Chapter 5

Hermione contemplated her situation while she had a few minutes to herself in the bathroom. So far, the evening hadn't been terrible. It had been scary for a minute, when he had threatened to fuck her mouth. But when she'd followed his commands and responded with enthusiasm, he hadn't followed through on the threat. Malfoy had said he wanted to hurt her when drawing up the contract, but he had healed her twice now for relatively minor things.

She couldn't make sense of him. What he said and what he did were contradictory.

The moment they had shared with the Firewhisky was strange. Malfoy knew that sucking him off would be difficult for her. He had encouraged her to loosen up and given her a chance to collect herself.

He went back and forth between teasing her, flirting with her, and ordering her around. Degrading her. Calling her Mudblood. Healing her. She didn't understand it.

Ultimately, he was enacting some sort of fantasy with her. Although it hadn't been bad so far, how she fared would ultimately depend on what his fantasies entailed. And whatever was in his sodding bag. Clearly, a part of him was getting off on blood purity bigotry: that she was inferior to him and made to serve him. Although, when taken in context with his other actions this week and this evening, Hermione wasn't sure how much he believed in that himself.

She wondered at her threat of a two-fold retaliation. In theory, she could demand that he eat her out until she came. Twice. She considered it briefly. If he was the sort that didn't enjoy cunnilingus, maybe she would make him do it. Retaliation wasn't so much about what she wanted but more about making him do things that he didn't want to do. He probably did enjoy performing oral sex. Everything about him was so sexual. She didn't have a problem imagining him between her legs.

Would it feel good? Probably.

Even if it did, she wanted this night to be done with and to never have to touch him again. Having him eat her out in retaliation wasn't much of a threat at all if she didn't want it done to her, or if he would enjoy it.

She would stick with using him as a foot rest for now. That actually sounded like fun. She laughed at the thought of balancing her feet and a few cups and dishes on him. Maybe she'd have him wash her feet and massage them as well, but she had a feeling he would make it far more sexual than she intended. Certainly a back massage was a no-go. Although… She shuddered with a flush of desire. She desperately wanted to feel his hands on her body.

Hermione finished cleaning herself up and opened the loo door to see him standing in the doorway. She yelped in surprise.

"You're a screamer, Granger? Why am I not surprised?"

She blushed, first from him flirting with her, then in anger. She was tired of this smug prat intimidating her with sexual innuendos.

"Please. You were awfully vocal for what was clearly a sub-par blow job." He was partially blocking the exit, so she forced her way past him, knocking him in the chest with her shoulder on her way to the kitchenette.

"Don't sell yourself short. Enthusiasm makes up for poor technique."

She took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. "If you think I care what your opinion is of my ability to blow your pint sized prick, then you're not just arrogant. You're completely delusional."

He leaned against the doorframe, watching her. "Your willingness to please says otherwise."

She took a long drink and wiped her mouth with her hand. "Clearly the threat of you gagging me with your penis had nothing to do with it."

"You sound disappointed that I didn't." Malfoy disappeared into the loo and shut the door before she could respond.

Arsehole! He is such a sodding arsehole!

She let out a frustrated shriek.

After a moment of breathing heavily, she finished her water and then stared at his duffle bag on the kitchen counter. He was in the loo; she could take a peek. She tapped her fingers against the counter in thought. It was so tempting. The bag was right there. She glanced back at the closed bathroom door. How long would he be? Would she have time to look inside the bag?

To open or not to open...

She narrowed her eyes at the bag. He'd probably know that she had looked, and she would not give him that satisfaction. What purpose would it serve? If she saw a whip in there, she'd know how bad it was going to get. Then again, if there really wasn't much in there, she'd know he was only going to hurt her with… himself.

He wasn't winning this game.

She walked away so she wouldn't be tempted to open the bag and started pacing across the common room.

Walking without knickers was uncomfortable, but pacing gave her something to do. At least he would need some time to recover. She didn't know how much time he would need, but there's no way he could go again so quickly after that.

Could he?

Malfoy emerged from the bathroom in just his trousers, and she stopped and turned to face him. He wiped his face with a towel, looked over at his bag, and then shifted his gaze back to her.

"My mother."

She furrowed her brows in confusion. "What's that?"

"My mother," he repeated. "She taught me how to heal."

"Oh." Hermione was thrown by the change of subject. "Was that… Did she…" She didn't think rich, pure-blood wives worked in any capacity, and clearly Narcissa Malfoy wouldn't have a hidden career as a Healer. Perhaps it was part of comportment lessons? Finishing school?

"It became necessary," was his vague explanation. "So we both learned."

She watched as he wiped his neck and chest and tossed his hand towel back onto the bathroom sink. She didn't know what to say. His life sounded terrifying.

