Chapter Text
She woke the next morning in Lucius’s strong arms, the golden light of early day filtering through the villa’s large glass windows, casting warm sunbeams across the bed. His body radiated heat behind her, solid and steady. She remained still, eyes closed, willing herself to linger in this fragile pocket of peace just a little longer.
She felt his fingers in her hair, lazily twirling a curl around and around, like he couldn’t quite stop touching her. She could sense his gaze on her—soft, attentive. His presence—his warmth—made her feel safe.
Too safe.
She didn’t want to open her eyes yet. Didn’t want to face the truth waiting for her on the edge of consciousness. The unbearable truth that she was too weak to resist her feelings for Lucius. Too weak to hold the line of her morals, her boundaries, her responsibilities—to her children… and to Draco’s memory.
And perhaps worse than anything was the truth she could no longer silence—she was falling deeply, disastrously in love with him.
Last night felt like a dream. A beautiful, impossible dream lived out in the flesh. It had been everything. More than desire, more than pleasure. There had been something devastatingly right about it—about him. Like they were magic together. It defied reason. Despite the grief, the tangled past, the impossible circumstances—it still felt right.
He’d told her she was made for him, that they were meant to be. And she didn’t know if he meant it only in the heat of passion or if he truly believed it—but the terrifying thing was… she believed it too.
She still felt, with every aching fiber of her soul, that fate had brought her Draco. He had been her great love—pure, powerful, the brightest chapter of her life. From that love came her children, and she would never, ever regret that. But deep in her heart, in a place tender and raw, she also felt that Lucius was meant for her too. Just later. Just when the gods decided she had suffered enough.
Had she not loved Draco so fiercely, had she not lost him so tragically, she never would have arrived here. Never would have unraveled so fully. Never would have let Lucius in.
The thought stung. She hated the cruel bargain of it all—that her husband had to die for this new, consuming love to take root. And as much as she cared for Lucius, as much as he felt like coming home in a way she never expected, she would never have traded Draco’s life for it. Not even now.
She missed him every single day. From the moment her eyes opened to the moment she forced them shut again at night. She mourned the life they were meant to live—simple, joyful, sun-drenched. What she might have with Lucius would never be that. It would be harder. It would live in the shadows, shaped by guilt and secrecy.
And her children… they would feel the cost of it.
If she let this become real beyond these island walls, it would touch everything. She would never be able to speak of it openly. Never confess the truth to her friends. They all loved Draco. They would see this as betrayal, even if they never said so aloud. Their silence would scream it.
She couldn’t lose them—not the family she’d rebuilt with shaking hands. This unlikely tapestry of Gryffindors and Slytherins, bound not by blood but by grief and loyalty. Harry would try to understand—he always did. He loved her like a sister, the only true family he had outside of Ginny. But even so… she couldn’t bear the thought of asking him to justify something that, on the surface, defied reason.
She felt Lucius stir beside her, then his hand brushed her cheek, catching a tear before it could fall.
“What is it, love? What’s wrong?” he asked gently.
She didn’t answer at first. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the sunlit room, and then drifted to meet his. His face was etched with concern, his touch grounding as he traced the curve of her arm.
Wordlessly, she nestled closer, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. Her fingers curled against his chest, holding onto that moment between them for as long as she could, even if it couldn’t last.
“I just… I wish it were easier between us. I wish—” Her voice cracked, raw with emotion. “Last night was perfect…But I know it’s never going to be simple between us… It hurts, Lucius. It hurts so much.”
He exhaled softly, a sound more ache than breath, and tightened his hold around her. His cheek rested against the crown of her head, his fingers stroking slow, calming lines down her back.
“I know,” he murmured. “I know, princess.”
There were no words to soften the truth of their reality. It simply was . Undeniable. Irrevocable. What had sparked between them wasn’t gentle or tame—it was wildfire, sweeping through them both. And all they could do now was try to protect the people they loved from being caught in the blaze.
Especially Scorpius and Cassiopeia.
They lay in silence for a while, until she was able to somewhat push back down all her troubling feelings. Eventually, she excused herself and slipped from the bed, still naked, and padded to the bathroom to take care of her morning needs. He rose as well, disappearing into his own suite to freshen up.
