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As he knelt before her, he seemed as though he were vowing eternal loyalty and devotion to a queen. Though he was the proudest of purebloods, and she embodied everything he despised, in that moment, behind closed doors, he was merely a man on his knees.
A painting of a king fallen from his dynasty.
His shoulders, once squared with the proud air of his aristocratic heritage, now slumped. Silver eyes, usually sharp, calculating, and as snide as his reputation for always staying one step ahead, were now wide, desperate, lost—searching for her, his anchor, his tether to the here and now.
Blonde hair, silken and soft, usually pristine, now fell into his face as he bowed his head.
His skin, flawless and smoother than the finest marble, caught the dim light of the room, reflecting an almost otherworldly glow.
He looked ethereal, as though he himself could pose as a statue for Michelangelo.
He was a living dichotomy.
The most powerful of wizards, brought to his knees, reveling in submission.
But what was power compared to the deepest, darkest desires that lay at the core of humankind?
For he was never as hard as he was when he was with her, his cock beading with pre cum, the head almost purple by how deeply affected he was.
By this. By her.
Hazelnut-brown eyes took him in, a portrait of her Icarus—her angel, plummeting in freefall, burning himself to the ground. A painting come to life, one she yearned to study, committing every smallest detail to memory.
But most of all, she looked at him with a possession that went beyond the fathomable. Beyond flesh and body, he belonged to her.
Bare feet crossed the space between them, unhurried, savoring the moment. She smiled at his restraint, at the faintest flicker of a tremor in the muscle of his jaw.
His hands remained clasped behind his back. He knew better than to move them. Knew better than to make a single motion without her coaxing him.
“Look at me.”
Her voice was soft, molten like the sweetest honey, gentle like the dark, curling hair that spilled down her bare back.
She spoke with a tone that carried the sweetest of promises—heaven itself on earth. Yet, beneath that melody lay the faintest trace of something intoxicating, a pull irresistible to a man like Lucius Malfoy.
It was something only she could offer, something he craved with an intensity that turned every drop she gave into a torment—a taste of the sea when he longed to drown in it.
Silver hair cascaded over flawless alabaster skin as his head lifted, his eyes locking onto hers.
She smiled then—a smile meant solely for him. Her gaze was that of a siren, luring a man into the dark depths of hopelessness. A gaze so entrancing that, if he dared to hold it too long, he would lose himself completely. But perhaps, it was already far too late for that.
Though petite in stature, Hermione towered over him with an angelic face that betrayed the devilish allure beneath.
Oh, she was his downfall.
His fingers twitched, aching to touch her skin, to claim her as his, to leave his mark. He wanted to be everywhere at once, and yet, even that wouldn’t be enough. His skin burned, seared as though by invisible flames, and he knew—only she could soothe him.
Sometimes, he wondered if he could cum from her smile alone.
Mere, sheer willpower forced his eyes to stay on her molten amber ones, though her body, naked as the day she was born, beckoned him to look.
Lucius knew how her rosy nipples perked, how her skin tasted, how she tasted.
His cock jerked, his lips parting ever so slightly.
Her smile intensified and he could barely hold back a groan. Pleasure, prickling and sharp shot down his spine. Muscles of his thighs tensed tremendously, an attempt to ease some of his tension.
It had been too long.
She’d been gone too long.
“Good”, she breathed, as his chin was gripped gentle but no less firm in her fingers, her thumb trailing over his bottom lip. With the delicate span of her hand curving around his jaw line, she angled his head aside, leaning in to graze the shell of his ear.
“I’ve missed you, you know,” her whispered voice was a melody to which his blood began to sing.
Roses, vanilla—a scent so entirely and consumingly her that it threatened to drown him on dry land.
He never wanted to inhale anything that wasn’t her. Only ever her.
And if it was her scent with which he would be suffocated, then so be it.
He remained silent.
Deliberately, she shifted her stance, slowly placing her feet on his strong thigh.
