Happy early Valentine's Day, everybody! So happy you like the story. Thank you all so much for your feedback :-)
Had to split last chapter in two due to length. Lemons and cliffhanger ahead!
This is a huge mistake, Hermione repeated to herself for the umpteenth time as she paced on the wet, dirty snow before the wrought iron gates guarding the lane up to the Malfoy Manor. Why am I here?
She shuddered violently as the cold gust of wind hit her, prickling her nose and cheeks. Her gloveless fingers were already half-frozen as she continued to debate with herself for over an hour. It was starting to get dark, there wasn't much time left. Taking a deep breath, she finally pushed the gates open and briskly marched up to the house. If nothing else, she'll at least be able to get out of the cold for a while and he might even let her use his Floo to get home.
When she made it to his door, she grabbed the knocker and let it fall heavily against the door.
A house-elf opened door. He bowed his head. "Madame."
"Hello … um … I'm here to see Mr. Lucius Malfoy. Is he in?" She was so nervous, she could hardly knew if she was speaking coherently.
"I'm afraid he's away. Would you like to leave a calling card?"
Hermione seethed in disappointment. She didn't want to wait another day to confront him. It wasn't fair. Mr. Malfoy forced himself so inextricably into her life … and head; he could intimidate her … intrigue her … kiss her … and then leave her without an explanation. She was owed something.
"I have sensitive documents from the Ministry for him," she smoothly fibbed. "I must deliver them personally into his hands."
"You may wait inside, if you like," the house-elf said nervously, his ears wilting down as he lowered his voice. "However, Mr. Malfoy seldom likes surprise visitors."
"I understand, but I'll have to wait. It's urgent," Hermione breathed out.
The house-elf stepped aside, inviting her to enter. "I'll show you to a study, ma'am."
She followed the house-elf, limping through the foyer and past the grand staircase, not daring to look too closely at her surroundings.
"Will you take tea, ma'am?" the elf asked, as he ushered her into Mr. Malfoy's mahogany study.
She didn't know how long she'll have to wait and she was still so cold. "Yes, thank you."
The elf returned shortly with tea tray, and Hermione hoped the warm liquid would soothe her anxiety. As she continued to vacillate between shock, anger, and confusion, she still didn't know what to say to him. Tea warmed her, making her sweat under her winter cloak. Taking it off, Hermione fished out the cashmere wrap out of her purse and tried it on. It was light, but warm and fit perfectly.
She couldn't accept it though. Could she? Not until she found out the reason behind his newfound generosity.
Despite the warm fire blazing in the hearth, a chill ran down her spine.
She didn't need to be here, she didn't need to see him. What if she was wrong anyway? There was always the possibility that he could deny everything and show her uninvited self the door.
This was a bad idea. Yes, she really should go. Grabbing her cloak, she spun towards the door. The moment she turned, however, wind was knocked out of her lungs as Hermione collided with something firm and unmoving. Something that carried the seductive aroma she smelt earlier today.
Hands came to her arms to steady her as she stared at the smart robes of Lucius Malfoy's chest.
"Miss Granger," he said. His tone was steady, as though finding a Muggle-born witch in his study was an ordinary occurrence for him.
"Mr. Malfoy. I need to talk to you." Her throat froze up. It was so much easier to go through this confrontation in her imagination than in reality.
His lips curled into a grim smile, rendering the severity of his stare more menacing than ever. "So talk."
She treaded carefully. "I think … I think you know what it's regarding."
He pursed his lips, neither denying or confirming her statement.
Puzzled by his reaction, Hermione was at a loss. She wasn't sure what she was expecting from him: remorse … contrition … fury … arrogance? His face revealed nothing of the sort. He was entirely unreadable and yet Hermione could feel the air between them become thick with static, like it does right before a thunderstorm. She stayed motionless, afraid if she moved the electricity between them might discharge and incinerate them both.
"What comes next, Miss Granger?"
"Excuse me?" Her voice quavered.
