A/N: welcome back everyone! Sorry for the upload delay. Chapter two's cliffhangers will now be resolved – and replaced with new ones. Sorry about that.


At the hotel

Luck was on Draco's side. He entered the hotel and got to his room without any of the crew discovering them. It wasn't that he was ashamed of Hermione. Hell, no. He just couldn't be bothered deflecting their teasing remarks, not to mention the flirting from Blaise (towards Hermione) and the bitchy comments from Astoria (towards them both).

Also, Hermione's discomfort was probably reaching Everest-like levels by now. Sharing a drink with Draco's already-sloshed and uninhibited workmates would be understandably low on her list of things to do.

They were alone in the lift. His fingers itched to touch her, but her stiff posture and distant expression stopped him. He watched her instead, speculating.

He swiped his key card in the lock and opened the door, letting Hermione in first.

She entered his room and walked to the middle of the floor before turning around and meeting his eyes.

He couldn't read her expression. It bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Neither spoke.

Almost to Draco's surprise, he broke first. His lips parted. 'Hermione' -

She let her bag slip from her shoulder to the floor. Then she untied the sash of her wrap dress, pulled it open, letting the dress fall over her shoulders and pool at her feet.

Draco instantly became hard, the hardest he'd been all night. The sight of her almost-nude body was like an electric shock coursing through his veins, bringing every single part of him alive. The necklace descended just past her sinfully sexy navy satin bra. It glittered at she breathed in and out. Her matching panties sat low on her hips, and her legs looked long and slender in her high-heeled shoes. For some reason, the narrow strap that wrapped around her ankles made his heart pulse.

Her thighs were still clamped together.

When he dragged his eyes back up to her face, she pulled her lower lip over her teeth with her tongue.

Fuck, that is sexy.

When she had his complete attention, she said 'I can't stand another fucking second of this. Judge me and punish me.'

With difficulty, Draco stopped himself from launching at her. Clenching his jaw, he prowled towards, then moved behind her. With a slightly shaking hand, he shifted her beautiful hair from one shoulder and lowered his lips to her ear.

'Part your legs,' he whispered.

She actually found it hard at first – she'd spent ages forcing her legs together – but she unlocked her muscles and stood with her legs a few centimetres apart. One thing was for certain – she did not want to do this again. The feel of his rapidly-cooling semen pooling in her panties was not sexy or comfortable. She was not a big fan of wet panties in the first place, even when it was just her who made them that way.

His long, graceful fingers touched her hips, and she felt her panties move, with agonising slowness, down her legs. She closed her eyes. She didn't want to see.

At last, the panties lay at her feet. She stayed still, and hoped that her body wouldn't betray her by shaking.

He was silent. She couldn't even hear him breathe. Traitorously, an involuntary shiver pulsed through her body.

Draco spoke in a low voice in front of her. 'Open your eyes.'

Hermione swallowed, then opened them, raising them to meet his ocean-blue gaze.

'You passed,' he whispered, then took her face in his hands and kissed her hard.


He'd wanted this for over twenty-hour hours. To hold her. Taste her. He tried to be gentle, but for once his instincts got the better of him.

Hermione welcomed his harsh intrusion into her mouth. Their tongues clashed initially, not wanting to give way or back down, but they soon worked in unison to kiss and touch and stroke each other's mouths, lips and tongues. Draco unclipped her bra, and before her breasts reacted to the room's air-conditioned air, his hands palmed them both, squeezing and massaging them. He swallowed the moan that broke from her mouth.

Eventually, they pulled apart, breathing hard. Hermione gently touched a finger to his lips, now a little swollen from their kiss. 'What would my punishment have been?'

He opened his lips and drew her finger into his mouth, running his tongue around it. When he released it from his mouth, he murmured 'twenty-five strokes to your delicious little bottom.'

She sucked in a breath. Twenty-five! Christ. 'What do I get for passing?'

He smiled, but she didn't like it one bit.

'You passed the challenge, so we should do something that you'll enjoy. Thoroughly.'