“Have you missed me?” Her tongue, gentle and feather-light licked along his strong jawline, up to the corner of his lips, and for a moment he thought she’d kiss him, her soft puffy lips so close but she let them hover only.
She always let them hover. The muscles at the base of his skull quivered with the strain of not moving his head, of not closing the distance to the lips he would crawl on his knees for.
As Hermione stared at him, molten silver gazed back—voids filled with unspoken words and promises.
Oh, how he had missed her.
The faintest tremor shook a body drilled never to bow into submission. A Malfoy would never bow, never kneel for anyone except for himself.
Yet, at her feet, gravity felt too heavy, too consuming to resist any longer.
“Have you missed tasting me?” Her voice was barely there, yet as intense, seemingly alike to speaking directly into his mind.
Yes. Every night. Every second of every day.
She knew it. He knew it. But she liked to play. She always did.
Her thighs parted invitingly, baring her naked sex to him, mere inches from his face.
He could smell her.
Could almost feel her against his lips, sweet, soft, aching. It was this he saw whenever he closed his eyes to fall asleep. This, he smelled, her, so close, so tempting, so wrong but still...
Instead of redeeming him from his suffering, she brought her tiny hand – still lingering on his bottom lip – to her inner thigh, touching the skin he longed to scorch with his touch.
She was always so wet for him. Only for him. Possessiveness flashed in his eyes before a soft tutting sound from her dulled it again.
Hermione hesitated only a moment longer before she trailed a finger up her inner thigh, collecting the wetness there, her arousal she had been dripping with. For him.
In the next moment, her fingertip hovered against his lips, a final test, if he would obey. He didn’t move an inch.
“Good.”
One word that hadn’t had a chance to brush past her lips before his ones were enclosed around her finger, sucking her into his mouth, as greedy as if he was tasting the first rays of sunlight after years spent in darkness.
She merely smiled, a tenderness that shook him to his very bones, leaving his skin crawling with the need for more – more of her focus, her undivided attention. She let him lap at her finger, humming softly as he swirled his warm, wet, and eager tongue around it.
Oh, what a wicked tongue he had.
Sharp, cunning, and biting to the world, but here, with no witness but her and him, it was the softest, most pleasing, and coaxing of things.
“Enough,” she said softly and he stopped immediately, licking his lips only once as she withdrew. Fingers danced along the other side of his hard jaw, curling in a loving caress around the nape of his head.
Silken blonde hair whispered against her hand.
And with an invitation to delve into his most anticipated feast, Hermione pulled him closer, right between her spread legs.
“Slowly.”
Though the word was spoken softly, there was command laced behind it, a little tug on the roots of his hair once eagerness flashed in silver eyes.
With another flick of his eyes up to hers, his chin merely dipped. He was going to do it slowly. Of course he was. Whatever she said.
“Be good and give me your mouth, Lucius. Show me what I’ve been missing out on,” and with a soft brush of her thumb over his sharp cheekbone, she closed the distance between eager, puffy lips and her heat.
The first lick of his tongue through her folds, only to have the tip swirl around her little bundle of nerves brought a new hue of burning amber to her eyes.
Otherwise she stayed quiet. He liked working for it.
Lucius had come to know every lick and suckle, had come to know every twist and turn his tongue had to do to make her fall apart on his mouth. She was divine. An ocean he would happily drown in.
The only sign of his arousal was the way his eyelids fluttered briefly, the way his cock spurted another bead of pre cum before he delved into her wet folds, licking and sucking while his nose brushed against her clit.
He was a sight, on his knees.
“That’s it,” Hermione watched him, her lips merely parted. He was pleasing her so well. He always was.
“Give me your finger, Lucius. The thickest one.”
Even his lips seemed to tremble with the sharp inhale that echoed from him, but he remained silent, a vein briefly protruding from his forehead – the only sign of his restraint.
Teeth scraped lovingly against her clit, earning a soft hum from her before the silver of his signet ring caught a gleam of light as his hand trailed up the soft skin of her inner thigh.
