Hermione (8:51AM): Truth or lie. I'm not wearing knickers today.

She sends the message as she walks into the room, and takes her time when it comes to sliding into her seat. Well aware of his eyes on her, Hermione makes a show of it. Her bag slips down her arm, and she nudges it closer to the leg of her chair. If she looks up, Hermione imagines how she'll find him staring at her.

With his hand clutching the edge of the table probably. Draco's eyes will have narrowed, and they'll sweep over her from head to toe while he imagines how she's bare beneath her joggers.

Draco (8:53AM): Truth.

He's right, of course, but it hadn't been a very hard question either. As the lecture carries on, Hermione only allows herself to glance at her mobile a few times. Usually when Professor Snape takes a breath, or grumbles as he deals with the program failing.

Draco (9:17AM): You're a menace. It's certainly not a normal word of endearment, but that's exactly what it is as it's coming from him. He's said it before, last weeked in the dark room inside of Theo's home. The word slithers down her spin, warm and inviting as it goes.

As the lecture carries on, Draco Malfoy tells her how he's imagining fucking her right there. Peeling her joggers away from her, and sinking into her as she's bent over the desk.

Hermione (9:42AM): Does this mean you're an exhibitionist?

He snorts a laugh, and it's only slightly muffled when he places a hand over his face.

Daphne's picked up on the fact that there is something going on with her roommate, but she's not sure what. Hermione waits for the other shoe to drop, but the inevitable never comes. It only makes the anticipation of it worse, which could be Daphne's entire game.

Hermione thinks and thinks and thinks until she's sick of it. This is easy. So simple, in fact, that she's a fool for wasting so much time to panic over it. Clearly, she and Draco are attracted to one another. For now, she says, they can keep it as only that.

The decision has nothing to do with the fact that she thinks she'll break apart in the worst way if she ever gets herself off while only imagining his weight over her. They'd been texting. There had been a joke over how typing with one hand was not as easy as one might think, and then the jokes had stopped there.

The words are in her mobile, tucked away in a thread that has his name, and she's looked at them so many times she should be embarrassed. In them, Draco tells her exactly what to do to herself. How to move her fingers-how he would do it if he were there. And despite telling herself that she would go after what she wants, she's in this exact same situation on a Friday night..

Whimpering under her breath, she's grateful that Daphne's never home on the weekends.

Draco (9:12PM): Slide your fingers in, sweetheart. You must be soaking.

She is. She says so.

She thinks that it doesn't matter who caves first because they've both tipped over the edge, and landed somewhere in the middle rather than where they need to be.

Draco (9:18PM): Fuck, I love the sounds you make.

Hermione (9:20PM): Do you want to hear them?

Hermione sends the message, desperate and on the edge of pleasure. It comes out of the blue, not planned yet inevitable, and she's desperate enough to drag him over the edge with her.

Hermione (9:21PM): Do you want to hear me?

The call fills her screen in a matter of seconds, and Hermione bites out a laugh at his impatience. Of course, he's calling her already. He's been just as impatient as she has. The sound of his breathing—harsh and heavy—fills the line, and it does delicious things to the warmth pooling in her stomach.

"Hi." Hermione murmurs. There's absolutely no one else in the flat, but she whispers anyway.

The soft chuckle that greets her causes her stomach to clench, and her fingers to flex tightly around the phone. It's just not enough to only have his voice in her ear. She needs everything else—his hands on her bare skin, his breath rushing past her ear when as he hovers over her, his mouth on her in any place she can manage to get it.

"Tell me again," Draco's voice is smooth, and she clutches the phone even closer. "What are you doing again?"

A second ticks by, and Hermione shifts in bed. "I'm doing exactly what you told me to do." Hermione manages to sound haughty, and she imagines he's probably stifling a grin over it. "I'm fingering myself." Inwardly, she wants to cringe. There has to be a better way she could have said that. She has to let that awkwardness go, however, or this will end before it begins and she cannot think of anything worse. "You were right. I'm soaked."

His groan makes her feel less silly, and more like she's doing something right. "And what were you thinking of before you decided to play with your pretty cunt?"

