The weekend was busy as promised, but still Hermione wasn't requested. It had been over a month since Theo had asked for her, but still she stood in the lineup dutifully every night and every night he walked right past her, barely catching her eye with a curt nod before speaking to the others. She didn't care if the girls froze her out but Draco held her life in his hands. As kind as he had been to her, as much as he'd revealed, she knew he had another side...a dark streak, a need for revenge. If she'd offended him she had to make it right.
"Mr. Malfoy..." she called to him when they were released on Saturday night.
"I have to go," he said. "My guests are already arriving, they'll be looking for me."
She reached out to grab his elbow and he wrenched his arm away as if she'd burned him, glaring at her over his shoulder.
"Don't," was all he said before leaving her alone on the landing, hopping down the stairs two at a time.
When the guests were there, Hermione often kept herself locked in her room, reading or writing in the journal Draco had given her. She took hot baths and stared out the window, fighting down the urge to break through the glass and run, damn the consequences or the pain. With winter coming she knew that her cabin fever would only get worse and being trapped in this well disguised prison did nothing to help, particularly with no one to talk to.
After the club was closed she wandered the halls to stretch her legs. Or at least that's what she told herself. As she shuffled through the hallways she found herself peeking into the atrium to find the piano closed, silent. She picked books from the library shelves but he never showed up to criticize her choices. Even when she sneaked into the kitchen to steal biscuits from the cupboard he didn't appear over her shoulder clucking his tongue and reprimanding her sweet tooth. She was awake until well after two in the morning and even then the light from his office seeped out under the black lacquer doors and she could hear the fire crackling within, but even knowing he was in there and most likely alone, Hermione never dared to knock.
Until Monday, when she'd grown tired of his game and decided that she'd waited long enough to get her answers.
"Mr. Malfoy?"
There was a long pause and she nearly turned away before he said,
"Come in."
He didn't look up when she opened the door and strode confidently into the middle of his study, standing with her arms crossed as if awaiting his answer to a duel.
"Why did you leave?" She asked, moving to stand directly in front of his desk arranging herself so he would be forced to see her. "I woke up and you were gone, the fire was out. You didn't even say goodbye? Thanks? See you later?"
With a sharp upward wave of his hand the door to the office slammed shut and he muttered a muffliato just to be safe. Finally he looked up and she could see that he'd fitted his aristocrat mask into place, his smile lopsided, eyebrow arched high. He wanted her to know that he was quite amused with her hysterics and he was ready to perform.
"You must not be familiar with prostitution, darling. You don't get paid to cuddle and fawn."
"I don't get paid at all Mr. Malfoy," she snapped and he barked out a short laugh, shaking his head.
"I never suggested I would be spending the whole night and you shouldn't have expected such a thing." He paused then, looking down at the journal he was writing in before glancing up again. "You're no different, no better than the other girls here, Sparrow."
When he looked at her she was shaking her head, her brow wrinkled with disbelief and confusion. She was different. And he knew that.
"Why are you doing this?" She asked, her voice soft, demure. She refused to take his bait, to lash out and throw a fit, but still he wouldn't look up. So she moved to put her hands on his desk, covering his papers, invading his space and refusing to be ignored. "Why are you doing this?"
"What, love?" He scribbled nonsense words in the journal, anything to keep from meeting her eyes. His mouth had gone dry and he felt like the walls were closing in. If there was one person in the world who could see through his thickest layers of bullshit, it was Hermione Granger, and she'd done it since she was eleven.
Obviously tired of the silence, she snatched the book out from under his quill and threw it across the room, just inches from the fireplace.
"Why are you pretending like nothing happened? Pretending like you didn't feel something when you were with me?"
He stood then, his eyes cool, face calm, rounding the desk to stand in front of her.
"It was one night, Sparrow. Just as you offered I used you for a release, a respite. Don't go fooling yourself into thinking it was anything more."
"Then why hide from me? Why avoid me? Why refuse to look me in the eye, locking yourself up in your office so you won't mistakenly see my face?"
For a brief moment she saw his expression flicker but he quickly went blank again, walking past her to pick the journal up from the floor.
"Go back to your room. Go back to your books. Just go."
"Answer me, Draco."
When he looked up his face was icy hard and terrifying. His jaw squared, tension pulsing at his temple.
"You must not have heard me. And I'm getting tired of your insubordination, everyone around here...digging holes where they've got no business being. Go back to your room. You're not here to take care of me."
"Well someone should, because it's quite clear that you're falling apart."
She turned to leave, but before she could get out the door he slammed it shut again and pressed her face against it, his body heavy against her back.
"Do you want to know why I won't look at you? Why I won't talk to you?" He pulled her hair to the side, his lips against her neck, hips grinding against her ass. "Its because every time I see you I want to fuck you again."
"Draco..." she breathed as he ran his hand up her side, palming the silk covering her breast, plucking at the hard jewel of her nipple.
"I want to throw you on your knees and choke you with my cock. I want to spread you out on the dining room table and bury my face in your pussy, feel you come on my face. I want to...I...fuck...I can't look at you anymore Hermione without getting hard."
