Hold onto your hats folks, we're in for a bumpy ride! Thanks soooo much to ALL who reviewed the last two chapters...this one's dedicated to you! Also thanks to my beta StoryWriter831 for her wisdom and reassurances. WARNING: general hot smuttiness and less-than-genteel language ahead.
JK Rowling owns the characters...if only she knew all the shenanigans they get up to when she's not looking. ENJOY!
A Fox Is A Wolf Who Sends Flowers
...
Hermione wasn't exactly sure how it happened, or in what order it all occurred, but by the time she caught up mentally to what was happening to her physically, she had already been disarmed, gathered up, transferred and deposited onto the huge green chesterfield couch, and Lucius was standing over her, her own wand lightly balanced in his hands.
How did he get that? she wondered hazily...And more to the point, what is he planning to do with it?
She flinched reflexively when he pointed it at her, and the haziness receded somewhat as the reality of her position forced itself into focus. She was an unarmed muggle-born female, all alone with a very large, very dangerous Pureblood-supremacist, wielding a wand straight at her head. Not, perhaps, the wisest situation she'd ever got herself into.
Hermione wondered if she should be worried. Probably, she thought. He did, after all, have quite a flinty gleam in his eye, and his expression was the polar opposite of reassuring. ...But she couldn't quite manage to fit "worry" in and around the deluge of desire which had inundated her completely when he had pulled her against him and told her in plainest terms what he intended to do to her.
There was simply no room left for anything else.
"Where to begin..." Lucius murmured.
Hermione's heart thudded at the sound of his voice, so smooth and suave, but absolutely brimming with menacing self-control. His lips parted as he began to utter an incantation—but then he appeared to change his mind. She breathed a little easier as he lowered the wand. "No," he said softly—although she wasn't sure if he were addressing her or speaking to himself—"No, let's make things a little more interesting..." His mouth flicked upwards at one corner. "You're always harping on about witch empowerment, aren't you, my dear? So presumably you'll prefer to disrobe without assistance." He paused for a moment, tapping the wand lightly against his fingertips, then raised his brows with mock-expectancy. "Well, Miss Granger? I'm waiting."
Hermione felt her cheeks reddening, and her mouth was suddenly very, very dry. He wanted her to—to strip? While he just stood there and watched?
"Can't we just—um—"
"No," he cut in.
"But I'd rather—"
"I may be a gentleman, Miss Granger," he said silkily. "But pray do not mistake me for a patient one."
Hermione grimaced. You're no gentleman, she thought irritably—but none-the-less her fingers went to the buttons of her robe and she began, rather shakily, to unhook them.
She wished she was wearing something more attractive beneath the thick black garment, but when she had donned her work clothes this morning the last thing she had expected was to be stripping them off again under Lucius Malfoy's supercilious gaze. Although, admittedly, stranger things had happened.
Peeling off and discarding the outer layer, she darted a look up at the wizard, easily reading his deriding disapproval of her grey nylon pencil skirt and shapeless white blouse. "They're work clothes, Malfoy," she snapped at him, getting hotter and grouchier by the second. "Not haute couture."
"No, they are assuredly not that," he replied, his voice as sneering as his expression.
He moved gracefully over to an oaken sideboard and poured himself a glass of tawny liquid from a crystal decanter. She saw his wide shoulders moving beneath his own sharply-tailored robe as he lifted the glass to take an unhurried swig. "Remove your skirt," he instructed briefly.
She very nearly refused.
His high-handed arrogance was really starting to gall her, and that all-consuming desire was fast abating under his mocking derision. ...But then she thought of his—his—a-and how she had dreamed of it for a whole agonizing month...and she simply couldn't help herself.
Hermione perched on the edge of the couch and quickly, almost angrily, tugged off her shoes, then fumbled with the side zipper of her skirt. She wriggled the material over her hips, sliding it past her knees, down to her ankles, and then kicked the garment inelegantly off. She was fairly certain this was the most clumsy, awkward striptease ever to have been performed in the whole history of the world.