“Only till the first knuckle.”
Her grip on his hair tightened, his gaze locked back on her as he halted. They were voids of pleasure, of a man who was drinking from her as if she was his very life source.
Hermione was as much addicted to him, to the way he looked at her, as he was to her. But he wouldn’t know.
A playful smirk curled around her rosy lips, as she rolled her hips to his face, that clever tongue of him skilfully circling.
“In.”
And then his finger breached her, and he groaned quietly, oppressively against her heat. Her tight walls fluttered around him and she could hear him say what he was dying to say but— with another wicked grin she braced down against him, taking his finger.
“You may make sound, Lucius.”
The moan that left his lips then, hoarse and raw, vibrated with the low rumble of his rib cage, low, deep and guttural as if he hadn’t taken a breath in ages. Desperation washed over him, a dam broken free — a sound was wrenched from the back of his neck, one reminiscent of resurfacing from a dive one had been lost in.
“Fuck, so tight, how are you— can’t wait to—“
She made a soft clicking sound, “Language, my dear, language.”
And with that she rolled her hips to fuck his finger in her, tightening the grip on his hair to pull him closer. Though he was only in her with one digit, she clenched tightly around him, as if there was no more room for him other than this.
The whine that got wrenched from the back of his throat died against her swollen core.
Cool metal met her burning skin, getting drenched in her arousal but she did not care. She knew that he’d never take the ring off, knew that he’d remember it pressed into her tight body, knew that he’d absently run it along his lips to remember her when she’d be gone.
And it made her smile.
Her pleasure was rising, quick jolts of lightning striking her body, though she wouldn’t let him have it yet.
“Get on the bed, Lucius.”
There was the slightest hitch of pleasure to her voice, the slightest betrayal of how much she was enjoying his nimble fingers and his clever tongue. It seemed enough to make him come undone.
With a soft flare of his nostrils, another shallow inhale, he stilled.
But then his touch was gone and he rose, towering over her by a full head, and even though he could’ve hoisted her up effortlessly and had his way with her, he wouldn’t.
No. Because this was what he needed.
With an encouraging nod toward the bed, he moved, never letting his eyes leave her—not as the mattress of the four-poster bed pressed against the back of his thighs, not as the emerald silken sheets caressed his porcelain skin, and not as he laid supine on the bed.
When they met, it was always here, in this room. Never at hers. Never somewhere else.
Silver eyes traveled down her milky white skin, tracing her curves—lush, sculpted by the goddess herself.
He longed for her to be painted, to gaze at her forever, though no painting, no masterpiece, could ever capture her essence, her ethereal beauty.
His body was coiled tensed, his cock hard the way he always was around her. Nothing else made him this hard, nothing but her.
The way her eyes locked back at him as she approached, caused fire lick up his spine. Her taste lingered on his lips, though fading too quickly. If it was up to him, he’d be on her sweet cunt whenever he’d had the chance. Please her until she no longer could. But she rarely let him.
With a slow raise of her eyebrow, she regarded him.
Seconds stretched before his arms rose above his head, elongating his torso and baring the muscles of his back. Not just his throat and chest were exposed, but his very heart.
With a low, approving hum—one that made his skin crawl with longing—she closed the distance again.
Every movement of hers was elegant and graceful, the weight of her full attention almost too much to bear. The world outside could have stilled, and he wouldn't have noticed, for she was his.
Her legs parted as she settled down on top of him, and his skin sang everywhere she touched him.
Lips he longed to feel against his own—more than the next breath he took—hovered just above him. So close, yet out of reach.
With a smile that promised anything and nothing, she began trailing soft kisses down his jaw, along his neck, and over his chest.
No marks. She could not leave marks. She knew.
Yet the threat hung heavy in the air, the very promise of humiliation, and as her teeth pierced his skin ever so gently, a mere nipping, the softest of groans left his lips.
Only because she could. Though his skin bore no visible marks, he was branded by her in flesh and bone. From the moment they began this, there had been no turning back.
