Disclaimer: The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR.
My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet.(dg)
Chapter 24
Draco was not really waiting for this moment. Well, he was, but not in the way it was slowly approaching. He had been looking at the clock over the mantel now and then, it was close to ten in the night. Maybe in an hour, or perhaps two… He just couldn't fathom how exactly to broach the topic to one very angry, literally fuming Ginny. When he had shown Kingsley, Lee Jordon, and Ginny around his Great Gran's Red villa, the men had nodded in approval, but his new wife had managed to scowl again and again.
He didn't pry into what Jordan had said to his wife. He was rather pleased with himself. Kingsley had approved his workshop and his designs. It was something before the Dark Lord moving into the manor, that Draco had got the wind of this property. He had managed to locate this unplottable land, perhaps his great gran had set the wards to allow him, regardless of his age.
But then, he had spent hours in her workshop. Here during the fifth-year summer break, he had made the snake ring, that his wife was wearing in her ring finger. His very first accomplishment. Yes, Doreen Malfoy had a knack for jewelry making, though many were not away. She did have a small business run by other hired wizards, just to keep her off the books. Back in those days, she had managed to start it all by herself. The world was familiar by the boutique called, "Madam Flames pretty precious". Quite flamboyant, but he had looked about and had come across several documents that mentioned how the cream of the magical society would order from this exclusive boutique, having never met the maker. He had dreamt of doing the same. He had called his business, "Red". He would work behind the screen, appoint others to sell his stuff, have a boutique of his own. Women loved Jewels…Mother would always…say…
Ginny had been smarting since Draco had kissed her during the binding ceremony. She didn't wish to think much about it. But the way his lips had moved, the way his breath had tickled her lips…There again, he was looking at the watch…surely, he was too eager to…this was what the tenth bloody time. As if dinner was not torturing enough. Why was he acting so, so un Malfoy like? Why didn't he rise up to her jibes, why did he have to make a lemon-flavored pudding, how did he know, there again, he had checked the time…if he wants it, she will shove it right on his face.
"Why to sit here and check the timepiece, Malfoy, we know we got finish off sealing this bond, let us get on with it then," screaming at him, with as much as hatred she to master, she had got up and had walked away.
She had stormed inside the bedroom ahead of him. When he had inched towards the open door, he had to stop on his tracks. She was laying above the midnight blue satin bedsheets, not a stitch on herself. Her tunic laid discarded near the foot bench. She had her arms crossed over her chest. He could not stop himself from staring at her. Her chest rose each time she took a breath. Her hair spread around her head, like a halo of a pagan goddess. Her legs long, firm, her stomach dipped, her hips full.
And she was his. He didn't wish to think of Potter or Dean or all those countless boys, she might have snogged in the dark corridors of Hogwarts. Ginevra was his wife. And Draco hated sharing what was his, with the world. Unknowingly he had taken a couple of steps inside the bedroom when she had turned her angry eyes on him. Shooting him with her venomous glare, she had bitten each of the words, "I am not going to let you enjoy it." Turning, she had laid down on her stomach. Her hair fanned around her head. Red against the midnight blue satin sheets. A pale candle, with a brightly burning wick, only he had the right to keep the fire burning with his touch.
He had removed his tunic. His pale slender body had shone. But here no one was eager to partake in his offer. She won't even look back. Like he was dirt below her feet. She won't even touch him as he had come out of the underbelly of the world. True, he was forced to spent days in close contact with pure Evil. But he was his mother's son too. He did have compassion. He could show affection, love, and adoration if only fate would give him a chance. He would die if he was left to his own devices. He needed her, just to live. He needed her, just relearn how to embrace life.
He had gulped a couple of times. He wanted to see her face. Her freckles, her flared up nose, her eyes. Her full lips. He couldn't debate with the reasons for which she was denying him all this. How ironic this was. Throughout his entire life, he had girls whining after him, to undress for the pleasure of their hungry eyes. He might have slept around a bit, but those hasty romps were fumbling of early tweenhood.
