Without being able to see, everything felt more focused on the sensation. The way his body was pressed against hers. The scent of him. Even the movement of the air.
When she felt his lips brush against the pulse-point of her throat, she moaned. His hand cupped her breast, and he dragged his thumb over her nipple as he started to move inside her again. He was slow but unrelenting, until she was gasping and arching her hips to meet his.
He kissed her as he slid his hand between their bodies again. His tongue slid against hers as he deepened the kiss, and his fingers found the sensitive cluster of nerves between her legs. She gasped raggedly against his lips as she felt her whole body tense under and around him.
It was as though she were being wound tight somewhere inside. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Her breath kept growing shorter and shorter, and her muscles grew more taut. There was fire inside of her nerves. Everytime Draco moved inside her, or brushed his lips across her skin, or lightly teased her centre, she felt as though he were ratcheting up a tension inside her, notch by notch, until she was on the verge of breaking under him.
But she couldn't—
If she broke, there would never be anyone to pick up the pieces.
She stayed suspended on the very edge. “I can't—” she finally gasped out.
“Hermione,” Draco's lips brushed against her cheek. “You get to have this. You're allowed to feel good things. Don't be alone. Have this — have this with me.”
He pulled her leg up with his arm; it deepened and shifted the angle, drawing the tension inside her further up, and he crushed their bodies together and kissed her.
Her eyes suddenly shot open. She stared into his eyes as her whole world suddenly shattered into shards of silver.
“Oh god—,” she sobbed the words out. Her fingernails sank into his back. “Oh — oh — oh god…”
His unfathomable grey eyes stared down at her and watched as she arched and her expression contorted as she came apart under him.
As she started panting and trying to catch her breath, his speed increased. Then, as he came, his mask slipped. As he met her eyes, for a moment before he buried his face in her shoulder, she saw the heartbreak in him when he looked at her.
He shifted off her and pulled the coverlet up over them. He kissed her temple. She turned to look at him and shifted closer until she was pressed against his chest.
She could feel how drained she was, sense the edge of cold that had been planted in her magic where she'd torn it open. She shivered and burrowed closer to Draco. She glanced up at him. He was staring down at her, expressionless.
She reached up and ran a finger along his cheekbone. “I think I've nearly memorised you. Especially your eyes.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and he traced his fingers over the scars on her left wrist. “I memorised yours too.” He sighed. “I should have known — the moment I looked into your eyes, I should have known I would never win against you.”
She gave a faint smile and closed her eyes. She pressed her face against his chest and felt his heartbeat. “I always thought my eyes were my best feature.”
“One of them,” he said quietly.
She fell asleep, still drawing in the fire from him.
Chapter End Notes
Additional Illustrations:
"I'm alone too, Granger." by ceresartsy.
Draco in an Oxford Hoodie by chestercompany.
Draco finding Hermione by keeferonies-art.
Oxford Hoodie Draco by keerthi_draws.
Oxford Hoodie Draco by fleureia.
"You're allowed to have good things" by domistyping.
Because you're mine by incendiosketches
March 2003
When she woke in the morning, she found that she really was in a hotel with Draco. It was so surprising she thought perhaps she was still hallucinating.
She glanced about the room, trying to wrap her mind around it. She wasn't dreaming; she was really, actually in a Muggle hotel suite with Draco. A suite that he apparently occupied while wearing an Oxford hoodie.
If she were still composing a psychological sketch of him, the revelation would have required her to start a whole new notebook. Why was he there? Was it something he did often? Why on earth would he be spending the night in the Muggle world?
She turned her head to look at him.
He was asleep, wrapped possessively around her as though he were keeping her from being stolen. His body was so warm against hers it was almost searing.
As she studied him in bewilderment, the full events of the night came back to her.
She flinched.
She shouldn't have come.
She shouldn't have come, and she shouldn't have stayed.
It had been a mistake.
He was like a dragon. The jealous way he hoarded the things he cared about — there was no moderation in it. He was possessive and deadly. He held her in his arms like she was his.