Draco

Granger laughed until she cried when I told her about Marietta Edgecombe's father. "He didn't," she gasped. "He didn't really tell you to go have fun, but not with his daughter?"

"Maybe now that she's not permanently disfigured, he thinks I wouldn't be able to help myself," I suggested and she hooted all over again.

"Maybe it was reverse psychology," she suggests. "Maybe he was really hoping you would take her out."

Darren Edgecombe was strange enough that I could almost see that being the case. Even so. "Did you ever feel bad about that?"

After slowly bringing herself under control, she looked at me. "Maybe a little. Long after. It wasn't personal, you know. Anybody who ratted us out would have gotten the same. At the time, I didn't feel bad at all. I rather enjoyed the spellwork of the hex, actually."

Of course she had.

She rolls out of bed to do her hair half an hour or so before our company is due to arrive. This is becoming slightly less graceful for her as she gets larger.

She's gotten a little self-conscious about her body again, and I hate it, that she feels that way. I've taken a personal charge to mitigate this because I find her body intensely erotic right now.

I would never have expected that I'd have this reaction to seeing her grow larger with pregnancy, with my children. There are two of them in there, both boys. Her body changes slowly with the weeks and I love every centimetre of it, the curves and bends, the tautening.

There's not even too much of it yet at first glance, under her clothing - which is noticeably looser, if you choose to notice.

But even now, just looking at her do her hair, I want to pull her back into bed and put my mouth on every part of her.

Instead, I force myself up and into a cold shower. That can all happen later. We have all the time in the world, and right now, company is coming.

Jasper comes to fetch us right on time, saying Suz is showing Miss Weasley and Mr Zabini to the garden gazebo where I'd requested we be served lunch.

Granger and I walk out just as Blaise is pulling a chair out for Ginny. He's delicate and cautious, I notice, not touching her. Just being respectful. Deferential, the way I was at first. Solicitous. I hide a private little grin at that.

Granger's hand is on my arm and I feel the same savage rush of pride I always do when I look down to see my lovely witch next to me, descending the Manor stairs where she'll be the Lady one day.

I've actually had to temper back a sharp resurgence of my possessive tendencies with her pregnancy. My protectiveness. I know better than anyone that Granger can look out for herself and I never want to give her the impression I think she can't.

But I'm constantly on the lookout for something, anything - don't let her trip, Draco, watch the stairs, be careful she doesn't slip in the shower, and my heart is in my throat when she leaves home and I can't be with her. It stays there until she gets back.

I'd thought the terms of my sentence were reasonable, tolerable, manageable. They are, but only when she's with me.

My witch. My perfect, precious witch. My wife, soon enough. My children. Mine.

I really do my best not to hover. I catch myself doing it a lot, though. Granger seems to take it in stride. At least, so far. We still have several months to go.

Well, she's perfectly capable of hexing me if I get on her nerves. There's always that.

Even so, Ginny's eyes widen slightly at the sight of her, and I wonder if maybe Granger does look more than a little bigger. The change is so gradual to me, to us. Rapidly, I check to make sure Ginny's face doesn't hurt Granger's feelings about her body, then make myself stop.

She's not fragile. If she's insulted by something Ginny says or does, she'll shoot something back, and they'll spar like best friends do.

I force myself to stop fixating on Granger and pay attention to our little lunch foursome here instead. This is something of a big deal. I should be present for it.

They wanted to meet somewhere more neutral, but of course, I couldn't. Ginny was reluctant to come to the Manor, probably still thinking of it as a Death Eater haven, so the outdoor gardens were the ideal place anyway.

But she wanted to sit down with all three of us, still trying to parse through things. It's been slow, for Ginny. Granger says she's been working hard with her Mind Healer, but losing Potter on top of everything with the park has been complex.

On her Healer's advice, she did meet up with Blaise. This is their third or fourth meeting, by Granger's count, and now it's time to add my input into things too.

I'm sure some of it is also about me and Granger, our relationship. How did Granger move past certain things, even though the circumstances were quite different? How do we interact now? Ginny's never seen us together outside the park, with the exception of the final battle at Dunrobin.