She's bare beneath the thin sheets, but they feel too heavy anyway. The fabric rubs against her nipples, and her teeth dig into her bottom lip. "You."

Draco clicks his tongue, a soft tsk, and her hand stills. "You'll need to tell me more, sweetheart." God, he says that she's the terrible one, but she can barely think straight with his low voice in her ear and her hand between her thighs. And now he wants her to manage full sentences?

"I'm imagining what it would be like if you were here with me, rather than on the phone with me." Hermione's fingers brush her clit, and she whines. "I want you here. That's it. I'm thinking of your hands instead of my own." Now that she's started, Hermione finds that it's impossible to stop, probably because she's been holding it in for too long now. "It's what I always think of."

It's not something she's said in as many words since this—the in between of hooking up, and not—but it's always been implied.

"Ever since that night on the roof, even when I swore that I wasn't going to think about you, I did."

"Fucking hell." Draco groans.

For a moment, she wonders if he's going to ask for them to meet. The dam is already breaking—cracks and fissures forming in the already weakening barrier—and she doesn't know what she would say.

In the gap of time, when she whimpers as the heel of her palm presses against her clit, Hermione considers how he could be there in twenty minutes. Probably less. She thinks that she'd say yes because she's already shaking, and the need to break apart is overwhelming.

"I need to come so badly." Hermione whines, and breaks the silence. "Please." The word slips out without her thinking of what she's asking.

"Touch yourself for me." Draco's voice is gravely. "Are you using your toys, sweetheart?"

Her toes dig into the mattress. "Just my hands." Falling into bed so early had not been planned, but then they had been talking and it shifted so rapidly she hadn't stopped to think about anything else.

He makes her so irresponsible.

"Will you get your vibrator for me?"

Hermione pitches to the side, and pulls it from the bedside table.

"There's a new game. Play with me?"

The low, keening sound that escapes her has everything to do with his voice that's ragged against her ear. She can hear how badly he wants to be here. "How do I play?"

"If I were there, I'd want to watch you fall apart. There is nothing I would love more than push you until you're about to come, and then not let you. Would you let me?"

"Please," Hermione's legs tense as she twists in the sheets.

"Hold the vibrator to your clit," the instruction is smooth, velvety. "I want to hear you. Do you understand? No keeping yourself quiet this time."

God.

"Okay." She presses the button, sets the speed at the lowest like he tells her, and circles her clit. "Would you do this to me? Use toys?"

"Oh, I am going to use every toy you own with you, Granger. Every last one. I want to watch you writhe as you come all over yourself. Will you let me?"

Hearing him ask only makes her burn that much hotter. "I'd beg for it." Hermione admits, and listens to the rough laugh that follows. Her breasts shake as she tenses, and presses her hips closer to the vibrator, grinding her cunt against it. "It feels so good. Fuck."

Draco tells her to up the setting. "I was right, you know. I fucking love the sounds you make. Short intakes of breath before you moan for me. Your whines are fucking delicious."

This filthy thing between them carries on, with her wishing he was there, and Hermione moans his name. 'Please, I need to come so badly. Oh my God." Being on the edge comes out of nowhere.

"Stop."

Hermione drops the vibrator, and mewls in displeasure. "No, no—Draco, please."

"Did you stop?" He asks, and the smirk he must be wearing is audible.

"Yes."

"Such a good girl for me."

He keeps winding her up like that, pushing her further each time, and the next stop doesn't irritate her at all. But she's so far gone that any filter she might have had is gone.

"I'm so fucking wet." She lifts her hips. "I've made such a fucking mess of myself." The vibrator is on the highest setting now, pressed against her swollen cunt, and she is so close to shattering apart. "I want to hear you come." Hermione says then.

"Once you come for me," Draco purrs. In between it all, Hermione listens to how he plans to fuck her. How his fingers will feel when they wrap around her throat—and she whimpers how it's what she wants—how his mouth will map every inch of her, and how badly he wants to taste her tight cunt until she's dripping down her thighs. "Are you going to be my good girl, sweetheart?"