"No more questions, Granger?" he asked softly, quietly approaching her.

She swallowed and looked up at him. "Lots, actually."

He chuckled mirthlessly and pulled on a curl of her hair, releasing it and letting it spring back. "Some other time, then."

His pensive expression turned sultry.

"You're wearing more clothing than I am. Strip," he ordered, breaking the spell between them.

Hermione felt an adrenaline rush at his command. She took a few paces back, stumbled, and caught herself. He remained impassive, observing her with that smug, superior expression, and shoved his hands in his pockets again.

Knowing he derived way too much enjoyment from her struggling with her embarrassment and fear, she got to work. She toed off her shoes and sat down on the footrest to remove her knee highs. One by one, she peeled them down her calves, balled them up, and placed them in her shoes. She undid the knot in her tie, tugging the strip of material through her collar a bit too forcefully, and draped it on the armchair.

The shoes, socks, and tie had been easy. Now she had to remove her shirt, bra, and skirt. She could barely remove Malfoy's clothing; she didn't know if she could remove her own in front of him like this. She peered over at him, fingers toying with the top-most button on her blouse. Of course he wasn't any help, just standing there, watching her expectantly.

Maybe she should take a bit more Firewhisky. She wasn't drunk, or even tipsy. She walked back to the kitchen counter and poured a small amount into her glass. She was about to knock it back when Malfoy admonished her.

"It should be savored, Granger."

That wasn't a direct command. She didn't have to obey. She glared at him, knocked the whisky back, and slammed the glass on the counter. Bugger him and his 300 Galleon bottle. He looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or yell at her.

If she could hold onto her anger, she could repress her shame and power through this.

Prat. Git. Arsehole. Prick. Fucking bigoted elitist spoiled pure-blood Death Eater.

Hermione flared her nostrils, righted her shoulders, and proceeded to undo the buttons of her shirt. Malfoy's eyes followed her hands as the strip of skin on her chest and stomach was exposed, and the cloth of her white cotton bra appeared. She tugged the shirt out of her skirt, finished off the buttons, and removed it, draping it over the armchair with her tie. Her breasts weren't exactly large, but he didn't seem to care. He leered at her chest while she reached behind her back, unclasping her bra. The straps became loose, and she allowed them to fall down her arms so she could toss it aside to the armchair. His gaze was heated, but she felt cold all over, and her nipples hardened in response. He wasn't even pretending to look anywhere else.

Almost done. She took a breath and reached around for the zipper on her skirt.

"Stop." His voice rang deep. "Leave it on."

Her hands dropped, and he sauntered over to her. Her heart was beating so fast and so loudly. A skirt didn't mean much when you weren't wearing knickers.

"Better than I imagined," he muttered under his breath.

Hermione had thought she would be too skinny for someone like him. Not voluptuous like Pansy or Lavender or some of the other girls in their year who received a lot of male attention. She wondered if some of her exercises in preparation for this year on the run had given her some muscle tone, and if he even noticed such a thing.

Whatever.

She didn't give a sodding, flying fuck what he thought of her.

Malfoy circled her lazily, as if he had all the time in the world. His hands were still in his pockets, and just when she was feeling grateful that he was keeping them to himself, he reached out and flicked her nipple, sending a surprising jolt of arousal through her and she jumped.

He stopped in front of her, still studying her breasts. He followed the flick with a squeeze to her other breast, gently at first and then harder, making her yelp until he released her. He raised his eyes to hers; she looked up at him defiantly. He smirked and reached out, pinching both of her nipples. She trembled slightly at the contact, and he increased the pressure, pinching her harder and biting his lip as he did so. She felt her core heat. Her inner walls clenched with want. Her throat constricted and, to her mortification, she made a small whimper. He pinched harder so that it became painful.

"Aaaahh!" she cried out, grasping his wrists.

With a wicked gleam in his eye, Malfoy released the pressure on her nipples. But before she could sigh in relief, he pulled on them. Her lips parted, and she swayed forward, emitting a small whimper and almost stumbling into him. He watched her face closely, and she hated that she couldn't do anything to mitigate her reaction to his fondling. He released her again. Her hot, desirous need to be filled returned with a vengeance.

He ambled around, stopping right behind her. She felt her shoulders tense. Now what?

"Lift your skirt."

What? He wanted her to… Display herself for his perusal? The idea of it was more humiliating than simply being naked. She squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and exhaled.

Horcruxes.

Hermione fingered the hem of her skirt at her sides, crumpled it in her fingers, and brought it up her waist, pulling the material up from behind her.

Nothing.

Silence.