There's a catch, I know it, she thought. 'What's that?' she asked warily.

He kissed her lips, hard and fast. His eyes glittered. 'Thirty.'


To say that Hermione yelled 'Yippee!' and leaped into his arms, proffering up her posterior for his sadistic enjoyment would be a deviation from the truth. Instead, her mouth went dry, and she boggled at him.

Draco stepped back and unbuttoned his shirt, not taking his eyes off her. 'The safe word applies, naturally.'

She still looked at him like he'd morphed into the Marquis de Sade. A much better-looking version, naturally, but still.

So, he did something he'd never done before. He backed down. Somewhat.

'You can say it now, if you want.'

Wow. Hermione saw how difficult that was for him to say. Maybe not quite on the same level as a very reddened bum, but she understood what it meant for him to say it.

Besides. She did enjoy being spanked, in a way. While it stung, there was something about the way he did it that turned her on, incredibly so. It was the anticipation that she didn't like.

She lifted up her chin. 'No.'

He nodded, and kissed her gently. 'I admire you. So very much,' he said quietly.

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

Bare-chested, Draco stepped back and undid his belt. Keeping his eyes on Hermione's face, he pulled it from his belt loops.

Omigod, she thought in a near-panic. He's not going to use the belt on me. Is he?

'No, I wouldn't do that.'

Her eyes went wide. Just our second night together, and he can already read me, she thought.

'Hold out your hands and bring your arms together at the elbows.'

Ironically, she calmed a little. She'd take having her hands tied together with his belt any day over being whipped with it. She did as he asked, watching as he deftly wound the leather around her wrists.

When he'd secured the belt, she tested it. She couldn't get free, but the belt allowed a little movement, so her circulation wouldn't be cut off.

He'd done it before.

Well, duh.

He watched her test the bond. 'All right?'

She nodded. 'Yes.'

'Good. Bend over the table.'

She headed to the table. He shoved some papers, manuals and his laptop to the side, and she bent over, resting her torso and arms on the table. She hooked her fingers over the table's far edge. She was still in her high heels, so this raised her arse up a little. She felt very exposed. She swallowed hard, and concentrated on her breathing.

Draco stood behind her and looked at her hungrily. His eyes trailed up her legs as he removed the rest of his clothes. She stayed still, waiting.

He knelt behind her, breathing in the smell of her body and ignoring his impossibly harder erection.

'I'm going to touch you now,' he whispered. With that, he ran his hands slowly up her legs, starting from her ankles. Despite his warning, she jumped and sidled a little – she was expecting a slap to her arse, not a delicate brush of fingers on her legs.

Upon reaching the cheeks of her arse, Draco pulled them apart to expose her pussy. It was still glistening with their come from their restaurant encounter, but he also suspected that she was aroused as a result of the upcoming spanking.

He wet his lips, and pushed his face into her cunt.

'Fuck!' Hermione gasped, and reddened, embarrassed at her uncouth language. Oh, dear God, she loved the feel of his tongue in her pussy, drawing her lips into his mouth and swirling around her clitoris. His nose nudged her rosy little arsehole.

Draco cleaned up their come from the top of her thighs, and ensured each of her labia were squeaky clean. He gently exposed her clitoris with a couple of fingertips and swirled his tongue around the little button.

He saved the best until last – the channel that fit his cock so perfectly. He spread her lips and plunged his tongue inside, causing Hermione to moan and push back against his face for more.

He was making her wetter, and part of him revelled in it, in her taste. But he didn't want her to come just yet. It was with some reluctance that he pulled away, wiping his face with his hand.

In a single movement, he stood up and slapped her left buttock. She gasped in surprise more than in pain. The red mark it left made his balls tingle. He stroked his cock with the hand he used to wipe his face; slick with the juices from her body. He breathed out. 'Count the strokes.'

'One,' she said bravely.

He slapped her right buttock.

She hissed in a breath. 'Two…'

He spanked her again, making sure he touched another part of her arse.

'T-three…'


She was crying by the time he got to twenty, and her buttocks and thighs were rosy red. Still, she wouldn't back down.

