Chapter Ten

Pleasant Little Games

Over the course of the following week, Hermione settled into her role—and schedule—at Malfoy Manor with relative ease. Her wardrobe was full of gorgeous, newly tailored dresses, though she still kept the one she'd made right in there, with them.

She had deigned to let the seamstress show her how to stitch a proper seam, but refused to fix her bejeweled, semi-opaque cream slip. No, that messy line would stay, because it was a reminder of the very first thing she'd done for herself.

Left to her own devices, she defaulted, divvying up her days much as she'd been made to do in the palace. After her morning bath and breakfast—during which Dobby always saw to taming her wild hair into artistic up-dos—she would spend hours in the Manor's impressive library, reading this novel, or that collection of sonnets. After lunch, she strolled the garden, conversing with Tully—an elf surprisingly well-versed in horticulture—about the flowers he tended and the hope that the coming rains of next season would be kind.

At tea, sometimes Master Draco would unexpectedly join her. She found this a most delightful surprise, in rather than having to choose some terribly relevant topic of discussion, they seemed to chat about absolute nonsense. Silly stories from their childhoods—his, about moments like spilling crimson wine on Master Lucius' crisp, white shirt during a dinner party. Hers, memories like the day Luna realized she was allergic to amber-daisies . . . by eating one, of course.

"Because how else would one learn such a thing?" Master Draco had asked while chuckling.

Twice, she'd found Dobby sitting on the main staircase, looking abashed. Hermione already knew that upon continuing up to the second floor, she'd encounter Master Draco strolling from the bath to his bedroom, completely naked, dripping wet, and moving at a snail's pace. She might've been shocked the first time, had Master Lucius not warned her he was prone to such antics.

Still, for the sake of her own, furious blush, she ran to snatch the towels from the bath and returned to clasp a hand around his wrist and hurry him into his room. Of course, he would then insist she dry him, and dress him.

The dressing him bit had become an afterthought both times. And a rather far-flung one, at that.

The poetry reading Master Lucius had suggested during their visit to the bank had become a nightly event. The selection rotated, so Hermione only had to choose every third night. She secretly thought it amusing how different their selections were. Hers spoke of imagery and places she could never hope to see. Master Draco's were full of dark humor and spicy, not so-subtle innuendo. Master Lucius' . . . . She had the feeling Master Lucius chose his specifically to see her blush and hear her voice become breathy and hitched. They were sensual and full of seductive nuances.

Each night she fell asleep, completely worn out, feeling warm and protected in the arms of one of her masters.

Still, she refused to let herself feel truly content, but they were certainly making that a difficult task.

Draco said something as her fingers swept across his skin. Or, rather, tried to say something, as his face was muffled against the pillow.

Hermione giggled at the mumbled, incoherent sentence. It was after dinner and they'd retired to his room—it was Master Draco's night, after all—and now she sat, straddling his lower back as she massaged his bare shoulders. At his request, she wore nothing but a lacy, crimson undergarment. Honestly, she found knickers ridiculous, but he seemed to quite fancy them on her.

She leaned up, crossing her arms beneath her breasts as she arched a brow and smiled. "I am sorry, Master Draco, but you're really going to have to repeat that."

He chuckled, shifting his head a bit so the overly-fluffy pillow no longer obscured his voice. "I said Father wishes you to accompany me when I visit my grandfather next week."

Swallowing hard, she shook her head as she returned to kneading his shoulders with the tips of her fingers. "Um, this would be Lord Cygnus Black, yes? The man who spoke at my first dinner with you?"

Draco turned his head to look at her, the longish ends of his pale hair brushing her working fingers. "Good memory. You were still adjusting, then. I wasn't certain you were paying attention. Yes."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat uncomfortably as she held his gaze. "Please take no offense to my next words, Master Draco, but . . . . Dear gods, why?"

He—much to her surprise—burst out laughing. Turning fluidly beneath her, he leaned up a bit, balancing his weight on his elbows. "I knew I liked you."

She blinked a few times in rapid succession as she processed his reaction. That, and ignored that his change in position now had her straddling his lap, or they'd never finish this conversation.

"So . . ." she said after a moment of watching his calm expression. "You aren't angry with me for wishing I did not have to accompany you?"

A smirk tugged one corner of his mouth upward. "Not even remotely." He shrugged. "I wouldn't be going, either, if I had any real choice in the matter."

"All right." She spoke slowly, dropping her hands to trace her fingertips along the lines of his chest and abdomen. She adored the way his beautiful grey eyes drifted closed as she stroked his skin. "Why am I accompanying you?"

Once more, he shrugged. Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, he opened his eyes and dragged his gaze down her body. From her face, down over her bare breasts, along her stomach, and down to the lacy red knickers that teasingly concealed that most delectable part of her.

"All I know," he said, pausing to lick his lips as he slid the fingers of one hand into the side of her knickers and pulled them out of the way. "Is that he said he has some meeting, and he would like the house empty."

"Not the meeting with the land owners?" she asked, dropping her gaze to watch his hand as he parted her to rub gently.

He shook his head, returning his attention to her face to watch her expression. "No. I know he wants you here for that, in case he needs you."

"Not as though I have a choice in the matter," she said, lifting herself a little as she unfastened his trousers and slid her hand inside.