He stepped closer. "You came to my home, you tell me. What is it you want?"
Trying to scrape the shreds of nerves back together, Hermione groped her brain for an answer. "I want to know why you did it. The notes, the flowers, the gifts … the incident in the conference room … I don't get it. Were you trying to seduce me or something?"
He sneered. "Is that what you think?"
"I don't know what to think. That's the problem. It doesn't make any sense to me. What is your agenda with this?" she probed.
His lupine eyes narrowed. "Agenda? No, that's not quite the right word for what I had in mind."
"Then what is?" she snapped in frustration.
"Were you disappointed when you found out?"
"Disappointed? No, that's not quite the right word for it," Hermione smirked as she smugly quoted his own words back to him.
He grunted. "You didn't answer my question."
"You didn't answer mine either," she retorted back without skipping a beat.
"The reasons are reparations and pride."
She frowned. "I'm not following. Why reparations? What for?"
For the first time since this conversation began, he averted his eyes. "For letting you suffer for my cowardly mistakes."
His change in demeanor unnerved Hermione. She wasn't sure what was worse: when he looked at her or when he didn't.
"You didn't have to do that. I don't hold you personally responsible for anything. I never blamed you. Even if I did, no gift, however grand, could suddenly make things better," she said, trying in vain to catch his eye. "I loved your gifts though. I usually get books and chocolates as presents from friends, so it was nice to have someone give me something so thoughtful that required paying quite a bit of attention to what I like and need. It almost felt romantic. I never had anyone surprise with anything, especially flowers." Blood rushed to her face as she made her confession.
"I'm glad you approve. Now answer my question. Were you disappointed?"
"Definitely not," she frankly replied. "I just don't understand why me and why you gave yourself away with your last gift."
He cocked his head. "I did originally intend to remain anonymous, yes."
"So what changed your mind?" Hermione pressed.
"Pride. When you revealed that you thought some departmental milksop might be giving them to you, I was determined you should know that they were more than mere seasonal trinkets. The sentiments expressed in those notes were sincere. It was selfish to sent you the last two missives, but that's who I am." He stepped closer to her. "You don't have anyone looking after you, do you?"
What kind of question was that? And how was that apropos to their discussion?
"I manage just fine looking after myself, Mr. Malfoy," she said through clenched teeth.
"But you're alone." There was no inquiry in his voice.
She wanted to spew brimming brimstone down on him for his sexist, demeaning insinuations. "I don't see how—"
"Since working in the Ministry, I've noted two things about you. The first is that you are obsessively obedient. Afraid of breaking even a minor rule. The second is that you have terrible survival instincts. Your curiosity combined with obedience can be a lethal combination."
Hermione bristled with irritation. "I'm not fatally obedient. I've broken plenty of rules in my life when I had good reasons to. Those sort of reasons don't arise every day, so you don't see it of me every day. And I'm not a cat. I'm not curious enough to take reckless risks with my life."
"Oh, no?" His words blew cool across her face. "I was a stranger to you; you had no inkling of who I was when you agreed to meet me in the conference room. And you dutifully followed my instructions with the blindfold, making yourself even more vulnerable. It might have been magicked to harm you. I might have been a murderer … or worse, but you still had an instinct to obey me."
"You have a point," she gave him that. "I did have reservations when I read your note. Because of the enigmatic nature of your letters, I was very curious, I admit that. But we were in the Ministry, you couldn't bring any Dark Arts object in there without detection. And believe me, Mr. Malfoy, when occasion calls for it I can defend myself, blindfolded or not."
"Is that so?" He backed her so far toward the fireplace that she could feel the heat licking at her heels.
In one smooth movement, she whipped out her wand, holding it firmly under his chin. Mr. Malfoy took a step back, looking bemused. Her legs shook as she took a step forward, but she didn't let her lack of composure show.
"So you can. But you are very good at following instructions, are you not?"
"When I want to follow instructions, I do it. But only when I want to."
