Chapter 3
After the way he'd been toying with her, Hermione resolved to stop watching for Malfoy and to stop checking the time. With a swish of her wand, she turned the couch around so it faced a corner of the common room, away from the clock on the fireplace mantle . She spread her work out before her and continued as usual.
After a few hours, Malfoy returned from classes. A rustle of fabric was all she heard as he walked around their common area, but she was pleased that she couldn't see him. She heard him laugh to himself, probably at how she had rearranged her work area.
She should have turned the couch around ages ago. Then she wouldn't have had to see him wandering around, half-naked in a towel. Proudly, she could say that she had no idea what the time was, no idea what he was doing at present, or what he was (or wasn't) wearing. She was working on transferring a picture from a book to a new notebook when his voice rang out.
"Granger!" Malfoy barked.
"What?!" She jumped, startled.
"Make me tea. Earl Grey."
She turned around. It was six o'clock.
Fuck.
Her stomach flipped: he was initiating their deal. This was it. Six more hours before she got her bag back and ensured the secrecy of the Horcrux mission.
Hermione packed up her work and dropped it off in her bedroom, locking her door. She turned around and steeled herself. She could do this. Refusing to look at him sitting in his armchair, she walked over to the kitchenette area, placed her wand on the counter, and stopped.
There was an unfamiliar duffle bag on the counter. What, had he brought props for this? Handcuffs? Costumes? Whips? Her hands twitched in nervous dread, wanting to see what he had in store for her tonight.
"Curious?" he asked.
She glanced at Malfoy. He stared back, his expression challenging. He wanted her to ask him what it was. He wanted her to open it. She could tell. Well, too bad for him; she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. She walked past the bag and started preparing tea. as slowly as she could, dragging out the time.
"Milk and one teaspoon of sugar," he called from his chair.
She wondered if she could run the clock down simply by taking as long as she could on each task.
"Before this bloody war ends, if possible."
Of course not.
Tea. She could make him some sodding tea. She could cook whatever the hell he wanted. She could clean the common area from top to bottom. Maybe this whole sex thing was a farce, and he just wanted to boss her around like a house-elf for shits and giggles. Maybe he had a duster and a mop and soap in the bag.
She sighed internally. Fat chance.
Malfoy wouldn't even know what those items were. He'd probably never even seen cleaning supplies in his rotten, spoiled life.
Not knowing how she could drag the process out any further, she finished preparing the tea and brought it over to him.
"Move the footstool aside," he said imperiously, taking the tea from her.
She looked at him questioningly but obeyed.
"On your knees, Mudblood." He motioned to the floor in front of him, where the footstool had been.
She blanched as all the blood left her face and looked at him, mouth agape. Already? And… He was going to drink tea while she did it?
He huffed a laugh at her expense.
"On all fours," he clarified. "Back straight. I need a foot stool."
"What?" she asked, incredulous. He didn't want her to suck him off, he wanted her to be… A foot stool?
"Did I stutter?" He held the teacup with his pinky out daintily, giving her a supercilious look. He took a slow sip, eyeing her over the rim. "Not bad, Mudblood."
Feeling a strange mix of relief and humiliation, Hermione dropped to her hands and knees. She tried to straighten her back and looked over to see a smug grin on Malfoy's face. She could do this. She needed her bag, and she needed to Obliviate him. She could be a sodding foot stool. One after the other, he extended his legs to rest them on her back.
"Ouch!" She winced as one of his heels landed on her spine. It was uncomfortable and insulting, but it wasn't as terrible as a blow job, that was for sure.
She turned away from him to look straight forward, but found that doing so strained her neck. Instead, she let her head hang naturally, even though it felt like she was being chastened for something. Bent over like this, her skirt rode up. If Malfoy leaned over to the side, he'd have a clear view of the back of her thighs.
As she listened to him drink his tea, she pondered his use of the word Mudblood. He hadn't called her Mudblood before this. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had heard him use the term. And now all of a sudden the word left his lips every other sentence. Obviously, he was trying to degrade her. But what had stopped him from using it before? He had been referring to her by her last name, as she did with him. It seemed like he was using the term simply to piss her off, like there was no fervor behind it.
"Comfortable?" he asked after a few minutes of drinking in silence.
"Your heel is digging into my shoulder blade," she grumbled.
"Mmmm," was his noncommittal reply, but he adjusted his foot so it was less painful for her. She felt a cool breeze on the backs of her thighs, causing her skirt to flutter upwards. Hermione turned to look back, curious. Malfoy had his wand in hand and was aiming it at her backside. She huffed and turned back around while he leered at her.