Lucius moved back over to her, and she could feel his gaze raking her from top to toe. She sat, knees pressed together, arms crossed self-consciously, awaiting his next instruction. "My dear girl," he finally spoke, and his voice fairly dripped with disdain, "do you buy everything in packs of twelve?"
Hermione stared up at him, confused, then her face went from scarlet to vermilion as she realized. Her knickers. They were exactly the same as the ones she had just Incendio'd.
"They were 'buy one, get one half-price'," she blurted out defensively, then went even redder at what she had just said. Furious and flustered, she grabbed her bunched-up, wrong-side-out skirt from the floor and began, unsuccessfully, to wrestle herself back into it. "Don't you dare sneer at me, Malfoy," she spat acidly, her eyes prickling hotly, "—some of us are too busy with actual careers to worry about the stupid things that people with large gaps in their diaries—aaagh!" She shrieked as Lucius suddenly grabbed her leg and jerked it out from under her, tumbling her backward onto the chesterfield.
Still smarting from his taunt, Hermione kicked viciously out at him, only narrowly missing his crotch. Lucius's mocking smile immediately disappeared—HAH! That wiped his smirk off! she thought manically—and she heard him growl as his eyes blazed with real anger. He lunged for her, momentarily grappling with her flailing limbs, then flipped her roughly face down into the leather squabs. She cried out as his knee shoved sharply into her back, and his hands gripped her wrists tightly and painfully together behind her. "You will apologize for that, Mudblood," he snarled in her ear.
"Sod off, you arsehole!" she cried out irately, her voice muffled by the couch.
He applied more crushing force to her wrists, making her yelp. "Apologize!" he demanded again.
She managed to twist her face to one side and shouted at him, "I'D RATHER LICK FLOBBERWORM MUCUS OFF THE FLOOR!"
There was a pause, and then the pressure on her back and wrists relented, and she was somewhat surprised to hear Lucius chuckle. He pulled her back over to face him, and, grasping her chin with one large, jeweled hand, he leaned closely over her. "...That could easily be arranged, Miss Granger," he drawled softly, his mouth bare inches from hers.
Hermione glared up at him, chest heaving, wild-haired and crimson-faced. "You're a pig," she hissed, wriggling futilely against him.
The corners of his mouth curled. "And you are an inveterate little savage of a Mudbl—"
CRACK! Hermione's hand whipped across his cheek, hard enough to make her palm burn, and causing Lucius's head to jerk a little to one side.
...The sound seemed to reverberate endlessly around the suddenly-much-too-silent room.
Lucius's jaw clenched, and Hermione felt every muscle in his body tensing along her. She could see the red hand-print on his pale face, and his eyes were hard and glittering dangerously. Her own eyes widened as, for one fearful moment, she really thought he might return the hit...
A strained, smouldering tension stretched between them, taut and sparking and humming with something like rage, something like desire...
And then it simply snapped—and his lips were crushed upon hers, his tongue was plunging and twisting inside her mouth, her own frantically twining and pushing back—and they were locked together in a fervent, furious exchange of lust and hatred—but the hatred was heady, and only made the lust hotter, too hot, unbearably hot...she arched up to him, moaning, almost despairing with impossible need.
Suddenly grasping her wrists, Lucius swiftly hauled her up to stand, then, gripping the panels of her blouse in his fists, he rent them apart, scattering little plastic buttons everywhere. With a few savage movements, he tore the garment and everything beneath it entirely away from her body, until she stood before him in only her lacy knickers, flushed and panting from their recent frenzied tussle, and trembling with anticipation for what must surely follow.
His gaze burned a lingering trail over her bare curves, and Hermione shivered deliciously at the undisguised, heated covetousness of his expression.
