a nap. Lynx rug later?”

XXXXXXXXXX

Thanks for the reviews! I will try my hardest to finish the final chapter today but will be packing and other things to go away for a few weeks (which is why I'm so desperate to be done!), so I can't promise.
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