A/N: So...I've actually never got that big of a response to posting a single chapter of a story. I'm a bit overwhelmed by all the reviews and very grateful! The general consensus was to update quickly. I do have four WIP's I'm actively writing. There is a schedule of sorts listed on my profile. Art for this fic can be found on my photobucket or in the AO3 version of this story. Thanks again for the feedback and I hope that you enjoy the next installment of the story. Happy reading C:
Important Additional Warning: This chapter contains dub-con that is enjoyed by both parties. If dub-con sexual relations enjoyed is upsetting to you, please don't read.
Beta Love to: RooOJoy
Thank you to SlytherinPrincessNurse1994 and LastBornSlytherin for looking over this chapter!
Inspiration: Ultraviolence by Lana Del Rey and Faefever by Karen Moning
Thanks for the follows/favorites/reviews: throughhiseyes, oslca35, stephrob92,manitou2422, I was BOTWP, chphil80, k-lynne317, Woolpuff, Samshida, HenriaSownbinder, sunshinealeia, rexjdk, colao, lakelady8425, jessiy,EStrunk, riddlesgurl86, LastBornSlytherin, raneydhr, SlytherinBetch, Florence2011, twztdwildcat, Giminia Wow, LightofEvolution, Rcaseyseale, LeanaM, pgoodrichboggs, crookshanks the kitty, Annamonk, chibi-Clar, mega700201, Hanable-13, Sparky She-Demon, and the guests!
~oOo*oOo~
Curled up in a large porcelain tub, surrounded by facets and colorful soap dispensers, she wrapped her arms securely over legs, hiding in the massive amounts of bubbles.
"Hermione, dear," Lady Malfoy called, sitting on the edge of the tub. "This is Mimsy." Lady Malfoy gestured to a small creature with large ears, standing stoically by her side. "She's going to help you wash, will that be alright?"
"Why do you keep calling me Hermione?" she asked quietly.
Lady Malfoy smiled comfortingly at her. "Because that's your name, dear. Hermione Jean Granger."
"It's not my name."
"Well, what shall we call you, then?"
"Jean. I like Jean."
"Alright, Jean it is. Mimsy, if you please?" The small elf reached for some pink liquid, before applying a generous amount to Jean's hair and working it into a thick lather. "Don't worry, Jean, you'll be right as rain in no time."
Jean's eyes fluttered shut. Since leaving the dark fortress she had known as home, she'd braced herself for the pain that would surely follow. Yet, it never came. Ever since Lady Malfoy had mended Jean's hurt wrist, things seemed to have gotten better and better. And now she was in…heaven. Yes, that was the word. She was in heaven, and it was wonderful. The hot water soaked into her skin, quenching it. It was as if there were some sort of healing properties in the liquid, for Jean felt as if she was being replenished down to her very bones. Her head lulled back at the feel of Mimsy's fingers massaging her scalp as she worked the odd soap into Jean's tumultuous curls. This was much better than when she had first been forced into the shower, where she was instructed to scrub layers and layers of dirt off of her skin.
As she lie in the tub, welcoming the unfamiliar feelings of…relaxation, she was absently aware of Lady Malfoy prattling on. "Of course the diagnostic spell did show fluid in your lungs so-," she waved the odd but elegant, dark stick over Jean again. "that should do it. Can you breathe easier?" Jean nodded. "Good. But you're thin, far too thin! We'll have to do something about that, won't we? Did you like the potato and celery soup?" Jean nodded. Did she ever? She still couldn't make sense of their kind treatment of her. "That's wonderful, dear. I figured something light to ease you into things. Now-"
Lady Malfoy was interrupted by a harsh rap on the door. "Mother." Jean bolted upright in the tub, water splashing over the sides, at the sound of that voice. "Let me in this instant. Why do you mean to keep her from me?"
Jean stared up at Lady Malfoy, alarmed, eyes pleading, for what she wasn't sure. "Not now, Draco. Jean needs her rest. She's been through quite the ordeal."