She squeaked as Lucius abruptly twirled her around, pulling her down backward so she landed in his lap, her back pressed against his hard chest. His right arm tightly braced her midriff, his left hand encircled her throat, so she lay helplessly pinioned and sprawled against him, her head forcibly tilted back to rest in the crook of his shoulder. With a slight adjustment, he had her legs splayed wide, draped on either side of his, and his hand slid downwards to dance along the inner edge of her knickers. "Now then, little savage," he growled softly, tugging the lacy panel aside, "let's hear you beg for me in your own voice."
Her whole body convulsed as Lucius's fingers found their mark, but his hold on her throat prevented her from doing anything but squirm and cry out as he began to caress her exposed seam. "Oh, my fffu—oh god," she gasped, every remnant of residual rage evaporating at the first skillful stroke.
Pleasure, undiluted pleasure began to soak through her, melting her insides to absolute mush, shutting down every part of her brain that wasn't directly linked to sensation. How is he so good? she vaguely wondered.How can a man so thoroughly bad, be so thoroughly good at this? He seemed to be playing her like she was an instrument: the knuckle of his thumb pressed against her sensitive nub, his index finger stroking up and down her cleft, his two longest fingers pushing up inside her throbbing, wet entrance.
"Do you like that, little witch?" he spoke in her ear. "Do you want more?"
"Mmmyesss..."
"Say 'please', Miss Granger."
"Please...please, Lucius...oh please..." Hermione mewled incoherently as he began to increase the pressure and speed... She could feel his bulging hardness pressing up beneath her, and it made her almost wild with want—ye gods, but she wanted him in her again—she wanted that unremitting, ruthless, pleasure-pain—to be crammed with too much, forced to take more — to forget everything and simply feel feel feel...
Her arms raised behind her to clutch at his shoulders and the tips of her fingers met with his long hair. It was exquisitely silky, and only fuelled her desire for him to further heights. She was nearing the brink, already over-aroused from weeks of pent-up frustration, and the incredible sensations were converging and building into something inescapable, uncontainable—and then Lucius suddenly pressed his mouth against her ear, his warm tongue flickered into its sensitive center, and he whispered harshly, "Come for me, witch,"—and what could she do but obey?
She cried out, her spine arching, her hands clenched in his hair. She wanted desperately to wrench herself forwards, to meet the cresting ecstasy head-on, but he continued to restrain her with his collaring hold, forcing her to accept the pleasure as he chose to dispense it: leisurely, tormentingly... "Fuck! Oh god, Lucius! Yessssss!" she practically wailed as he brought her, shuddering and writhing, to dizzying completion.
She collapsed limply in his arms, dissolved in pleasure, trembling uncontrollably. "Th-thank-you," she stammered, wondering giddily how she had gone from slapping him to thanking him in the space of just a few minutes.
"Oh, I certainly expect you to, my dear," Lucius replied drily.
He lifted her easily off him and she slumped back against the back of the seat, in an enjoyably spinning stupor.
Lucius stood up and calmly removed his robe and jacket, fastidiously folding them over the back of the couch. Then, deliberately placing his booted feet on either side of her bare ones, he stationed himself in front of her—and suddenly, with wonderful clarity, she realized exactly how she would be thanking him...
She watched, mesmerized, as his hands went to the front of his immaculately-pressed trousers and unloosed his belt and flies, lowering his waistband. Hermione sat up, suddenly very much alert (and somewhat alarmed) as he freed himself from the expensive material. Godric's galoshes! she thought wildly, her eyes utterly riveted on his formidable rigidity,—no wonder it hurt so much!—And then something triggered inside her brain, like the blinding spark of a shorting light-bulb, and she was already sliding off the seat to her knees and leaning forwards to wrap her hands and lips around his girth—because, for the first time in her not-very-experienced life, she simply wanted to...
Willingly—eagerly, she lapped and licked and tasted him, her tongue laving every inch of him, then she tried taking as much as she could manage to the back of her throat until she nearly gagged around his constricting size.