A command quietly left his lips, "Lower your wand."
Hermione wanted to resist him, to prove him wrong. Yet … she wanted to obey him like she did in the conference room. It felt exciting and forbidden.
Her fingers trembled as she lowered her wand and set it aside.
"Good girl. Sit, Miss Granger."
She lowered herself into a leather couch next to her discarded cloak.
His voice cut through the air, much sharper than before. "Now stand."
Feeling like his marionette, with her strings tangled around her wrists and ankles, Hermione obeyed him again.
He stood over her. "You like obeying me. You like following my instructions. Although our interlude was brief, I noticed it. I find it fascinating." His hands came up to cup her face. "Now … tell me no."
Her lids lowered. Her breath stilled. He was so near, she could feel his lips hovering just above hers. She almost smiled in triumph. She could defy him in this. There was no chance that she would turn down a kiss of his magnitude.
"Say it. Say no."
Licking her lips, she opened her eyes to look steadily in his. "Make me."
At her words, his mouth crashed down upon hers. His kiss was brutal, vicious … punishing. Hermione was thrilled. She kissed him back. This was no typical … seduction? Romance? No word really fit to describe what he was doing to her, and she didn't care for definitions. They seemed so unimportant in comparison to his actions.
He tore his mouth away from her. It was almost cruel.
"What comes next, Mr. Malfoy?" she queried back with his previous question.
His lips grazed at her neck, nipping the skin belong her earlobe, just barely enough to sting. "What's next, Miss Granger, remains very much up to you."
"I-I … I think I should leave."
His eyes flashed. "Yes, you should. It would be most … prudent." He dropped his voice. "You should go, you should run far away, but I don't think I can let you, Miss Granger."
Startled, Hermione looked towards the door. "Wh-what?"
He stood between her and the door, effectively blocking her path to exit.
His words were sharp. "You and I have nothing more to discuss, Miss Granger. You came for answers, I gave them to you. We're through. I have a great difficulty controlling myself around you, as today's incident in the conference room illustrates. You make me alter my plans too much. I don't like alterations. Curiously, you turned down your chance to walk away. Am I to surmise that you want me to have my way with you?"
Her heartbeat haltered. Time seemed to stop.
"I thought you said this wasn't about seducing me," Hermione said when she finally managed to form the words in her dry throat.
"It's not. It is not a seduction I seek."
"So then … what?"
His hand came up to stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers. "You altered the course of my plans when you changed the rules in that conference room. You made a grave error in letting me have a taste of something I liked. I'm an obsessive creature, Miss Granger. When I have a small bite of something I want, I crave more of it until I am sated, do you understand? Until I am sated." His tone was fatally serious.
She drew in a sharp breath and strained for more kisses, but he held back.
"It has been a long time for you, hasn't it? Listen carefully, I will only stop now if you say 'red'. If you say it, everything stops and you'll be free to go. Is that understood, Hermione Granger?"
Red, the color of the roses. Red like the ribbon on her gifts.
"Yes."
Lucius Malfoy kissed her again. His kiss sent a tingling burn from her lips down to her chest, descending lower still to her feet, before dissolving.
In one motion, he scooped Hermione up and lowered her down onto the sofa, pinning her wrists above her head. A shriek of surprise left her lips, but was stifled by his kiss. His very presence was noxious to her reason. Like poison, it was weakening her the more she tasted of him. She felt his free hand slip loose the buttons of her blouse.
The exposure of skin called upon her self-consciousness to make its debut. What am I doing? This isn't a game. It's dangerous. He's dangerous. How much would a momentary pleasure cost?
Hermione felt his hand slip beneath her torso and unclasp her bra and pull it off along with her shirt. She was completely topless before him; he was fully attired. Her skin was on fire under his eyes. Like dry ice, they burned her with their frigidity. He kneaded her breasts and she closed her eyes, unable to look at him anymore. Her hips rose up under his touches, arching against the hard swelling of his wool trousers.
