Hi readers – this is my first attempt at a somewhat smut story. I got the idea from the song "Coming Down" by Halsey, and tried to incorporate some of the words in the lyrics to this. It's a bit of a downer smut story, but I had a good time writing it. Enjoy!
Hermione awoke, and before opening her eyes, she noted the familiar scent of the room. She knew right away where she was. Yet again she had found herself in the place where she had hoped she wouldn't end up.
It began as the other times. Her phone vibrated with a simple message. "See you in 17," it read. It wasn't a question – it was a demand. She had to obey this devil of hers.
She rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes. There was a fog in her brain, as there always was after spending the night in that room. Flashbacks of the previous night hit her.
He dragged his hands through her hair and pulled down harshly. She was ready for him, as she always was. Why else would she be there?
She sat up in the springy bed, hearing it groan and creak beneath her. The off-white sheet fell from her chest and the top pooled around her stomach.
His kisses worked his way down her stomach to her ready core. Each one light and teasing, making her beg and squirm beneath him.
Pulling her legs up to her chest, she glanced to the window to the right. The shades were drawn; no light peeking through. She glanced at the clock next to the bed. It read 4:47 in the morning. And as always, he was gone.
She grabbed his hand and led it over her full breasts, feeling the exquisite pleasure of his rough hands against her delicate nipples. She took his index finger and slowly sucked on it, twirling it around her tongue. He hissed a sharp intake of breath, watching her with his icy eyes.
He never stayed. That was an unspoken rule. This was a crime of passion that both of them were committing; being together for these trysts. He was off to deal with his half of it. He didn't have time for hers.
She gasped as he pulled her up against him on the hotel bed. She spread her legs; ready for the feeling of fullness he gave to her. This feeling, this need, this was her drug.
She put her head in her hands and let out a deep sigh. The small lamp on the other side of the room was on, and she looked up and saw her reflection. There was a frown on her face, her lips bruised, a hickey had sprung up on her neck, and there were slight red marks on her shoulders. She could only guess that her legs and back looked the same way.
"We can't keep doing this," she whispered into his ear, her breath giving him goose bumps. She always said that. He silenced her by thrusting hard and fast into her.
She glanced again at the beside table. Her wand lay there next to the hotel key. Room number 17. That was where they picked. She'd lost count at the amount of times she'd woken up to this same situation, telling herself that she was going to stop.
He rolled on top of her, his silver-white hair falling into his eyes. He steadied himself and grabbed her wrists with his ever-cool hands, pinning them above her head. She brought her hips up to bring him closer inside her. He smirked.
She was a bloody fool. She gave a heavy sigh, and glanced around the room. Her cloak was laid sloppily on the forest green armchair next to the mirror, almost like a reflection of her feelings about her "lover."
Each thrust brought her into a feeling of ecstasy. Gods, she needed this. She moaned, and he brought his hands down to play with her sensitive bud, sending waves of pleasure through her.
She turned and placed her feet on the floor. Her whole body felt cold. She grabbed her wand and muttered a quiet, "Accio garments." Each piece landed softly in her lap. She could smell him on them.
She reached down and gently fondled his sac, which emitted a low groan from him. "Hell, Granger," he moaned. She let go and raked her fingernails along his backside, continuing to meet his persistent motion.
Slowly, she put on her clothes and pocketed her wand, knowing that the sun would rise soon, and she had to be out of that room so she could act presentable during work.
Her breathing became more ragged, her hips meeting his at an ever-increasing rate. She was almost there; she could feel it. "Keep going, Malfoy," she whimpered. "I'm so close." He slammed into her, his head dipping down to her neck. He nipped and bit at the skin. She surely would have a mark there. It was foolish to do, but it made her arch her back and gave another moan.
Her bag was underneath her cloak, and her shoes had been tossed off haphazardly near the door. She slid her feet into her shoes, again feeling the chill that had come over her. She grabbed the doorknob and opened, but before opening it, she glanced back at the room. It looked and felt as it always did. Bland, dismayed, and smelling of sex.
Suddenly her orgasm burst through her, pushing her pleasure threshold over the edge. She closed her eyes tight and let the feeling completely overwhelm her. As she felt the last waves move through her, he gasped out, "I'm going to come, Granger." He always said that, and every time it sent her into another wave of pleasure.
Quietly, she closed the door behind her, hoping to not wake any other hotel patrons. She walked down the hallway, squinting at the bright lights. As she passed the front desk, she nodded at the concierge. They knew her by now. They kept her secret.
He came with breathy grunts, just as she was coming down from her second orgasm. Their breathing both slowed to a slightly normal pace, and he rolled off of her. "Thank you," he muttered. She never knew why he said that. It was almost like it he was saying "Amen." As if this was his religion. She knew it was hers.
She walked out into the brisk spring morning air, knowing she'd be back here again soon, waiting for that message. Room 17. Her drug, her religion, her devil. While she walked back to her flat she watched the first hints of sunrise, and exhaled audibly.