Yoni Worship
The Slytherin dormitory was dark and slightly chilly this night, Draco Malfoy snuggled further down into his covers with a shiver. Behind the green and silver curtains of his four poster bed in the room he shared with Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe, Draco held a small book, no bigger than pocket size (for his convenience of course). The book was brown leather and bore the Malfoy Family crest upon its cover. It could only be opened by a true Malfoy, a gift from his father.
Draco wasn't sure exactly what the purpose of the gift had been, Lucius Malfoy hadn't been specific on that score, but he was pretty sure that he wasn't making use of the gift quite as his father had intended.
He had, in a fit of lust following a beguiling look from large silvery blue eyes, attached his book to her diary. It was a simple means of communication, effortless and secretive and they held many a midnight conversation through the pages of the book.
She also sent him many secret photographs through this book. Photographs for his eyes only. Photographs he treasured and thumbed through at his own leisure, knowing they were for him alone. That the real article was for him alone.
He was looking at the photographs now, she had long since fallen asleep sending her good nights and sweet dreams through the pages to him.
The photographs were of her of course, different parts of her; secret parts of her.
She was nude in them of course, just the way he liked her.
Draco flipped through the pages, past the topless pictures, past the fully nude pictures until he came to one of his favourite shots. He had a weakness for this part of her, this part of her turned him weak, this part of her fascinated him, this part of her belonged solely to him, this part of her he worshipped.
The shot was angled between her legs, (not a particularly artistic shot but then Draco wasn't looking for artistic), it revealed the very heart of Luna Lovegood and that was enough for him. His lips curled into a smile and the tip of his tongue touched to his bottom lip. Just by looking at her Draco could almost taste her.
He vividly recalled the first time he had ever put his tongue to her and tasted Luna. It had taken some coaxing on his part, their kisses had developed into touching by that time and he wanted to progress things, he wanted her in his bed and the sooner the better, it was getting difficult to control himself around her.
She had relented of course and had later admitted he had been right to practically insist that she did. He had brought her to orgasm that first time and had since mastered the art of orally pleasing her to perfection. It was something he loved doing, loved that she let him so close to her, that she allowed herself to be so exposed to him. It showed a trust in him that Draco wasn't altogether sure that he deserved.
That had been back in his fifth year. Umbridge reigned supreme at Hogwarts and he and Luna had found themselves fighting against each other. She was with Potter, he was with Umbridge.
Draco had been shocked to discover that Luna would go up against him, it had hurt, severely wounded his pride. Did she feel nothing for him if she was going to choose Potter over him? She knew how much he hated Potter.
Allowing him what he wanted from her had been Luna's way of showing him who was in her heart and it wasn't Harry Potter.
It wasn't Harry Potter between her legs either, touching and tasting and stroking with his tongue. He was the only one to know the damp, musky scent of her that tickled his nose when he was down there. He was the only one to know she tasted sweet when she exploded in his mouth. He was the only one to know that she arranged herself in the Brazilian fashion and had a small birthmark, no bigger than a freckle on the bottom of the left cheek of her behind. He always made sure to give that small mark a special kiss because he was the only one to know of its existence.
Draco could see her now, beyond the photograph of her legs that kept teasingly opening for a too short period of time before closing again and repeating the process. He could see her behind cradled in his hands as he lifted her to him like an image to be worshipped. She would open for him like a blooming flower, she was just as soft and velvety to touch as the petals of the loveliest flower; but a flower did not taste the way she did. A flower did not imprint itself on his brain the way she did.
It was his special time with her, when she was completely at his mercy and he could let her climax or not, depending on how much of a teasing mood he was in. Draco adored this time with her and he always took his time with her, to thoroughly explore the delicious secrets of that warm and inviting place.
Their relationship had progressed since then of course, she shared all her body with him these days and they had sex and made love and fucked and indulged in all manner of depravity together; but his performance of this loving act never changed. He could spend hours between her legs until Luna was unable to do anything other than whimper her pleasure; and even then, when she thought she couldn't take any more, when his jaw was aching and his own body cramping from staying in the same position for so long, he could take her over the edge again with one swipe of his tongue.
And he frequently did, because he could, because she allowed him to, because whether she knew it or not Draco had a fixation with that hot, wet, place of unimaginable pleasure and he utterly worshipped at the altar of her womanhood.