"Look at me," said Lucius, his usually-velvet voice slightly strained and hoarse. Hermione did so, and an extra quiver stole through her as her eyes connected with his glinting silver ones. A slow smile curved his lips. "What a delightful prospect you present, Miss Granger," he said, gazing down at her. "Every time I'm forced to sit through one of your tiresome conference lectures, I shall fondly reminisce upon the moment your mouth was wholly obstructed by my cock."
She should have been riled by his speech, but she just didn't care anymore—she was too far gone, drunk on his heady taste, hopelessly high on pure lust—and anyway, for all his mocking words, she could see he was becoming flushed, his eyes were glazing, his breath was quickening... oh, yes, she was getting to him, alright... —
Suddenly Lucius grasped her hair and pulled her away from him. "Enough, enough!" he ground out hoarsely. "I've got to fuck you, or be damned."
He dragged her up and all but threw her along the chesterfield, wrenching her legs apart and settling himself heavily between them. He paused momentarily to hook her knee over his left arm, tilting her hips up to gain deepest access, and used his right hand to guide himself against her slick entrance. She moaned at the sensation of his heavy member centering upon her core as he aligned himself to her—and then his eyes met hers, his teeth bared slightly, and with a sudden lunge, he slammed himself into her, filling her to the hilt.
Hermione choked out a breathless, strangled yelp.
She barely registered his crushing weight, or the fact her hair was snagged on one of his cuff-links, or that his belt-buckle was stabbing her thigh—these discomforts were peripheral and inconsequential—the only reality was him, inside her...and a frightening realization that this time—this time, the pain might win out against pleasure. Too late, it occurred to her that the last time he had taken her she had been borrowing someone else's body, someone else's framework—someone who had had over twenty years to adapt herself to him...
Her nails clawed into his shoulders, and she clutched onto him as if to keep from drowning, as Lucius drew back and began to thrust powerfully into her, again, and again, and again... and then, just when she thought her tolerance threshold must surely break, he bent down to catch her lips with his—his tongue plunged deeply into her mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his pounding appendage—and Hermione found herself relaxing, opening, and she accepted him fully into her. Her legs wrapped around Lucius's lower back, her hips lifted to meet his next thrust, and then she was born aloft by a vortex of surging, glittering pleasure, spinning her upwards, ever upwards towards a plateau of blissful ecstasy...
"Yes!" she hissed fiercely, "Yes, yes, Lucius!" His eyes fixed on her lips, wide open, calling out his name, and she heard him growling deep in his throat as she came, came hard, around him.
He rode her long and hard, his stamina and strength such that she crested three more times and lay quivering beneath him, almost comatose with satiation before he finally began to build towards his own climax. Finally she felt his muscles tauten, and Lucius suddenly pushed himself up so he was half-kneeling, half-standing: his left knee shoved behind her thigh, his right leg extended to the floor, both hands braced on the arm of the couch above her head, and he hammered himself into her faster, faster, harder, harder...
And then with a final surge forwards Lucius emitted a rasping groan; Hermione felt the deep, hot thickness of his essence filling and coating her, and it triggered her to one last, final release, this one coiling languidly through her, making her whimper and shudder in exhausted delirium.
Lucius fell heavily upon her, his breath ragged in her ear, strands of his long hair clinging to her sweaty cheek and temple.
Still fused deeply within her, he brought his arms around her shoulders and gathered her closely against him, and for a moment Hermione felt as if he were cradling her in a passionate lover's embrace...but then gradually she became aware of a torrent of rasping words pouring into her ear, and she realized he was tauntingly averring his victory over her, declaring his mastery of her, exulting in her surrender...
Hermione closed her eyes, breathed his scent deeply in, and tuned out his words.
Words were just...words, and at this moment, spent, soporific and saturated with pleasure, she just couldn't care less about them.
Some day she would make him eat them.
But for now, she lay still and silent, entwined in her enemy's arms, and smiled into his shoulder.
...
Phew! Well, that was fun to write! I'm all tuckered out now. Thanks for reading, and pretty please leave a review!