Her head tips backward, and her legs tremble. "God, yes. I think I'd do whatever you said."

Draco groans. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"Draco," Hermione whispers. "I can't handle anymore."

He tells her to let go, and it's barely seconds later when she shrieks. It's his name, always his name, and she's shaking as she comes down. Eager for the sensation that causes her legs to shake, Hermione holds the vibrator to her clit still for as long as she can manage.

"Fuck, it feels so good." It sounds like a sob, and the most embarrassing sounds slip out of her whenever Draco rasps her name.,

She'll never be able to hear Hermione from him without imagining this.

It's not enough. In the afterglow, all she can think of is how desperately she wants to see him right now. Hearing him is not enough.

"I need you." Hermione's voice is thick with the admission, ragged from the soreness in her throat. "And maybe we can't manage all of this while you're my teaching assistant, but…" She's not sure what she's going to say until it's spilling out of her mouth. "It could just be physical."

Draco doesn't disagree out loud, but he doesn't really need to. She feels it anyway. "Neither of us believe that." The statement is carefully framed by his soft tone.

Hermione nods at no one. "I know."

"Alright then. If it's what you need to believe, then I can go along with it."

"I think that you were right to say we wait until the semester ends, but—"

"If you say you just want to get me out of your system," Draco jokes, but she thinks there might be a bit of hurt there too.

"No, of course not. It's just a means to placate ourselves. Just the once."

Though neither of them say it, the silence says only one thing. There is no chance that anything between them can be just the once. It's flirting with a disaster, but Hermione lets the decision swallow her whole.

When it comes to the two of them, Hermione tends to escalate. She swears that's why when a bit of their guessing game turns risqué in the morning, she locks her bedroom door—Daphne sincerely never, ever knocks—and sends a picture that she knows will be on his mind through the entire day.

Her shirt is tugged up, the bottom of it clenched in her fist, Hermione kneels on her bed, and takes the most flattering photo she can manage. She keeps her face out of it—not quite that bold—and keeps her bra on.

The message that comes back makes her stomach clench. Two words, because what else is there that either of them could say?

Draco (7:51 AM) This weekend?

For once, she does not tell herself no. She doesn't remind her of all the reasons it could be a bad idea. It's been leading to this all along, and she's been a fool to believe it could be avoided.

It's after dark when Hermione climbs the stairs of Draco's complex. His flat is on the top floor, and her thighs are already burning. Her stomach is a jumble of nerves with every new step, and even though she's far past trying to talk herself out of this. With the mindset that this was going to happen no matter how badly she tried not to, there's really no point in turning around, and running back to her car.

She hadn't told Daphne where she was going. Despite the curious glance her roommate had given her all the way to the door, Hermione had offered a shrug and muttered that she might not be back tonight.

And honestly, she was hoping that would turn out to be the case. Still in the vein of telling herself that all of this is only an attempt to get Draco Malfoy out of her system—and her head, if she could manage it—Hermione knows that what's gone unsaid is the only truth of all of this. There is no one time.

It would never be enough. One of them will keep coming back, or both of them, and they will crash all over again.

Hermione lingers at the top landing, and leans against the railing. She catches her breath, focusing on the chill of the metal that's currently biting into the middle of her back, or the way the wind seeps through her jeans.

When she puts one in front of the other, and comes to stand in front of the door, Hermione checks the address in her phone one last time before she raises her hand to knock. She can hear the soft footfalls on the other side before it swings open. Draco's fingers are curled around the edge of the door, above his head, and he looks surprised that she's shown up.

It's irritating.

His flat is modern, soft tones, but Hermione takes one glance at it and then looks to him. The background of this doesn't matter. She doesn't care what sofa he has, or what furniture he has. "You thought I wasn't going to show up." Accusation colors her voice, and she stops herself from smiling.

He locks the door before he turns to face her, sliding his hands into his pockets. There's a subtle curve to his mouth. He's on the edge of grinning at her. "I had prepared myself for that to be a possibility."

Hermione sets her bag on the sofa, not breaking eye contact. "And what would you have done if I hadn't?"