When she returned, she wore a silk sleeping dress, pale blue with delicate lace, the fabric skimming over her thighs as she sat on the bed. She waited quietly, watching the sunlight dance across the floor.
Lucius reappeared a moment later, dressed in nothing but black boxer briefs and an unbuttoned white shirt. His hair was still loose, a little less tousled now, and he moved with that unhurried, aristocratic grace that made her stomach flutter no matter how many times she saw him.
He sat across from her and extended his hand. She took it without hesitation, their fingers sliding together in a familiar, grounding touch. She glanced down at their joined hands.
His were beautiful—masculine and strong and yet elegant as well. His nails neatly trimmed, his skin soft and warm. As always, he wore his silver Malfoy signet ring on his left index finger, a heavy silver onyx ring on the right ring finger, and his ring that she loved most, that she’d eyed so many times before, his dragon ring.
Thick silver shaped into a coiled dragon, its emerald eyes gleaming in the light, rested on his right index finger. She slid it gently off his finger and brought it closer to examine, letting it rest in her palm.
On the inside of the band, she read aloud the inscription, “Ad astra per draconem… To the stars through the dragon. Is that a play on ad astra per aspera ?”
Lucius gave a faint nod. “Draco was my shining hope when he was born. That’s when I had it made. He was my North Star—his constellation the brightest in my sky. I believed I could endure any hardship for him. My love for him gave me purpose, the strength to persevere… or so I hoped.”
She nodded softly, her fingers tracing the fine etchings of the dragon’s wings and emerald eyes before slipping the ring back onto his finger.
“That tattoo of yours…” he said, voice low as he reached for her. His fingers brushed along the tender crease where her upper thigh met her hip. “Just here. You got it for him?”
A flush bloomed on her cheeks. She nodded, gaze dropping, embarrassed by the intimacy of it.
He smirked, clearly amused by her sudden shyness. “It’s lovely,” he murmured. “May I see it again?”
She hesitated only a moment before giving him a small nod, reclining against the headboard and parting her legs. He settled between her thighs and slowly lifted the hem of her silk dress. The tattoo came into view—and with it, the soft folds of her sex, still bare.
He glanced down and gave a lazy smile before pressing a gentle kiss to her mound. “Good morning. I missed you,” he murmured.
She laughed and tried to wriggle away, but he held her firmly.
“Stay still,” he teased. “I’m not finished examining you.”
She stilled with a huff, letting him look. His fingers traced the inky lines of the dragon and the stars, and as his touch lingered, the enchanted tattoo came to life—the tiny dragon unfurling its wings and flying through the constellation before settling again. He watched in quiet fascination.
It wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. She thought he might look away, might bristle at the intimacy she once shared with his son. But he didn’t. He simply studied it with reverence, as if her act of devotion to Draco only deepened his appreciation for her.
She was still learning him—how his mind worked, how his possessiveness stretched beyond anything she’d experienced before. It was daunting, sometimes. And yet… it thrilled her. There was comfort in surrendering to someone who handled her with such control and care, who demanded her without apology.
“When did you get this?” he asked, still brushing his fingers over the design.
“The first birthday I spent with him. It was his gift.”
Lucius nodded. “He must’ve loved it.”
“He did,” she replied with a smile. “He used to trace it after we made love… sometimes he’d fall asleep between my legs doing it.”
She blushed at the admission, instinctively looking away. “I’m sorry. You probably didn’t want to know that.”
He looked up at her and shook his head, his expression calm, accepting. “I’m pleased to know he was truly happy with you. That you loved him enough to mark yourself for him. He deserved that kind of joy in his marriage.”
Her throat tightened, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Gods, they really had been so happy together…
He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the tattoo before gently lowering her dress and sitting back beside her. He nudged her to come closer, and she curled into his lap, drawing her knees up and nestling into his broad chest. His arms wrapped securely around her, anchoring her as the grief crept back in quiet waves. She closed her eyes, breathing through it, letting it rise and pass.
After a few long minutes, she spoke.
“How did you get over your grief for Narcissa?” she whispered, voice thick.