She had left an imprint on every inch of him. Belonging. He belonged to her in every sense.
Even his skin felt the way her lips stretched into a smile.
Her pelvis hovered over his crotch, dangerously close to where he was most sensitive. Where he needed her most.
Though every cell of him screamed for her, for her touch, she moved with a deliberate distance he knew would only heighten his pleasure once she finally deigned to meet his skin.
And sometimes, it felt too much, too much to hold back, to not touch her, to not pull her down and impale her on him but— no.
He wouldn’t touch her. Because then she’d be gone. And losing her was something that he would not be able to bear, that would cleave his soul open as if he no longer was.
Milky soft skin of her slick inner thighs brushed against his hardness, moving promisingly over his cock as her lips continued their onslaught on his skin.
She rarely let him have her cunt.
Sometimes, she’d tease him for hours, before it only took the softest of brushes of lips against the swell of his tip to have him come undone.
Sometimes she’d ride him, allowing her drenched folds to enclose his shaft, to wrap him in a promise of what it would feel like.
And sometimes, when the tip caught her tight entrance, she’d gasp and then she’d let him spill against her.
And the times she would let him inside him, fill her until she was close to combusting…
“Lucius,” his name had never sounded better than when her lips curled around it.
Silver focused again, locking eyes with her.
Her fingers angled his chin, as, with another move of her against him, his cock was catching on her entrance.
His lips parted, mirroring hers before her thumb wedged into his mouth, swallowing the moans ready to spill from him.
The chance to taste her, to savor even the smallest part of her, was seized as his mouth closed firmly around her thumb.
“Be good… do not cum,” Her voice was sweeter than the loveliest lullaby, and with his eyes fixed on her, she let gravity take over.
It took a moment to work the swollen, huge tip of him inside her, but with the softest of gasps, only heard because her breath hit his lips, he slipped inside.
Tight. Wet. Warm. Her.
He sucked a sharp breath in, his nostrils flaring as he was engulfed in her tight heat.
He didn’t dare move, fearing she’d change her mind and would slip off him, leaving him aching and wanting and so hard he was sure he’d lose the last thread to sanity.
“Oh,” she breathed, her pupils widening ever so softly.
With another arch of her back, her chest ghosted along his torso, their heated bodies touching briefly. She could feel the hammering of his heartbeat. Another soft smile was etched to her face, a face that was framed by the most beautiful of curls he ever had laid eyes on.
“You’re so good, Lucius… splitting me open so well,” she murmured softly, her pink little tongue coming to dart out to lick over his bottom lip.
He wanted her to lick everything of him. He wanted his tongue everywhere on her and –
“I might let you inside all the way today…it's been so long, has it not?,” sharp teeth grazed his bottom lip, and his fingers clenched tightly, wanting to grab her flesh and impale her on him. But nothing more than the softest of grunts left his lips.
Muscles flexed on his neck as he craned his head up ever so slightly, the pull between her lips and his almost unbearable. But she widened the distance between their lips, not yet giving in to kissing him.
White flashed again as she smiled—a grin with too many teeth.
“Hermione,” he breathed, his eyes flickering between hers and then she felt him jerk inside her.
Her pelvis moved in soft waves, inching up and then taking more of him, taking her time to work herself open on him, to take everything.
He felt as he was close to splitting her body in half. As if there was no way he’d fit inside her, yet with every drag over him, she proved him wrong.
“Hermione.” He said again, though this time his voice was low, dangerously so with just the softest hint of desperation.
“No.”
The word came quickly, hard and unyielding. He was not about to cum just yet. She stilled, with half of him buried inside her heavenly tight cunt.
His face scrunched up — the expression of visible, horrendous pain rippling across his face —, his muscles flexing and cramping, seemingly fighting for his very sanity.
She regarded him only a moment longer, yet it felt like a lifetime.
The distance between their lips was closed again and he didn’t dare breathe for he was sure he would shatter from her proximity and scent alone.