"You've got a nice arse, Mudblood."
Heat spread within her at his appraisal, but she ignored him. Despite the discomfort, there was something about the position that she was embarrassed to admit that she liked. She felt the beginnings of desire stirring within her.
"Don't ignore me," he commanded her.
She exhaled in irritation. She had thought that the less she fought with him, the more smoothly this would go, but clearly he did not want to be ignored. Did he expect her to reply with a series of 'Thank you, sir's?
Like hell she would.
"Yes, Malfoy. That's all I'm missing in my life right now," she replied in irritation. "Your approval of my rear end."
He snorted and blew the wind more strongly from his wand, causing her skirt to flip completely over, covering his calves where they rested on her back. He leaned over to the side, studying her panty-clad rear and, to her absolute horror, she felt a very singular and distinct clench of her vagina, followed by the spread of heat throughout her core. Could he see her body react from his angle? She let her head hang, wallowing in embarrassment, hoping he wouldn't notice.
Hermione knew on an intellectual level that she shouldn't be ashamed of what aroused her, that it couldn't be helped. But still, she felt shame. Deeply. She shouldn't be turned on from being put in a humiliating position, called a Mudblood, and used as a piece of furniture with her arse on display for Draco sodding Malfoy. He was degrading her. It was vulgar.
And part of her liked it.
She didn't understand. What was it about this situation that had her so turned on? Was it because he was so attractive? Because she wanted him? She had been watching his bare-chested self prance around in a towel for over a week, but this was different. Was it being told what to do? He was incredibly domineering in his mannerisms. Is that what she liked? Maybe it was both. She was on all fours for Merlin's sake. Why would she like this?
But did it matter why? There wasn't much she could do about it.
Her knees pressed into the common room's rug and her fingers lightly gripped the fibers. She looked at the clock. She'd been in this position for 20 minutes. She hoped Malfoy remembered that he would be her footstool for at least 40 minutes. She smiled at the thought of him trying to balance her feet, a plate of cake, and a teacup and saucer on his back. Maybe she'd make a whole pot of tea for him to balance. Boiling hot tea. That would put the wanker in his place.
She waited in silence while Malfoy finished his tea and sent another stream of cool air to her backside. This time, she shivered at the contact with her skin, and her cunt clenched in anticipation again. She might be wet. If she was, could he see it? This was absolutely humiliating.
"Are you turned on by this, Mudblood?" His surprised voice interrupted her thoughts.
She opened her mouth to lie.
"Tell the truth."
Bollocks!
Now she did have to be honest, according to the agreement that she had written and signed. She had intended the threat of gangrene to ensure his compliance with the contract, but hoped that her compliance would be based on her word alone. But he hadn't let her get away without signing in turn, and now she was stuck. She didn't know what was worse: being degraded in this way, or having to admit to him that she liked it.
He waited patiently for her answer. At this point, her silence was answer enough. She couldn't look at him while she spoke the admission. It was dark and deviant, and she didn't want him to know these things about her. But she had no choice.
"Yes."
That one word hung in the air between them.
It was a confession. She truly didn't understand it. She didn't consider herself a submissive person at all. And yet, wasn't her arousal at having his sodding feet on her back the proof that she was? At least, in sexual situations?
She knew that he was smirking, she just knew it. Maybe she could threaten that smirk off his face.
"You're going to be my footstool for at least 40 minutes, you know. You'll have to balance twice the weight. I'll bring out the whole damn tea set." She turned around to face him to see how he would confront the reality of her impending revenge. The smirk didn't waiver.
Malfoy's eyes travelled from her face to her backside and back again. His grey eyes darkened. "I'm counting on it." Her lips parted, unsure what to do with that information. Perhaps her two-fold rule had backfired on her. He'd agreed to it, so of course it would be something he wouldn't mind doing, but she hadn't considered that he'd enjoy it. That he'd want her to do these things to him.
Maybe he was as sick as she was.
He finished the last of his tea with an uncharacteristically loud slurp and placed the cup and saucer on the footstool that she had moved earlier. One by one, he removed his legs. Hermione stretched her shoulders and back, grateful for the release in pressure. She rolled her neck as he crouched down on the ground next to her. She looked back at him, his face only an inch or two away from her rear end.
"Are you wet?"
Her breath hitched. She didn't know. It was possible. She felt herself clench. She probably was. Would he be able to see?
Her voice came out shakier than she wanted. "Maybe?"
He licked his lips, and her eyes were drawn to his tongue.