He was quiet for a moment. “To be honest, I never did. I buried it, tucked it away in the labyrinth of my mind. I can access it, but only if I concentrate. I had to carry on—for Draco, for the war, for survival. I couldn’t afford to let the grief consume me.” His voice grew softer. “But I kept the happy memories close. Those were what kept me human.”
Her heart ached for him, for all the mourning he’d had to silence just to survive. How terrible it must have been to lock away the love of his life behind mental walls, to endure such profound sorrow in solitude.
“Tell me some of those memories,” she said, her voice no more than a breath against his skin.
A pause. Then, “She had a wicked sense of humor. Exceptionally clever. We had dozens of inside jokes, mostly in Latin. She used to leave me riddles written on parchment hidden throughout the manor—clues for where she’d be waiting. And when I’d find her, she’d always pretend to protest me ravishing her… just to make me work for it,” he said with a fond smile. “We had a passionate life together, one filled with fire and deep understanding of each other. She never let me grow complacent. Aside from the Dark Lord, no one ever intimidated me the way she did. She was a viper… wrapped in the trappings of an immaculate, graceful aristocratic lady.”
Hermione took in his words, feeling a pang of admiration—and a sharp awareness of just how well-matched they had been. The way Lucius spoke of her was with respect, with quiet adoration. They had shared something rare and brilliant, just as she had with Draco.
She and Lucius… they were something entirely different. Unlikely. Impossible. And yet, it was happening—impossibly real.
“She was perfect for you,” Hermione acknowledged softly.
“She was indeed,” he agreed. “And you were perfect for Draco…”
She nodded and lowered her gaze. “Does it… bother you? That my body was his for so long?”
Lucius stilled, his thumb absently stroking the back of her hand, thoughtful. “If it had been any other man that bedded you," he said slowly, “I would have been torn apart with envy. I would’ve hated the thought of your skin under another’s hands—loathed every memory etched into your body that wasn’t mine.”
Her breath caught, and she looked up at him, but he was still staring past her, lost in thought.
“But when it comes to you and Draco,” he murmured, “it feels… different.”
“Different how?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
He finally looked at her then, eyes fierce and glassy. “Because you were meant to be his when he was alive. Because you loved him. Passionately. Thoroughly. And he adored you. What father wouldn’t want that for his son? You were his wife, the woman who gave him everything…”—his voice dropped—“I could never resent him for having you first. I would never dishonor what you had together.”
She blinked, startled by the conviction in his voice.
“You were a Malfoy bride,” he continued. “My son’s. And if by some impossible twist of fate he came back to you—even now—I would stand aside. I would give you back to him with both hands.” His jaw flexed. “Even if it shattered me.”
A beat passed. His grip on her fingers tightened.
“But since he’s gone,” he went on, lower now, possessive and trembling with restrained hunger, “I will take what’s left. And I will claim it all. Not in spite of your past with him—but because of it. You loved him deeply. Which means you’re capable of loving me that way, too. And I intend to have every ounce of that devotion for myself now.”
Her heart pounded.
“I’ll never be jealous of your history with my son,” he whispered. “But I will be jealous of anything that threatens your future with me.”
She sat with his words, turning them over in her mind. A warmth bloomed in her chest at the quiet devotion he held for his son… and for her. It was all so impossibly tangled, and yet, it felt like their broken pieces still fit somehow.
The heaviness of her grief lingered, but the tension had shifted—no longer sharp with sorrow but softened by something else… something a little mischievous.
She tilted her head, a teasing glint sparking in her eyes. “And what if he wanted to share me with you?”
Lucius arched an amused brow, his lip curling. “Malfoys don’t share. Surely you know that by now.”
“Hmm, perhaps not their wives. But I could tell you some very salacious stories about his time with Pansy back at Hogwarts.”
Lucius sighed, shaking his head. “Yes, I noticed my son was a bit more… shall we say, debauched than I was as a young man. Though I assume he never pushed those boundaries with you?” he asked, one brow lifting with restrained curiosity.
She shook her head slowly, her voice quiet and a little wistful. “He was always a gentleman with me… even in bed. He made me feel treasured—like I was something precious. Every time he touched me, he was gentle, coaxing.... He never took, only gave. Always praising me, always so careful and restrained, but still passionate.”