"I can feel that," she said, pushing back against him. "You know that I want you too."
"Do you?" He asked, his hand moving down, sliding over her stomach, between the panels of her robe. "Because I won't be nice to you little Sparrow. I've tried to hold back, but I want to hurt you. I want to tie you up and stripe your ass with a belt. I want to close my hands around your neck until you're begging me to let you breathe."
She stepped her legs apart and he sunk his hand between them, finding her hot and wet, easily accepting his fingers.
"I'm not the sad, broken little schoolboy you think I am, Granger," he hissed, pumping his fingers deep inside her, goosebumps rippling down his arms as she whined and writhed, her back arching away from his chest, her head thrown back to rest on his shoulder. "I don't need your pity. I don't need nurturing. I'm a monster. You should be afraid of me."
"You can try to hurt me, Mr. Malfoy," she breathed. "But you forget I've been through the same nightmare you have. It seems we were made for each other."
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and bent her neck backwards as her thighs began to tremble, her hips bucking against his hand while he hissed in her ear.
"I wasn't made for anyone," he growled. "It's just fucking. I won't give you anything else. I can't give you anything else."
"I don't want anything else Mr. Malfoy. What else would I want from you?" she moaned, groaning and pushing, dripping onto his hand, her face twisted in near agony as he teased her, pulling out to gently circle her clit before sinking in again. "Oh fuck," she whispered. "Oh God. All I want is this."
"Then kneel," he said, pulling away from her completely. "Show me that you want it."
Without a second's hesitation, Hermione spun around and sunk to her knees, reaching out for the buckle of his belt.
"Ah ah..." he said, pushing her back with a hand on her throat. "No hands, witch. If you really want my cock, you'll find a way to get it."
He was pushing her. She could see that his eyes weren't as fiery as before...she knew this was a test to see how far she was willing to lower herself and it nearly made her laugh. Wasn't it clear already? Still, she clasped her hands behind her back and leaned in, taking the supple black leather of his belt between her teeth and pulling it free from the silver buckle. With a sharp jerk of her head, it was free of the tongue and hung loose.
"Eager little slut," he muttered, granting her the favor of undoing the black button on his trousers. "Go on."
She nodded and took the tab of the zipper in her teeth, looking up at him with a tiny, lopsided smile and pulled down, dragging her nose along the hard length she felt beneath the fabric. He pushed his pants down over his hips, his jaw slack as she dragged her lips and tongue over the outline of his cock, moaning obscenely, her robe fallen open, one breast exposed.
"Please," she murmured against him, sitting back on her heels and spreading her knees wide. "Please let me have it."
"Don't move," he said, tilting his head to the side, looking her over. After a minute he reached out pushed the robe off both of her shoulders, exposing her to the waist. Leaving the belt tied he pushed the fabric away from her legs, exposing her completely. "No knickers Granger? You must really be aching for it."
"Check for yourself," she said, grinning. "I'm dripping."
He pulled his cock out, stroking himself slowly, watching her lean back against the door, her legs spread wide, hands still folded behind her back like a good girl. When he caught her eye she licked her lips and held her mouth open...waiting. Waiting for him. It was like being in a dream. He never thought he'd see such a perfect work of art, panting, flushed, kneeling for him.
"Get up. On the desk," he said, still fisting his cock, nearly lightheaded with arousal as she let the black satin puddle at her feet before walking past him.
Her first instinct was to bend over, to present her ass to him while gripping the sides, her face pressed to the piles of scrolls and papers he'd been working on. Instead he grabbed her arm and spun her around, lifting her easily to sit on the edge.
"I want to see your face while I'm fucking you," he said, brushing her hair back over her shoulders.
She was surprised at the touch of his hands on her jaw, holding her gently as he kissed her, suckling at her lower lip. As their tongues slipped and stroked against each other she reached down to replace his hand, wrapping tight around his shaft, her thumb grazing the weeping tip of his erection. His eyes were wide as he pulled back to watch her work, thrusting slowly into her hand.
"I want you inside me," she said, inching forward, wrapping her legs around his hips. "Please...sir."
At the sound of the word he looked up with a sharp inhale, his thickness twitching between her fingers. He pushed her hand away and pulled her forward, sinking into her slick heat with one hard thrust. She fell back, balancing herself on her forearms, groaning with pleasure as his hips snapped against hers. His rhythm was smooth and even, his breath hot on her stomach as he watched his wet cock sliding in and out of her. Within minutes she felt the first buzzing ripples of her building orgasm and begged him to fuck her harder, her ankles locked behind his back, pulling him in deeper. Her mind started to go blank, reality feathering dark at the edges. It was what she craved, this blank slate for a few beautiful minutes.
And then he looked up.
She'd seen him aroused before, obviously. She'd seen his pupils blown wide, his cheeks flushed red. She'd seen his hair damp with sweat, falling in front of his eyes. But now there was something more. There was a dark, burning hunger in his stare. She smiled and pushed against him, grinding downwards, biting her lip. He stopped thrusting and lifted his hand for a moment before dropping it again, his eyes falling back down to her hips, his hand awkwardly placed on her shoulder. In that second she'd seen what he wanted. He'd told her as much earlier, but now he was afraid to take it.
