It was the first Thursday in June when I relinquished myself to my curiosity. I wore a skirt to the office, with every intention of drawing Malfoy's attention. I had to lather my thighs in lotion to keep them from rubbing themselves raw in the skirt, which was one size too short. The lotion smelled like cake, an added bonus that might earn me some sort of… praise. Safe to say my efforts were not in vain.

"Granger, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you dressed to impress me." Malfoy said once he finally arrived to the office. I'd been sitting at my desk since 7:00am waiting for him to prance into the front door and do his rounds of talking up every witch in the building. It was 9:30 now.

I attempted to muster every bit of confidence I'd found in my floor length mirror that morning. I'd spent a greater part of my daily routine practicing quips and coquettish remarks. If you'd told my younger self her studious habits would be used to memorize flirting techniques from various erotic muggle movies, she would have likely slapped you, rather similarly to how she slapped Malfoy himself in the third year.

"Just thought I'd change it up a bit, sir." I said.

"Consider it greatly changed," He remarked. "Do you have that proposal for me, Granger?"

"I do, actually." I replied. Taking the deepest breath possible whilst making no noise at all, I attempted to initiate contact: "I can meet you in your office at 10:00."

"Perfect." He winked.

I gathered the papers I'd spent the last week and a half preparing; it was a proposal to onboard influencers to promote the quidditch teams our company managed. A beautiful woman wearing a catcher's jersey in the tabloids would do wonders for bringing in a new range of shareholders and peaking public interest. Cheerleaders, a muggle concept, were still somehow unheard of in wizarding sports. Which is likely why people have stopped caring . Ticket sales were plummeting and stockholders were withdrawing from fear that quidditch would soon become obsolete, because new generations only watched it when there was nothing else to do.

Times had changed and brightly colored posters with a nameless man atop a broom circling a goalpost were no longer cutting it to promote our teams, no matter how large of a font you chose to write Puddlemere United across the top of the page. Somehow, no one else in Finborough's corporate office had the wits to reach this conclusion.

But of course, I never cared much about pleasing Finborough's corporate executives, I simply wanted the approval of Draco Malfoy. That's all I'd begun to care about. It was a hopeless aspiration, an endless task with no true objectives, just work hard and look pretty. Again, a younger Hermione Granger would abhor the thought of making herself palatable for any man, but especially one who held more power than herself. And especially one named Draco Malfoy.

My only reason for staying at Finborough was Malfoy. After Ron, I wanted to quit–wanted to join the ministry to show the world just how powerful I could be; that I wasn't just the witch Ron Weasley cheated on. But Malfoy wouldn't accept my carefully worded two weeks notice.

"You can't leave me like this, Granger. You're our brightest witch. What would I do without you?"

Malfoy's eyes when he said that had an irresistible gleam of light. Always the fucking light. Like he was summoning power from the sun just to look at you. And it made me feel special. Fucking special.

"You know, we're looking for a Director of Operations, I think you'd make a great candidate, so long as you stay."

So I stayed. Like a hopeless cunt. I truly believed I was appreciated; why would I leave somewhere I'm appreciated? I could move up the ladder and do something with myself, with Finborough, even. I drew proposals to associate with charities; I wrote draft after draft of how Finborough Management Agency could appease a new generation of witches and wizards. I worked on every throwaway project I was assigned.

But the application for Director of Operations never officially opened. Fitting.

I digress.

My legs were oddly wobbly as I ascended the stairs which led to Malfoy's office. Perhaps it was the skirt and the precarious manner in which my thighs grazed each other with every step I took, or perhaps it was excitement at the thought of finally making a move on Draco Malfoy. At the top of the stairs laid an unreasonably long hallway with two doors adjacent to each other. The entire upper floor held only two offices, that of the Senior Executive Officer, and that of the Chief Executive of Operations. The latter, of course, being Malfoy. His door was to the left.

I breathed in; one, two, three– then out, before tapping on his door.