He had dreamt of truly enjoying his first time with his wife. Languish in depths of her supple body, cherish her soft touches, kiss her like a mad man. Twisted fate had to go and screw up with him yet again. He had managed to prepare himself through a couple of swift strokes, settling above her prone body, he had allowed himself to nestle over her stiff body. He had dared to touch her hip. But she had simply shrugged his hand off. He had placed his palm, ghosting it over the small of her back, she had slapped it away. Turning her head to one side, she had looked at him over her shoulder, "Don't touch me unnecessarily, Malfoy, if you still love your bits!"
To say he was going to take her lashing laying down, beg for her responses, was a folly. He had enough of it. He had knelt over and had thrust in her, for a moment forgetting who she was, and what they were, and why they were here together at this hour of the night. Surprisingly she had not screamed. She had got hold of a pillow, stuffing it below her head, and had bitten on it. He could see, her hands fisting the pillow in a tight grip. He could hear her whimper. She was not ready. Neither was she allowing him to make her.
She had been painfully clenching her muscles, threatening to choke him. Merlin, even in hatred, she was a seductress. The skin over her back had broken into goosebumps. Taunting him and luring him to have a taste of them. Her spine had flexed. He was in awe with the way each one of those bones had sent ripples through her muscles. Her skin had glowed, a sheen of sweat slowly forming over her naked expense. He had ventured to rub his knees on the sides of her hip, but as a warning, she squeezed, determined to suck out his life, his self-control.
He had leaned forward. The change in position had helped him ease the tension, had helped him slide further in. He could now feel her whole bareback rub against his chest. Exquisite was not even close to explaining this burst of newfound feelings racing in his veins. He had to brace his fall, or else he would end up smashing her into the mattress. In a daze, he had kept his palms on both sides of her head.
To simply think that she was crying, was an insult to nature. She felt like being violated. She felt like being shredded into million pieces. In her beating heart, she still loved Harry. And here she was under her new husband, the very person whose father had tried to kill her. Or get her killed, how was that different? She had been biting hard on the pillow. She had been gripping that soft covers in a tight fist, imagining it to be Lucius, imagining it to be the nasty snarling Draco Malfoy she was so familiar with. Hate, undiluted hate was the only feeling she had ever harbored for the Malfoy heir. But this man over her was confusing her ever since he had explained himself in that small ministry consultation room.
No, no, no, she would not give up her hate for his elusive display of compassion. A git is a git. End of discussion. Picking her head up from the now thorough wet pillow, she had caught his fingers in between her teeth and had snapped her jaw on them. If he was making her bleed to consummate their farce of a marriage, she would make him pay with an equal amount of sheering pain.
He had felt her teeth sink in his skin, breaking it, he was felt the sting then the burn and had tried hard not to yelp. No, he could not let her have the easy way in this matter. The pain was not something he would allow to borrow and find a cozy home in his marriage. For both of their sanity, he had to find another way. Gritting his teeth, he had kept quiet. But magic made sure to let loose the dam of swirling passion within both of them.
She had ultimately lost the battle of holding her grounds against his thrusts. What had started with a flicker of a small fire below, gradually spread around like wildfire, making her keen. The first wave of her shrugging orgasm had unhinged him completely, He had almost emptied himself, growling and grunting her name. She had heard him above her, and had screamed, "I hate you".
Gripping himself, he had immediately pushed away from her, away from the sinful bed, away from the beaconing, tempting calls of invisible tendrils of her passion. Doubling over, he had curled beside the bed, the after-effects of their undesired coupling rocking through him, disgracefully spilling himself. He had wailed, cried and had hit his head on the floor. Slapping the floorboard, again and again, he had screamed, "No, no, no, no, why me, why it is always me, why…." In between those streams of tears flowing down freely through his stormy grey eyes, "Why can't you see, I am not my father, not my father, not not, him, never."
An unsure voice from somewhere above had called him out of his raving, "Malfoy?"
After all this, he was still Malfoy to her. This broke him, shattered his walls, without looking back, he had pulled at the first thing he could get a hold of. A soft tunic. This would do. He had pulled himself up, thrown over the sheer piece of cloth on him, and had literally thrown himself away, into the bathroom. She could have the false satisfaction that she might have succeeded in tearing away his bits, by Draco wanted to be alone, to nurse his open wounds. Slamming the door shut, he had propped himself against it, fresh tears had started falling freely once again.
A/N: Thoughts, please.