"Patience, Miss Granger," he gently scolded her. "I will give you what you want, but you will suffer for it first."
The throbbing ache that started when he kissed her this afternoon had blossomed to a scorching, scarlet longing.
His hand settled a hand on her hot and damp mound. Hermione moaned, but it was stifled by his hot tongue filling her mouth, kissing slowly, seductively as his fingers brushed over her clit.
She struggled to remain still. It was a blissful torture.
As his tongue lashed across one of her nipples, she cried out and did her best to hold her hips in check, feeling as though she could come from that alone. He teased her nipple some more before taking it into his warm mouth, then repeating the process on her other nipple. Softly panting and moaning, Hermione arched into his mouth, offering more of herself to him. His hand freed her wrists and she was finally able to tangle her hands in his long, gorgeous locks. His mouth sucked harder on her nipples until all she could do was beg and plead for him.
Lucius moved back from her, making a short work of plucking off her remaining garments. She suddenly felt vulnerable and exposed, glad that her eyes were closed and she was unable to see him.
He leaned over her and placed a sweet kiss on each of her brows. "Open your eyes. I want you to look at me."
She did. She watched as he slid his hand between her legs.
He groaned. "You are so wet for me. Such a good girl." He pulled out his glistening fingers and Hermione flushed with embarrassment.
"When you came here, did you imagine me fucking you?" he smoothly asked, as he began to stroke her.
Hermione's thoughts blurred. She was losing her focus.
A sharp slap to her vulva brought her back to reality. It didn't hurt but it was … intense. It resonated throughout her whole body, rippling all the way up to the roots of the hair on her head, and down to the tips of her toes.
"I don't like to repeat myself, Miss Granger. When I ask you a question, I expect an answer," Lucius growled.
"I didn't. I didn't think it would get this far," she gasped out.
His fingers returned to her, gliding deeper than before, expertly tweaking the swollen bud of her clit. "The first time I saw you at the Ministry, kneeling down to scoop up the parchments you dropped in the lift, I wanted to fuck you. I wanted to grab you, drag you into the washroom, rip off your clothes and fuck you until you forgot your name. Does that frighten you?"
"Yes. And no. I don't know." His sentiments should be frightening. They would have been if anyone else had said them to her. To hear coarse, libertine admissions from the mouth of Lucius Malfoy as he continued to finger her was far from frightening; it was orgasmic.
His breath blew warm across her neck as he spoke again, "You will only come when I say so, understood?"
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy."
Groaning, Lucius began to increase his strokes in subtle increments, his lips moving between kissing neck and her breasts. Hermione's brain could barely function; she couldn't hang on to any thought for long. She strained her lower half, wanting to reach her release, but still trying to keep still. She teetered on the brink of orgasm, her thighs quivering of their own accord. He drew her nipple into his mouth and gently bit down on it. It startled Hermione enough to keep her from careening over the edge, but it wasn't enough to hurt.
"Patience," he growled.
The sound of his voice did it. Her body abandoned commands of her brain. Her hips pulsated violently up into his touch as her orgasm overtook her in long, undulating waves. It went on and on, taking even her vocal cords with it as Hermione couldn't even find the voice to cry out his name. When her body calmed, she was surprised to find herself still conscious. She barely felt her limbs and felt completely disoriented.
He shook his head, but his smug smirk was back. "I thought we had an understanding, Miss Granger. You must work on your control."
"I can't help it, it's how you affect me." Her voice was muffled to her ears.
"I'm glad I please you."
"Immensely," Hermione breathed out, closing her eyes. She was weak and completely at his mercy.
He turned her over and she raised her hips when she heard the clinking of his belt unbuckling.
"I can see how wet you are," he said softly as he kissed her neck.
When his cock pierced her, Hermione yelped from the sensitivity and the staggering feeling of him filling her. She grasped at the leather beneath her hands, unable to gain any purchase on it, practically choking on oxygen. In slow thrusts, he withdrew and sank back in several times, letting her get used to him before claiming her at a faster speed. The tip of his cock caught her clit with each thrust, catapulting her towards another release.