"Come in," I heard from the other side. I turned the know, opened the door and nearly tiptoed in, afraid too much noise would give away my less-than-professional intentions for our 10 o'clock meeting. Malfoy sat behind a comically large mahogany desk, with the top two buttons on his shirt conveniently unbuttoned. "Please sit." He motioned to a chair.

I hesitated before sitting, nerves getting the better of me. I had to take another one of those silent, reassuring inhales before placing my proposal files on his desk. Then I sat, with one leg crossed over the other, suddenly very conscious of my bare legs.

He gave some formal greeting; I responded with something like, "Thank you for meeting with me sir."

His eyes were on my skirt. "Always a pleasure." I think he said. I wasn't sure.

I'm not quite certain how the rest happened. I dissociated a bit. One moment he was staring at my legs and the next he was kneeling between them. He was a head of blond hair at eye level with my knees–warm breath tickling the skin of my upper thigh. He pushed up my skirt and I truly thought to myself, this would be fun. God I'm an idiot.

"Lace," Malfoy chuckled as he caught sight of what was under my skirt. "Still sure you weren't trying to impress me, Granger?"

I was breathless. All I could say was yes.

Malfoy then looped two fingers around the waist of my knickers and began to pull them down my thighs. This was the moment I should have stopped him—the moment I should have known shagging Malfoy would unravel the parts of me I'd suppressed since Ron entered my life. All the attachment issues, the way I'd laid awake at night blaming myself for his infidelity, because I just wasn't enough to love solely on my own. The way I never quite could touch myself without feeling disgusting afterwards, because my hands are only as useful as I am told they should be, and no one ever told me they loved my fingers, only my mouth and any orifice where a cock could fit. The way I felt worthy only whilst being touched by someone else, and felt completely used like a half drunk bottle once he left, because there was only enough of me left to exist, never enough of me to thrive.

I should have quit while I was whole enough to say no

But his mouth was on me before I could form a coherent thought. And fucking hell, it felt devine. The movement of his tongue was slow and intentional but electrifying. I needed something, anything to hold on to. I found one hand clutching a handful of his blonde hair and the other clawing at the desk beside me. Oh my god. Ron never did this.

Malfoy created a sort of suction with his lips and I could no longer keep my eyes open. My head fell back and I let out a moan so loud I was certain the Senior Executive Officer would hear. I used the hand that was holding on to his hair to cover my mouth. I bit down on the side of my palm. God.

"Room's soundproof, love."

I didn't hear his voice. I felt it. On my fucking cunt. Fuck. The words didn't process. Just warmth. Just… fuck.

Then I felt his fingers tug at mine, and I opened a single eye to peek down at him. His gaze met my own and a cheeky grin formed on the parts of his lips that were not connected to my skin. "Be loud for me, Granger."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. God fucking… fuck. It was almost too much. I grabbed his hand, needing something to anchor me before I flew away.

"God." I nearly screamed. "God, Malfoy––"

"Good." He chuckled. But it––it wasn't sound. It was just vibration. Good vibration and fuck.

"Do that again." I shouted, my back contorting as I mindlessly wrapped my thighs around Malfoy's neck.

He hummed. I think. Just– fuck. It started soft–a gentle vibration and then a flick of his tongue. Then it grew stronger and quicker and my body grew hotter. I was truly going to fly away now, I was sure of it. Fuck fuck fuck. Bloody fucking–fuc–

And then suddenly I came. But instead of a simple wave of pleasure, I felt a splash of liquid. My eyes flew open now. My cheeks burned. I dared to look at the man between my knees. His white button up shirt was soaked.

"Oh my god, I- I- that never happens—" I stared at the wall to my left, ears burning. How could I fuck this up? My breath hitched in my chest. God…

Malfoy grabbed my chin and turned my head to face him. "That was fucking incredible."

His signature smirk looked a lot like a grin now.

"I– I– I–" I didn't even know… What to say? What to do? Do I apologize? Do I thank him? Do I offer to dry his shirt for him?