"I know that Mother," the annoyed voice snapped. "Do you really think I don't know that? She's mine, and I will see her."
"She isn't yours yet, Draco Abraxas Malfoy. And she's in no condition for visitors. She's overwhelmed enough by having met me. She'll get a day's rest, first."
"Met you? And why do you call her Jean?"
"I'll explain later. So help me, Draco. If I have to ward you out of the Blue Room, I'll do it. You can be sure of that, Son."
Muttering could be heard on the opposite side of the door. "Fine, Mother," the voice relinquished. "But just one day's rest."
Lady Malfoy gave a frightened Jean a warm smile. "Not to worry, dear. It's only Draco. He's to be your husband, you know."
Jean nodded numbly. Really, she had no idea.
"Mimsy," Lady Malfoy said. "Leave that potion treatment in her hair and dry her." Mimsy helped Jean step out of the tub and set about drying her. "Give her this dressing gown to wear."
Jean couldn't believe how soft the material was and she had an odd impulse to spin around in it. Mimsy lead Jean out of the bathroom and into the vast "Blue Room" as she'd heard them refer to it. There was lush, dark blue furniture and rugs that looked soft to the touch. The walls were painted light blue and had gold crown molding accenting it. In the middle was a huge four-poster bed complete with a sheer blue canopy.
"Help her into bed, Mimsy."
Mimsy complied and Jean could not help but catch her breath at the indescribable softness of the sheets, duvet, and mattress. She actually sank a few inches into the bed as it caressed her slight frame.
"Lady Malfoy, I don't want to go back," she said meekly.
Lady Malfoy ran her hand gently over Jean's forehead, her face full of understanding. "And you won't. Oh, and do call me Narcissa. I'm to be your mother, you know. Now, tilt your head up and drink this, dear." Narcissa put a small vial against her lips. "Dreamless sleep. I won't have you having night terrors. Tonight will be restful."
Jean drank as she was bid. Then furrowed her eyebrows, and looked up at the older woman. "Narcissa, what does a husband mean?"
Narcissa sighed. "It means that you won't have to return to Azkaban."
~oOo*oOo~
Draco stared at his tea, sweetened with honey and flavored with lemon, feeling jumpy and on edge.
"How do you suspect it will be in Africa?" Theo asked.
"Dreadfully hot, I imagine," Draco answered distractedly.
Theo snatched another wafer off of the tray. "They really should have sent us sooner. I'm sure the two of us could have squashed this little uprising quicker than those gits at the Ministry."
"It's difficult to catch smoke, Theo. I wouldn't be too pompous about it." Draco drummed his fingers impatiently over the table.
"Did you hear Headmaster Snape will be taking the weekend off to join us? Smoke or not, those buggers don't have a chance now."
"I hope you're right. It's not a matter of simply defeating the wizards, but finding them. The word is, they hole themselves up in the jungle, leaving no visible trace of where they were. They've become excellent at hiding."
"Still," Theo argued. "I'm confident we'll make strides in the right direction, and hopefully quickly too. I have my little Mudblood to get back to." He snickered at this. "My healer says I've already put a child in her."
"Congrats, Theo. You'll be a father."
"I expect I'll be a better one than mine ever was. And what about you—have you been reunited with your bride yet?"
Draco ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Mother is being quite protective of her."
"I bet Granger is a rough sight to see. She always was, but now," Theo cringed dramatically. "I really don't know why you insisted on her."
"Granger bested us both in nearly every subject in school. That's an attribute I would want to see in my children. Better the enemy you know than the one you don't, and I know nothing about those Mudbloods that work with the Muggles in that factory."
"I think I lucked out with mine."
They were interrupted by a popping sound as Mimsy appeared before them. "Master Draco. Mistress is ready for you to send for the Ministry official, she is. Sends Mimsy to ask you."
Draco, got up hastily from his seat. "I'll owl my father. He can accompany the officiator to the Manor when he returns home." No more wasting time sealing the arrangement, he thought. Voldemort is far too prone to changing his mind.
