A/N: Explicit. A gift for TriDogMom. Drabble prompt: "I'm willing to wait for it."
"Two Little Words"
. . .
The last of the others filter out of the conference room.
Hermione still feels high on her accomplishment. She's been trying to get this bill passed for months. Finally, after all her hard work - success. Though she hates the circumstances of her victory.
It just had to be him to cast the deciding vote. It had to be him who held the power to grant her what she wanted. Him to take ownership of her achievement.
Suddenly triumph tastes bitter in her mouth.
She frowns, stuffing her files a little too violently into her briefcase.
"Two little words."
Hermione spins around. So the despicable bastard has decided to stay and lord it over her.
"Fuck. Off." She scowls at him, turning once more to continue packing her files. The faster the better.
He holds his place, the spark of anger in his expression catching to a blaze.
"What a foul mouth you have, Ms. Granger. One might almost think you were raised by muggles."
Fury lashes like a whip across her body, burning red in her cheeks. How dare he, how dare he!
Whirling around once more, Hermione lifts her chin up at him, huffing out an indignant breath as she steps forward to point a finger into his chest.
"The day I thank you, Mr. Malfoy, will be the day I see you on your knees, bowing before a muggleborn."
The smoldering anger in his gaze seems to shift towards something else.
His lips part, eyes narrow ever so slightly.
There is a long pause as they hold each other's eye, neither willing to back down.
Then, in a single breath, the silence between them takes on a discomforting weight.
"Do I have your word on that, muggleborn? An oath upon your magic?"
Hermione laughs, the imagined visual of such an act absolutely ridiculous. He'd never.
"Sure, Malfoy. Upon my magic: supplicate yourself at the feet of those you believe to be lesser, andI will gladly thank you."
Mischief lights in his eyes. Her stomach flips.
With a wave of his hand, she hears the door lock.
He mutters a silencing charm.
Before she can react, Lucius walks her back till her legs hit the edge of the conference table. Then his hands are at her waist and Hermione finds herself pushed firmly back across its surface.
Papers flutter off the edges as she processes the shock, readying herself for some kind of attack; she starts to reach for her wand –
Instead she watches, awestruck, as Lucius Malfoy slowly lowers himself to his knees.
The unspoken challenge beams in his expression, dangerous and exhilarating.
Hermione stares in wide-eyed astonishment as he raises his hands and begins slowly pushing her pencil skirt up her legs.
"What are you doing?" she gasps, panic lighting her nerves. But the panic is met by fierce arousal that spears through her core, her knickers grow wet at the immoral sight unfolding before her.
Lucius gives her a confused look, reply dripping with false innocence. "Supplicating myself."
His strong hands continue to track up, inch by inch.
Hermione watches, breathless, transfixed, unmoving. She knows his sensuality is a weapon, she just hadn't expected him to use it against her.
Finally the skirt pools at her hips. "This isn't –" she tries, "You're cheating – "
In one swift motion, Lucius spreads her legs wide.
"What did you expect?" he murmurs, nuzzling the soft skin of her inner thigh before placing a decadent, open-mouthed kiss on the inside of her knee.
She shivers, consumed by want, voracious and unquestionable.
Lucius hooks his fingers around the flimsy lace of her knickers and rips. They fall to tatters.
"Oh Gods..." Hermione breathes.
He takes hold of her hips and yanks her forward to him, inhaling her scent.
"Do you like making wizards submit to you, muggleborn?"
Lucius' tongue sweeps a hot line up her sex.
Her back arches against the cold wood of the conference table as the wail of pleasure leaves her. Her trembling legs dangle over the edge, toes curl against the leather of her heels.
All thought of stopping him, of caring about losing, vanishes as his mouth descends on her once more.
Lucius' fingers dig into the soft flesh of her thighs, kneading the flesh. Savoring. He pries her legs even further open to him.
"What a filthy witch you are. Forcing men to their knees in public places… "
His hand comes down hard on her arse.
A sharp gasp leaves her, the smack echoes through the room.
Then his mouth is on her again, gluttonous and unrelenting. She grips blindly the edge of the table, lost. A slave to the mind-numbing perfection of his tongue working her cunt to his will.
He sinks two fingers into her sodden heat.
A moan tumbles from her throat, low and disturbingly needy. If he were to stop now she'd kill him.
She looks down.
Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, covered in the slick sheen of her arousal, is holding her eye with depraved lust as he begins to pump a brutal rhythm within her.
Hermione's head falls back. She's whimpering, an incoherent stream of whining pleas.
He begins to spur her towards annihilation, savagely determined. Perfectly calculated curling movements meant to undo her very being.
"The words, Granger."
She only bucks in response, needing more, more. Lucius' other hand forces her hip firmly to the table with a grip so strong the pain is exquisite.
The pace of his fingers begins to slow. She'll lose her mind.
Panting, she seeks his eye once more in desperation.
He's smirking at her, the silver of his irises have never been so bright.
Holding her gaze he slowly bends, lapping languid torture at the now throbbing bud of her clit.
Hermione keens, rearing up against the vice hold he has on her hip.
This pleases him. He forces her hip down harder. "I'm willing to wait for it. All night if necessary."
Suddenly Lucius' fingers pulse to speed in her once more, merciless pumping thrusts in time to the rhythm of his tongue.
He's leading her to the edge and she will jump, please let her jump –
One more look at him between her legs and she's gone: the strongest orgasm she's ever had crashes over her. Pleasure bursts bright through every cell of her body.
The words rip from her throat, a desperate, moaning prayer:
"Yes – yes – thankyouthankyouthankyou –"
She is bucking wildly against his mouth, walls clenching tight around his still pumping fingers.
Eventually the waves subside. She's buzzing, limbs heavy and useless, her vision still swimming.
Hermione feels the loss of him. Curses it.
She watches him stand.
Lucius removes a silk handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing his mouth with casual sophistication.
In her daze, she sees him Accio her shredded knickers and pocket them.
He turns for the door.
Just before opening it, Lucius glances back over his shoulder, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"You're welcome, Ms. Granger."
. . .