We're getting married. She's pregnant with little Malfoy heirs. Ginny finds it all to be… quite a lot.

In the end, the sprinkling through of questions about Granger and me helps interrupt the heavier topic of Blaise and Ginny when he was Blaise, Blaise and Ginny when Blaise was Potter.

Maybe halfway through, we take a break. We've been letting Ginny lead and she requested a few minutes alone with Granger. Blaise and I take a walk.

"How's it going, lately?" I ask, once we're out of earshot.

We haven't talked about it since their last meeting. I see Blaise at work, of course, but going to work is horrible. Knowing Granger's home and I'm not is absolutely horrible. I end up having to heavily Occlude at work, which somewhat limits my social interactions. And of course, there are no Friday pub nights anymore.

Blaide nods, contemplative. "It's going. She's doing well, really. She's really not hostile at all towards me, anymore. The distrust is still there, but I think this has been very good today. Hearing other accounts."

"Well, it's two-fold," I sigh. "They have to validate what they think they remember, or validate what we tell them. Or both."

"How did you do it?" Blaise knows it's different, but still. He's curious.

"I think a few things helped. First off, I knew what I fucked up and how. I admitted it. I didn't try to defend anything I did."

This seems reasonable enough, and I think Blaise did it in his letter to Ginny after the battle. But at any rate, I hope he's been holding steady on the culpability angle since then. I think he's smart enough for that.

"Then I promised her honesty and stuck by it even if I was obviously uncomfortable. I think being visibly awkward probably lent credibility to it. One night we played a card game: whoever won a hand got to ask something of the other. I'd already promised her I'd tell her the truth about things but she liked the game. Ginny's competitive - might be something she'd take to. Granger took the opportunity to ask me all sorts of random shite."

Blaise considers this, head tilted. "What else?"

"Well, we'd been practising with her new wand. She'd try to hex me and I'd deflect. She got… into it a couple of times, when she was angry with me. Probably felt good."

"Anything else?"

I shake my head. "Time. What's your goal?"

"Ah, I don't have one." He kicks at a dandelion. "I never reach out to her. If she has questions or wants to talk, she comes to me. I always answer and do anything I can to help."

"Do you still love her?"

Granger is waving to me from across the lawn as Blaise answers softly, "Yes." We start walking, meandering our way back to the girls.

"I'm sure I'd move on eventually, but for now, every time I hear from her or see her… I love her. I'll do anything to help her feel better, even if it takes her years. She's angry at it now. She says she's so angry, all the time. She feels broken, doesn't understand why it's so hard. I think her Healer is helping a lot, though."

Sometimes I wonder why Granger hadn't reacted more like that. But everyone is different, and Granger had Occlumency to fall back on. An ability to sort through one thing at a time, as she felt she could, maybe. Ginny probably just feels flooded with things.

Whatever the two witches discussed, the topic now turns towards Granger's NEWTs and future plans. Blaise and I talk about an upcoming work project, and the four of us could be any average group of friends sitting around a lunch table.

In a flash of inspiration, I risk ruining it.

('high risk, high reward')

"Blaise and I came up with a new sort of Quidditch practice," I tell Ginny. "Hit the Bludgers through the hoops with a bat. No Quaffle. No Snitch. Want to give it a go?"

Taken aback, Ginny scans the landscape. "You have Quidditch hoops here?"

I point. "Over that ridge. It's where I used to practise for fun during holidays and breaks."

Ginny debates this for a moment and finds it acceptable. The four of us traipse across the lawn, me avidly watching out for anything Granger could turn an ankle on, my arm around her shoulders - just in case.

"I know what you're doing," she says to me in a low voice.

Caught. Caught again. "Sorry, I know I'm probably driving you mental, I just -"

Startled, she glances up. "No, wait - what? I meant with Ginny. It's a good idea. Give her something to hit."

I bark out a laugh. "Yeah, until she aims the bat at Blaise. But maybe that'll end up being cathartic, too."