~oOo*oOo~
Jean stretched luxuriously on her bed, feeling as if she were being swaddled by clouds. When she opened her eyes, she had a brief moment of panic as she realized she had no idea where she was. Dimly, she was aware her head felt more clear than she could ever recall. For once in her existence, she did not feel physical pain, but the aching emptiness that seemed to be embedded deep in her soul, was ever present and hungry for something to fill itself with.
She needn't have worried before—the physical pain had been enough to distract her. But now, with no pressing fear of being hurt, her focus had shifted, becoming painstakingly aware of the odd void that plagued her.
Hauling herself to a sitting position, she didn't have long to expound on the idea before the strange little creature, Mimsy, appeared with a pop by her bed.
The rest of the morning was a whirlwind of activity. Mimsy promptly sat her at the small table in her room before setting sweetened porridge, fruit, tea, and toast in front of her and encouraging Jean to eat. She didn't need much encouragement. Having been deprived for so long, she found her appetite was quite voracious.
During the meal, Narcissa had sauntered into the room delivering her greetings and further instruction to the busy house elf. She'd selected a periwinkle gown from the chiffarobe, displaying it with a flourish to Jean who feigned polite interest before turning back to her breakfast.
Once she was finished, Mimsy set about brushing the tangles and knots through her hair, surprisingly easy to remove thanks to the potion left in the previous night. Narcissa then proceeded to wave the black stick over Jean's hair, and she watched in the mirror as her curls twisted themselves into an intricate updo. Her mind could not make sense of how this had occurred, so she simply ignored it, playing with the sheer overlay of her dress.
"Your eyes are still so hollow and your cheeks are gaunt," Narcissa had exclaimed in distress. "I'd rather not do a glamour. Simple cosmetics will have to suffice."
Jean allowed the woman to tuck and pull at her, complying passively as Mimsy and Narcissa fussed over.
Finally, they seemed to be finished as they stood beaming down at her proudly.
Narcissa gestured her to stand in front of the tall mirror. "Come dear, have a look."
Jean straightened herself obediently, dragging her curious eyes to the glass. The woman that stared back at her was completely foreign. She couldn't be certain what she looked like before, but whatever she could imagine, it wasn't this unfamiliar person she saw now. Jean didn't know what to think of her appearance and felt strangely disconnected from it all.
"You look beautiful, dear," Narcissa assured her. Jean tried to curl her lips upwards as she'd seen Narcissa and even Mimsy do, in response. "Now then, there's just one more thing." Narcissa pulled a small vial from her the pocket of her robes, popping the stopper and holding it out for her. "This isn't a love potion, I wouldn't give you that. It's an inhibition potion."
Jean took the small vial Narcissa held out to her. "Inhibition potion?" She did not know what those words meant.
Narcissa nodded. "Yes. Meaning, it won't force you to do something against your will—like the Imperius—but it will remove your fears and inhibitions. The last thing you need is to be worried over something else."
"Should I be worried, Narcissa?"
Narcissa smiled comfortingly. "There will be…changes. But I've promised you, you'll be safe now, and I mean that. My son means it. He will protect you. But there are certain…duties that you may be frightened of at first. You don't need to be. Draco does not mean you harm. He simply must seal his union with you."
Jean did not bother explaining to Narcissa that she didn't know what 'seal his union' meant, and instead, drowned the contents of the vial in one sip.
She felt an odd feeling immediately afterwards. Confidence? her mind offered. Jean frowned at the unfamiliarity of it.
"Let's go, dear. The officiator from the Ministry has arrived, and Blishwick will not wait for long."
Jean followed obediently, looping her arm through Narcissa's. As they passed more rooms before reaching the top of the stairway, Jean noticed she no longer felt the anxiousness that had previously gripped her. Voices drifted up from the first floor of the manor, but she did not hesitate to take a downwards step.
The voices below hushed upon noticing the duo descending the stairs. Jean looked down at the four strangers, clad in black, that were congregated in the open room. She scanned the small party quickly before her gaze landed on one man in particular.
