Chapter 36
While Draco had removed the magical restraints on her in terms of hurting him, he hadn't removed the proximity charm. Which wasn't a problem, because he wasn't leaving the house. If that was because of her, she couldn't tell. Maybe dealing with sedating her was too big a hassle to bother with. Equally, it didn't seem that he was itching to get out.
Mostly, he spent time in his study with closed doors, and she had no idea what he was doing in there. Was he working? It could even be that he was silently removing the proximity charm and leaving without her knowing.
As much as she wanted to press her ear up to the door to see if he was there, over her dead body did she want to get caught. For all she knew, he could see her shadow under the door.
But what was she supposed to do in this house? It was old and seemed to creak and groan wherever she walked. Other than battling or hiding from Draco, she didn't have much else to do. But something had changed with him. They ate together, and slept together, but he wasn't engaging with her in the same way. It was as he'd pressed pause on them in some way, and she didn't understand it.
There was a library, a fairly well stocked one, but in all honesty, she didn't have the zeal for learning like she'd used to have. That eagerness that had driven her to learn everything she could—about this society she had no part in now. On some level, it felt traitorous to herself to learn more about magic, because her future wasn't in the magical community. Or rather, her ambition was to be as far away from the magical community as possible.
Standing as she was in the salon, she could see the closed doors of Draco's study. The dark wood was shiny with lacquer. This house seemed to suit him. It had the refined furniture and the dark décor, but it also had a form of cosiness about it. Maybe it was the low ceilings, the calm wood of a very old house.
But this was his domain. She was now existing within his domain. It had been different at Malfoy Manor. That had been enemy territory, as deep into enemy territory as she could get, but this was different. This was his space. It felt like an extension of him, as though the structures were his body and it kept her captive. The heavy wood framing of the walls like his ribcage, keeping her prisoner inside. Part of her craved it, craved him—the sex. Another part of her wanted to burn this house down.
No one came, no one went. And the calmer he seemed to be, the more tension grew in her. Because he was calm. The craziness had settled, or maybe they were just on the inside of it, like the eye of the storm.
"Would madam like some tea?" a small voice said. An elf. Hermione had seen it before. She felt like crying. There was nothing she could do for this elf. It didn't take orders from her anyway. It was just being courteous to the master's guest. When she'd been younger, she thought she could save the elves, get them released, but it wasn't the wizards keeping them in servitude. It was the elves that bound themselves into servitude, and she still couldn't understand it. You couldn't release a prisoner that didn't want to go.
Maybe that was what she feared for herself, being a prisoner who wanted to be here. Because being here provided something that freedom didn't. A sharp little fear worried that in some way, she was already there.
As the little creatures stared at her, waiting for a reaction. "Yes," she finally said. It disappeared.
Was this what defeat was, her wanting to be here? Was that when he'd finally let her go? His final revenge? He was that cruel. She just wasn't sure he was that together that he could plan something so devious. Then again, it never paid to underestimate him.
The elf returned with a silver tea tray, small porcelain cups with roses painted on them. What history did these cups have? They couldn't have been something he'd picked out. This was the taste of some woman in the past. Her things still here long after she'd gone.
"Have there been any other women here while you've served the master?" she asked, realizing she didn't know much about Draco's history between leaving Hogwarts until he'd come looking for her.
"No," the elf said.
What had he been doing? Surely he hadn't been celibate. It wasn't in his nature. Had he had a girlfriend amongst one of the arrogant purebloods? That seemed to be his type. That should be his type. For them, he was still the number one catch. It wasn't hard to see that when he walked into a salon. They even tolerated his bad behavior. Not everyone was allowed to bring their whore with them to the elegant pureblood evenings. Marcus had, but that had been mostly to the seedier clubs. When Marcus had taken her, it had been to goad Draco. Draco's reasons were a little more obscure. Yes, to goad Marcus, but a lot of it was for her benefit—to humiliate her.
But that didn't seem to drive him as much now. He wasn't provoking her the same way he had been, and maybe that should worry her. This could be him lulling her into a false sense of security.
