I tried to push him off. Well, I tried to want to push him off, but that was a far greater feat than I was prepared to complete. Malfoy's mouth was adhered to mine now. Questions ran through my head of why and when, and whispers of "I don't kiss," and "this is the last time" swam in my ears as if Malfoy were still speaking them.
His lips detected my apprehension. He stopped, pulling his head only far enough away to examine me, and frowned when he found what I hoped to be a successful attempt at a firm scowl.
"We said it was the last time," I forced myself to say. I didn't want to stop whatever was going to happen—my body didn't. But my brain knew I couldn't let Draco Malfoy be the reason I stayed at this stupid job any longer. I couldn't let him give me hope. I couldn't let him believe I was special. I knew with certainty that I was not. I knew he was fucking other witches. I knew I meant nothing. I needed an ounce of self-respect, and today was the day I would find it.
"That was yesterday. This is today," he said genially.
"And you know today isn't Thursday right?"
"I am aware of the date."
I frowned, stumbling over myself for a response. I cycled through options, I'm leaving and I don't want to do this, or, I meant it when I said yesterday was the last time, but I remembered I am not the greatest liar. Malfoy had said so himself. So instead, I offered, "Don't you have a witch to expect?"
He wavered at that, hand still on my chin. I could see him trying to think of an answer too. "You are too invested in my sexual life," he had said yesterday, and "You knew what you were signing up for." But today, he didn't have the same look of indifference on his face at the mention of his sex life.
"I don't shag witches in my office, Granger," he admitted.
Fuck.
I couldn't help but ask the question, "Just me?"
A small smile graced his face—the slightest upturn at the corners of his mouth—not one of joy or delight, but something else. It was almost an admission of defeat. Almost a surrender. "Just you."
That pestering spark of optimism disassembled me from the inside out. I blurted the words before I could put myself back together again, "You make me feel special, Malfoy, and I hate you for that."
I stared up at him in the silence that followed. His breaths were ragged, his pupils fully dilated, and for a moment, I wondered if I had rendered him speechless. Or maybe he hadn't heard at all. I had only mustered the softest whisper. But he was too close, his face mere centimeters from my own. I could see the one freckle by his left eye, a single star in a sea of pearlescent white. Maybe one day I could use it to make a wish.
Internally, I wondered what came next after you told Draco Malfoy you thought, just maybe, somewhere inside of him he cared about you. Whether it would push him away, or draw him in to me. Whether the power he now knew he held would entice him or disgust him. Whether he had the capacity to understand what it felt like to be held at both an arm's distance and in the most intimate bodily embrace. You knew what you were signing up for, he'd said.
My breath hitched in anticipation of a counter-accusation or contradiction, though somewhere in me there was hope of confirmation in its stead.
But he didn't answer.
My heart somersaulted as he dropped my chin and took a step back. I felt his absence like a wrecking ball to the gut. I watched him speechlessly as one step became two, then a third, then another, and this time, I didn't follow. He was beyond an arm's distance now. It felt like he was gone.
He ran a hand through his hair. One of the longer strands at the front, less secure than the others, fell into his eye. He took the breath I was holding in, and it came out like a gasp—a desperate plea for air.
"I cannot do that, Granger," he muttered. It was barely audible. "I cannot do this."
I wavered between fury and resignation.
"I cannot get your hopes up. I refuse."
I chose fury.
"Well you've done a bloody brilliant job of that, haven't you?" I snapped. "You tell me you don't kiss, you kiss me. You tell me you don't shag witches in your office, and yet you invite me back here every week. You fuck me like I am the only person in the world—you praise me! You tell me things no man has ever said in my vicinity, and yet you think—you have it in that witless brain of yours—that I wouldn't feel the least bit special?"
"Granger—"
"You won't let me quit—you went so far as to offer me a bloody promotion, and yet, you cannot 'get my hopes up'?" I continued. "You cannot be that emotionally detached. You must be a sociopath, Malfoy—"
He opened his mouth and I raised my fist to stop him. There was a menacing medley of anger and lust on his face. It would have been frightening if—if he didn't look like him—if anger was not one of his most attractive masks.