Her eyes flickered over his tall and lean figure. He stood proudly and there was something distinctly arrogant about the way he carried himself. She noticed how his platinum blond hair hung loose over his forehead, looking soft to the touch. His jaw was set cruelly, lips pressed in a thin line and Jean felt her lips quirking of their own accord this time—though she was mystified as to why she found it humorous. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of gray—stormy and currently smoldering at her. She might have looked away, but feeling strangely emboldened she stared back openly. Something about him caused her stomach to flutter and her heart to clench, not from nerves, but rather simply a gut reaction to seeing him.
"Jean, dear," Narcissa said, interrupting her from her silent musings. "This is Draco." Narcissa gestured to the man Jean had just been appraising.
Draco closed the gap between them with four long strides, taking her hand in his and placing a chaste kiss on her palm. "Hello," he greeted.
"Hello," she returned boldly.
"Let's get this underway, shall we?" He didn't seem to be addressing her specifically, but rather, the others in general. Despite the inherent cruelness of his features, she identified something oddly close to tenderness in his silver gaze. She let him place her arm in his and walked with him as he lead her into an adjoining room.
For the first time, she noticed the others that were walking with them. There was a man about Draco's age looking at her. Gawking, a voice in Jean's head supplied sourly. The other two wizards were elderly. One she assumed was the officiator, while the other was the spitting image of an older Draco.
They entered into a parlor equally as dark as the rest of what she'd seen of the manor. The only light source were from candles floating on either side of the room. She could not make sense of the strange sight, nor could she make sense of the glowing circle etched into the oak wood.
"I understand you would like to proceed the ancient wizarding way?" the officiator, Blishwick asked.
Draco nodded.
"Not a simple civil ceremony, mate? That's all the Ministry requires," the young, brunette man queried.
Draco shook his head. "I'm fairly agreeable with some of the advantages the ancient way has to offer," he explained.
Jean felt as if they were speaking another language, and she watched avidly as Blishwick raised his own wooden stick and the circle etched in the floor began glowing, growing, and stretching before it was hovering above the floor. She noticed the others stepping away from the three of them.
"Step into the circle, if you please," Blishwick instructed.
Jean complied, letting Draco assist her as they stepped over the glowing line and into the circle. Normally, she would be wary, but her mind accepted all the mystifying things she was seeing with inexplicable ease. She watched Blishwick curiously as he raised his wooden stick and droned on, his words may as well have been gibberish.
Her gaze was drawn to their hands as Draco tied a golden cord around her wrist.
"I will initiate the binding spell." A wispy, golden light shot out from Blishwick's stick towards her wrist. Jean was shocked to see the cord becoming transparent, before disappearing completely, though she could still feel a tickle of where it had been. She noticed a faint glow appear around Draco's wrist as well. "Now say the words. Blood of my blood, and bone of my bone, I pledge you my body, my spirit, so we shall be one. On my magic and honor."
Jean repeated the odd words, feeling slightly silly saying them, but the silliness quickly vanished as a strange heaviness settled in.
"I proclaim you witch and wizard, man and wife."
The three observers clapped at his words and the circle promptly disintegrated into nothing. Jean could not help but feel as if the whole ordeal held serious implications that she couldn't quite understand, but there was no anxiousness.
~oOo*oOo~
After the festivities and libations, as the older, blond man, Lucius, she came to learn, decreed, night had fallen and the small party began dispersing. There had been a lot of giggling and flushed cheeks thanks to the copper liquid served in crystal glasses. Jean had enjoyed the array of foods that had been prepared and listening to the others converse. Sometimes, they would politely draw her into the conversation. Mostly, she enjoyed watching her new husband when his attention wasn't on her.
She was intrigued by him, and took note of every move he made. He moves so gracefully, she had thought. So far, his temperament seemed mild compared to the whiny boy she had first heard when he'd spoken to his mother the day before. He never smiled, but he made her feel comfortable with the light circles he stroked in the small of her back, and in the protective way he held her by her waist.