'I won't think less of you if you use the safe word, Hermione. Believe me.'

She sniffed, trying to stem her tears by wiping her face against her arm. 'N-no,' she quavered.

'Promise me you will say it if you can't take any more.'

'Yes! I will! Just – do it!'

He shook his head in awed amazement, and spanked her again.

'Twenty-one!' she wailed, her buttocks shaking.

Another.

'Twenty-two!'

Another.

'Oh God – twenty-three!'

One more.

'Fuck, oh fuck – twenty-four!'

No, thought Draco. No more.

He stood behind her and placed his hands on either side of the table. He lined his cock up against her dripping cunt - and surged inside her.

Hermione wailed and came hard over his cock while he gripped her hips and fucked her fast and deep. With each stroke, her pussy spasmed, gripping and releasing him – and she was hot, hot and wet. The temptation to come was almost unbearable for Draco, but he had plans for tonight. So, as her orgasm ebbed, he slowed, and eventually pulled out of her. With regret.

She was breathing heavily, still sprawled across the table. Her pussy glistened, and like Pavlov's dog, his mouth watered at the sight.

He leaned over her and unhooked her fingers from the end of the table. She flexed them slowly. 'Come on,' he whispered against her shoulder blades, and gently pulled her up from the table. As she stood, her legs buckled, so he scooped her up and carried her to the bed.

Hermione lay against the pillows, bringing her breathing under control while Draco lay next to her, propped up on an elbow. Her wrists were still bound by his belt. Her necklace glittered around her throat and between her beautiful breasts.

Slowly, she turned her eyes to his. She bit her lip, but let go when his gaze dropped to her mouth. 'I came before you said I could,' she said in a wobbly voice.

'I know,' he replied. 'I felt it.'

'Will you punish me?' she whispered.

In response, he leaned over her and slowly, gently and tenderly kissed her – then raised her arms and tied the end of his belt around one of the bed's headboard railings.


Blaise was struggling, truth be told. God knew why. Most Tinder hook-ups involved drunkenness, and thus the quality of the sex varied according to everyone's inebriation levels. In this case, Astoria was well over three sheets to the wind, but he was almost close to sober.

That made him responsible, damn it all to hell.

He gently pushed her away from his body, before she had a bleary-eyed chance to figure out that he was aroused. 'You can continue pretending to be Astoria, love,' he said. 'I have enough trouble pretending to be me.'

She stumbled back a few paces, then lost her balance on her high heels and toppled over backwards – fortunately, onto the bed.

She stared up at the ceiling in surprise for a few seconds. Then she burst into uncontrollable giggles.

Blaise sighed to himself and headed over. Standing by the bed, he took one of her long, toned legs and undid the clasp around her ankle.

'I'm Astoria!' she said proudly before dissolving into giggles again.

'Nice to meet you, Astoria. I'm Blaise. You have very lovely shoes.' He laid the now bare leg down and picked up the second one. His hand shook a little as he fiddled with the clasp. His erection was getting harder to ignore by the second.

At last, both shoes were safely removed and put in a corner where Astoria wouldn't trip over them, unless she was very unlucky or determined. 'There you go, my lovely,' he said and headed to the bathroom to pour another glass of vodka for her.

'Hey, wait!' she slurred, turning onto her stomach and following his progress. 'You're not done yet!'

'I'm only paid to remove your shoes, love.'

'But I need help removing my bikini!'

Oh, dear Christ, thought Blaise. 'Today's the sort of day when that stays on until I leave,' he called over the rushing water.

'Leave?' she shrieked. 'You can't leave' –

Then she went silent. Ominously silent.

Fearing the worst, Blaise put the glass of water down and turned around. Astoria was woozily leaning against the bathroom door jamb, as pale as a ghost – no, wait – she just turned green.

'Gonna be sick,' she blurted, then clamped a hand over her mouth.

If there was an Olympic sprinting event for the few metres it took him to cross the bathroom, grab Astoria, whisk her to the toilet and flip the lid up –its gold medal would have his name stamped all over it.