"What do you want sir?" She whispered, slowly rolling and bucking her hips. "Tell me what you want. Take what you want."
He grabbed her thighs and pulled her hard against his hips, shaking his head. Hermione stopped moving and put a hand on his chest, forcing him to look up.
"Do it," she said quietly. "Don't be afraid. Do it."
He said nothing, still breathing heavy, still buried to the hilt, comforted by the tight warmth enveloping him. She reached for his hand, pulling it off of her arm and lifting it up, holding it between them.
"Go on...it's what you want."
"Hermione I...it's not..."
She pulled his hand to her neck and closed his fingers around her throat. As he pressed lightly she bucked her hips again, purring with delight. He squeezed harder and she nodded, her mouth fallen open, her cheeks pinking up. He felt the heat, the rippling wave building low in his belly, the tightening in his balls as she reached up to cling to his forearms, her eyes calm. He hammered relentlessly into her pussy as he held her neck, grinning with a kind of malevolent evil she hadn't seen since school.
"I decide," he growled, his thrusts becoming shallower, faster. "I decide when you breathe little sparrow."
She nodded, her eyes rolling back, lids fluttering. She saw sparks in her vision, a swimming dreamy feel, tight burning in her lungs combined with the orgasm racing towards her.
"Come," he said, slamming her back against the desk, grinning over her as her mouth gaped, her eyes wide. "Come on my cock."
Within seconds he felt her stiffen in his grip, her muscles trembling and twitching, her insides clenching around him as her mouth fell open in silent cry. He let go of her throat as his own climax rolled over him, her tight cunt milking him dry as she gasped for breath, whining as her back arched up off the desk.
He fell back, pulling out of her and catching his own breath as she lay splayed out on his desk, her hair a dark fan over his papers, her legs still spread, still glistening with arousal. Around her neck he could see red marks, the beginnings of bruises from where he'd choked her. He'd left another mark.
He pushed his hair back from his face and went to the table beside the couch to find the joint he'd rolled earlier, lighting it off of one of the candle sconces on the wall and taking a long hit that he held for far too long. Picking up his trousers and pulling them on he noticed that his hand was shaking. His hand that had choked the breath from her; that wanted to do it again. He stared at it as if it had betrayed him.
"Thank you..." she said, finally sitting up. "God that was...I don't know what it was..."
She smiled and stood up from the desk, padding over to where he sat on the black leather sofa, staring into the fire. He looked up at her standing in front of him, her eyes dreamy and sated, a soft smile on her lips. Her pose reminded him of an old renaissance painting he'd seen once, some Goddess entirely comfortable in her own skin.
"Anything else, sir?" She said.
Yes. He wanted to bend her over his lap and smack her ass until it was purple. He wanted her on her knees. He wanted to watch her fuck herself with a crystal potions bottle. He wanted to put an iron collar around her neck that could never be removed, to burn his initials into her skin and keep her locked in his room. He wanted to fuck her again, five minutes after emptying inside her.
"No," he said, taking her hand. He pulled her knuckles to his lips and kissed them before dropping her hand and taking another hit off the joint.
"I could run you a bath," she said, running her fingers through his damp hair. "Or you could show me your bed..."
"I have work to do," he said, resting his head on the back of the sofa as the herb began to hit, wrapping everything in comfy cotton, blurring the edges. "Just go."
"Yes sir," she said, her lips turned down at the corners.
"Wait," he said, shaking his head. "Come here."
She quickly walked closer, kneeling at his feet, her hands on his knees. His brow was furrowed as he frowned at her, his fingers running over her neck. She tilted her head to the side and closed her eyes, smiling at his touch; but just when she thought he was going to kiss her, or pull her up into his lap, or lay her on her back... he held his palm to her throat and muttered a spell that warmed and tingled against her skin. He healed the bruises, fading them before they could get any darker.
Pulling away and sitting back on the couch he muttered "People would ask questions. You can go," with his eyes closed.
"They already know, Draco. It isn't a secret."
"I know," he said, not looking at her. "I know they know. I don't want to add any more fuel to their fire. I've seen how they treat you already. This would only make it worse." He took another small hit from the joint and shook his head, his voice tight as he held the smoke. "Just go, Hermione."
She stepped away and picked up her robe, tying the belt tight around her waist before heading for the door. With her hand on the knob she looked over her shoulder, watching him recline, the cigarette smoldering between his fingers.
"Don't hide what you really want...sir," she said softly. "I can take it. I want to take it. You need to let it out. You won't feel better until --"
He looked up at her, his eyes glassy and heavy lidded but his jaw still tight with tension.
"Goodnight sparrow. I'll let you know when you'll be needed next."
The club opened at nine, a few dedicated drinkers and gamblers waiting at the door, but their host wasn't waiting to greet them. Malia fixed Mr. Zabini and Mr. Wood some drinks and excused herself to find him.
"Mr. Malfoy?" She knocked on the door to his office and it pushed open only to find Draco sprawled on the couch, one arm hanging off the side, snoring softly...sound asleep.