I end up proposing the question-and-answer bit, challenging Ginny that for every goal she makes, she can ask me something. Or Granger, or Blaise. She can pick, but with my proposal, I volunteer for it. I'll take the heat of the worst she can throw. Blaise gives me a grateful look as Ginny's eyes brighten at this game.

"On brooms, or off?"

"Off. It keeps us at a set distance from the hoops. For consistency."

When I make a goal, I ask Ginny something innocuous - childhood, Hogwarts, stuff like Granger had asked me. Blaise stays in the background, a generally benevolent bystander to things. Ginny does the asking and seems to relish in the freedom, the openly stated rule to ask anything she likes of anyone. No holds barred.

Granger sits in the grass, stretching out in the sun, after I cast - and repeatedly refresh - my strongest shield charms around her for the Bludgers.

In the end, we play until dark begins to fall. Hours and hours of goals, of questions, of both light and heavy topics.

The following weekend, they show up again, towing George and Angelina to play. After that, Katie comes along, sometimes with one or two others with her. We end up with a little modified Quidditch game every weekend, and Ginny slowly starts to blossom. She's keeping up with her Healer, too, but the normalcy of the games, the social aspect, maybe even just the outdoor sunshine, show her starting to mend.

At first, it's an acknowledgement of Blaise always being there. Then a tolerance, and eventually, Ginny jokes around with him. Sports team competitiveness and heckling, punches on the shoulder. Ribbing over bad shots.

Maybe it won't ever grow into anything more than this, but maybe it could.

Life starts coming back into Blaise's eyes, too. He shines around her. It's as if she's the only other person on the planet, and I think he'd be just as happy to spend his entire life just in her proximity, just like this.

Hermione

It's the end of another Quidditch Saturday at the Manor, everybody dispersing to various homes and dinners and places.

Hermione spent another lovely afternoon reading for her NEWTs, when she wasn't openly distracted, and watching the shenanigans on the makeshift Quidditch pitch when she was.

Draco looks at her with that look he has, the one only he has. It starts out checking on her, verifying that she's okay - like he does fifty times a day, as if she'll have shattered into pieces since the last time he looked. Vanished into thin air, even. But he tries valiantly to batten it down and Hermione loves it about him. He worries and he tries not to, tries to let her handle everything that comes.

He's so concerned that she'll think he's doing things for her, not involving her in them. Hermione understands why, but also understands why she was overly firm about it in the beginning, about him not doing that. Not taking her autonomy away.

But they'll find their balance, the two of them. It'll take time, and they have all of it they could possibly want. Their circumstances all along have been odd, unorthodox, or outright backward - but they'll figure it out.

Once he's gotten past worry and reassured himself that she is, in fact, perfectly alright, Draco's look slowly progresses. She's not even sure he knows it most of the time. His eyes grow from concerned to just soaking her in, all of her, up and down - and then his eyes turn dark. The look on his face grows hungry for her, almost ravenous, and she feels the possessive nature of it.

Everybody else moves towards the Disapparition point outside the official Manor grounds, and Draco takes her hand. He's gentle, almost delicate, but Hermione knows if she were to stumble his grip would solid like steel. He'd stop her from falling.

Like any girl, she thinks, she was always self-conscious naked. Sure, she was fine alone, but the idea of parading around that way in front of someone else was foreign, uncomfortable. But not in front of Draco. She'd been shy at first, of course.

But the way he looks at her is intoxicating. He says she's perfect, but she actually feels perfect under his gaze. He looks at her like he's drinking her in, like water in a desert. He puts his hands on her like she's the last thing he'll ever eat, this final piece of fruit that would bruise if mishandled. His lifesource.

Even now, as she feels big and fat, stomach protruding further than her breasts - Hermione can't even see her toes any longer unless she leans over - he looks at her like she's the most delectable thing he's ever seen.

She could never imagine the state she's in as being sexy. All she can see is her swollen ankles, bigger week after week, her chubbier face. But Draco puts his hands and his mouth on her as if he's never seen anything like it.