"No, Malfoy." I screamed, finally remembering his office was soundproof. "I don't understand you. Everyone knows that Draco Malfoy shags once, and moves on. What about me was so different? And please, tell me what I can do, so I can change it immediately."
"Is that what you think of me?" he bellowed. "That I'm some sort of office whore?"
"That is exactly what I think of you Draco Malfoy. And so does everyone else." I hissed. "If you wanted to fix your image, you could start by not being a whore."
He straightened himself so he stood even taller than before and pressed his lips into the firmest line. "Very well."
He said it like he was done. But I was not.
I gritted my teeth, struggling to compose myself enough to speak. "No, not very well at all."
The feeling of violence was not unfamiliar to me—I'd been through a war, after all—but rather than a rush of emotions, it felt like an uncomfortable weight in my cranium. It felt like a headache and a heart attack all at once. I wanted to hit him, I wanted to bang my fists against his chest and leave bruises. How could you use me? How could you make me feel special and pretend you weren't to blame? You do things Ron never did, you make me feel ways Krum couldn't. I hate you.
I hate you.
I wanted so badly to tell him, but the words wouldn't come out soon enough. I knew I should've never touched him, even with the longest branch of oak I could find. I should've quit the first time he denied my two week's. I should've left when I had the chance. I should have used my bloody brain to figure out that involving myself with a man with no desire for attachments would ruin me. I should've known I would sit up at night waiting for Thursday, losing sleep over whether he was with somebody else at that very moment.
"I hate you!" I forced the words out like expelling a poison.
"Get out, Granger."
"I told you, if I leave this room then I am never coming back. And you can do nothing to stop me."
Something flashed in the gray abyss of his eyes but he said nothing.
"I don't know what I did to get a second quickie—or whatever rubbish promotion you offered me to keep me under your thumb—but I am starting to wish I could undo whatever I did. You are infuriating."
"That's rich, Granger," he jabbed a finger towards me. "You are the most infuriating person I have ever met in my life."
"You know nothing about me!" I raged.
"As if you know anything about me?"
"I know loads about you, Malfoy." His name tasted rotten on my tongue.
"Really?" he challenged with narrowed eyes. "Do tell."
"I know you think you're some kind of war hero, and deserve no accountability for anything you ever do. Hell, you probably think you've never done wrong in your life."
"Incorrect."
I glared. "I know you think the world revolves around you because you wear your stupid pressed robes, and have your stupid bank account. I know you buy your way out of any hole you ever dig."
"Wrong again."
"I know you think every witch wants to fuck you and that probably makes your ego even larger than your cock. I know you walk around like you own the place—and might I remind you that you are only second in command here—and how completely unprofessional it is to fuck your employees. Even you are not above the code of ethics, Malfoy."
"Granger—" He threw his head back and groaned as if tired of me. "Please shut up."
"How dare you?" I cried out.
"You need to leave."
"And why is that, Malfoy? Because you're repulsed by the idea that someone is attempting to hold you accountable for the way you whore yourself out and claim no responsibility for your actions—"
"No, Granger."
"Then what is it? You begged me to stay at Finborough—told me I needed to be here so bad you won't let me quit—so why did you change your mind?"
"Granger," there was a rasp in his voice. "You need to leave because if you don't I am going to try to fuck you."
Something inside me set ablaze.
Our eyes locked—his were fully black now. There was something dangerous—animalistic, even—in the way he was looking at me.
I'm not sure who moved first, but our bodies collided quicker than I could form a rebuttal.
Then he was kissing me and this time I was kissing back. But his lips weren't soft—there was a savagery to the way his mouth moved against my own. His hands stroked my pinned up hair for only a moment before he twisted it around his fist, breaking it free from its claw clip, and yanked my head backwards. He sucked the air from my lungs before his lips moved to my throat. His teeth dug into my neck so roughly I knew this would leave a mark. He'd been careful before not to leave evidence of his presence. But this was different.