When Draco rocks back on his heels, she thinks it's meant to look as though he's the awkward one. Out of place. Instead, he looks casually confident, and she hates it. "I might have pleaded with you to come anyway."

She laughs, and runs her fingertips along the edge of the sofa. "I knew I wasn't going to back out. If I had to spend another night listening to you rather than being with you, I wouldn't be able to stand it."

Draco closes the gap between them, towering over her, and his hand comes down on her hip. "I don't think that's entirely true. You love listening to my voice, don't you?" His fingers tighten on her, pulling her forward until she's flush against him.

"It's not as enjoyable when we're on the phone, and you're not touching me." Gripping the front of his shirt, Hermione pulls him down to her and stretches up until she can press her mouth to his. "As enjoyable as talking is," Hermione murmurs, and enjoys the slide of his hands over her sides. "I'm rather tired of talking."

Draco curls his fingers in her hair, grabbing it by a handful while she's focused on getting his shirt over his head. She rips the edge of it up, and tugs it over his head, laughing when he doesn't want to pull away so she can. He does though, and while it's only a second that his mouth is away from hers, Draco kisses her as if it's been hours.

They stumble together, him nearly stepping on her toes and her actually stepping on his. Her jacket goes first, lost somewhere near the kitchen. Then her shoes, which are kicked off, and one is wedged beneath the sofa.

Draco nearly knocks a frame off the wall when he drags her thin top off, and she bites out a laugh.

That laugh dies up in her throat as he looks over her. She's not completely bare yet since she's still wearing her jeans, and her bra. It would be a good moment to think of something to say—something witty, something flirtatious—but Hermione can barely pull together her thoughts as they're looking at one another.

His chest is built with sharp lines that define his abdomen—lines that she wants to drag her tongue across until she's created a mental map—and then there are the lines leading even further down. Those are the ones she wants to spread her fingers across while dropping to her knees.

"You are wearing entirely too many clothes." Hermione blurts, and she's smiling too fucking wide to consider how red her face has grown.

Wide-eyed in a way that sends a thrill all the way through her, Draco slams her against the wall. Frames rattle when he does, and there's the sound of glass breaking near them. He curses low, and then he picks her up as though she's made of nothing at all. Of course, that's not true either.

She knows that because no one has tried to pick her up before and she's been glad for it, if only to avoid the embarrassment that would have come with it.

Fingers tighten on her hips while she tilts her head to the side. Hermione wraps her legs around him, sliding her arms over his shoulders before she digs her fingers into his hair. Her nails scrape his scalp, and the groan he gives vibrates through her.

He shifts, pushing her higher, and she hears the glass being crushed beneath his feet. Draco keeps her just like that, pinning her to the wall with his hips, and frames her face with one hand. "How am I supposed to walk away after one time?"

Instead of answering, she crushes her mouth to his, and whimpers when he slips one hand behind her to unsnap her bra. She tosses it to the side, and she's not at all sure where it lands in the corridor. A soft moan slips between her teeth and Draco's lips close around her nipple, and she arches her back, pressing herself closer to him.

Heat spreads through her, like flames that continue to burn as though they don't know how to give out.

She nudges him by digging her heels into his back. "Bed," Hermione whispers, still combing her fingers through his hair.

"I rather thought I would sink to my knees here for you." Draco's voice is thick, a rasp that has her squeezing her eyes shut. "Hold you against the wall until you're coming apart on my tongue."

Hermione shivers. "The glass…" But it's not a no and both of them know it.

He swipes the glass out of the way, crunching it beneath his boots, and carefully sets her down. She's certain that he hasn't taken nearly enough care for himself, and that he's probably kneeling over glass shards that moment. But she doesn't argue, her throat too thick with an emotion she doesn't want to think about.

Draco drags her jeans down her thighs, and a smirk curves his lips as she kicks them to the side. He hooks his fingers in the sides of her knickers, and then she's bare for him. "Fucking Christ," Draco groans.

He is still wearing too many clothes, but she forgets to say just that as he pulls one of her legs over his shoulder. Then it's the other in a slow, careful movement that she knows is more for her than for him.