As she gets bigger, she gets tired more. Wants to sit more, rest more. But 'rest' is a little misleading. Sometimes, yes, Hermione wants to take a nap. But most of the time she wants Draco with her. She saves her naps for when he's at work, the job he doesn't technically need but looks good to his probation officer, this 'helping to rebuild society.' He keeps it up and she encourages it.

But when he's around and he's looking at her like he's doing right now, all Hermione wants to do is take him to bed. She'll sleep when he's done doing his magical work under the sheets, on her body. Draco's always been magical like that; his hands, his mouth.

Oddly, her nipples are already so sore and sensitive that she's developed an aversion to having them touched, unless she's already aroused. Once Draco's teased her enough, touched her and played with her, then she starts to ache.

"Please," she begs, no shame at all. He knows her by now, knows everything. He's only waiting for the signal that it's pleasurable now, not touchy. He puts his mouth on her, rolls her nipple between his teeth, flicking it with his tongue. She's so exquisitely sensitive that after a while, she thinks she could come solely from his teeth on it. She thinks she'll have him try it tonight.

She loves him in the shower with her, the way his eyes rake up and down her body in the light. He soaks her in under the water, eyes and hands and mouth together, as if one can't believe she's real without the others. Hermione didn't think she could ever feel as sexy as she did when they first started all this, but she does. She hopes she still will after.

But the way Draco looks at her, she really believes she will. He'll still love her body, love her, love everything about her. They've had almost no normal time together, even now. But what is normal, really? They're together. He's loved her all this time, and she loves him.

She's on her back now, in bed, the shower forgotten. She knows, although he doesn't say it, that he doesn't want to risk her slipping and falling. Doesn't want her forgetting herself by accident, with his mouth on her breasts or between her legs. He'll take her in the bed instead, safe and comfortable.

Draco says she tastes different pregnant. She was shy about this at first, too; hadn't it taken her long enough to adjust to the fact that she had a specific taste anyway, and that it wasn't a bad one? Not to him, at least?

Then the taste changed, and that must be bad, of course, something to be self-conscious about. But he's ravenous here too, insatiable. He can't stop kissing her, licking her, sucking on her. Slipping his tongue between her legs and drinking her in.

Even when she tries to look down and can't see anything but her stomach. She used to love to see Draco's head there, feel him but also see his hair or his eyes when he'd look up.

She knows he likes the same - seeing her looking up at him from her position by his cock. They've had to adjust positions on this part a bit; her stomach has started to get in the way when she's on her knees between his legs on the bed. Now he leans back, sitting on the edge of the bed, and she's kneeling on the floor in front of him. Her stomach is less in the way like this, her hands freer to do whatever she wants.

Draco likes it a little less, not being able to truly see her body like this. But he can see her mouth on him, her tongue licking up his cock, her breasts high with nipples peaked, waiting to be teased. Waiting for his fingers, his mouth.

The sounds he makes when she sucks him will live in her brain forever - the raw desire, the desperation. The need. Hermione might be on her knees, but she brings him to his.

It's started to play a more prominent role since her pregnancy has progressed. Draco has started getting worried about actual sex, thinking it's bad for the babies. She's told him it isn't, that it's fine, but she won't push the issue. If this is what he prefers - teasing of hands and mouths, orgasm after orgasm - she's not going to complain.

Or so she thought.

He's taking his time tonight, relishing every touch, every shiver. He's skating his fingers over Hermione's core and she knows she's wet. She's always wet, as soon as he starts undressing her. She knows what's coming.

His fingers are magic, dancing over her. One, then two, then one again. She never knows. She starts moving to meet him; she can't help it. He steadies her hip with his other hand, kissing into her thigh and saying, "Ah, ah. I'll do it."

He drives Hermione insane with this, and they both love it. He latches onto a spot where her leg meets her body and begins to suck lightly, his other hand beginning to brush past her clit as light as air. She knows he's mimicking what he'll do to her clit with his mouth and she can't help but imagine it. Her leg will bruise tomorrow, but she doesn't care. It won't hurt.

"Please, Draco," she breathes, one hand in her hair.

But he doesn't. Not yet. Now that she's wet and waiting, he moves back up to her breasts, taking one hard nipple in his mouth. Hermione gives a little cry, a plea, and he gently circles the other one with his fingers.