Malfoy knew the waiting and anticipation of what he would do next just made it worse. After a few more seconds, his palm slithered along the skin of her backside. She rocked forward at the contact, and he followed the movement, cupping her bum and lifting her right cheek slightly, as if weighing it. She felt her inner walls clench at his touch.

"Checking the goods?" she said snarkily, annoyed that he would probably be seeing evidence of her arousal. Or feeling it.

She shivered as his hot breath blew against her ear from behind. "Exactly."

As he palmed her arse cheek, he reached around with his other hand to grab her left breast. She bit her lip and squeezed her thighs together. He massaged both for a second, and then squeezed hard. She whimpered and dropped her skirt to grab his wrists and try and pry his hands off of her. But he did not lessen his grip.

"Malfoy, that hurts." The pitch of her voice had risen.

"Good," he whispered in her ear, and she shivered. He gave her breast and arse cheek one last squeeze before dropping his hands. "Lift your skirt, and don't let go this time." Slowly, with trembling hands, she lifted her skirt, exposing herself to him again.

"Bend over."

Bend over? Was he going to fuck her like this?

Slowly, Hermione bent over, head hanging down. She swayed forward, and he placed a warm hand on her backside, fingers curving around her hip preventing her from pitching forward. All the blood rushed to her face.

His voice was low and husky. "Spread your legs."

Oh no. He was. He was going to have sex with her like this. Hermione's heart started pounding with anticipation and fear.

She spread her legs as directed, eyes on the knees of his trousers behind her, upside down. She felt him pull her cheeks apart, and she nearly pitched forward again at the mortifying wave of need that overcame her. He dug his fingers into the flesh of her arse, steadying her. Feeling dizzy from her head hanging upside down, and probably even more so because of the Firewhisky, she raised her head and torso slightly. He was examining her like she was in a piece of meat. He'd see how aroused she was by what he was doing to her. She was absolutely humiliated. She shut her eyes.

"My, my, Mudblood. You're more than ready for me. Which hole should I take first?"

She looked back at him, terrified. He returned her gaze, taunting, challenging her to answer. He crouched down to a squat so her rear was at his eye level.

"Ladies choice," he purred.

His thumbs rubbed into the skin of her upper thighs, now slick with her arousal. He pressed small circles closer and closer to her cunt, and then slid up to her anus, teasing her at both entrances. Her legs trembled. She was scared.

He wouldn't. He wouldn't. He wasn't that cruel.

Was he?

He would have fucked her mouth. Was this any different to him? It was the not knowing that was killing her. But that's what he wanted. He wanted her to drive herself crazy wondering just how far he would go. Hermione felt a puff of his breath across her cunt, and she pitched forward again with a whimper and a clench of her inner walls. He steadied her.

He didn't say anything, but she knew he was looking at her arse and at the lips of her opening. She breathed in slowly, the seconds of silence ticking on. A small waft of hot air from his – nose? Mouth? – tickled her left butt cheek, and her core tightened in response. She closed her eyes. His intimate, drawn out examination of her was humiliating. And she hated the perverse desire she had in response.

Her cheeks and chest flushed in nervous anticipation. Her legs trembled. She was scared now that it was going to begin, but this had to be done. She'd messed up, and this was the price.

"Should I check to see just how wet you are?" he teased in that low voice.

In a brief flash of anger, she turned back and said defiantly, "Why ask? It doesn't matter what I say, you'll do what you want." Anger was good: it made her forget how ashamed she was at this level of depravity.

His grey eyes were full of naughty promise. "Do you want me to?"

"No," she said reflexively and instantly regretted it.

"Tell the truth."

She bit her lip and felt like a schoolgirl that had been caught lying to her teacher. Her cunt pulsed at his scolding. In truth, she wanted friction, touch, contact, anything. She did. Right now, she absolutely did. Damn him for making her admit it. She wanted him inside her.

"Yes." Her voice croaked with the admission.

He leaned in closer, and she felt his hot breath on her opening. She thought he would kiss her or lick her, but he paused, his lips just barely touching her. She felt herself clench again, and again. A third time on air, on nothing. The anticipation was driving her mad. And he'd see it all. Malfoy would know just how much she wanted him, wanted to be filled by his tongue, fingers, or cock. She felt a tiny rivulet of liquid trickle down her thigh and closed her eyes. She couldn't bear this.

Suddenly his finger was there, briefly penetrating her. Hermione bucked forward with a choked yell, and he pulled her back. He swiped over her opening, slick with her wetness and circled her clit before removing his finger entirely. She let out a desperate cry of frustration at the removal of his finger, and her legs buckled. He stood up and caught her before she fell to the ground, holding her bum against him. She could feel his hard length under the fabric of his trousers. She gasped. Just as quickly, he released her.

"Stand up."