"Do you want me to check?"
To check. Did he mean… With his fingers?
Oh god.
Yes.
She did.
Hermione felt a small rivulet of moisture in between her legs. Her underwear was wet. Malfoy would see it. He would know. He was just taunting her, waiting for her to answer. She didn't want to tell him that she desperately wanted his fingers there.
She evaded and closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at his penetrating gaze.
"I'm wet. I can feel it."
He sat back in the armchair, and she opened her eyes. His finger was at his lips. The finger he would have put inside of her. She bit her lip and let her head hang down. She couldn't look at him.
"Stand up."
Grateful for the change in position, she slowly pushed herself up and stood before him.
"Take your knickers off."
Her lips parted. Was this it? Now he was going to have sex with her? She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She could do this. She opened her eyes. He was smirking at her. Awkwardly, she bent over and pulled her knickers down to her ankles, without exposing herself to him. She stood up again and toed them off, kicking them to the side.
"Bring them to me."
She bent over again, cognizant that there was nothing underneath her skirt anymore, and feeling more vulnerable for it. She picked up her knickers and tossed them to Malfoy. With lurid fascination, she watched as he brought her knickers to his nose and inhaled deeply.
"Mmmm. Filthy," he sighed at her with approval. "And damp. You fucking love this, Granger." She watched in horror as he shoved them in his trouser pocket.
"No!" she cried out. "You can't keep those!"
"Not according to your agreement."
He was right. She was so worried about what he might do to her that she hadn't stopped to think about what he would do to her possessions. Fortunately, she had limited them to the common room and their bathroom. Everything of importance was in her bedroom.
She balled her hands into fists and let out a sigh of frustration. Did he have to look so goddamn pleased with himself?
Her eyes travelled southward to his pelvis, where he made no attempt to hide the erection forming a tent in his trousers. Clearly, he wasn't ashamed of his desire like she was. Far from it. He was daring her to notice, to react. She tried not to, but he caught her eye, knowing where she had been looking. He waited in silence while she squirmed in front of him, unsure of what he would demand next. Did he want her to straddle him on the armchair? Would they do it more than once? How long would he need to recover after coming? That would take some time, wouldn't it?
Malfoy watched the nervousness play over her face and his lips quirked, holding in a laugh.
"My feet ache from Quidditch practice." Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wash and massage them."
She looked down at his shoes, all thoughts of what else he might do forgotten. He was well and truly messing with her head. Earlier, she thought he would make her go down on him, now she thought he would make her straddle him. And here she was, being requested to wash his feet of all things. With her knickers in his pocket. It was psychological whiplash.
He was such a prick. Couldn't he just get it all over with? This must be why he wanted to wait a few days. He had the whole evening planned out. Designed to mess with her, physically and psychologically.
She glared at him. The act he had just ordered her to do was fairly benign. Obviously, these things he was asking her to do weren't just to mess with her. He was getting off on her serving him. The foot washing was an extension of being a piece of furniture. But at least it wasn't sexual. She'd wash his bloody ferret feet all night if she had to.
She ignored his self-satisfied smirk and turned to go to their bathroom, glancing at his bag. Glancing at her wand. Her wand was right there.
"What do you think I brought? Whips and chains?"
"Yes."
"You can open it," he taunted.
It wasn't a command so she ignored him and walked past his bag, shutting the door to the loo behind her. She took a basin, let hot water run into it, and retrieved a flannel. While she waited for the basin to fill, she looked at herself in the mirror. She was a hot mess: her cheeks were tinted pink, and her large hazel eyes looked a bit glassy, pupils blown wide. Her curly brown hair had started to come out of her plait, curls sticking to her neck where a slight sheen had begun to develop. She was sore, worked up, and completely unsatisfied. As Hermione gazed at herself, she acknowledged that some small part of her hoped she would get to orgasm tonight.
She felt another clench, a reminder of how hot and wanting she had been. Since she would be servicing Malfoy, it was doubtful that she'd be the recipient of any orgasms that evening. She let out a breath and, in an effort to regain some of the control she'd lost, redid her plait. She shut off the faucet, brought the basin and cloth over to Malfoy, and knelt before him, refusing to meet his eyes.
Slowly, she unlaced his shoes and removed his socks. She glanced up to see his head tilted back and his eyes shut. Maybe he would fall asleep.
As if reading her mind, he said, "I'm not going to fall asleep, Granger."
"Pity."
