Chapter Text
The Perversions of Quiet Girls
Chapter 1
After
“Everybody is going to know we fucked in the loo.”
Draco's pace was languid, hands digging into the bow of her hips as he ground against Hermione. “Will they?” he asked, teeth grazing over the shell of her ear with a chuckle. “How would they know that, Granger?”
Her throaty chuckle cuts off in a moan at his sharp thrust, the movement pressing his pelvis against her clit. “They’ll have seen us follow each other in.” A particularly well-angled thrust sent gooseflesh racing down her arm as she panted, “Does that matter to you, Malfoy? Do you want your colleagues to know you’re fucking a dirty Mudblood?”
One of his hands left the juncture of her thigh, wrapping around her throat and squeezing gently. His eyes were heated, pools of molten grey that drew her in and sent her spiraling. With a roll of his hips, he brushed against the spot he knew drove her mad. “I don’t give a rat’s arse who knows we’re fucking, Granger.”
The pressure on her neck was delightful, shooting straight to her core, and her mouth dropped open as her vision darkened at the edges. There was something dark and alluring about the possessive growl of his tone, and she arched into him as he dropped his hand to her clitoris and flicked it in unrelenting strokes that drove her higher in time with the slap of his hips, forcing a torrent of begging from her. “Fuck, Malfoy, please. Right there.”
She was lost to him, rolling her hips against his as she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist.
A knock at the door punctuated a thrust, and he forced his thumb into her mouth to silence her. The tangy taste of herself on it sent a fresh wave of desire through her, but she sucked the digit into the depths of her mouth, coiling her tongue around it obscenely and challenging him with her eyes.
“Occupied,” he called, slowing his movement just as she was about to tumble over the edge.
Zabini’s voice answered, a smirk evident in it. “Right. Mate, we’re heading round to Theo’s. Meet you there.” His footsteps retreated, echoing down the short hall.
“Such a good girl, keeping quiet on my cock.” The thrill of nearly being caught spurred him on, his thrusts bottoming out within her. “When I want the world to know I’m fucking you, Granger, you’ll be the first to know.” He grunted, digging his fingertips into her hip and leaning into her. “Right now, you’re mine.”
It was all she needed to collapse over that edge in a white-hot flash, his surname a breathy exaltation on her lips. His teeth latched onto the juncture of her neck and shoulder, shockwaves rolling through her. “Malfoy, please.”
He leaned back incrementally, a salacious smirk goading her at the desperation in her tone. “What do you want, Granger? Hmm?” His nose nudged her cheek as he slowed his movements to a snail’s pace.
Already, she could feel another orgasm building in her, his shallow thrusts increasing the pressure against her walls, but she found herself unable to tear away from him. His arms were trembling where they bracketed either side of her, his resolve clearly waning, and she snared him by a handful of hair, yanking his lips to hers.
It was a brutal, punishing kiss, both of them nipping and fighting for air, but it sent his hips snapping ruthlessly against hers again, the sound of flesh against flesh obscene enough to bring a bright flare of colour to her already flushed cheeks.
“So fucking good,” he murmured against her lips, breath fanning out over her face. Cinnamon, and perhaps a hint of honey on the back end. Forbidden. But gods she’d give anything— everything—to drown in it. His hand rose, wrapping around her throat in a vice grip again. “What can you take?”
Breathless, she peered up at him, eyes fluttering closed as he increased pressure. She could nearly feel the imprints his fingertips would leave, but she’d long abandoned the presence of mind to worry about concealing them.
Immediately, he eased the pressure and spots danced in her vision. "Eyes, Granger. Look at me."
She rasped a desperate breath in, staring at him intently. “Anything. Gods, just please don’t stop.”
And then he was gone, putting a chasm of space between them as he leaned back, lifting her legs and tossing one over each shoulder and bracing himself on her thighs. His thrusts stopped, his head notched in her entrance. “Anything?”
It took everything she had not to groan in despair—so close. She couldn’t manage a response—not when he was looking at her like that—so she nodded, pulling her lip between her teeth.
An arched brow jumped higher. “Use your words, Granger.”
He was always like that—demanding, superior. Sir, a traitorous part of her whispered. She was staring, mouth open as harsh pants escaped from her lips, but she couldn’t drag her gaze away from the sight of herself laid out before him reflected in the mirror.
Following her gaze, he huffed a dark laugh, pistoning forward in an agonizingly slow roll of his hips. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” It was a simple response, one that usually garnered further elaboration, but the way his gaze met hers in the mirror set a fire alight between them.
Tracing kisses up the inside of her ankle, he met her gaze in the mirror, charcoal smoke in the poor light. The fire in them was lit with his victory—he'd been waiting for this. For her to give him everything. “Merlin, you're perfect.” A sharp slap echoed through the space, and suddenly stars erupted behind her eyes at the sharp, deep thrust accompanying it.
“Ah, ah.” He stilled again, leaving her teetering on the edge of satisfaction. “You’ve had your fun, don’t you think?”
Her chest was heaving beneath her thin dress, but she managed a quiet, “Yes, sir,” that sent a curling smirk up his cheeks.