Now that the evening was drawing to an end, she found herself following Draco up the stairs. Instead of going to the room she was familiar with, they went to one opposite. Inside, the room was a combination of blacks and grays, complete with a black canopy bed and impressive chandelier with slate colored accents. The door closed behind them and she looked over to watch as Draco walked to a high table against the wall.
"My mother says you don't remember anything," he said, lifting up a decanter filled with coppery-colored liquid and pouring it in two crystal tumblers. "She says you likely may never remember." Jean frowned at this as Draco walked over, handing her a glass. "I don't believe that." His eyes were intense, the gray having morphed into hot metal and she felt trapped by his gaze. "The Granger I know is still in there, she's too brilliant to have left completely." Jean felt an odd chill run down her spine at the name Granger. "I don't blame you for having that bit locked away right now. It must have been hopeless to have the Dementors suck you dry, day after day, never quite seeing it through, but keeping you a shell of your normal self."
"I don't know this word, Dementors," she snarled, before taking a deep drink from her cup.
"No?" he said, eyebrows raised, and for the first time, his lips quirked slightly. Jean did not know why she should be irritated by his apparent amusement.
"If it's the-other-than-nothing you speak of, then yes."
He looked away. "They're called Dementors, and they're the reason you're like this today. Unlike my parents however, I don't think it's permanent." When he looked back his eyes were even more intense than before. "I won't lie to you, Granger."
"I hate this word, Granger."
"Ah yes, you go by your middle name now. Please excuse me if old habits die hard." She furrowed her brows in confusion. "As I was saying, I won't lie to you. It was a risky thing to ask for you as I have, and we're not in the clear yet."
"In the clear?"
"That's right. I chose the ancient ways for a reason. Not only are the binding vows rich in fertility spells, but they also mean I'm bound to protect you. There is little I can do to hurt you."
Her eyes flashed perilously. "And little I can do to hurt you."
He looked up sharply. "See, I knew the Granger brains are still in there somewhere. Yes, it goes both ways, Jean." He guided her over to the bed to sit down and he sat beside her. "Now, I realize there is a lot you don't know, but let me surmise briefly for you. The Wizengamot was destroyed down to every last member. The Ministry was demolished before being rebuilt by the Dark Lord. Nothing is the same. He's completely mastered the magical world and even Muggles know about our existence."
"I do not know these words."
He smirked, bemused. "Maybe so, but you'll remember this conversation eventually. The point is, the Dark Lord was wrong. The Pureblood rhetoric harped on us since birth, was wrong. Muggle-borns cannot simply be exterminated, or locked away in Azkaban; they are vital to magical bloodlines. Now to the point..." He took a deep breath before speaking again, "the only way to ensure your safety and that you cannot be taken from me, is if I get you pregnant. Do you know that word?"
Idly, she realized she may have felt something akin to concern at this point, but found she couldn't call on it now. She nodded.
"So you understand?" He reached for her cheek, brushing a stray honey-colored curl off of her face. "I vowed to protect you, and I will, even if one day you hate me for it, but this was the only way I could think of."
"Why would I hate you?" she said, frowning.
"Consistency," he replied with a wily and mischievous quirk of his lips. Scoundrel, that strange voice in her head informed her. Jean wasn't sure if she agreed and she found she wasn't afraid of him. "I'm no savior Gr-, Jean. Certainly no Potter-in-shining-armor, so don't get any romantic ideas." She flinched at the confusing words. "I'm driven by my wants and desires." He smirked openly now and she felt her insides quiver.
His words were like sweet venom washing over her. She felt oddly sluggish as if she had been drugged, which she knew was a silly notion. She felt something creeping to the surface, it wasn't nervousness, she was far from that, it was something else entirely. Sexual anticipation, came the voice, sounding distinctly irritated.
His eyes bored into hers, slightly hooded yet intense nonetheless. Immense, dark and hungry waves poured off of him and she thought she could almost feel it, wrapping around her like a warm and claiming caress. Lightning flashed in those silver orbs and she responded with answering thunder. She relaxed her prim and proper position, turning slightly towards him and resting her hands on the bedspread. She tilted her head to the side, some primal part of her ready and challenging. She bit her lips—lips that ached to be touched, noting the way his gaze was drawn to them and his eyes had darkened measurably.