Her voice had lost its edge then, dripping like sweet honey from her lips, “Once you have come,” she paused, running his thumb over his adams apple, applying the softest of pressure on his pulse, “will you get nice and hard for me again and fuck me thoroughly, Lucius?” She pursed her lips now, angling her face aside as she watched him.
“Yes,” he groaned and lifted his face again to surge after her lips, “I will, Hermione,” his voice vibrated against her chest, rumbling with it.
Brown eyes observed him a while longer before her smile returned.
“You better make good on that promise, Lucius. Or you won’t have me for longer than you’ll be able to endure.”
She spoke with a finality that made his toes curl, that made his blood begin to boil. And just as he couldn’t take it anymore, she slammed herself down on him, while simultaneously pressing his lips to his.
Pleasure exploded his body, the release of a torture that had been going on for days and days with no end in sight, making his head feel light, making his soul ready to leave his body for good. For as he finally felt all of her around him, felt her very being, something that was only reserved for him, once her lips were on his …
The guttural moan he released was swallowed by her lips, eagerly drinking in it because it was hers to take.
Lucius was filling her to the brim, always filling her so wonderfully, his tip pressing right up against her sweet spot, with how big he was. It was right on the verge of being too much and not enough. Never enough.
He lost the ability to speak whenever he was with her, his lips only forming her name, over and over, a prayer he couldn’t outrun—an inevitable force that would drag him too close to the sun, too close to burn.
He growled into her mouth, kissing her, his body overwhelmed with too much and not enough.
The way her lips moved against his, the way he was so deeply nestled into her tight body, greedily being swallowed though she was as tight that she could milk him and it was all it took for him to arch off the bed, daring to press his hips closer to her, to envelope all of him with all of her and then white exploded in his mind and took over his every thought.
And in moments like this, with his mind exploding in pleasure, in an ocean of her, in a sky full of her, he felt at peace. For the only time in his life.
His cock spilled into her, jerking with each spurt as he filled her cunt.
It was a moment that stretched time, defying all logic of time and space, yet always ending too quickly. But not quickly enough, for he knew he would be with her again.
“Open your mouth.”
Her voice had taken on a harder edge and his mind was still blissfully blurred but he did so. She was still seated on him, dripping on him with her arousal, her fingers holding his chin tightly.
It took some time to blink back into reality but his hunger for her wasn’t nearly satisfied. It was never. No matter how spent he was.
Silver met brown, and whereas his were drowning in pleasure, with his pupils blown, hers were sharp and consuming. Demanding.
She took another moment before she spit in his mouth, “who knew a mudblood’s cunt would bring the most powerful wizard to fall apart.”
The whimper that left him then was one of the final defeats, of the crack in his mask, the final bridge she had severed to everything he was. Though she spoke softly, what came out of her mouth was no match for the gentleness in her voice.
“What would your loyal, dearest circle of purebloods say if they’d see you like this?” She murmured, convulsing around his sensitive member, still hard as steel, buried in her. Her fingernails were digging crescent shaped bites into his skin as she gazed at him.
“The great Lucius Malfoy .. beneath a witch ‘lesser of worth’, clinging to her every word,” his whole body seemed to grow taut, but his cock was regaining hardness if he hadn’t come at all. She knew. She knew he needed it.
“Shhh,” she crooned, “I know,” and with an echo of a smile she rose again, her torso straightening as her pelvis hovered over him “do you think of me as a Mudblood, Lucius? As someone lesser of worth?”
He was empty with her, only the mere tip still being connected to a body he never wanted to leave again. His arms twitched with urgency, powerless against the way his hands gravitated toward her. But just before his touch could be seared by her, he halted. Her irises darkened in appraisal.
“No,” he breathed, his voice unfamiliar and out of place in a room so filled with her. Hermione stilled, her eyes boring into his, devouring as he began to seep out of her. The sight made him wince, the thought of something of him leaving her so soon, unacceptable.
She should always be filled with him. Always.