He opened one eye and looked at her, clearly amused. She rolled up his trouser legs and the sleeves of her blouse. He let out a satisfied groan as she carefully placed his feet in the warm water. The sound was arousing. She had never heard him groan before - not like that, anyway. She contemplated how his sounds made her feel while running the flannel over his feet. Everything about this man turned her on, and he knew it. She worked the cloth between his toes, over the bones and ridges of the top of his foot, and his ankle. She worked methodically. She was in no rush to finish, not when the task wasn't sexual. At least, not overtly.
When she reached the underside of his foot he jerked it back.
"Ticklish?" She gave him a wicked grin.
"Yes." His answering grin was surprisingly boyish. "Be careful with the soles of my feet."
Hermione smiled to herself and swiped there again playfully. He was on her in half a second. She yelped as his fingers wove through her plait. Hand digging into her scalp, he forced her to look up at him.
"What did I just say, Mudblood?" he growled at her.
Hermione swallowed. She'd momentarily forgotten that this was dangerous. That he was dangerous. That he wanted to hurt her. It wasn't play time. She wouldn't forget that again.
"Not to tickle you."
He grunted, released his hold on her hair, and lay back while she took a few seconds to compose herself before continuing to wash his other foot. She went back to the first foot to see how much she could prolong this task, but Malfoy instructed her to get on with it. She moved the basin to the side and proceeded to dry and massage his feet, ankles, and lower calves, being careful not to tickle the soles again.
She glanced up at the clock and saw that a full hour had passed. Five hours until midnight. She closed her eyes and dug her fingers into his flesh.
"Right there… Yeeeahhhhh."
He let out a groan of pleasure as her fingers worked on him, and the sound resonated through her. There was something utterly arousing about listening to an attractive man make sounds of pleasure in response to her touches.
She felt a prickliness on her skin and looked up to see Malfoy staring intently at her. He still sported an erection. From where she was kneeling in front of him, it was at her eye level. She wondered what the chances were of the night remaining as innocuous as this foot massage.
"It suits you, Mudblood. Being on your knees between my legs."
She felt a thrill of dread run through her at his words and looked resolutely at her hands, working the muscles and tendons of his calves. Yes, it was coming. She couldn't escape it, and he was taunting her. He was going to make her suck him off and do any number of other wicked things that he requested. Five hours was plenty of time for whatever debauchery he had planned. This was just the prelude.
Putting her in her place. Rubbing her face in her servitude.
"You'd never get me without blackmail. It's all forced." Malfoy stared down at her in contemplation. He didn't seem to mind when she talked back to him; if anything, he enjoyed it. So long as she obeyed.
"I'm not forcing you to do anything, Granger." He sounded disgusted at her insinuation. "Feel free to tear up that parchment we signed and walk away."
She gritted her teeth and looked up at him. "You know I can't do that."
"Won't," he corrected. "Not can't. This is your choice. I'm not making you do a sodding thing."
Technically that was true. She growled in response and he chuckled. "Do you like servicing me?"
Was she enjoying this? The sounds he made aroused her. She liked to watch him receive pleasure from her. "Yes," she admitted quietly.
"And you like it when I order you around."
Maybe.
Yes.
There was something exciting and somewhat dangerous in being told what to do by an extremely attractive, domineering man.
She didn't want to be chastised for lying to him. Once again, she didn't know which was worse: having to perform these acts for him, or having to admit that part of her liked being debased, and by him in particular.
"Yes," she ground out. His point was clear: she could try to suggest that he was coercing her to do things that she wouldn't normally do, but they both knew that she was enjoying it. That she desired more.
Malfoy stood up from the armchair, and she sat back on her knees, looking up at him. His eyes were intense as he studied her, looking down at her from so high up above, but she didn't look away. He offered her his hand. She took it, allowing him to pull her to a standing position.
"You've got talented hands, Granger. Are you sore?"
The tone of his voice had changed. He was momentarily breaking out of their role play. Why did he even care if she was sore when he was going to hurt her anyway? Would he use her admission against her? She thought back to how he had moved his foot when she admitted his heel was digging into her shoulder.
Maybe not. At least, not yet.
She flexed her fingers experimentally. They did feel cramped, and her lower back and shoulders still ached from where he had rested his feet. She rolled her left shoulder and winced.
"Yes," she replied, taking a gamble. "My shoulders and lower back hurt a bit, and my hands are cramped from the massage."
He put a hand on her shoulder, and Hermione nearly gasped at the contact. His fingers pressed into her flesh, and he turned her around so her backside faced him. Then he waved his wand to perform a muscle relaxant charm over her. A warm, comforting sensation spread over her lower back and shoulders, and she let out a small sigh of gratitude. Madam Pomfrey had taught her that same spell. It was helpful. He spun her back around.
