My head was spinning, and my cheeks began to glow as he spoke. I clenched and unclenched my fists, checking whether the ribbon had cut off my circulation. I didn't think I could move one millimeter, much less trudge upstairs. Not like this ... Not surprisingly though, I was very much mistaken once again tonight.

Without further warning, Lucius slid his arm underneath me and hoisted me entirely off the ground. I squealed, but could do nothing to stop him. He held me high in his arms, cradled against him. I felt the heat dissipate as he turned us away from the fire. I felt the musculature of his chest and shoulders, shifting reciprocally as he started to walk. Little by little, and only after I was absolutely certain he wouldn't drop me, I felt my terror dissolve into a timid and half-hidden grin. I nestled my head against him.

Don't let me fall, Lucius! I silently pleaded.

His gait changed, and I could only assume that we'd started on the stairs. I tried to count them, but my head lolled dizzily at what I took to be the second landing, and I really couldn't say with any certainty just how far we had come. If he'd intended to disorient me with the blindfold, then he succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. Already, I'd lost track of the steps, and by the time we finally came to rest, he could have carried me clear to the moon. I would hardly have known the difference.

He let me down softly. There was a warm, bristling rug beneath my feet, and my knees nearly gave out underneath me as a door latched shut behind us. I spun around, breathless, searching out somewhere in the darkness.

"Where are we?"

"A bedroom." His voice rose up behind me, his words singing the nape of my neck, "My bedroom, Hermione."

My breath hitched again as he grasped my zipper, drawing it down slowly, exposing to the open air my shoulder blades, my spine, and the geminate dimples just above my backside. His hands swept over my hips and, like a shred of tattered gift wrap, my dress fell in rumpled heap to the floor. Logically, I suppose I knew in that moment that I was nearly naked. But somehow the blindfold seemed to spare me from the lion's share of shame and cheek-searing indignity that should normally have accompanied that knowledge. There was something about not being able to see him, not being forced to bear the brunt of that icy and ominous intention in his eyes. I'm not sure if it made me any braver, but it certainly mad me more reckless.

Again, I felt the throb of him as he stepped closer, pressing against me from behind. My lips twitched. I thought of the bulge I glimpsed earlier in his trousers earlier and strained to enclose him in my palms. Profanely, I wondered whether I could make him larger still. I leaned my head back, resting it against his shoulder, relishing his lips as they moved their way down my throat.

As best I could manage with my hands still restrained, I grasped hold of his clothed cock, moving my fingers in several slow, undulating strokes along his length. With each one, his hold around me grew slightly tighter, and his kisses incrementally more vicious. I wetted my lips. I wanted it. I did — though it all but amazed me to realize it. I was craving it. Even blind, even bound, I wanted nothing more in that moment than to kneel down before him, and take his cock into my mouth. I wanted to taste him, to swallow him whole if I could.

"Mr. Malfoy," I breathed, and squeezed him tighter, "may I?"

His words were cool, "May you what, Miss Granger?"

I flushed red as blood. He didn't need to ask. He knew exactly what I was asking him. I'm sure he did. But he had to be cruel. He had to make me say it aloud, to humiliate me, and to make me suffer.

"May I—" I sank my teeth into my cheek, stunned by what I was about to ask him. More than that, I meant it and was probably prepared to beg for the pleasure. "May I suck your cock ... please?"

No sooner had I uttered the first syllable than I felt him turn to solid stone in my hands. Still, Lucius kept his voice measured, almost aloof. "You're asking to perform a fellatio on me, Hermione Granger?"

I bit a bit harder and forced a rigid half-nod. A bitterly long silence followed, and I felt my brow begin to furrow. It was absolutely unfathomable to me that this was a decision warranting his deliberation. For just a moment though, I really believed that he might spurn me.

When finally he broke the quiet, his words were cold as evening frost, "Very well." Lucius swept me softly to my knees, "Your desires are your orders, Hermione."

Be very careful what you wish for. I shivered and laid my cheek against his hand as he traced over the edge of my jaw.

"You'll do as I tell you," he snarled.

I nodded, quivering.

"You don't hesitate, or deviate. You don't so much as breathe without my permission."