"This is a first," Hermione says quietly.

"That's a fucking shame." He rasps. Draco's tongue moves over her, teasing her clit before flattening against her sensitive flesh.

He groans when she pulls his hair, so Hermione tests the limits by pulling just a bit harder, and his reaction doesn't disappoint.

Around them, there's a clear path of what's happened. Clothes are strewn everywhere. More than one photograph has fallen from the wall. An official document from the university has toppled over as well, and she nearly begins to say they shouldn't leave it, but two fingers slide into her, curling, and she forgets.

Hermione cries out his name over and over again. Clutching at him, while her legs tighten. Too far past the point of embarrassment, she pushes her hips closer to him, desperate for his tongue to slide over her cunt again.

"Please, I'm so close." It's during that thought, the plea, that she thinks this is what they should have done at that party. "Draco—" Hermione comes with a scream, her chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. It's awkward, moving to where she's able to properly sit on the floor, but he pulls her into his lap until she's straddling him.

Kissing him has always been desperate, in case it's the last time she gets the chance, but Draco is the one to slow them down this time. He tastes of her, and he cradles her face as though she is something fragile.

They're never going to make it into the bedroom.

Hermione fumbles with the button of his trousers, swatting away his hand when he tries to slow her down once more. "I'm tired of waiting."

He snorts a laugh, and his eyes are brighter for it. "I'm not going to fuck you on the floor, Hermione. Not yet, anyway. There's glass."

"I'll be fine." She pulls down the zipper.

Draco shakes his head and pulls Hermione to her feet as he stands. She expects him to lead her to the bedroom then, since he's so determined to avoid the glass, but she shrieks when he tosses her over his shoulder instead.

"Is this necessary?"

He slaps her arse and carries her the short distance down the corridor. Draco's room is dark, and she doesn't glance farther than the bed that he throws her onto. She bounces, and then she kneels on the bed, eager to watch him finally take his pants off.

The bed dips beneath his knee as he joins her in bed, pulling her into his side while slipping a hand between her legs. Her thighs are slick, and she whines as his fingers brush her clit. Reaching between them, Hermione wraps her fingers around his cock, running her thumb over the head of his cock.

Draco groans low in her ear, and his breath is hot as it falls across her skin. "Fucking hell."

She's not able to drum up something as coherent as proper words. Hermione's too busy whimpering into the crook of his shoulder, nipping, and running her tongue across his throat while he rubs slow, agonizing circles over her clit. "Draco. God, I'm so sensitive." The weight of his fingers lessens and she cries out in disappointment. "No, don't stop."

"Can you come for me again, sweetheart?" He murmurs, threading his fingers through her hair. "You're positively dripping for me." Draco presses a kiss to her forehead where beads of sweat have gathered.

His cock is thick in her hand, and all she wants to do is straddle him and sink down onto his cock.

"Will you come all over my hand?" He continues, and she whines his name. "All over my fucking sheets, like a good girl?"

"Oh, God." She can't catch her breath. "Draco, I—" A moan cuts her off.

"Trust me?" Draco rumbles, and she nods.

Of course are the words that she mouths, but she's too interested in watching him as he moves.

Draco slips away from her side. He wedges a knee between her spread thighs, and holds both of her wrists in one large hand before pinning them above her head. "Say so, and I'll let go." He waits for her to nod. "Will you tell me how badly you want to come?" Blond hair falls into his face. "Please, sweetheart?"

She's nothing against those words. Hermione tests the limits by wriggling under him, trying to free her hands, and watches a heart stopping grin spread over his face when he tightens his grip. Throwing her head back, she licks her lips and lifts her hips. "Please." Her voice is sweet, more breathy than she's ever heard from herself. "I need to come so badly."

When he flexes his fingers on her wrists, she likes the pressure it leaves her with. She hopes it will leave a mark that will be obvious in the morning in case this is the only time. She'll tug her sleeves over her hands so no one sees them, or perhaps she won't.

Maybe she'll allow anyone to see.