Her legs trembled as she stood and rolled her neck while he continued his circuit around her. He stopped in front of her, sucking seductively on his finger, and she felt her nipples harden, waiting for his touch, wondering if he would be rough with her again. She was still holding her skirt up in the back. She felt so empty, so unfulfilled. He had penetrated her with his finger. He had touched her clit. And now there was nothing there. He'd left her wanting. She felt cheated and ashamed.

"You taste divine, Mudblood."

"I'm not dirty?" she spat back, still frustrated from the sharp loss of contact and embarrassed at her reaction. He lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh no," he answered calmly. "You're definitely dirty."

He was dirty. Foul. Vulgar. Vile. Depraved. Perverse. Filthy. Ugh!

Malfoy reached forward to her mouth and ran his thumb along her lower lip. She tingled where he touched her, and she stifled the urge to just bite his sodding thumb off. He pulled down on her lip. She could smell her arousal on his hand.

"Such sharp words from these lips." His smile was devilish. "I like them much better when they're stuffed with my cock."

She flushed and narrowed her eyes at him as his hand fell.

"Lift your skirt from the front." He took a small step back, perusing her body with feigned disinterest. Her mouth went dry under his gaze. How in the world did he come up with these positions that kept clothing on, but were far more humiliating than being naked?

"I…" Hermione grasped the hem of her skirt but couldn't bring herself to lift it. Was it that much worse than showing him her rear and bending over?

"Now, Mudblood."

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head to the side. Slowly, she lifted the hem from the front, bunching it up at her waist, exposing herself to him, sans knickers. Her hands clutched around her waistband, fingers digging into the material. Her blood was pounding in her head so loudly that she didn't hear or feel him close in on her until his mouth was next to her ear.

"Do you want my fingers in your cunt?" came the low, sultry whisper.

She gasped for breath, not realizing that she had been holding it, and her eyes popped open. She saw only his cheek and jaw as he leaned to speak to her ear. He turned his face slowly to her, and that's when she saw his desire for her blazing through his eyes.

His words were dirty. She was dirty. He made her so.

"Yes." The word was an exhale onto his lips. "You already know that."

Was he going to check for her arousal like he had the last time? She felt herself clench again at the thought of his fingers inside her. But he didn't check. He didn't do anything to her.

"My tongue?" he continued.

She had been staring at his tongue for a week and a half. Catching glimpses of it when it emerged from between his lips.

"Yes," she whispered, voice trembling. "You vile git."

Malfoy chuckled but didn't touch her. He backed away slowly and left her wet and wanting, holding up her skirt for him. He stood, hands in his trouser pockets, erection prominent. His expression was dispassionate, slightly amused. It was only his eyes that revealed the intensity of his desire.

"Spread your legs for me, Mudblood."

For him. He was emphasizing that she was doing all this for him. But she wasn't. He could be anyone. She was doing it to prevent Voldemort from finding out about their mission. To get her beaded bag back.

"No," she said steadily while spreading her legs. "Not for you. You could be anyone."

His eyes flashed in anger, and he reached forward between her legs. Her thighs tensed, expecting his touch, but he paused, giving her a mean smile and doing nothing. She grit her teeth in annoyance. He waited a few seconds more, taunting her, and then swiped shallowly along her slit, between her curls. She bucked forward slightly into his fingers, but again he removed them.

"This," he said, holding up the evidence of her arousal. "Is for me."

Moving swiftly, he pushed his fingers into her mouth before she could react. She could taste herself. Salty, but not bad, she thought before her brain caught up with his action. He hadn't even asked! Or even given her a warning, the complete and utter prick. She felt like spitting on him. She bit him, not lightly, and he smiled wolfishly.

"You can bite me later, Granger." His voice was sultry. "As much as you like."

Malfoy pulled on his fingers, and she released him from her teeth. He dragged them over her cheek and down her throat, wiping her saliva and arousal on her skin. He crouched before her and pulled the lips of her sex apart, looking up at her cruelly.

"A pity that Weasel and Scarhead didn't have the sense to realize how willing your cunt could be. When you see them next-"

THWACK!

She smacked him so hard that he'd fallen over onto the ground. Blinking down at her own hand in shock, she scarcely realized what she had done. She hadn't meant to slap him, to lose control, but hearing him speak about Harry and Ron… The anger that had been building up inside of her had blinded her in that moment.

Still frozen, Hermione watched as he put his hand to his lip and drew it away. There was blood on his fingers. Malfoy looked down at the blood, confused, as if he didn't quite understand what had happened or how he'd arrived on the floor in front of her.

Her hand stung from the impact. She cradled it, watching Malfoy warily as he looked at his fingers. She took a small step back away from him. He was going to make her pay for that.