“There is nothing this earth can offer that is more precious or beautiful than you.”
His voice was hoarse from disuse, desperate—like a melody he had reserved only for her. A beat of silence followed. Then, having finally had enough, she lay down beside him and whispered the words that unraveled him.
“Touch me, Lucius.”
Lightning would envy the way he moved, possessed by the force of a maelstrom itself, before he was on her.
It felt as though a veil had been lifted from him.
The moment his hands were allowed to touch her, to feel her against his calloused skin, he woke—feeling alive again, as if she herself were breathing life back into him.
Hands, big enough to span over the entirety of her abdomen with ease, moved.
His movements were erratic, as though she were touched by a man who had too little time for what he needed ages to fulfill.
Brown eyes stayed locked on him with every heartbeat as he worshiped her, his hands touching the very places she had longed for him to touch again.
Everywhere he reached, everywhere his lips pressed to her skin, she felt like dying and being reborn at the same time.
Long, pale fingers wove into her hair, lifting her head, and his eyes burned with a fire so intense, even the flames in her fireplace would envy it, as his gaze dropped to her lips. He was so good.
“Kiss me.”
A spell was broken, the world began to turn again once her lips were pressed against his.
He was quick to invade her mouth, to taste her tongue, to taste them as his cock leaked pre cum on her soft belly once more.
“Do you want to make me cum, Lucius?” a soft hum against his lips, the words he had been dying to hear.
The most broken of “yes, let me” was exhaled against her swollen pink lips and with another soft murmur of her, with the way she moved her legs around him, he was allowed.
Soft skin whispered against his own as he slid one hand beneath her ass, tilting her up to him, knowing precisely how to make her body sing, for she had been teaching him so so well.
The softest of anticipated sighs left her chest then, one he was eagerly inhaling as he positioned himself at her drenched entrance. How was she always so wet for him?
The sensitive skin on the tip of his cock met a mix of their arousals, feeling the trace of him in her and he was more than eager to fuck his seed right back into her, and paint her with something anew.
But before he dared to thrust, before he moved, his gaze locked on hers again.
Hermione dipped her chin only an inch but it was enough for he pried her open, spreading her legs more to push into her tiny body, relishing in the strain that was her tightness – and Salazar, no matter how often and deep and thorough he spread her, she was always so maddeningly tight and –
With that she let him inside, the fat tip of him working its way into her.
Brown eyes burned.
He moaned, angling their bodies so he was aligned closer to her, skin to skin, never wanting to be parted from her again.
Hips moved in slow, shallow thrusts as he worked her open, knowing this angle was more intense for her and he wanted it to be good for her, he wanted to be good for–
“Lucius.”
Fingers were being carded through his silken hair, his pale eyes focusing on her again. He was only half way in.
“Give me all of you,” and with the pushing of her heels into his backside, she impaled herself with him. As his hips were flush against her, he released a breath, his eyes flickering back and forth between hers.
Breaths were leaving her quicker now. There was the faintest of flushes to her chest as she looked up to him, her curls sprawled around her like a dark halo.
“That’s it,” she clenched around him, proving her point, “good.”
He made her feel good.
A broken, desperate groan left him at the praise, before he began to fuck her the way she liked. Hard. Fast. Relentless.
Her face was an expression of peace and pleasure then, her eyelids fluttered close as pleasure cursed through her body, as the tip of him hit that spot dead on, and Merlin, he was always so eager to please, to do anything for her.
A smile lived on her lips now, one that Lucius was eager to split into moans.
With the slightest change in angle, he watched her face fall, her lips parting as a silent moan fell from them. He was ready to come again, but he wasn’t going to until she gave it to him.
Hips snapped faster, breaths mingled as the room echoed with slaps of skin against skin. Then, her eyes opened again, and in them burned molten gold—a fire he had been waiting forever to see.
“Hermione,” he spoke brokenly, his eyes fixed on nothing but her—the way her body glistened with a sheen of sweat, the way he could almost hear her heart pounding, matching his as if it beat for hers and hers alone.