The smirk appeared once more, and she was beginning to think it might be a trademark of his. He looks like a predator, she thought, unsure of why this thrilled her. He slowly leaned towards her, stopping mere inches from her body, and she had to arch her neck to keep his gaze, eyes burning into hers.
"I've waited a while for this," he said, voice low and raw. Her breathing quickened at her temples and a hot knot of emotion formed low in her belly, a delicious sense of anticipation welled up inside of her. He leaned forward, carefully brushing his lips with hers and she felt her eyelids flutter shut, excitement coursing through her. He pulled away, likely gauging her reaction, and she marveled at the way he looked soft and unfocused.
He kissed her again, and this time it was heated and provocative. She choked out a sound as his mouth latched onto hers, hot and possessive. Her pulse thrummed hard and fast through her body. She tilted her head to deepen the kiss, letting him explore the cavern of her mouth with his tongue. He plundered her mouth, deeper and deeper, his taste hot and demanding. His fingers trailed around her neck, before fisting in her hair. She welcomed the decadent sensations she was feeling just from his touch and let herself fall, half laying on the bed, with him following after her, never breaking the kiss.
This can't be just a kiss, she mused, feeling heated and feverish. His hands dragged down her sides over the silk of her dress, desperately seeking purchase on her hips. She found herself opening her legs wider to accommodate him. He was there, immediately, nestled between her legs. He ground himself into her, eliciting a surprised whimper from her, the effect of the hard bulge rubbing against her sending liquid heat low in the pit of her abdomen.
"I know, Granger," he said, voice gravelly. "I'll make it good…so good for you."
She couldn't even bring herself to care that he hadn't called her the correct name. He could call her anything he bloody-well-pleased so long as he kept touching her. She told him so. He chuckled darkly, a wicked smile on his face. She thought she should be worried at the cruel set of his face but could only summon excitement.
One hand was buried roughly in her hair as he tilted her head, latching on to her neck and sucking the blood to the surface. Her hips bucked of their own volition, seeking that exquisite sensation he'd provided her before.
"In time, my little minx," he crooned.
He continued nipping and sucking her neck, his hands caressing her body. When she felt the light touch of his fingertips over her collarbone descending lower over her chest before grazing over her cloth-covered nipples, she arched her back and mewled in delight. She jerked her wrists from her side, fed up with not being able to touch him as she wished to. Her hands flew to his back, delighting in the feel of the muscles rippling underneath the cloth.
He swallowed the small sounds of pleasure she made with another searing kiss. He reached down to her calf, bare thanks to her skirt riding high, and caressed her leg until he reached the soft material of her dress. He bunched up the fabric, wrenching it above her waist but she wasn't the least bit concerned about it. She even lifted her bum and arched her back so he could take the offending garment all the way off, flinging the expensive gown to the floor. He divested himself of his clothes and she found she very much appreciated the change.
Then it was all heated ridges and hard plains as her hands wandered over his body, exploring his chest and tracing the scars she found. He hissed when her fingertips found a particular spot on his abdomen.
"No," he said, voice grating. He pinned both of her wrists over her head. "Keep them there." She nodded, the anticipation growing in her lower regions. "Good girl."
She preened over his praise, resisting the urge to move. His eyes scanned her chest, now bared to him. His gaze had darkened further and her excitement heightened as she saw him dip his head low to nuzzle in the valley of her chest. His fingers brushed lightly over her sides, giving her pleasant tingles that rippled over her skin. Her nipples had hardened into stiff peaks thanks to her arousal, so she was acutely aware of when his mouth latched down on her breast. She couldn't help but arch into his attentions, encouraging him with low moans of approval.
She yearned for the delicious feel of him grinding into her once more, and was beyond pleased at the feel of his fingers over the soft material of her knickers. He rubbed slow circles over the satin material and her need quickly became hot and demanding. She writhed beneath him, unsure of just how to suffice that need, but knowing she wanted more friction. She tossed her head from side to side, electricity shooting straight to her core.