"Fuck." I groaned. "You're going to bruise me. Someone will see."
"I know," he growled against my skin. He used the hand tangled in my hair to force my head back even further. I could see only the ceiling now.
"I hate you." I gasped as his bites turned to suction.
He paused for a millisecond to say, "Tell me again," before returning to his mission to leave every inch of my neck black and blue.
"I fucking hate you." I said, raising my voice.
He had no retort. His fingers massaged my scalp in a way that made a shiver crawl up my spine. Fuck. Then, again, he moved his mouth lower, to the small sliver of skin that showed over the modest blouse I'd chosen. The most professional attire to deliver a letter of resignation, I'd thought. Nothing provocative.
I heard the fabric of my shirt rip before I felt it fall. I made a note to shout at him later for destroying my clothes.
I balled my fists against his chest. He pressed his body closer to mine with such velocity and force I began to tumble backwards. He held me with his forearm, but inertia brought us both down. I felt my arse smack the wooden floor.
Malfoy laughed, his lips briefly pausing on my clavicle. The vibration tickled my skin. He continued leaving bite marks across my chest, down my sternum, until he got to the fabric of my bra, then he trailed back up to where he'd come from. His weight was fully on me now, pinning me down to the ground, yet somehow holding my head up so it never touched the ground. I hated it. He was being too gentle yet too rough—his actions were as confusing as him.
The hand on my waist began to knead circles in my back and I suddenly remembered I had control of my own limbs. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, gripping until I was certain it would hurt. I still wanted so badly to hurt him, despite the pleasure I felt under his touch. I wanted to make him pay for the weeks of self doubt. I hated him. You know what you signed up for. I didn't sign up for this.
His mouth left me and he used the fist in my hair to force me to look at him. "You're too quiet, Granger."
I glared at him and pressed my lips shut.
"God you're defiant," he feigned annoyance, but the smirk on his face dismantled the charade.
Desperate to deny anything he said, I replied, "I am not."
His eyes scanned me for a moment. "I suppose not. You were always a rule follower," he said. "Would you follow my rules, Granger?"
"No." I scowled.
His weight left my chest. "So you're admitting to being defiant. Belligerent, even." He sat back on his knees.
"No." I repeated.
He cocked his head, his fingers beginning to loosen his tie. "Take your clothes off, Granger," he ordered.
I inhaled sharply. "What if I don't want to?"
"Then by all means, don't. But that means you're—"
"Fuck you," I relented. Then I was lifting my hips and sliding off my trousers. The ankles got caught on my heels.
Malfoy noticed and tugged both shoes off, tossing them haphazardly over his shoulder.
"Malfoy, those were expensive!" I paused with concern.
"I can buy my way out of any hole I ever dig, remember?" he mocked.
"Fuck you," I choked on the laugh threatening to burst from my throat. This wasn't a fight I would let him win.
"That's my plan," he grinned, tossing his tie in the same direction as my shoes.
"I hate you," I said, but the suppressed laugh forced its way out.
"I hate you too," he grabbed the waistband of my trousers and tugged them the rest of the way down my legs. He followed by tugging his own shirt apart, not bothering with the buttons. I glanced at the scar on his chest again—it feathered like lightning, gracing the rest of his shoulder and into his right bicep—but this time he followed my gaze. His face when he turned up to look at me again was no less humored than before. "Potter did that to me," he pointed.
I remembered the curse Harry had spoken of in sixth year, when he'd fought Malfoy in the bathrooms. It would have had to be incredibly dark to leave a scar like that. I instinctively reached out to touch it, and he caught my wrist before my fingers could make contact, squeezing a little too hard. "You hate me, remember?"
I felt the pain in my wrist, and I knew he was doing it on purpose. "I do." I said, though I couldn't muster enough certainty to say it with a whole heart.
"Tell me why, Granger," he used a single hand to unbuckle his belt, keeping the other clamped on my wrist. "Tell me everything you hate."
I gaped, air getting stuck halfway up my windpipe. But the answers flowed easier than I'd expected them to. "I hate that you're arrogant and self-centered."
