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Bad Faith	By : angharad1143 Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 7649 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
They were on the bed and he had no idea how they’d gotten there; her hands were rubbing his bare
back in lazy circles, fingernails digging in when he moved from her mouth to her throat. The skin was like
satin there, and he tasted it with tongue and teeth, marking her thoroughly as his own.

“We should stop,” he panted. “Hermione, if anything happened–”

“It won’t,” she growled into his chest, licking the remains of his shower away. He smelled of hotel
soap, vaguely pleasant, but underneath that was the musk that was Draco himself–cool and fresh, like a
mountain spring–no, that was the Brita commercial on the telly. Fumbling, she found the remote and clicked
it off, drew his head down to hers, threading her fingers through hair that was silkier than anything she’d ever
touched.

That, it seemed, was the end of Draco’s protests, and it was some time before she noticed that his
towel had fallen away, that the hard length of him was pressing just there–and she wanted him more
desperately than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

“My shirt,” she whispered. “Off.”

His fingers moved nimbly to the buttons and she kissed them in passing–long pale fingers on large
hands, palms that were rough from who knew what, but hands that were not the pampered hands of a rich
man’s spoiled son. He pushed the shirt open so that it framed her body, narrow waist and torso that seemed
as frail as a bird’s, and round breasts that rose up, covered by a dark green bra. Bending, he stroked his
tongue up her belly, up the sides of her ribs, reaching for the catch of her bra.

It came off and Draco didn’t see where it landed, his lips catching insistently on the nipples that
jutted forth, begging for his attention. First right and then left, tongue and teeth, lips and hot
breath–Hermione clutched his head to her with a moan, her legs sliding apart so that he could lie between
them. She was still wearing a little plaid skirt and who knew what color panties, which was damn sexy now
that he thought about it.

His hand slid down her belly to her hips, gliding over her sleek flanks until Hermione moved his
hand to where she wanted it, gasping with the sensation. She wanted him, and she was ready, her body
straining. Draco still had enough of a sadist in him to make her suffer a little longer. He wanted her begging
for it before he took her.

Hermione shifted her body against him, arching her hips against his hand with a low moan. His
thumb obligingly found the nub between her legs and rubbed it delicately, finding her hot and wet. He
squeezed his eyes shut, imagining what it would feel like to thrust into her, to sink his teeth into her at the
same time. He was almost painfully hard.

Down his belly, and he felt her hand grasp the velvet length of him, gently easing up and down, her
thumb working carefully over the head. Draco gasped and lurched into her hand, closing his eyes against the
intensity of sensation.

Even those hairs are silky, Hermione observed dryly. It somehow didn’t seem fair.

For Draco it was enough. He flipped her over, dragging her panties off her hips and unbuttoning her
skirt, flipping her back over with an ease that made her breath catch. His eyes flashed silver in the dim light
as he spread her legs and plunged into her, wringing a cry from her as he sheathed himself to the hilt.

All the half-assed words he’d ever heard to describe this flew through his mind as he pounded into
her. Warm, wet, tight, satin, grip, pull–her inner muscles contracted and he cried out, balancing himself on
his arms. Her hands slid up to feel the taut definition of his triceps, harsh lines that stood out in sharp relief
to her own soft body. The planes of his chest, the ridges of his belly, the dips and valleys at his back, and the
twin muscles just above his buttocks that coiled and uncoiled like steel springs.

That he was here, and she was with him, doing this, was almost too much. Draco buried his face in
her hair and slowed down deliberately, going for depth rather than repetition, sending himself as far into her
as he could with each thrust, adjusting his lower body so that he would run over the spot that gave her the
most pleasure. Perspiration was beginning to bead on his chest and forehead, and a delightful heat was
growing...

Hermione suddenly cried again and clutched him to her, gasping, writhing, as she climaxed. The feel
of her tightening and loosening around him was very nearly his undoing, and Draco held himself perfectly
still, gritting his teeth, constructing potions in his head to keep from finishing.

She was slack-limbed and langourous as he moved onward, more slowly now, seeking to make her
ready again, and again, and again, as often as possible before he himself could no longer hold back. He kissed
her, his hands working at her nipples, feeling her quicken in response. She was marvelous.

