A/N: Thanks to all readers and reviewers, especially Boogum, PlutoniumBunny, and R3.0. :)

Okay, the rating is upped here a tad, although again, this just doesn't get too explicit. And Draco has a LOT of turmoil in his head at this point. Enjoy! :)

CHAPTER FIVE

She was pressing closer to him, and her breasts began to brush his chest. His hands moved to the fastenings of her brassiere in back without a shed of rational thought driving his movements.

"Draco… I… " Ginny whispered.

"I want to take this off you," he said thickly into her ear.

She was silent for a moment, and then she nodded assent. His hands were already moving on the hooks on the satin and lace in back, undoing them, one by one, slipping the straps down her shoulders, until at last the bra came off and her breasts sprang free, round and firm. He slipped his hands around, and at last, at last he was doing what he had wanted to do for so long, cupping her bare breasts in his hands, feeling the soft responsive skin, circling his fingertips round and round her pink nipples until they rose like raspberry gumdrops. He felt her heart beating an uneasy tattoo, and he knew without being told that she was scared and excited all at once.

Draco's hands paused. "Do you want me to stop?" he murmured.

"No,"she whispered, and he went on and on touching her, exploring her, savoring her response. He traced the most sensitive bits, listening to the pitch of her moans, watching her flushed face and feeling her hands around his back under his shirt, smoothing his skin.

But she was still shy, unsure, and her touch was tentative. His was not. He understood in a flash what that meant, and he wanted to groan in frustration.

He knew what came next, knew it thoroughly, inside and out, whereas she only knew what she'd been told, what she'd read, what the girls in the Gryffindor dormitory had whispered about in the middle of the night. He understood the pleasure she would feel if they continued, and the incredible pleasure that she would give him. She did not.

A cold thought flashed through his mind, from the manipulative part of himself that he could not stop, could not get rid of. And indeed, he didn't want to get rid of it, because this endless afternoon would end, and then he would need all the guilt and manipulation he could muster if he had any hope of surviving this terrible year.

Draco knew that he could use his greater knowledge against her—no, no, not against Ginny, exactly, but he could use it to get what he wanted from her. One thing could lead to another, and she would be lost in a haze of pleasure while that small part of him remained detached, plotting how to bring him the greatest satisfaction, how to win the prize that he already knew deep down she didn't really want to give up to him yet...

Draco licked at her nipples with all his skill, nibbling lightly, letting the sound of her moans guide his movements. When her eyes were closed, he trailed one hand down her abdomen while the other cupped around one of her breasts, holding it up to his mouth so that the nipple was defenseless and exposed; he suckled harder and harder and she made whimpering noises in her throat. She didn't seem to notice that one of his hands was steadily pulling up her skirt, unbuttoning the waistband in front, then moving the loose cloth aside to lie on the bed around her.

She shivered, and he swiftly pulled a blanket up and partially draped it over them both so that the cold didn't awaken her from the sensual web he was weaving around her.

Nearly all of her clothing was stripped off now, lying around her or behind her or tangled up in the covers. She wore only a pair of black cotton knickers, not as pretty as the silk and lace bra. A quick, unwelcome thought darted through his mind; she hadn't planned to go this far, to show him this much. But the blood was thudding through his body, making rational thought impossible; he could only devour Ginny with his eyes, and it was taking all his control to not grab crudely at her near-naked body. She was so beautiful, slim but muscular from all the Quidditch she played, her bottom pertly rounded to match her full breasts, her long slender legs exposed and stretched out against the red silk sheets, her skin creamy and pale in the faint firelight.

Mine. The word drifted through his mind. It was wrong, the word, that possessive way of thinking, and some part of him knew it. But anything resembling a conscience in the mind of Draco Malfoy was a very small part at that moment.

Her eyelashes fluttered. "Draco?" she asked, sounding confused. "What—"

"Shh, shh," he said, leaning down to kiss her, squeezing one of her nipples between the powerful thumb and forefinger of one muscular hand.

Her moan turned into a squeak, and he backed off the pressure just the tiniest bit until she was sighing low in pleasure again.