"I dreamed you would be this responsive," he said, possessively running his free hand over the mound of her breast. "You make me wild, witch." His hand trailed down her chest, over her stomach, past her bellybutton, and over the curve of her belly before reaching her hip and gripping it harshly.
"Please," she found herself pleading.
With a careful and stiff nod of his head, he reached for the hem on her knickers and pulling them roughly down her legs. She was acutely aware of how wet she was and thought perhaps she should be mortified but could only feel her desire grow further still. He dropped to his knees, spreading her legs further and hooking one leg over his shoulder. She was completely bared to him now, she could even feel his breath on her.
His tongue melted into her, hot and moving expertly. She grabbed a fistful of the bed sheets. Never had she fathomed she could feel such inexplicable pleasure—pleasure so intense, it rocked her world.
"Yes, oh gods yes," she hummed in approval.
Her body reacted of it's own accord, moving with him and making it easier. Her hand found the silky tresses of his hair. She pressed him against her shamelessly, her words turning into incoherent noises. She rocked against him, desperate and frantic, feeling on the verge of something powerful.
His finger joined his tongue and the sensation rocked her. "Taste…so bloody irresistible," he said. "I knew it would be like this."
The rhythm he kept was almost unbearable as he picked up the pace and worked her faster. Each flick of his tongue had her moaning, feeling indescribable sensations. He broke away and she made a whimper of protest, feeling suddenly empty. He relieved himself of his underwear and crawled back on top of her, his fingers quickly finding her sensitive flesh.
His face was strained and his body was tense as she felt him poised at her entrance. Her hands curved around his neck, anchoring herself securely around him, feeling his muscles and tendons shift underneath her hands.
He wrapped a hand around her waist, tilting her up, choking out a hiss as his tip brushed against her heat. Her heart hammered in her chest, and dizziness surged as she was overcome with sensations. He looked so carefully guarded as he wrestled for control. He hesitated for a moment before he slid himself fully and completely inside of her. His arm tightened around her and his eyes were screwed shut. She felt no pain, just a brief moment of discomfort as she got used to the feeling of fullness. His grunts and her heavy breathing filled the room. The discomfort gave way to pleasure, and she felt herself quiver in anticipation.
He winced at the movement. "So bloody tight," he groaned. "For fuck-sake, I have to move. I'm sorry."
She wasn't sure why he needed to apologize. All she wanted was for him to move. And move he did.
The rhythm he set was slower than she would have liked, but pleasant just the same. She found it easy to move with him, as if instinctive. She only wished he'd pick up the pace. His hand pulsed over her stomach leaving fiery trails from his touch. She wrapped her legs around his waist, digging her fingernails into his shoulders, and his eyes snapped open, wild and hungry.
He kissed her as he ground against her, fiery and demanding. His pace grew faster, brought on by her movements which urged him to move. She met each snap of his hips, reveling in the powerful sensations that rocked her more forcefully than the last. His mouth dropped to her neck, finding her pulse point and she hummed in approval.
He adjusted his angle, changing his position just slightly, but it was enough to make him come in direct contact with a sweet spot that had her letting out a low moan, digging her heels into his sides. His fingers found her clit and clumsily drew slow circles around it. He was edging her towards delirium and it wasn't long before her pleasure hit her—hard and fast. Her vision splintered and her toes curled, as she clamped down erratically around him.
It was enough to send him over the edge. A violent tremor through his body was the only warning she had before he gave one last, powerful thrust, gripping her tightly as he emptied inside of her.
She held him to her, feeling oddly as if she were floating in some dreamlike state. For once, she was blissfully unaware of the emptiness that seemed to constantly plague her. He rolled over onto his side and scooped her up against him. He felt safe and warm. My protector, she thought. She could soak in the warmth of his scent forever. She was content to be held safely in the arms of Draco—her new husband.
~oOo*oOo~