"Hold out your hands."
She did, and he tapped her palms with his wand. Instantly, the cramping in her fingers disappeared. She hadn't learned that one. Useful.
He glanced at her from under his fringe. "Better?"
She nodded, confused by his concern for her welfare when he had admitted that hurting her was one of the primary reasons for this evening in the first place. He was much more capable at healing than she was, and she wondered why. Where and when had he learned?
If Malfoy was going to heal her as they progressed throughout the night, maybe this wouldn't be so terrible. Then again, he had refused the restriction she had proposed involving his healing capabilities. He intended on doing things to her that he couldn't remedy by himself and that might require Madam Pomfrey's help.
Hermione couldn't help it; she was still scared.
"Take off my robes and shirt," he ordered, resuming his role.
She tried and failed to prevent her voice from shaking. "Okay."
Her hands trembled slightly as she closed the gap between them, still wondering what he was going to do to her tonight. She forced herself to reach up and undo the clasp of his robe, purposely avoiding his eyes. As she pushed the black fabric over and off of each broad shoulder, she could feel the heat of his body through his shirt. She shivered and laid his robe over the back of the arm chair. Next she loosened his tie. Her knuckles grazed the fabric of his shirt, and she saw his Adam's apple bob in reaction to her touch. Her eyes flicked up and met his gaze, grey, molten, and unwavering. She looked down again, undid the knot, and slowly pulled the tie through his collar. She placed the slim piece of fabric across his robe.
Steeling herself for the next item of clothing, Hermione drew in a deep, steadying breath. She reached up and began opening the buttons of his shirt. Heat radiated from his chest as she worked her fingers down, revealing his skin. His short exhalations brushed against her cheek as his sternum and abdominal muscles came into view. She untucked his shirt from his trousers, watching the fabric slide against his skin, and continued unbuttoning the remainder. She reached up to push the fabric off of his shoulders when his fingers encircled her wrist.
She looked up to him in question.
"Cuffs," he explained, his voice deep and throaty. He brought her fingers to his lips as he spoke, making them tingle.
"Oh," she said softly, realizing she had forgotten to undo them. She gingerly pulled her hand out of his grasp, and he allowed her wrist to slide through his fingers. She reached down, grateful that her fingers had stopped trembling, and deftly opened each of his cuffs. She then reached up and pushed the opening of his shirt wider, removing it from his chest and shoulders. Pulling the shirt down, she tugged on each of his sleeves, freeing his arms.
He had never been so close to her before like this, bare chested.
"Scared?" His smirk got smirkier. He had seen her trembling, seen her hands shaking.
Her mouth went dry from his proximity, the contours of his muscles, the masculine, musky scent of him, and his grey eyes, peering down at her. If she said no, he'd command her to tell the truth anyway.
"Yes," she answered, and turned away to lay his shirt atop his tie and robe.
"Belt."
Hermione froze. How was she supposed to take off his belt with his erection right there? She squared her shoulders. She could do this. She needed her bag back, and she had to keep the Horcruxes a secret. The outcome of the war depended on that. It was just a sodding belt. But it was a belt wrapped around his abdominal muscles and above his extremely prominent erection.
Delicately, as if she were handling combustible potions ingredients, she pulled the leather out of the buckle and opened the metal clasp, hearing it clink. She pulled on the leather strap and to her horror, Malfoy's pelvis was pulled forward against her at the same time. He hummed at the brief contact of his erection with her body. She released the belt, and his hips swayed backwards. Not wanting to prolong this torture any longer, she reluctantly placed her hand on his bare abdomen for leverage, feeling a light dusting of hair, and pulled the belt slowly through the belt loops. All without touching him any more than necessary.
Her hand dropped.
Done. It was done. She let out the breath she'd been holding and looked up at him. His eyes were crinkled in amusement.
"You're enjoying this way too much," she said, steadying her voice.
"You're enjoying it more," he teased her.
"Go to hell." She set his belt atop the clothes on the armchair.
"Been there for a while now."
Aside from the contract stipulation regarding him speaking about this evening under duress, that vague comment was the closest they had ever gotten to discussing the war. Hermione wondered if she could stall for time by asking him about it. He was barred from asking her, but she didn't have any restrictions on what she could ask him.
She turned back around and saw him lay face down on the rug. He folded his arms under his head to cushion his face, resting his cheek on his forearm.
"You're brilliant with your hands, Granger. It would be criminally negligent not to make you rub my back."