"You needed this, didn't you?" he grunted in her ear, his voice low and lusty.
His thrusts were so deep and masterful that shockwaves of pleasure rapidly rebuild themselves and it wasn't long before she was once more melting around him. The French called this the little death and, in a way, it was. No one could experience such rapture without sacrificing something of themselves for it. Like a virus, Lucius Malfoy was slowly killing her, bit by bit, orgasm after orgasm.
He swatted her arse. "You didn't answer me."
"Yes, yes. Oh, God, just let me come," she pleaded, struggling to keep her promise yet again, her eyes watering from concentration.
Another swat followed. "I don't know why you're begging God, Miss Granger. I'm the one who's fucking you," he snarled with ferocity. "Beg me."
He continued to move faster and harder. His fingers edged to her clit to work his lascivious magic on it. Every muscle in her body tensed, close to snapping.
"Please, Lucius, let me come," Hermione begged him.
"I will," he panted above her. "Just not yet."
His rhythm increased. This sweet torture was too much, threatening to rip her apart.
She intended to keep her promise, but started spiraling toward oblivion again. "I can't … please."
"Come then," he ordered.
With a wild, wanton scream, Hermione gave in to the masterclass of orgasms, soaring so high she felt as though she must have left her body. Lucius continued to thrust into her. With a grunt, he stiffened, and she felt a series of pulsations burst into her.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she collapsed beneath him. He rose off her body, but remained beside her, lightly stroking her back. Hermione's sobs got louder.
"Don't cry." He sounded as though he was trying to soothe her, but it brought her no comfort. She heard him zip up his trousers. The sound proclaimed to the world what had transpired between them. He hadn't even bothered to remove his clothes. Suddenly, Hermione felt very exposed and vulnerable.
Shame consumed her. She couldn't believe she let him take her in his study like some cheap whore. She couldn't believe she begged him like a nymphomaniac. Everything Hermione did since she walked into this room violated all her principles. And she liked it. She liked it so much it appalled her.
His hands touched her shoulders and Hermione jerked away from him, scalded by his touch.
Mr. Malfoy turned her to face him, his jaw clenched with tension. His next words were heartbreaking, "Miss Granger, this was a great misunderstanding. I hope … I mean it's not that I … " He looked away. His arctic veneer faltered for one fleeting moment. "I-I think it's best that we try to forget this." He quickly recovered. "My house-elf can assist you with anything you need. Do try to keep warm."
He walked towards the door, hesitated, then was gone. Tears continued to leak down her face. She didn't understand anything. She felt used and degraded. Why did he do this to her if he never wanted to see her again? He said it wasn't about seduction, so then why do this? If only she had never come here…
Throwing on her clothes, she gathered her wits about her to Apparate home.
She owled to work sick for the rest of the week with every intention of skipping the benefit as well. She felt too ashamed to face him. He'd act as though nothing had happened and she couldn't deal with humiliation of that calibre. Hermione even returned his gifts.
Before her hot bath that night, Hermione received an owl from Harry, saying he and Ginny wanted to stop by after the benefit to check on her. She agreed, but really wasn't in the mood for company. Any company.
As she was drying herself off, she heard a knock on her door. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was only nine. The benefit must still be in full swing. Did they leave early?
She threw on her flannel dressing gown and opened the door a crack. The brass chain still remained locked.
Staring back at her wasn't Harry and Ginny. It was the face of one wizard she did not want to see at that moment. The rhythm of her heartbeat faltered, then picked up chaotically.
How did he find her here?
Unable to speak, Hermione slammed the door closed again and leaned heavily against it.
The knock came again.
What did he want from her?
Go away, she silently begged him. Just go away.
He knocked. Louder this time.
Curiosity nagged at Hermione, overruling all rational thought.
Her hand poised over the doorknob against her own volition. And then she turned it.