"Speechless, Granger?" He lifted an eyebrow, that grin still inked on his face. He held up my kickers, looking from my face to the lace.

I huffed, still feeling my entire body throbbing. Keep your fucking composure. "No."

"Tired?"

"No."

"Then bend over." His voice sounded like a growl. Fuck.

He didn't give me the chance to lift my own body. He wrapped his hands around my waist and lifted me to stand. Then in some impossible way, he turned me around and bend at the waist. It was like falling, bending at Malfoy's will, but he still held tightly to my waist, managing to steady me.

"Take this off." He tugged at my shirt. Fuck. He didn't even give me the chance to lift it myself. He did that too.. I let him, my body still riding waves too strong for my brain to function properly.

I couldn't think, I just wanted. Him. This. Everything.

One of his hands left my body to unbuckle his belt, the other slithered up my torso to the space between my breasts, then ended its journey at my throat. He was still holding me at an angle with inhuman strength. I groaned as his fingers tightened ever so slightly.

Hours could have passed between the sound of his trousers hitting the floor and the feeling of his cock against my skin. It was too much time–I needed him to go faster. I needed this now.

I could feel him lining himself up, preparing to enter slowly. That's not going to happen . I bucked my hips backwards, forcing him inside of me.

"God–" I cried. There was more of him than I expected.

"Fuck, Granger!" He groaned.

His lips were dangerously close to my ear–I could feel his breath against my skin. It tickled. I bit back a giggle because fuck this was everything. God I could do this until I died.

He stayed still inside of me for a moment, I felt myself tensing around him. It was nearly painful, but it was everything. Everything, everything, everything, all at once.

"Ready?" He whispered.

All I could say was yes.

And then we created an earthquake. If Malfoy's office wasn't fully soundproof, this would certainly get me fired. The entire office would know–the girls would be knocking down the door. The desk groaned with each thrust. I arched my back to push myself closer to him, closer, closer, deeper. Just, everything.

Fuck.

He brought his other hand to my left breast, still clad in a bra matching the knickers laying somewhere on the floor. He tugged at the cup, ripping the lace. I didn't fucking care. The bra came undone, my breast falling out. He gripped it with a nearly unbearable strength. I let out another cry.

He loosened his grip. "No." I craned my neck trying to see his face. I wanted him to squeeze everything–everything–tighter–more–just… fuck.

I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted his tongue down my throat. But he just squeezed my throat tighter, and held my breast and thrusted and I accepted it. He's busy .

The desk continued to groan and creak underneath us. I'm afraid I might die. I'm afraid I might collapse. Fuck, fuck.

I let out the giggle I'd been holding in. It just felt so… fucking... Words weren't processing anymore. " Malfoy, fuck."

"You enjoying yourself, love?"

All I could say was yes.

"Tell me what it feels like, Granger." He groaned in my ear.

I gasped. What do I even say? "It feels– it feels– like…"

"Spit it out," He grunted.

"It's fucking– fuck–it's–it's–"

"Incredible, yeah?" He breathed.

"God yes." I couldn't help but shout.

"Good." Another breath. He let go of my breast and moved his hand to my waist. "I want to see your face."

With another inhuman show of strength, he flipped me around so that I was sitting on the desk. Both of his hands gripped my hips. He slid in and out and in and out and I met his eyes, trying to hold back another scream. He chuckled. "You're a fucking pornstar, Granger."

I think I came then. I felt like I'd been pushed off a cliff and I was falling but then he was lifting me, hands under my arse and I'm floating and he's still thrusting and fuck fuck fuck. "Oh my god, Malfoy."

He continued, in and out and in and out, like ocean tides. "What's my name, Granger?" He chuckled, lifting me even higher in the air. My legs wrapped around his waist for security. I clung to his chest, praying I wouldn't fall.

I didn't have an answer. He stilled inside me, taking steps towards the wall behind us.

"What's my fucking name?" He growled. My back hit the wall, creating the tiniest friction between us. I tried to buck my hips to maintain the motion, I needed to feel more, I needed him to keep going, I needed–I needed him , but he pushed me harder against the wall, leaving no room for me to move further.