I nodded again, growing more nervous with each word he uttered.

"Open your mouth." He slid my knees wide apart on the floor. "Stay straight and still."

Shaking, I obeyed. I straightened my posture, as I brought myself to attention beneath him. I heard him expel a tense breath somewhere above me and felt him drag his thumb along the trembling, vermillion border of my lips.

"Bend forward. From your hips." He took his hand away. "Come as close as you can to me without falling, Hermione."

Again, I obeyed. I leaned out blindly toward the sound of his voice, stopping only when the muscles of my stomach and torso seemed ready to split apart and catch fire from the friction. My mouth was still open, my eyes still shut.

"Good girl." Lucius touched my chin, drawing it just a little lower. I heard a metallic, telltale clinking sound and a slow slithering of leather as he unfastened his belt before me.

"Now keep still. Do not move your head. Do not move an inch. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Hermione?"

I made a movement that was neither a nod, nor a shake of my head. My center of gravity was too far forward. One sudden movement would have been enough to topple me straight into his legs. Already my body was on fire in the struggle to remain upright; however, the hunger for him was undiminished and grew only more dire, more dear as his hands swept over my breasts.

"Yes," I whispered softly.

I stayed stone still for him, and parted my lips. They lingered there, open and unmet, as if awaiting some unrequited kiss. Psyche revived by Cupid's Kiss. If she could have kept just her eyes closed... I suppressed a shudder. If she could have just done as she was told.

I heard him move closer. Lucius wasted no time. Barely had I drawn another full breath before I felt him glide over my lips, over my tongue, and back into the deeper reaches of my throat. Holy Merlin! He was monstrous; the sheer expanse of him never ceased to astound me. My mouth was drawn wide around his circumference, and I had to fight back the reflexive urge to gag. He did it slowly, steadily filling me almost to his very hilt.

He pulled back, and I gasped through flared nostrils, breathing in the scent of him, and swallowing the subtle taste he'd left on my tongue. His flavor was saline, just slightly acetic. I shivered. Much as each one may have provoked my senses, it was neither that truly intoxicated me. Rather, it was merely feeling what I'd done to him. It was wrapping my head around how possessing my body in this way could so metamorphose a portion of his. Each tumescent millimeter of him was for me. All for me.

Lucius thrust into me once more and withdrew. He did it again, and then again, sinking each time just a little bit deeper. Each time I had to work just a little bit harder to breathe. My jaw throbbed. My abdominals burned. My neck began to cramp. I was just on the edge of wholly rethinking my foolish request, when finally, I felt it. I felt my nether-lip brush, just barely, the velvet-smooth skin of his base.

Unreal.

A warm wave swelled between my legs. It shocked me to realize that I'd actually done it, that I could take his entirety into my mouth, and somehow still manage not to suffocate. It isn't at all easy to explain, but it made me feel used in a way that was almost pleasant, that didn't seem to cheapen me; in a way that almost —almost — made me feel proud. Even so, I couldn't stay there. Like any jagged and snow-laden summit, the air was too thin at the top to tarry very long, and admire the view. I'd planted my little flag in the ice. It was time now to descend.

I waited and waited longer. He wasn't retreating. He held me there, penetrating clear past the back of my tongue. I stifled another urge to retch, more urgent than the first, and still he didn't relent. Beneath the blindfold, my eyes began to water, and a surge of panic shot through me as I felt him wrap his hand around the back of my head.

No. No, no. No, God, please, I can't.

His hold was firm. He wouldn't. He wouldn't dare. But he would dare. He did. With a finite, but forceful shove, he thrust me down even further, letting the musky, silken hairs surrounding the root of him nettle the edges of my nose. It was a strange sensation, and I won't say that it didn't hurt. It did. I couldn't neither choke, nor swallow. I couldn't even breathe. He'd sealed my throat completely, and I could feel my tears starting to stain my blindfold.

"Remember, do not move an inch," he breathed huskily.

