"I'm off to brunch, then." Hermione called to Draco, who she had left brushing his teeth in his luxurious en suite.
She paused to track down her keys and bag before settling into her favorite plush leather armchair to slide on her trusty Manolos, one of the few splurges she had allowed herself after receiving a promotion at the Ministry.
"Will I be seeing you later, Granger?" Draco asked, raising a perfectly formed eyebrow while leaning against the doorframe nonchalantly.
Hermione stared, taking in the shirtless wonder that was Draco Malfoy. He still hadn't bothered to get dressed after their morning shower, teasing her with a towel that hung obscenely low on his perfectly sculpted hips.
"Only if you're lucky, Malfoy," she smirked, sending a saucy wink his way knowing that it was a surefire way to get Draco's blood racing.
Well, Granger," Draco purred, pushing off of the doorframe to cross the room to where Hermione was still seated, "considering that you're sneaking out of my flat, wearing my shirt, and smelling of my cologne, I'd say that I must already be a pretty lucky man," he finished, bending over her to place a searing kiss upon her already bruised lips.
"If that's so," Hermione whispered against his lips, "I don't suppose you have anything to worry about then."
"You saucy little minx," he scolded, pausing to continue his assault on her lips.
Although it pained Hermione to cut their morning together short, a tiny voice in the back of her head reminded her that she had a brunch meeting with Ginny, an appointment that couldn't be missed without serious consequences - like a karaoke night at Gin's favorite dive bar.
"As enjoyable as this is, Draco, I really must be going," she sighed, snaking her hand around his neck and pulling his lips to hers for one final kiss.
"Not yet, Granger. You're still wearing my shirt."
"But it looks better on me anyway, doesn't it?"
"Oh, undoubtedly it does, but that's mine. You're not taking it." Draco replied, giving her such a determined stare that Hermione had to fight the urge to shiver.
It was a look that reminded her of battling with him in a Ministry courtroom; the way that they had reconnected six months ago. Unlike the defenders that frequently presented laughably weak cases, Draco was a force to be reckoned with, just like he had been back at Hogwarts.
Hermione had found herself hoping that she would find his name atop her court documents, she was addicted to the way that he pushed her to work harder, to keep up with his quick wit.
It came as no surprise to her that they made such good - no, incredible - partners in bed. After the tension between the two of them had exploded out of the courtroom and into the bedroom following a particularly contentious case (which Hermione had won, thank you), it seemed that the two had become addicted to each other. Draco could be greedy, always chasing his own high, but no one had ever left Hermione so satisfied as he had.
"You don't know that this is your shirt, Mr. Malfoy. That is merely conjecture on your part. It is equally as plausible that this shirt belongs to me." Hermione replied, standing to loosely tuck the front of the white button-down into her jeans.
"Actually, Madam Prosecutor, I can prove, beyond any reasonable doubt, that the shirt you're wearing did, in fact, come from the closet of Draco Malfoy," He responded, stepping closer before wrapping his arms around Hermione's waist and pulling her flush against him.
"Objection," Hermione breathed, feeling her pulse quicken as Draco's trademark scent enveloped her completely.
"Overruled," Draco replied, lowering his lips to her neck, where her pulse pounded hard against the delicate skin.
His right hand spread and pressed upon Hermione's back, keeping her rooted in place while his left hand rose to stroke the skin at the nape of her neck.
"Last chance to change your plea, Granger," he whispered, sending a shiver down Hermione's spine.
"And make this easy on you, Malfoy? Never."
"What a shame, Granger. I would have thought that such a detail-oriented witch would have noticed the monogrammed tag when she stole it."
Hermione had, in actuality, noticed the delicate "DM" embroidered in a shimmering emerald on the tag, a tag that bore no other information. She could tell by the delicate sheen of the silk and the elegant cut of the lines that this was a shirt that had been custom made for Draco; a fact that only solidified her desire to spirit it out of his apartment and into her own closet.
"You've proven nothing, Malfoy. You're only saying that there's a monogram in the hopes that I'll let you win."
"Have it your way, Granger," he growled, reaching between them to slip the top button through it's hole. "You have eight buttons to confess."
Hermione remained silent, meeting his stormy grey eyes as he traced his fingers across her cleavage, feather-light and intoxicating.
"Seven," he continued, slipping an elegant hand into her shirt to cup her left breast.
"Six," was marked with a tweak of her nipple, pebble hard and straining against the fine mesh of her bra cup.
With "Five", Draco bowed his head and traced her collarbones with his tongue, causing goosebumps to erupt over Hermione's skin.
Still though, she remained silent, intent on keeping her promise.
"Halfway there, Granger," he whispered, pausing his ministrations, "but only if you're lucky."
"I don't think that you've given me any reason to worry," Hermione breathed, fighting the urge to squirm.
Without a reply, Draco pulled hard on the shirt, sending the mother-of-pearl buttons flying across his sitting room.
"Worried yet, Hermione?" He smirked, snaking his hands over her shoulders and down her back, pushing the shirt off of her arms as they traveled across her skin.
"Sweet fuck, Granger," He groaned appreciatively, taking in the emerald bra she had straegically chosen. It was, undoubtedly, the most exquisite piece of lingerie she had ever seen, a longline bra with sheer lace cups, bordered in delicate hawthorn appliqués.
"I thought that you might like it," she smiled, lifting her mouth to meet his
"I am certainly a lucky, lucky man, Hermione," he grinned, bending down to catch her knees, sweeping her into his arms.
"Where do you think you're taking me, Draco? I still have brunch with Ginny."
"She owled this morning to cancel, Granger. Your only plans involve me, my shirt, your bra, and my bed," Draco replied, carrying her back into his bedroom.