She thought she wanted this, but no; she wants him between her legs, she needs him there, but he won't. He swirls his tongue on her nipple, trapping it lightly between his teeth and she pushes it up into his mouth.

With his thumb and forefinger, he pulls her other nipple at the same time. Both together make her swear at him, arching her back. Gods, nothing could feel this good.

He squeezes and pulls, tugs and sucks. Both of Hermione's hands are in her hair, now, tightening into fists with her abdomen muscles clenching into Draco.

He holds one breast firmly up to his mouth, rolling it as he works her nipple. The rhythm has her writhing on the bed as if she can feel him between her legs, and she can feel his mouth smile around her.

Suddenly he shifts his weight, placing his knee between her legs as he continues to work her nipples. Gasping, Hermione rocks down onto his leg. She presses her core desperately against the top of his knee and starts to whimper, her mouth open. He tugs both nipples at once and she cries out.

"Gods, please, Draco," she begs, and he holds his leg firmly in place for her. It's great, it's fantastic, she loves it, but, "just fuck me. Please."

"Not just yet," he breathes into her ear. "Ride me. Do it. I want to feel it."

Hermione wriggles down onto his knee until her clit feels his friction, and she starts to move. He rolls and pulls her nipples with the rhythm she sets, letting her increase the pace. Just as she begins to get erratic, he replaces his leg with his thumb, pressing punishingly onto her clit.

It forestalls her orgasm and she swears at him again, just in time for him to angle his fingers into her rocking. She plunges herself onto him, but still not the him that she's aching for. She loves being in control of the motion, the pace, but she doesn't want his fingers just now. She wants all of him, wants to feel him fill her up.

Nevertheless, she's going to come. He can feel her get close, can feel her start to clench and press down. Sometimes he moves down to suck her into his mouth, taste everything she has to give him. Sometimes he uses her slick to coat his cock, letting her watch as he works himself. Sometimes he lets her spasm and come on his hand, looking at her orgasm from centimetres away as he curls his fingers deep inside.

Tonight, he latches his mouth back onto her nipple, tugging and pulling in time with her hips onto his fingers. Hermione's head rolls back as she comes, feeling the endorphins hit her like a wave.

Gods, her nipples feel so good. High and tight, the wetness peaking them in the cool air, pebbled and hard. She exhales a slight whimper, arching her back as she comes down.

But Draco knows her body; knows she isn't done. Knows where she's sensitive and where she's still aching.

He breathes a stream of air directly onto her peaked nipple, watching it react, watching her writhe on the bed. She wants his mouth on her now, between her legs. He can do such amazing things with his mouth, with his tongue. She's getting wet again now, just thinking about it.

As if he can read her mind, Draco slips down the bed.

Knowing she's sensitive, he starts light like he always does. A breath, a ghost of a lick, the gentle spreading. She used to be self-conscious about this too, how she looked, how she smelled, not just how she tasted. But not with Draco, not for long. He can't get enough of her.

His tongue darts inside her now, letting her clit recover for the moment. He pushes her legs apart, spreading her wide, and suckles into her opening again. She groans involuntarily, deep in the back of her throat, and he presses gently onto her clit.

Hermione gives a soft cry, her hand threading into his hair. He slips one finger inside her, a tease, in and out. He's letting her get wetter, coating his finger, and he pulls it out to rub her own slick across her folds. In, out, around. Onto her clit. Wet, cool in the air, tantalising, and his finger darts back in.

She starts to rock, to move to meet him. Please, the friction. Please. Draco curls the finger once, hard, right as she rocks forward, and she clenches. Fuck, that feels good. "Please," she whimpers.

"What do you want?" he asks, his mouth pressed against her clit, and the vibrations make her shudder.

"This," she says shakily. "Your mouth. Please."

At this, he traps her clit between his lips, holding it as best he can without his teeth - yet. His tongue flicks and swirls, and she buries her hand in her hair again. She starts moving to meet him, and suddenly he scoots her to the very edge of the bed without warning.