She was relieved that the next task would not hurt and had not yet progressed to sex. On the other hand, the not knowing, the tension, the anticipation was driving her nuts. She wished she could get it all over with; he was just delaying the inevitable.
Kneeling next to him on the rug and tucking her skirt around her legs, Hermione prepared to start on his shoulders.
"Straddle me."
Of course.
First Malfoy took her underwear and now he wanted her to sit on him. Carefully, she sat up on her knees so as not to give him an eyeful, leaned forward, and brought her leg around so that she sat with a knee on either side of his torso. She tucked her skirt beneath her and sat down on his back so that the fabric of her skirt separated her from him.
Once again, she leaned forward to begin massaging his shoulders.
"Move your skirt."
Her hands paused on his skin, and she looked at his expression. His eyes were closed, but he had a self-satisfied smile on his face.
"Sod it all," she muttered. "Tosser."
He sniggered at her obvious irritation and discomfort. He wasn't letting her get away with anything. She wanted to smack him, not massage him. She drew in a slow breath, lifted her bum and shifted the fabric of her skirt. Counting to three, she slowly lowered her exposed privates onto his lower back. She felt the heat of his skin against hers, and when he let out a satisfied hiss, she felt a jolt of electricity.
"That fucking cunt of yours unbelievably hot and wet, Mudblood."
She had no reply; she didn't know what to say. She was attracted to him, he was debasing her. It aroused her, he knew it, and she was mortified.
Ugh!
He rolled his hips underneath her, and she bit her lip at the sudden movement.
"Is Hermione Granger finally rendered speechless?"
God, he was horrible. She better get started before he changed his mind and decided to have her do something else.
"Fuck you," she spat, and dug her fingers into his upper back.
"In a bit," he countered with a grunt. At least the massage would shut him up.
She kneaded his muscles, moving across his shoulders, up each arm, down his back, and returning up his sides. Her efforts were rewarded with the occasional sigh or groan of pleasure. Malfoy knew he was sexy. He had been flaunting himself in front of her for the past week, and now she was touching him intimately.
Servicing him, as he had called it.
She tried to forget the fact that her vulva was in direct contact with the heat of his skin and concentrated on massaging his muscles. She dug her thumbs into tight areas, working her way over the dips and curves of his back, shoulders, and arms. He growled, muttering something unintelligible as she continued. As far as she was concerned, the longer she dragged out this massage, the better. She did her best to follow his physical reactions and his vocal cues, overt or otherwise, to hit sensitive spots, work problem areas, and - she couldn't help it - explore his body.
When she dug her palm into an area on his side, Malfoy let out a long, low growl that turned into a half laugh.
"Can you do this again tomorrow, Granger?"
"Not on your life," she snapped, happy she was to be able to refuse him something.
"Thought so," he said with a sigh of mock disappointment that turned into another groan of pleasure.
"If you like it so much, I can continue this way until midnight."
Suddenly, he flipped himself over beneath her. The skin of his midriff slipped against her privates as he swiveled, and Hermione found herself off balance, hands anchoring her on his chest and straddling his lower abdomen. Her core clenched involuntarily, and she felt his erection beneath his trousers just grazing the edge of her bum. The position was too similar to actual sex, and very intimate. He laced his fingers together and brought his hands behind his head, cradling the back of his skull.
"Do you really think that's how I would use you?"
His cock twitched against her backside. She squeezed her thigh muscles against his sides.
Use her.
It was so degrading how he phrased it. But that's how he intended this to be.
"No."
"So," he said as he unlaced his fingers and waved a hand at her. "Continue." He replaced his hand behind his head while he observed her.
She huffed and began kneading the muscles of his chest and where his shoulders met his neck. She eyed the nasty red scar across his chest and, unthinkingly, traced it with her finger. He tensed, and his hand caught her wrist.
"Don't."
She nodded and returned to kneading his muscles. Scars were personal. She had an ugly one on her torso courtesy of Dolohov from that night in the Department of Mysteries. Malfoy watched her work through hooded eyes but said nothing save for the occasional groan of approval. Every so often, he would buck up with his pelvis and press his cock into her backside.
Her fingers rubbed firm circles into the tops of his pecs.
"Ooooooh myyyyyyyy goooooooood," he let out another long groan. "Granger, you missed your calling."
"Not at all," she shot back, feeling defensive at what might be a jab against her blood status. "I've got multiple talents and the O's to prove it."
"O's to prove your multiple talents?" he repeated seductively, giving her statement an entirely different meaning.