"And?" He arched his brows.
"I hate that you use me, or use women to feel good. That's incredibly misogynistic of you, and you don't value witches as much as you should."
His belt came loose. He tossed it to the side and kicked off his shoes.
"I hate that the tabloids care more about you than they ever did about me."
The button on his trousers was undone.
"I hate that you got all the credit for being a war hero."
He was sliding his pants off now.
"I hate that you don't speak to me unless I'm in your office."
He rocked backwards until he could pull the trousers past his feet.
"I hate that you fuck me better than anyone I ever dated. And I hate that we're not dating—"
The trousers were off.
"—Not—not that I want to date you," I stammered to save myself.
"Go on," he gestured for me to continue, unbothered. We were both in only underwear now.
"I hate that you make me do filthy things and I hate that you make me feel good about it. I hate who I become around you."
His fingers were hooked in the waistband of his briefs, but he stopped.
"I hate that I do everything to please you and you don't even care. And I hate the control you have over me, because right now, I hate everything about you and I still want to fuck you."
His smirk grew wider at that. "Incredible, Granger," he said. "My turn."
I frowned.
"I hate that you walk around like you're better than everyone."
"Malf—"
"I hate that you refuse to say my name."
"You call me Gr—"
"I hate that you love interrupting me."
"I—"
"Shut up, Granger." He groaned. "I hate the way you look."
I seethed. "How dare—"
"Let me finish!" He shouted, before returning to a low, husky volume. "I hate the way you can wear the most prudish, hideous clothes and still look like temptation. I hate the way your trousers stretch over your arse."
A blush crept up my face. I clamped my mouth shut so hard I accidentally bit my tongue. I tasted blood as he continued.
"I hate the way you don't need to wear a skirt or low cut shirt to turn me on, yet you insist on doing it every Thursday. Like you want to kill me or something. I hate the way you reduce me to a prepubescent boy. I hate that looking at you is like seeing my first set of tits, every time. I hate the fact that I get hard any time I am around you, because I can't help but think of the way you look in the nude," he was looking at me like a predator stalking its prey.
I didn't want to believe him. I wanted to think it was just another lie—him trying to make me feel special and then he would go about pretending he did nothing to cause it—but his voice was so ominously riddled with truth that my skin prickled with goosebumps.
"I hate that every time I get home I have to scrub myself raw to get the scent of you off my skin. I hate that you taste like vanilla. I hate that you make me kiss you. I hate that you ask about my sex life knowing full well you ruined it for me. I hate that you ruined sex for me, Granger," he released my wrist and gripped my chin, his thumb tracing my lips while his fingers dug into my jaw. "I tried to fuck Pepper Knock, I had to think of you to get myself off. I tried to fuck five women before I gave up. I can't finish with anyone else because of you—
"I hate that I crave you. I hate that I have to wait until Thursday to fuck you. I hate that I delayed the inevitable so long before giving into how badly I wanted to feel your hands around my cock. I hate that I waited until you pursued me to taste and touch you for the first time," he was breathing heavily now. His fingers were hot against my skin. "And above all else, I hate that your knickers are still on."
I had no self restraint left in my body by the time he stopped speaking.
I think my brain slowed down in the quickness with which we crashed into each other. He unclasped my bra with one hand and used the other to tug off my knickers. I pulled at his briefs hastily until we were both free from the last of the clothing that remained between us. Then his hands were between my legs, rubbing circles in the most sensitive places. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. And he kissed me. Again and again. My lips felt swollen and raw by the time he pulled away. I threw my head back and released a moan.
"You belong on those posters, Granger," he muttered. "Not Parkinson. You. Just like this."
I wasn't composed enough to form a response.
He used the wall behind me to shift his weight and I felt the tip of his cock to brush my inner thigh. It was wet with precum, leaving a trail across my skin. I could do little more than watch as he lined himself up with my core. He left a small kiss on my temple before he pushed all the way in.
It felt all too intimate for Draco Malfoy. But I was beginning to think I didn't know 'Draco Malfoy' very well at all.