She yelps in surprise, and Draco slides to the floor as he puts her feet on his shoulders. Spreading her wider, he slips his hands up to her breasts to tweak her nipples as his mouth plunges back into her.

Oh, fuck, she thinks dimly, then repeats it out loud. "Oh, fuck."

She can feel him smile into her before he nips down on her clit with his teeth. He begins to flick it with his tongue in the same rhythm he tugs her nipples, and she gasps.

"Oh, fuck. Draco," she manages, before she bites down on her own lip.

He abandons one nipple, and she almost protests before she feels his fingers slide deep inside her again. Clit and nipple, in unison, the curl of his hand, in, out, again. Again. Tug. Curl. Again.

Fingers deep, deep and agile, but not him. Not his cock. She wants him, she wants -

He nips down and pulls, insistent, and presses into her clit and inner wall at the same time. Hermione gasps and feels herself start to come again, like a tidal wave of intensity, folding over her and then him. He keeps the pressure as she comes apart, giving her time.

Then Draco climbs up beside her on the bed, helping her back up into the pillows. She takes a minute, letting herself come down, grateful that they're past the point when Draco would take care of himself at the same time he took care of her.

On her knees on the bed has gotten a little more uncomfortable, yes, but she can still do it. Seems like while she can, she might as well, and after a moment of breather, Hermione takes a position between Draco's legs.

After her first torture of him doing this, she has to admit she finds it enjoyable. Of course, what makes it enjoyable is the ability to make it efficient; his desire for her, his open wanting, her teasing of him. She always starts similar to how he starts, the fingertips, the ghosting touch, the barest tongue. The flicker. The pause. The waiting.

When she does put her mouth on him, the noises he makes are branded into her brain. His clear desperation. He'll do anything. His need for her, for her tongue. The flicking, the wet mouth, the sinking deep into her throat. Draco sounds like he's about to die. It would be alarming if she couldn't see his face.

Hermione captures his cock like a hostage, hot and wet, deep, her fist held tight around the base of him. Once, she wriggled to readjust her stance and her breasts brushed him. Hanging low, heavy and overbearing, - to her - Draco had openly groaned. Now she uses her mouth on him, her hands, her breasts. She rubs on him, sucks him, coaxes him.

He's putty there, in her hands, and she's counting on it now as she climbs on top of him. The expression he wears is his increasingly-frequent hesitance, the 'is this still alright?' look, although she keeps telling him it's fine.

It's almost cute, how Draco's concern overweighs their mutual desire for the first minute or two as she sinks herself onto his cock. As she starts to move on him, eventually that look fades away, and he'll grab her hips to move with her.

Her riding him is usually the only way he feels comfortable having sex lately. She can't wait for more variety soon. Not soon enough. In the meantime, she thinks she might get him to try something new. He's concerned with her being on her back. Alright, then.

She slides up and back onto him, slowly, three more times, relishing the feel of him inside her. Then she pulls herself off of him, not quite enjoying the look of worry on his face, but almost. She tugs his hand to pull him forward so he's standing, as she also stands next to the bed.

"Let's try this tonight."

She leans over in front of him, her elbows on the bed, and when Draco hasn't moved to stand behind her, she reaches back between her legs to grab him.

"It's fine. I promise. Come here."

It's hard to explain to him why it's fine, since he doesn't believe it. But he seems to believe that if the babies are not in the direct line of thrusting fire, it's better, so sure. Hermione's bending over puts her stomach 'beneath' the line of his cock. It's a little ridiculous, but he is overprotective, and it's one of the things she loves about him.

But she'll also love it if he can accept a new sex position.

Draco comes to stand behind her, almost hesitant, and she rolls her eyes.

"Honestly, Draco, it's not like it's a hardship. Please?"

'Please' always works, in bed or out of it, and he wants to give her what she asks for. With her hand, she feels him again between her legs. She strokes him twice, runs her fingernails over his bollocks, and smiles when he puts his hands back on her body. Breathing heavily, he positions himself right outside her entrance, and she guides him in.