Hermione huffed. That wasn't what she was referring to. She couldn't look into his eyes. His gaze was too intense right now. She felt like she was burning up.
He removed his hands from behind his head and grabbed her waist. She stilled, nervous, and her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Gently, he lifted her up and pushed her back so that she sat astride his erection, over the fabric of his trousers. He bucked up, pulling her down onto his length and stretched his head back, jutting his chin upwards, straining and biting his lip with a low grunt of pleasure.
It was an incredibly erotic image. She hated him, but watching him react to her hands and her body aroused her. Her body, her desire, didn't seem to be affected by how she felt about him personally. In fact, it could be precisely because she didn't like him, and because they were fighting on opposite sides of the war, that added to his forbidden and entirely perverse appeal.
Flushing with the feeling of his rough trousers against her slick core, Hermione lowered her eyes and began to move her hands once again. Shifting her hands southward, she kneaded his sides and lower abdomen, where she had been sitting previously. His skin was slick from her wetness, and she smeared it as she continued her massage.
"Lower," he growled, digging his fingers into her hips.
She slid her hands lower, next to the waistline of his trousers, and continued to massage him.
"Lower," he repeated with a groan. She slid her bum backwards and slipped her hands below the waist of his trousers. She could feel coarse hair, and his pubic bone, and then she saw it. The tip of his penis emerged as she pushed down the waist of his trousers. It glistened, wet with pre-come. She felt a thrill from seeing the forbidden for the first time, but focused on kneading his muscles, wary of moving her hands too close to his cock.
"Lower." His voice was strained as he gripped her waist and lifted his pelvis with another groan.
She couldn't take his teasing anymore. "Malfoy, if you want a hand job then just tell me."
He laughed out loud and bit his lip again, moving her hips forward over his erection with a half grunt-half whimper and then pushing her back. She bit back a moan of her own at the friction of his length between her legs as he rubbed her over him.
He looked up at her devilishly. "Do you want to suck me off instead?"
She stared down at him. Her heart hammered in her chest as his words reverberated in her head.
He was teasing her. He didn't even expect her to answer. But with a growing horror, Hermione realized that she did. She wanted to suck him off. Even worse, she wanted Malfoy to order her to suck him off. He had been taunting her with sex all night. Misleading her into believing that he would make her do it and then having her do something else to service him instead. Footstool. Foot washing. Foot massage. Body massage. And then she had seen the tip of his cock. She'd felt it between her legs. It was under her. Now.
It twitched against her entrance, and her cunt clenched in response.
Malfoy stopped moving, his lips parted in surprise as he studied her. "You want to," he said slowly, his voice lilting in disbelief. His fingers crept beneath the fabric of her skirt and teased the skin of her upper thighs.
"No I don't." Her denial was automatic, her pitch a little too high to be mistaken for honesty. Even she didn't think her reply sounded believable.
"Fucking hell, Granger," he said softly. She watched him appraise her in amazement. She looked away from him, a blush creeping from her chest up her neck and onto her cheeks. What did it matter if she wanted to do it or not? He was going to make her anyway. Everything was forced.
"I'd rather not."
"Rather not suck me off or rather not want to?" His fingers continued to inch upwards, caressing the skin of her rear. Her thigh muscles twitched.
She hesitated. She didn't want to answer, but her voice came out low, quiet, and ashamed. "Rather not want to."
He kept staring at her. Amazed.
"You can walk away," he answered, his voice a caress.
His fingers were tantalizing, drawing patterns on her upper thighs, her arse, her pelvis, leaving hot trails behind. She narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms across her chest defensively, trying to ignore just how desperately she wanted him.
"That's not how blackmail works, Malfoy," she said, staring down at him angrily. "The victim can't walk away."
"Won't," he corrected, his voice still soft with that faint tone of disbelief.
"Won't," she agreed reluctantly. "But you're still foul."
He shrugged, uncaring, and kept his gaze glued to her face. She rolled her wrists around and stretched her fingers and her forearms.
"Are your hands sore?" he asked.
Again he'd surprised her with his concern. She nodded; it had taken quite a bit of strength to massage for that long. Pulling one hand out from underneath her skirt, he withdrew his wand and tapped her palms for the second time, muttering incantations. The cramping disappeared.
"Who taught you to heal so well?" She was stalling, but genuinely curious.
He pulled up to a seated position, propping himself with one arm behind him on the floor while his other hand continued to draw patterns on her upper thigh and hip. Their faces were closer now, barely a hand's breadth apart. He looked into her eyes and then down at her mouth. His breath tickled her lips.