Turning a blind eye, deaf ear and plugged-up nose to Astoria's wretched retching, he pulled her hair back from her face and held it behind her while making a mental note to search the job apps on his phone tomorrow.

There must be at least one job he could do that didn't involve babysitting beautiful, blind-drunk, besotted-with-the-boss birds.


Once Astoria had successfully relocated the contents of her stomach, Blaise helped her up and guided her to the basin. While she put her face under the tap and turned it on full blast, he put her toothbrush and toothpaste in her hand and entered the bedroom to turn down her bed and fluff up her pillows. He switched on a bedside lamp and turned off all the others. Time for Astoria to say good night.

She appeared in the doorway, looking very sorry for herself. She tottered over to the bed and crawled in, snuggling in amongst the pillows. Blaise smiled a little. She looked much younger than usual. Fresher, despite her recent meeting at the porcelain concourse.

'Do you have any painkillers?' he asked.

'Make-up bag in the bathroom,' she mumbled.

He located her pain relief and carried those, with a glass of water, into the bedroom and put them on the bedside table. She was sitting up, which surprised him.

'Do you need something else?'

'Can you turn around, please?' she asked dully.

Shrugging, he did so. A few rustles of material later, a bra and thong appeared on the floor in his peripheral vision. His cock pulsed and he gulped, but when he slowly turned around again, she was safely covered by the bedsheet.

'Well, I think it's time for me to go, love,' Blaise said cheerily. 'Hope your hangover won't be too evil in the morning. I'll put the 'Do Not Disturb' tag on the door as I go, all right?'

To his great consternation, tears started to trickle down Astoria's face. Swallowing his sigh, he headed over to her side of the bed and sat next to her. 'What's the matter, lovely?' he said kindly.

She faced him, her lovely face awash in tears. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

'Happy to help,' he assured her. 'You'll probably have to do it for me, one day.'

'No, I meant' – she sniffled, and Blaise grabbed some tissues from the bathroom. 'Please stay with me, Blaise.'

He was already shaking his head. 'It's a bad idea, Tori.'

'Please,' she said again in a small voice. 'I – I miss having someone sleep next to me. That's all.'

Blaise leaned on his elbows and looked down at the carpet between his shoes. Logically, this could turn out to be one of the stupidest things he'd done - this year, at least. Illogically, a woman's tears were, to him, like Kryptonite to Superman. His Ma could turn the waterworks on and off at will.

Bugger it all.

'All right,' he sighed, and Astoria smiled gratefully. 'Thank you,' she whispered.

He walked around to the other side of the bed, pulling his t-shirt over his head and not noticing how her eyes followed him, taking in the sight of his sculpted torso and warm chocolate skin. 'There will be no funny business whatsoever, understood?'

'Yes, sir.'

He jettisoned his shoes and socks. 'Can I borrow your toothbrush?'

She nodded, yawning.

When he finished scrubbing his pearly whites and gave his cock a stern talking to, he headed back into the bedroom to find that she was on the cusp of sleep. He eyed her narrowly, and decided it was safe for him to remove his jeans. He slept nude, even on the plane in the flight crew rest area, but he decided he'd better keep his boxer briefs on this time. In case of an emergency. Like a sleepwalking hand. Or mouth. Or – God help him – a beautiful, soaking wet, tight pussy.

He climbed into bed, and killed the remaining light. Lying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest like King Tut, he stared up at the ceiling and tried to forget about the entire evening.

Soon, however, a hand touched his shoulder. 'Good night, Blaise,' said a small, disembodied voice.

Poor kid.

He leaned over, cupped her face with one hand and gently kissed the top of her head. 'Good night, Tori.'

He smiled when the hand moved away, and he closed his eyes.


A/N: Will Blaise survive the night unmolested? What is Draco planning to do next with Hermione? How fast can a nude, sleeping pilot get dressed if they're suddenly called back to the flight deck? Look for the answers (except to the third question, haha) in chapter 4, upload date TBA. Thank you so much for reading!