He slides deep into her and she exhales herself, sighing out a noise from the back of her throat. Gods, that's good.

"Yes, please," she sighs, keeping her hand reaching back between her legs. She strokes him as he moves into her twice more, her hips starting to move to meet him with each thrust.

He pushes in harder and she meets him, and they begin a rhythm. Fuck, he gets deeper this way. Hermione braces her knees and leans into the bed, and Draco groans.

Both his hands are on her arse and hips as he drives into her. Her hand is still between them and she splits her index and middle fingers around his cock at her opening. He yelps, an adorable sound of desperation, and she tightens her grip.

With her own thumb, she starts to work her clit and Draco dips his head to her neck.

"You feel so good," he manages into her ear, and she gives a quick pulse of her fingers around his cock in response. "Gods, you didn't need to be any tighter. You're perfect."

He pushes into her hard, deep, and she braces her back to take him. She forces her own hips up and into his next thrust, feeling him inside her to the hilt, and she knows he's getting close.

Gripping her own fingers, she starts to press on her clit in time with his thrusts, and he reaches a hand around her hip to take over. But she doesn't leave. She keeps her fingers split around his cock at her opening, letting him have her clit, and they're both gasping. He speeds up and she meets him with her own force, creating a harder impact than they've had in any position so far. He slams into her, deep and hard, and she braces to take him.

Draco groans into her again, and she pulls him forward with her hand. She wants him deep, hard, and she shoves backward with her hips.

She's never felt him like this. Never felt this desperation, this driving need. Their hands are a jumble between them, cock and clit, fingers, and finally he flips her onto her back on the bed. She's astonished but he's not overthinking things for one. She's not going to complain.

Positioning himself between her legs, he takes her hands in his and pins them to the bed. He stares at her, soaking her in, as he enters her again. She leaves her hands where they are but raises her legs, and he removes his hands from hers to grip her calves and raise her up.

Her legs propped on his shoulders, Draco drives back into her, hard, long, and slow. She feels every inch of him and she arches her back. He reaches down to her clit and she knows what's coming.

He fingers her clit as he pulls back, and he presses as he drives in. The combined pressure makes her insane, makes her pant and beg. He starts out slow, cock and finger together, and as he pushes into her, he traps her clit with his thumb.

She tries to help him out. She keeps both legs up and open as he speeds up. Pull back, the loss of him, the swirl on the clit. The push in, the drive, the force - and the pressure. The nerves alight. Draco leans into her legs on his shoulders and the deepness of this angle makes her groan. She arches into him. "Please, Draco."

He does it again, then again. Faster. Deeper. Thumb on her clit, driving in, thumb. Back out, slamming in. Deep. Hard.

"Please."

He leans back now, his hand on the leg propped on his shoulder. He braces against her as he drives in to the hilt and she cries out. Reaching down one last time, he punishes her clit between them, every time he thrusts.

She starts to shudder. It's her third one, and she's sore enough that it almost hurts. But gods, it feels so good. He feels so good. How can anything -

He tweaks her clit between his fingers and she starts to spasm. Slamming into her again, he holds himself there as she clenches around him. Her cunt contracts, clamping down like a vise, and Draco hangs his head into her shoulder as he comes with her.

Hermione lays against him in the bed. She can't lay on him like she used to now, not quite. She ends up angling her legs out instead, so she can still rest her head on his chest as her stomach presses against his side.

Draco's hands rest against her back, underneath her hair. He plays with it idly, but she can tell he's close to falling asleep. She's not far behind. Her left hand is resting on his chest, too, next to her cheek, and she gazes at her ring.

They'll get married when she doesn't feel like an ever-enlarging mountain. There's no hurry. But she loves the ring. Loves seeing it on her hand. She knows Draco does, too. She catches him looking at it almost as often as he looks at the rest of her.

She's finally drifting off when she feels the kick, hard and solid. Draco's eyes fly open, too, feeling the sensation against his side.

This is starting to happen more and more often. The look on Draco's face when it does - she doesn't think she could love him any more. And right now, she doesn't know how she could be any happier.

Begun March 9, 2023

Finished May 4, 2023