He gave her thigh a tight squeeze. "Pour me some Firewhisky," was his non-reply.
She figured he wouldn't answer her questions, especially if they were personal, and apparently this one was. So much for stalling for time. Hermione got up off of him, backing away so he couldn't look up her skirt. She felt a cold chill between her legs as she walked over to the kitchenette. She knew that he kept a bottle underneath the counter, though she had never seen him drink. She opened up the upper cabinet and pulled out a tumbler.
"Two glasses."
She froze. Was he going to force her to get drunk? To get sick? She hadn't thought to include forcing her to eat or drink anything or to ingest potions in the limitations. The two-fold stipulation wouldn't even matter in the case of alcohol. She was sure he could drink far more than twice the amount to get her drunk or worse without even getting a buzz.
She looked behind her in trepidation. He had risen to his feet, standing upright and leaning against the back of the couch, which was still turned to face the common room's corner . One of his legs was crossed over the other, and he had his hands in his pockets. She could still see his erection, and he was fingering her knickers in his pocket.
"Are you going to make me drink?"
"No," he answered, to her relief. That was good. And unexpected. Maybe he wasn't so terrible.
"I don't want you drunk," he continued with a wicked smile. "I want you to know exactly what you're doing."
Never mind, he was completely terrible. She turned back to the cabinet with a frustrated hiss. She pulled out two glasses and set them loudly on the counter next to his bag that she absolutely did not want to know the contents of.
He must have seen her eyeing his bag again because he asked with a smug grin, "You sure you don't want to peek inside?" He was now twirling her knickers around on his index finger.
She glared at him and uncorked the Firewhisky bottle. "I'm not interested in your kinky shit, Malfoy."
Hermione poured his cup halfway, unsure as to how much he wanted, and poured a splash for herself. She didn't want to be drunk either, but perhaps a little bit would calm her nerves and make the night easier.
"Stop pretending you're above it all, Granger. You're fairly kinky yourself."
"Am not," she flatly denied.
He chuckled. By now, both of them knew she was full of it.
"Have you ever tried dirty talk?" His expression was curious.
She picked up his glass and made to walk over when held his hand up for her to stop. She raised her eyebrows questioningly at him, and he pulled out his wand, levitating the glass across the common area without spilling a drop. Gracefully, he plucked the glass out of the air.
"Not really," she replied. She had been so young with Victor, and things with Ron were awkward enough as it was.
"Talk dirty to me."
Of course. Why else would he ask her if she had tried dirty talk before? He just wanted her to embarrass herself with her inexperience.
Sodding wanker.
She sent him the most withering, most exasperated, most ball-shriveling glance that she could summon. Then, recalling memories of trashy Muggle romance novels, she took a breath and began to speak.
"Ooh Malfoy your cock is so large and I'm so wet and all I can think about is your gigantic-"
Malfoy interrupted with a surprised snigger. She had spoken the words in monotone, without pauses to add inflection. It had sounded like she was reading rote from a book that bored her to death, or like she was the world's worst actress, rehearsing lines for the world's most boring play.
"-Every time you look at me with your silver orbs-"
His eyebrows rose in amusement. "My silver orbs?"
"-Need you to squeeze the golden globes of my arse while I lick your hard Adonis-like pectorals-"
He burst out laughing, almost spilling his Firewhisky. She continued in a dull drawl that would have made Professor Binns' lectures sound exciting.
"-Desperately want your throbbing sword in my quivering folds-
Malfoy bent over, body wracked with huge body-shaking belly laughs, holding his sides.
"-Can't hold it in anymore oh please Malfoy fuck me harder oh Merlin please make me come I'm going to-"
He dropped his drink on the carpet and started wheezing. She stopped and smirked at him.
"Okay, Granger," he gasped and stood up, body still shaking. "Point made. Merlin!" He was still chuckling while he siphoned up the whisky from the floor and sent his glass back over to her.
"Refill," he said, still looking like he was on the verge of laughter.
She refilled his glass, which he summoned back with a huge grin on his face.
"That was, by far, the best dirty talk I have ever heard. Well done." He raised his tumbler as if to toast her and took a sip. "You're not going to drink?" he asked, lips still twitching with mirth. He gave her panties one last twirl around his finger
She eyed her glass. "Maybe later."
"Okay." He took another slow sip, eyeing his bag and then her wand. After a moment he fixed his devilish stare on her over the rim of the glass. He gave one last chuckle and then lowered his tumbler.
"Crawl."
Chapter end notes:
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