“You know what I want?” A dangerous drawl colours the question, one she knows better than to interrupt. “I want to come. I want to fill you all the way up. Would you like that?”
She squirmed, a low moan accompanying it as she tried to work him deeper, but he resisted, hands sliding down her legs to rest once more on her hips as he leaned over her, bending her double.
“I’m going to fill up this pretty little pussy,” he whispered, the promise kept between them as he worked one hand between them to trace over her mound. “And then I’m going to leave. You will return to your table with your friends and your boyfriend.” He sneered the last word. “And you will ache for me, do you understand?”
A thrill of anticipation rocketed through her. Distantly, she recognised this game—he was jealous. Swallowing around the sudden realisation of the power she held, she jumped her hips incrementally. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” The endearment was her favourite, which he well knew. His own breathing was uneven as he stared down at where they connected. “You’re not to come.”
“Yes, sir,” she promised again, reverence in her tone as he slid back into her.
“My name.” He tore his eyes up to hers, more emotion than simple lust staring back at her. Emotions she couldn’t afford to put name to. “Say my name.”
The erasure of that barrier—the one erected for the safety of both their hearts—crumbled away as he sank into her, his fingers on her hips finding purchase in the coil of her own as she laced them together. “Yes, Draco. Oh gods, don’t stop.”
His restraint snapped; suddenly, he was pounding into her, the force of the movement driving her back across the counter until she was pressed against the mirror, their mingled breaths fogging the glass behind her head.
Her other hand raked down his back, nails piercing his skin even through the fabric of his t-shirt. “Fuck, Hermione.” A prayer, her name spilled from his lips as he buried himself within her as he came, forehead collapsing against hers as wisps of white-blond hair fair between them.
She was so close, swollen and wanting, but she refused to break that promise to him.
Refused to shatter that fragile trust.
And she couldn’t breathe, not for the way he was staring into her eyes as though she was the salvation for every horrible act he’d ever committed.
And maybe she was.
He’d certainly saved her, as it were.
A thousand words lingered on her tongue, praise she’d love to shower him with, but his gaze shuttered. With a hiss, he eased out of her, attention locked on where their bodies connect.
Hermione felt empty as soon as he withdrew, her body begging to regain that fullness, but Malfoy was transfixed, slowly lowering her legs from his shoulders to rest on the countertop. When his finger trailed over her again, her body jumped of its own accord.
“So responsive,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”
And then he tended to her. Summoning a towel from the dispenser, he wet it, running the rough material over the crest of her legs, wiping away their shared sweat but stopping short of the apex of her thighs and the evidence of their coupling. He ran the cool rag over her forehead, eyes catching her own as he cared for her.
Hermione wanted to reach out, to stop his hand and lace it within her own again, but that had never been part of the deal, had it?
They'd held hands before, but never with the emotional intent that she was driven by.
A quick fuck when either of them needed it. Companionship and care that Cormac had never offered her. That was all this was.
Feelings were strictly out of bounds.
So why did it feel like so much more tonight?
Finally, he set the rag aside, summoning and repairing the shredded knickers he’d promptly ripped from her body upon entry of the loo. He worked them up her legs, indicating for her to lift her bum, and settled them in place around her waist. Finally, he looked up at her. “Go enjoy the rest of your evening with your friends. Smile prettily at them, talk about whatever mundane thing you former Gryffindors enjoy.” He reached up, freeing her lip from between her teeth. “And the whole time, I want you to think about me dripping from inside you.” Leaning closer, he nuzzled her hair away from her head and clamped lightly down on her earlobe, sending another wave of desire through her. “And when you get home, I want you to get yourself off thinking about me inside you.”
With that, he pulled her dress down over her hips and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her skin one final time.
Before she could open her eyes, he was gone, the door falling shut behind him.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she eased herself upright and slid off the countertop. Already, she could feel a bit of dampness in her knickers, and she rubbed her thighs together absently as she withdrew her wand with shaking fingers.
He always left her in a state. Her hair was mussed, the careful curls she’d cultivated before leaving the house haloed around her head, and deep, mottled love bites and bruises encircled her neck like a choker. Nimble fingers prodded at them as she smiled at the reflection. Malfoy liked to leave his mark, and he liked even more to see them when he claimed her.
Malfoy was exactly what she needed.
Steadying her hand, she directed her wand to her neck, carefully weaving a glamour to conceal the bruising as it rose. Another charm mostly repaired the damage he’d done to her hair. She moved to reapply a thin layer of lippie but paused, eyeing herself in the mirror with a private smile.
Kiss-bitten, her lips were rosy and inviting, a bit plumper than usual after the traded nipping.
She rather thought it suited her.
Finally, she reached into her purse, palming her mobile as she pulled the door opened, and she exited much the same way Malfoy had.
There was a spring in her step that hadn’t been there before, not unnoticed when she slid into the bench seat across from Harry, Ron, and their dates.
“Hermione, took you long enough. We were getting worried,” Ron groused, lifting his beer to his mouth.