"Malfoy, fuck," I squeezed my eyes shut. The stillness was more unbearable than the earthquake we had created. I needed the earthquake again. I needed the ocean tides. Fuck I needed it.

"That's not my name, Granger," His voice sounded closer, but my eyes were still shut. "Draco." I whispered. My cunt was throbbing with the beat of a thousand drums, I needed this. Fuck-fuck-fuck.

Then he thrusted with all his might, and I felt him in the deepest parts of me. This earthquake was slow–different, like the rumble of the ground at Pompeii right before Mount Vesuvius erupted. He was close, I could feel it. And so was I.

"Are you close, Granger?" He whispered, lips flush against my ear now.

All I could say was yes.

"Come for me, love." He bit down on my earlobe.

And the volcano erupted–the ground ruptured–the ocean waves boiled over the seawall. I screamed, god this felt different than anything before. Everything, everything, everything–fuck. The tides drowned me for a while, long enough to forget that I was breathing.

Malfoy grunted and thrusted once more before he finished inside me.

Fuck.

"Incredible." He sighed.

He set me down on the desk and turned to retrieve his trousers. I found my knickers, pulled my skirt down and tugged my blouse over my shoulders to cover the bra he'd ripped to shreds. Nothing registered except holy fuck, I just fucked Draco Malfoy. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Now, what was that proposal?" He winked.

That was the first Thursday. I genuinely thought it would be the last.

I had hardly made it through the door to my flat nor kicked off my heels that evening, when an owl tapped at the window. It was black, with sleek, unruffled feathers. The Malfoy owl, undoubtedly. I opened the window pane and retrieved a roll of parchment from the owl's beak.

Next week, same time?

-DM

I could not believe the words on the page.

Everybody knew, you only got one chance with Draco Malfoy. You only got one afternoon, one night–whichever time of day you chose, that was the time you lived with for the rest of your life, to fantasize about like some pornographic flashback. There was no absolute possible way Draco Malfoy wanted to shag me again–n o probability I had been a good enough hole for him to re-enter. That's all I was, after all. Right? That's all anyone ever could be to the office whore.

He hadn't kissed me. He'd called me a pornstar. But he hadn't kissed me. Did he kiss the others? Would it be wrong to ask? Who had fucked Draco Malfoy, and who could I confide in that I had done the same? Did he tell them they felt incredible? Did he make them say his name–his real name? Did they squirt all over his button down shirt?

Was I special?

That was the danger in fucking Draco Malfoy. You were left with as many questions as the average human brain could inquire, and none of them would get a solid answer, but especially not from the man in question. If you needed to know anything about Malfoy, the tabloids and the office gossips were the only library you could attend to

Was I special, or was I like the others? The tiniest speck of hope formed in my chest as I held Malfoy's letter.

But I knew then and there I'd give anything to fuck him again. I'd take anything I could get from him; the sex was too good to say no. I would eat any pie-shaped slice of attention like nectar, like a stupid, helpless, hopeless romantic. Like the same witch who pranced around while Ron Weasley cheated on her. Co-dependent, only worthy when a man touched her. Brightest Witch turned forlorn employee–blissfully ignorant girlfriend–faithful lover to unfaithful sources of love. My downfall had always been, and would always be, men.

But I'd signed up for this, right? I knew Draco Malfoy would never be loyal to anyone except the little game I imagine he made up for himself as to how many women he could chat up and boff. Rumors had always intimated that Draco Malfoy had a list of witches he wanted to shag, and I had always known I was just another name in his directory. I knew I wasn't special–wouldn't ever be special–from the moment I put on that little gray skirt like a proper bint.

So yeah, I would jump at the idea of getting my rocks off again. It wasn't sex, anyways, it was just a quick shag.

I ripped a piece of parchment and quickly scribbled:

Sure.

-HG

Not too eager, I reminded myself. Never too eager.