Draco nudges her legs apart as she squirms, knuckles pressing against the soft flesh of her inner thigh. "Spread your legs for me, Hermione."

Her breathing is shallow, and every nerve is coiled so tightly, they are on the verge of breaking.

"Good girl," he praises her.

"Love your fucking hands on me," Hermione manages, stumbling over the word I before abandoning it completely. "God, your fucking hands."

When she does look at him, between flashes of squeezing her eyes shut, and gasping the most ridiculous things, he's grinning. Draco doesn't try to coax her into saying anything else, but truthfully, he doesn't have to.

He brings her to the edge, and this time, he doesn't tease her by pulling his hand away. She wants to do that some time though and Hermione says as much just before her orgasm crests. Draco's hands loosen, and he crushes her mouth beneath his in a bruising kiss that she feels all the way to her toes when they dig into the sheets.

Hermione's nails cut into his shoulders as she grabs him, and rolls him onto his back. Too impatient to wait for anything else, she straddles his lap, and rolls her hips one. Twice. "I'm so tired of waiting."

He holds onto her as she takes his cock slowly, inch by inch. Her hair slips from the bun she's put her hair in, and he reaches up. Draco carefully takes her hair from the elastic, cursing under his breath because of the fucking curls and his rings. At one point, he says that he'll just take the bloody things off.

Hermione gasps, "No," and fully sits in his lap. "Don't take off the rings." And then she kisses the smug smirk right off his face. Eventually, all of her hair is down, falling around their faces like a thick curtain.

Lacing her fingers through his, Hermione holds his hands over their heads and his rings knock against the headboard. It's a blur of kissing him—and when he catches her bottom lip between his teeth—moving quickly against him while he guides her by her hips, and he lifts his pelvis to thrust into her.

"You have the best fucking cunt." Draco shifts them, rolling them and groans when she rests on her hands and knees.

Hermione lays with her breasts pressed to the bed, her back arched at a positively obscene angle, and throws a cheeky glance over her shoulder. "Well?"

The first stroke of his cock is slow, and she pushes herself back, lips parted in a moan.

"Hermione, fuck." She likes the sound of her name in his mouth, the uneven groan that's behind it. Draco wraps a chunk of her hair over his knuckles, and pulls until she moans again. "You're taking my cock so fucking well. Such a pretty girl for me. The way your cunt grips my cock is goddamn sublime."

The sheets crumple under her hands and Hermione's thighs burn with each push against him. "Draco!"

He reaches down, fingers finding her clit and he rubs in quick circles.

"I don't think—I can't." Hermione whimpers.

"That's it," Draco rasps. "Fuck yourself on my cock, sweetheart." He has her on the edge again, quicker than she thought possible.

She comes with a scream, and Draco follows her right over that ledge. "Oh my fucking God." Hermione breathes unevenly, and Draco guides her down to the bed. Then his weight is gone, and she watches him disappear into the loo before appearing once more with a damp cloth.

He wipes the insides of her thighs, and collapses beside her. "Come here," he whispers. Draco's fingers trail over her arms, her shoulders, and he presses his lips to her brow. "Granger?"

She snorts. "It's Granger now?"

Draco swipes his thumb across her bottom lip, and his eyes darken when she takes the digit in her mouth, cheeks hollowing as she sucks.

She has the distinct feeling that she knows exactly what he wants to say so she says, "Ask me, Malfoy."

"Stay the night with me."

Hermione rolls onto her side, facing him still, and gives a short nod. "I expect at least four more orgasms."

His laugh is warm, and husky. She wants to hear that laugh all of the time. "As I recall, you thought three was too much."

"Well," Hermione huffs, her voice tired already. "Three has never happened in a single night before. I was rather surprised."

He nuzzles the top of her head, a sleepy sort of affection that she knows she could get used to. "I take that as a personal challenge."

"Oh? What are you going to do to me? See how many orgasms you can wring from my poor body in a night?" Hermione watches that vicious little grin form, and smirks herself. "I have toys for that, you know."

I really want to get back into fanfiction, but it's so hard. Anyway, I hope that you will enjoy this and I will do my best to update again soon.