She shrugged him off, placing her mobile down on the table. “It was an important call. You know how my mum is if I don't answer immediately.” Over Ron’s shoulder, Malfoy stalked to the bar, waving down the bartender to obtain his tab. He turned, propping his hip against the countertop as his gaze pinned her to the spot.
A familiar flicker of warmth shot through her core. And when you get home, I want you to get yourself off thinking about me inside you.
She shivered delightfully, but Harry frowned. “‘Mione, you okay? You look flushed. Are you sick?”
The bench shifted again, an arm slung around her shoulder tucking her into the newcomer’s side.
Grass, mint toothpaste, and polished leather. Scents she’d once thought were her forever. “She saw me come in; can’t blame a bird for blushing when she sees her man.” Cormac placed a wet kiss to her cheek, centimetres from Malfoy’s parting kiss.
At the bar, Malfoy's gaze hadn’t left hers. His eyes darkened, a possessive glint deep in their depths as he stared back at her.
Finally, she managed to break the tension between them, smiling and leaning into Cormac the way a proper girlfriend should, but the motions felt mechanical.
Such a good girl, Granger.
Swallowing, Hermione reached for the beer Cormac offered as Malfoy strutted by the table, head held high and back proudly straight as he ignored her.
Just like they’d agreed upon.
Except…
Except she wasn’t sure she wanted what they had agreed upon anymore.
She wanted more .
“It was a long phone call, but I’m glad to be here with you all! It's nice to see you guys; I know the Auror department demands a lot of your time. And Quidditch, for Cormac,” she added belatedly, tracing her finger around the edge of her glass. She forced a brittle smile as Cormac pressed another perfunctory kiss against the crown of her head.
He enjoyed playing the role of doting boyfriend when they were out with friends.
Already, though, her presence had been dismissed as the boys descend into discussion over the latest Quidditch scores. Harry and Ron’s dates fell into private discussion, turning away from the table.
Reaching up to fiddle with her phone, Hermione tried not to hyper-fixate on the nuances of the possessive holds she’d experienced in the last twenty minutes.
Malfoy, worshipping her body and giving her space to retreat to while he controlled everything, giving her the reprieve her mind needed. Caring for her afterward with measured, careful passes of the rag. Fingers wrapped tightly around her throat, fire in his eyes.
Cormac, arm slung haphazardly around her body, pulling her into him like a child forcing the north poles of two magnets together. His too-loud voice shouted overtop the music playing, a rough hand sliding up and down her arm as he sipped absently from a pilsner glass. Sloppy kisses.
She didn’t want this anymore..
And maybe Malfoy wasn’t ready to go public with their pseudo-relationship, but that didn’t mean she had to settle for whatever this was
Hermione pulled back, sliding her phone into her purse even as the boys continued chattering to each other. It was Harry who looked at her first and lifted a brow. “‘Mione, you okay?”
Canting her head, she stood and lifted her purse to her shoulder. “Now that you mention it, I’m feeling a bit peaky.” She shrugged and backed away, adopting an apologetic frown even as her knickers seeped, stickiness clinging to her legs and exacerbating her desire to get home. “I really ought to go lie down—rain check, I promise.”
Harry didn’t look as though he believed her, but he nodded anyway, turning back to the table after a quiet good-bye. Cormac waved absently as he and Ron sparred over statistical differences between the Ballycastle Bats and Chudley Cannons.
Fury flared up in her as she stared down at the man who claimed to love her, who hadn't even be bothered to hide his affair from her and whose total disregard for their relationship had sent her running from him at the first opportunity she got with Malfoy.
Maybe it was because she could still feel the warmth of her orgasm settled low in her belly. Perhaps it was that Draco Malfoy’s come coated the insides of her thighs in a delightful little secret. Either way, she’d reached her breaking point.
Straightening her spine, she cleared her throat. “We’re over, Cormac.”
Awkward silence fell over the table. All five sets of eyes turned to her as though she’d announced she had grown nifflers from her ears.
She couldn’t find it in herself to be bothered.
“‘Mione, what do you mean?” Cormac’s face twisted into a pleading smile, eyeing her over the beer he cradled. His affected innocence couldn't hide the fury growing in his eyes; his reputation was everything to him, and he'd resent her for ending it in public. Good. He cleared his throat. “We’re so good together. I know Quidditch isn’t your thing—”
“It has nothing to do with Quidditch; I’m just not happy. We’re done,” she emphasised, backing away. “If you’d like to discuss it further, you know where my flat is.”
He wouldn’t follow her—of that much she was sure. He’d never taken her seriously, not at Hogwarts, not when they reconnected through the Ministry. Not when he'd decided he'd grown tired of her and sought excitement in a much younger girl who didn't know what she was getting into.
It was liberating, really. To walk away from a dead-end relationship with the world at her feet. A world that, inexplicably, included Draco Malfoy.
Heart in her throat and desire rising within her once more, she darted to the door of the pub, down the street, and to the Apparition point.
She’d barely made it inside her flat before she’d discarded her bag and dropped into her chair, dipping into her knickers and bringing herself off with Malfoy’s name on her lips.