She drank tea and paced the house. Slowly the sun shifted in the windows, and started to fade. Tension grew in her, because he would come out of that study.
Eventually she heard the door. A soft, but unmistakable sound. The candles were lit when she reached the dining room. He looked over at her and then lifted a drink for her to take. He looked his typical self, white shirt and black slacks. The drink was a rich, deep orange color. She wasn't sure what it was, but it was exactly like the one he had, and she took it. It smelled spicy, a hint of vanilla, and maybe rum. It burned as she took a sip, but it wasn't unpleasant.
"What had you done today?" he asked, leaning back against the side table. He looked so relaxed his arm crossed, drink in hand.
"Wondering what you do in there all day."
His eyes shifted, but there was no expression on his face, no look of annoyance or surprise. "Always so curious. When had that not gotten you in trouble?"
He had a point.
"Have you been thinking about me, Hermione?" he said teasingly.
Of course she had been. How could she not? She wished she thought less about him. "You're the only other person in this house."
"Do you want to leave? Shall we go out?"
"No."
This made him smile, and she wasn't sure she'd seen him this relaxed before. It made her wary.
Grabbing her skirt, he drew her closer to him. And now she felt the pressure of the closeness, his attention fully on her. "Tell me what you did today?" he repeated.
"I played solitaire," she finally said and took a sip of her drink.
"Did you read?" His hand snuck under her skirt and touched her knee. She wanted to back away and not at the same time. Tension rose up her body, but a very different kind of tension. His palm was warm and smooth, in places a little rough with callouses he had from something she didn't want to ask about.
She didn't answer the question. "There are some very interesting books in my library. Forbidden ones."
Yes, there was an inkling of curiosity in her still. But his hand traveling up her thigh was very distracting. He pulled her closer until she stood between his legs as he still leaned against the side table.
"Never known you to pass up anything forbidden," he said, his fingers traveling across her underwear and pressing to her most sensitive little nub. Biting her lips together, she refused to let a sound escape her. The warmth, the pressure sent delicious tension spiraling through her body. "What else did you do?"
His assault continued relentlessly and he watched her response. "Uh, I drank tea in the salon," she said. "I took a bath."
"Did you think of me?"
"In a manner of speaking."
This made him chuckle, but his fingers slipped inside her underwear and slowly pressed to her nub so her breath hitched. Leaning his head forward, his lips stroked along her neckline as his fingers slipped inside her. The drink fell from her fingers.
"Did you think about hurting me?" he asked, his voice rough. Whatever this was, it felt dangerous, but she couldn't escape it—wasn't sure she could bring herself to if she wanted to. The sensation he wrought in her was the most potent drug she'd ever experienced. Her lips had gone completely dry and ached to touch, for softness, or firmness—for something.
Then he kissed her and she tasted him and vanilla, and pure desire. Her senses swam in lusciousness. How was it he could do this to her? How could he make her want him so much? Her body melted for him. Shivered as he firmly pressed his fingers deep inside her. She gasped and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss.
His lips demanded, his hand in her hair drawing her deeper, and she needed more. Gripping her to him, he carried her and placed her down on the table. In a second, her underwear was gone and a second more, he was inside her. A harsh fullness that felt like utter perfection. His breath in her ear as he thrust sharply into her. Every part of her felt him, needed him, arching to get him deeper.
More sharp thrusts and her release was bearing down on her. Waves of pure pleasure, surging through her whole body. The paused reality between them as he reached his. Everything else had disappeared but this one moment. And then it slipped away and she was back in her body, fighting to get air into her lungs.
Her body was on fire, but she felt his absence when he withdrew from her. She was still too spent to move.
"I'll make you another drink," he said and she heard ice tinkle into a glass.
Sitting up, she felt ravished and she smoothed her skirt and hair, tried to recover her senses. Maybe even her dignity, which was hurt from surrendering so completely.
A glass came into her view and she took it. "We're having fish, I think," he said.