I tried my very damnedest to keep calm as he let go of my head and lowered his hands once more to my chest. I tried to keep quiet as he grasped hold of me and firmly began kneading my breasts. But there was only so much I could control. Barely an inch below the end of him, I felt my vocal cords tighten as a low, muffled moan moved over them, resounding inside me like the song of some mournful canary, trapped in the tiny, trembling cage of my chest.

At the slightest sound of my suffering, he stiffened.

Sadist.

The desperate truth was, I liked it too. I liked it more than I had any right to, and a steamy sliver of me couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to come like this. Kneeling. Silenced. Lucius Malfoy's cock lodged in my throat. But however much his caresses and his ingress may have stirred me, his tease, I knew, was time-limited. My eyes were overflowing. My chest seared. I think I was starting to teeter on the cusp of unconsciousness when finally he allowed me to breathe. Shrilly, I gasped and collapsed against his leg as he withdrew, panting.

"Sweet Merlin," he spoke, incinerating me as he set his hand on my temple, "how you'll suffer for me."

I felt a warm tear escape from beneath my blindfold, and he brushed it lightly away from my cheek. "These lips. This skin. These tears," he rasped. "You obsess me, Hermione Granger. You drive me utterly mad."

I, too, was mad for him. I had to be. My chest was still heaving. He'd nearly allowed me to asphyxiate. Still, I wasn't afraid of him ... still, I ached for more. Lucius reached down to unfasten my brassiere, and instinctively I knew that I wouldn't be able to obey his command to keep still any longer. It was a constant struggle for me, and a losing one, as he tore the straps away, sweeping his hands over my pale and now-naked chest.

I panted harder. I could sense him there, pulsating just beyond the edge of my lips. I felt his fingertips graze over nipples, teasing them in tandem. Without intending for them to do so, my hips began to sway futilely, reflexively, against the empty and unfeeling air. His caresses quickened. I wetted my lips. I whimpered. I couldn't do it. I couldn't keep it in any longer. I just couldn't. I needed it. I needed him — all of him — even more than I needed air in my lungs. With one deep breath, and only the dimmest, dizziest apprehensions of the fallout, I broke my statuesque stillness, and let my lips slide along the length of him.

It surprised him. That much, at least, was absolutely clear. By the sound he made, you'd have thought I put a knife blade in his spleen. His growl was guttural. His hands dug sharply into the tingling skin of my breasts. Still, I didn't stop, and still, he didn't stop me. I went further, spurred by his implicit permission. I ran my tongue down to the soft, furrowed seam of him, and back up again over the underside of his shaft. My lips wrapped around his head, and I felt his hold on me tighten as I drew him in slowly, so very slowly, clear to the quivering, pink folds of my vocal cords. He shuddered above me, and started to quake.

"That's enough!" he snarled, his words cracking like clear thunder. "Was I ... was I not clear enough, Miss Granger?"

I couldn't answer him. I wouldn't. But I strained my wrists, and curled my fingers, sucking him into me even as I pulled away and gave a faint nod without letting him go. He was clear. Clear as glass. But having begun, I knew there was no way to stop myself — not with the way he was touching me, not with the way he'd made me languish, suffer, and stay still. I breathed feverishly through my nostrils, and without wasting a moment more, took him again into my throat.

"Damn it, Hermione! Damn it, enough!" Lucius clutched me harder. I could feel him splitting like a glacier. "I'm— I'm going to come."

My lips smacked as I let him slip free. I raised my chin up, pretending I could see him through the silk and struggled hard to suppress my smirk. "Not without my permission, Mr. Malfoy."

The moment that followed was so silent, I could almost hear the embers a floor beneath us, still crackling like half-smothered hellfire. In more ways than one, it was a slip of the tongue, and I was probably more stunned than he was that I'd actually had the nerve to say it. That snide sort of bon mot was supposed to stay sequestered in the very lowest, snarkiest conclaves of my head.

Lucius laughed darkly. "This mouth." He pressed his thumb to my lips, at once hushing me. He let his hand fall a little lower and clasped it firmly around my neck. I whimpered as he pulled me up off the floor and onto the very tips of my toes. "Mark me, my little one, you'll swallow your words before I'm through with you."

Mr. Malfoy doesn't mess around, does he?

Thank you all for reading! More on the way!

Lana