He was drowning in pleasure, swamped by it, never wanting to return to the surface. He took delight in her pleasure too. But still, that calculating part of himself kept thinking, kept weighing possibilities. He wished that he could make it stop, in a distant way. But I can't. He knew deep down that he might have managed to do it if he'd tried, but that he was too deeply sunk in bliss to make the attempt.

But—but does she actually want to go this far with me, does she want me to lead her into these things? The tiny voice of his conscience tried to speak.

Shh. I'll make her so happy; she'll love this, she'll give me what I need and in return I'll give her more pleasure than she can imagine, the much larger manipulative part said, and his conscience was easily silenced.

Could he distract her enough for his next move?

I'll do this. She'll love this. I only want to make you happy, Ginny.

Both thoughts moved in his head like separate selves, both wanting the same thing. He brought up his other hand and began lightly scratching at her other nipple with a fingernail.

"Oh!" she gasped.

"That doesn't hurt, does it?"

"No… no."

Scratch, squeeze; scratch, squeeze. Her moans were so mingled with whimpers that he could not distinguish them anymore. He replaced one set of fingers with his mouth, and when her eyelashes were fluttering, his hand moved down her abdomen again. His fingers trailed down further and further, skimming over her taut stomach. He moved closer to her and then closer still, very gently nudging her thighs apart with a knee, sliding half on top of her.

Ginny gasped, her eyelashes fluttering as if she were being pulled out of a feverish dream, and he realized why, just a bit too late. His hips had moved so that the length of his erection was pressed completely against her inner thigh, bottom to near the top. His trousers were halfway down around his calves; he wasn't even sure how that had happened, and she had clearly felt every inch of his tremendous arousal.

"Shh. Shh." He moved up to kiss her neck, and with a sigh, she let her eyes fall closed again. He looked down at Ginny. Every inch of her exposed skin was flushed a light pink in the firelight. Her entire body was trembling, her breasts bobbing in a way that he could barely endure to watch without seizing her in his arms. She was caught up in the moment, just as he was, except… except for that small calculating part of him, the one that was always present in every Malfoy, he supposed. Most of him at that moment was a sixteen-year-old boy at the mercy of his hormones, swamped by blind need. But there was still that one little bit, calculating, watching, weighing options.

All of him wanted the same thing just now, of course. To go on. To finish what they'd begun. It would be so easy. He was lying half on top of her now; he could just swing his body into place. He could pull down his boxers and her knickers with a couple of swift movements. In that second, he could see it all; her eyelashes fluttering open with alarm, his soothing kisses, her relaxation and acceptance, because she wasn't experienced enough to realize what he would be doing. And then, with one good, hard thrust between her spread thighs, he would do the irrevocable thing, taking what she could never get back. And once he'd done that, it would be too late to stop.

How strange that it would be so easy to take or break so many things—not just her virginity, but her trust in him, his promise to her, the secrets he'd been careful to keep between them. Once he'd been her first lover, she would be bound to him in ways that he was sure she did not understand, ways that only practicing purebloods knew, not the ones like the Weasleys, who had turned their back on the most ancient magic.

Yes, all of him wanted her desperately; for pleasure, for the satisfaction Draco craved, for the power he desired even more. And perhaps more than anything else, to keep her with him. If he took her virginity, he could make her stay with him; he knew it. He would whisper all the secrets to her that he kept from everyone else. She would soothe the fears that he thought might drive him mad. And he could keep her safe, too. If Death Eaters really did take over the school at the end of the year, everyone would be in danger. But he could save Ginny.

I could use her. I could save her. I could trust her. I need her. I have to have her, Draco thought, with passion and calculation and yearning, all of it at once, impossible to separate.

"Draco?" Ginny's voice broke in on his thoughts. He looked down at her again, and he saw that she was frightened.

She doesn't want this. He knew that truth at once, bone-deep. If he continued, he could not fool himself into thinking that she'd really been willing. What he did would be without her consent.

But he could continue. He could get away with it. He could even convince her afterwards that she had wanted him to do what he did, that he hadn't understood that she really wanted him to stop, that he'd been overcome by passion for her, so how could she be angry with him, that he was hurt by the fact that she'd even think he would have taken her without her consent…

But he would know. He would always know.

Draco's conscience bobbed to the surface of his mind, as it always seemed to do at the worst possible moment. I cannot do this, he thought. And in that moment, he would have done anything to make the little voice go away.