“Draco?” She whispered, and he shook his head, teeth flashing as he smiled.

“Not yet, love.”

Her hair was curling damply at her temples and he kissed it, pressed his lips to her brow, to each of
her eyes, trailing down to her lips, and then, her neck. Her neck was endlessly fascinating–the way she
squirmed if he kissed her just so, between jaw and ear, the way her whole body tightened if he nipped her
throat.

He rolled over with her, keeping himself inside her, hands on her hips as he lay back. Eyes half-lidded, he slid his hands up to her breasts.

“Move.”

Hesitantly at first, she did, rocking back and forth as he rolled his hips to meet her, matching her
rhythm. Hermione leaned down, supporting her upper body on her arms, and he braced her there.

Weight and pressure–Hermione discovered both and began lifting herself off him, pressing down
with her hips so that he slipped in and out, her hips slamming down on top of him with each thrust, trying
to finish him, to make him call her name. He arched his hips up, thrusting so deeply that she put a hand to
her belly, as if she could feel him there.

The rhythm was nearly fatal, for she slammed her hips down as he was arching up, and Draco’s eyes
went wide as he fought to keep from finishing. Deliberately, he sat up, so that only the tip of him was still
in her, and Hermione pushed at him, desperate now for her own finish.

“Turn over, sweeting,” he said, and she obeyed, moving limbs that felt clumsy as she brought herself
up on hands and knees. “You’re perfect,” he said, voice deep and rough, his breath tickling her ear so that
she shivered, gooseflesh breaking out down the valley of her spine. He felt her shiver and licked a long wet
line down the indentation, tasting salt and sweet and the same time–the taste of her perspiration and the
honey that was Hermione herself.

However, she was too small, and he shrugged mentally, looping a brawny arm underneath her tiny
waist and lifting her entire lower body to slip himself inside. It took some adjustment, but he sought that spot
inside her again, waiting for her gasp when he found it, and his other hand reached for her thick hair and
tangled his fist in it, drawing her up in an arc that made the sensation that much more intense.

Now.

Easier in this position to put his weight and strength into her, and the hot wet thud of flesh hitting
flesh filled the silent room. Shadows danced over her body as he moved, and he saw the satin coils of her
own muscles, so small compared to his own, as she arched her back and held herself up on trembling arms.

The heat built until she almost burst with it, and Hermione had a startled instant to think, again?

Then she was falling, her arms refusing to support her, incoherent cries falling from her lips as she
spasmed, clenched tightly against his hips as he forced himself down and in, down and in, bottoming out at
her cervix. It was pleasure and it was pain, and she looked over her shoulder to see Draco, eyes squeezed shut
in concentration, muttering to himself.

Components of another potion, for he was perilously close. Every quiver of her body brought him
that much further.

With an inarticulate growl, Draco gave up and flipped her back over, bringing her ankles up over his
shoulders, pressing down with his extra hundred pounds to wring a muffled scream from her. Again, and
again, because he was so close, she was panting and crying out his name, her nails raking his forearms in a
way that would undoubtedly be very painful later. He could give a damn right now.

His eyes flew open in shock, and he came, an explosion that felt endless, as he milked the length of
himself into her. The cords on the sides of his neck stood out as he managed a final, mighty push that blacked
out her vision for a moment, so intense was her own orgasm. Hermione forced her eyes back open, wanting
to watch him, the beauty of his face, jaw outthrust, eyes flashing silver that meant not only anger, but
passion. He looked like an avenging angel. Even she felt her inner muscles clamp down on him in that final
burst.

“Her-my-own-ee...” And he fell on her, checking himself with arms that felt like jelly, burying his
face in the crook of her neck.

Author’s Notes

Short chapter, as was the last one, so I’ll go ahead and give you the next one as well. Two chapters today.
I’m pretty sure neither of these two will change, though. And NO, these two will not be humping like rabbits
for the rest of the story. Just in case you’re wondering. :)

The only questions I have for this chapter are about realism. Obviously, I wasn’t going for fully realistic,
because what’s the fun in fantasy sex then? But if any part of this seemed humanly impossible, let me know.
And just say to yourself as you’re reading, Draco=sex god. Draco=sex god.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Bad Faith