Draco groaned softly behind closed lips as she stroked his cock. Gods, he was already hard, and she had to know how wet she was, with his fingers rubbing against her like this—was she trying to make him explode? "No, it's not as though you do."

"Master Draco?" she asked as she pulled him free of his clothes.

He had already come to recognize that cooing tone in her voice. Once more, his gaze flicked downward, coming to rest on her hand wrapped around him. "Do you want me to fuck you, Pet?"

"Yes." She knew there was more to say, but she liked this little play between them, especially with the way he timed the rubbing of his fingers to the stroking of hers.

He leaned up a little more, bracing his weight on the palm of his free hand, now. "Then you know what you have to say."

She drifted closer, so that her lips brushed over his as she whispered, "Please, Master Draco?"

Grinning wickedly, he pulled himself to sit up straight and grasped her hips. Hermione held the knickers out of the way with one hand as she guided just the head of his cock inside her with the other.

The moment she moved her hands out of the way, he pulled her tightly to him as he thrust into her.

She cried out, reflexively wrapping her limbs around him. Leaning her face up, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling and suckling at the delicate skin as she ground her pelvis against him, meeting his strokes.

He stilled for just a moment, interested to see how she would take to doing all the work.

Hermione pulled back, watching his expression. He was . . . waiting. Biting her lip as she held his gaze, she slipped her arms from around him. Pressing her hands to his shoulders, she guided him to lay on his back.

Bracing her palms on either side of his head, she rocked her hips, moving so that his cock thrust into her and withdrew again, and again with no effort on his part.

He drew in a hissing breath between clenched teeth as he watched her. As he felt her clench and shiver around him with every motion.

"Dear gods, where did we ever find you?" Draco whispered, chuckling as he tilted his head. He caught one of her nipples between his lips.

She moaned, slipping one hand into his hair to cradle the back of his head. He was moving beneath her, but just a bit—just enough that when she rocked forward, he was buried inside her, as deep as he could get. Just enough that he rubbed against her at precisely the correct angle, sending sweet, tingling sparks through her.

Her muscles started to tense of their own accord. She made a foolish attempt to stop them—to make herself hold out, longer—but her body refused to listen to her. She leaned back, arching, stilling as she trembled. She fought to keep her hips rocking over him, but he rescued her, just then.

Slipping his hands over her sides once more, he pulled her into motion over him and rocked her back. As he moved her, he lifted his hips from the bed to drive up, into her.

Her head fell back and again—as she always did—she moaned, and pleaded, whispering the most enticing things as she came. "Master Draco, ple—please, don't stop," she said this time.

She always knew exactly when to speak such words, he thought, unable to hold on with how her body gripped his cock, so warm and tight. His thrusts became rough and jerking just as her orgasm began to ebb, and she responded instantly, rocking against his motions.

The sweet little aftershocks tore through her, helped along by the way she ground herself against him.

She loved the way he pulled at her, an almost helpless gesture as he forced his hips up against her in one last, hard thrust. Smiling, she moved over and around him until he was spent, entirely.

Hermione pulled back, letting him slip free, and then settled against him. As they caught their breath, she rested her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder, and he circled her with his arms.

"You really are so bloody perfect," he whispered, dropping a kiss against her forehead.

She laughed, listening to the rapid beating of his heart so close to her ear. "You both keep telling me that. I may start to believe you."

Draco grinned, his eyes drifting closed. "Perhaps you should."

"Dear gods, it is far too early."

Sirius laughed as he glanced over his shoulder to see Severus pull a pillow over his face. "Is not. You just turned in far too late. Again." He shook his head as he turned back to the missive that awaited their attention upon the window sill. "I keep telling you staying up all night reading like that will be the death of you."

"Either that, or your nagging will," Severus droned, his voice half-muffled by the pillow.

The room grew quiet, and Severus thought, perhaps, he might drift back to sleep. But then, he felt the weight of Sirius sitting down hard on the bed.

"Oh, shit," the other man whispered.

Sighing heavily, Severus decided there was simply no further rest to be had, today. He sat up, letting the pillow fall into his lap. "All right. I'm awake. What?"

Sirius' shoulders drooped as he tossed the open missive to land atop the pillow. "See for yourself."

Rubbing his eyes, Severus refused to make sense of writing just now. "Bloody hell, with your insufferable dramatics. Just tell me."

Heaving a sigh of his own, Sirius turned slightly on the bed to meet the other man's dark-eyed gaze. "You're such a wretch when you first wake. Anyway . . . . It seems Lucius has invited us to the Manor for drinks next week."

Suddenly, Severus was wide awake. Color rushed to his pale cheeks, but just as quickly, it faded and his jaw dropped a little. Schooling his features as he shook his head, he simply said, "We can't go."

"We can't not go, either," Sirius said, "Lucius would get suspicious. Besides, he says he's sending his pet away that day so we won't have to worry that she might recognize us."

"Fine, we'll go." Severus shifted to lay down again and rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket up over his head. "But one drink and then we leave."

"Absolutely," Sirius agreed in a whisper, staring at the missive with Lucius' perfect, looping penmanship.

They would go, but they had to be quick. Staying too long would mean risking seeing her. Neither would say it aloud, but they were both painfully aware that they didn't want to see her, because they wanted to see her too much.

And if they did, they weren't certain only seeing would be enough.