“You’re doing so good, Lucius.” Pleasure mixed in her voice, thick and heavy, drowsing her tongue, “keep fucking me like that. Harder.”
He obeyed.
Straightening, so his body was on full display to her. Brown eyes rove over him, drinking him in as he fucked her, as he quickened his pace to please her, until his muscles were burning with the strain.
Fingers brushed over her breasts, touching her in a way only she allowed, the only one he ever wanted to touch.
He knew she was close.
He needed it. And with another hard slam of him, one that shook the bed against the wall, one that caused a tremor to run through her whole body, one that made her walls clench around him so he was barely able to move at all –
“Just like that, yes, I’m gonna –, Lucius!”
And as she shattered, Lucius might have died. For the way she cried out his name as she came, falling apart on his cock, bore the power to stop his heart altogether.
And it was then he felt how deeply she was woven into his very being, how deeply she was woven into his body, mind and soul.
He knew her body the way he knew his own by now, observed the way her spine arched off the bed, caught that glint in her eyes when she crashed with pleasure, he knew it all.
“So good, you’ve been so good.”
The words were the last pull on his sanity. Pulling out of her, he fisted one hand in the sheets next to her body, whereas the other dug in the skin on her hip bone so hard she was sure to be bruised the next day.
The muscles in his forearms tensed, threatening to coil and snap bone with the force he gripped the sheets—anything to hold himself together.
Anything to keep him from spilling too soon.
His cock was jerking heavily, his whole body shaking in tremor with need. But he waited.
Hermione knew. And with the voice of an angel, she put an end to his suffering.
“Cum for me.”
Lucius came untouched, spurting thick and hot over her heat and her lower abdomen, sending spurt of spurt of his mark over her until he had no more to give.
With a whine that got wrenched from the depths of his chest, his body let go, collapsing half on her, ensuring not to hurt her.
A slow heartbeat thrummed against his temple as he rested his head on her chest. The faint sensation of fingers, soft and gentle, wove their way between strands of dishevelled silver hair. And she let him lay there for a while, before she spoke again.
“Exquisite.”
The shiver that wrecked his body did not go unnoticed by her. And with a smile, she pressed her lips against his forehead.
“Good boys clean up after their messes, Lucius,” Hermione chastised softly and kissed his temple again before he stirred.
It did not take long for her thighs were parted again and under the burning gaze of Lucius Malfoy, she was cleaned, his tongue licking up the remnants of their release.
And as his tongue focused in on her little bundle of nerves, she released a moan, the final defeat of her, to give him everything he wanted. All of her. For all of him.
And even more, for her body convulsed one final time, arching for him as he drank from her, feasted on her as though tiredness would never claim him.
As he rose from her spent core, his lips glistening with her arousal, Hermione watched with her elbows propped up, a smile with a different color and a look with a different meaning meeting his gaze.
She was about to leave.
As realization dawned on him, she saw the play unfold—a performance honed over years—splitting his face.
A mask he wore at home and in the circles he frequented, slid effortlessly in place. Silver dulled, and his trademark smirk stretched across lips that had been begging her moments ago.
He was most fascinating like this.
“Miss Granger,” he drawled, as if he wasn’t naked in bed with her just then, as if he hadn’t been on his knees for her just then, “until we meet again.”
A low chuckle slipped past her lips and then she moved, though her legs bore the slightest of trembles, but no more than his. She rose, and walked to where he knelt on the bed.
With a force one wouldn't think a petite woman like her capable of, she gripped his chin and angled his face up to meet hers.
Cracks broke his mask. And as she leaned down, attempting to kiss him farewell, she stopped short before their mouths would collide.
“Make sure to dream of me, Lucius.”
And with that, she kissed him once more, feather-light, as if her lips themselves were whispering goodbye and with a last look into his eyes, past his shields he rose for the world outside, she saw him. Saw his true colours.
Her smile, a smile solely meant for him, lingered in the air she had disappeared to.