A faint blush crept into her cheeks. “It changed a little when we were trying to conceive… he was more intense then. Still sweet, but there was heat too. A sort of urgency. Like he needed me to know how much he wanted to build a future with me… to make something lasting.”
Lucius’s lips curved with quiet amusement. “I imagine he quite enjoyed the process of trying,” he said, voice rich with implication. “It was… a rather indulgent chapter in my own marriage as well.”
The heat in Hermione’s cheeks spread like fire, and she gave a soft, embarrassed laugh. “Yes… You could definitely say that.”
She bit her lip, the memory pulling at her senses, vivid and immediate. Those two months had been a blur of fevered kisses and tangled limbs, of whispered promises and frenzied passion against every surface they could find. The thought alone made her flush hotter, a wave of warmth sweeping over her skin.
She tucked her hair behind her ear and tried to center herself, grounding her thoughts in the present. When she calmed enough to meet his gaze, she lifted her eyes to his and asked, her tone curious, a little hesitant, “Would you ever want to have more children one day?”
Lucius regarded her with a long, unreadable look. “In general… or with you?”
She shrugged lightly, not quite ready for the weight of the question but unable to resist asking. “Both, I suppose.”
He inhaled slowly, gaze fixed on some distant point beyond her shoulder, as though weighing the honesty of what he was about to say.
“In general, no…” he began, voice low. His eyes flicked back to hers, searching. “I hadn’t really considered having more heirs, especially after Scorp and Cassie were born…”
There was a pause—long enough to make her wonder if that was all he intended to say.
“But with you…” His tone shifted, quieter now, tinged with something raw and aching. He reached out, brushing his knuckles along her jaw. “Yes. I want that.”
His answer struck her with more force than she expected. She had known, perhaps somewhere in the back of her mind, that he might say something like that. And yet hearing it aloud made her heart trip over itself, sending her into a spiral of conflicted thoughts.
She’d decided right before the babies were born, right after Draco was killed, that she wouldn’t have more children—not after the emotional toll and the hollow ache of postpartum depression she had to climb her way out of. She had felt certain in that decision. Resolute.
But now… imagining one more child—this time with Lucius?
The thought somehow didn’t fill her with dread. It didn’t feel like a burden.
Lucius was a remarkable father. He moved through her children’s world with quiet authority and unwavering devotion, and it made something ache within her. He was gentle. Patient. Present.
She often thought that watching him love the twins had taught her how to do the same—had shown her how to soften, how to lean into the kind of nurturing that had never come easily to her.
He had pulled her through the worst of the fog after their birth, gently urging her to stay tethered to the moment. To not miss the magic slipping past while she struggled to feel like herself again.
In truth, it was Lucius who had taught her how to be a mother in those fragile months when she feared she would never be enough.
So yes… the idea of having another child—with a man like him—felt lovely.
Even if the reality of it would be impossibly complicated.
“You know we can’t…” she said quietly, the words barely above a whisper.
He swallowed, visibly hesitating before asking, “But would you, with me?”
She stared down at her hands, letting the silence linger as she mulled it over. After a few beats, she looked up and sighed. “Setting aside the obvious reasons why we shouldn’t?”
He nodded solemnly, silver eyes holding hers.
“I love watching you be a father… I love how it brings out another side of you. A side I don’t see in any other context…” she said softly. “I think if things were different, if we didn’t have to worry about how it would look, how complicated that would be for our family… Then… yes, I think I would have a child with you.”
He smiled faintly at her answer, his expression quiet, tender. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a reverent kiss to her knuckles. She tilted her head, watching the way his fingers lingered on her skin, the gratitude in his gaze. Despite the fact that she spoke in what-ifs, he seemed moved by it—as if the knowledge that she would choose him, in another life, was enough for him to hold on to.
“I love you, Hermione… I’m sorry that it isn’t enough,” he murmured, voice low and rough with emotion, his eyes darkened by a shadow she couldn’t quite chase away.
She shook her head slowly, cupping his cheek. “You are more than enough… It’s just that ours is a forbidden kind of love, one that isn’t supposed to survive in the light.”
His gaze locked onto hers, voice a velvet dare. “So live in the dark with me. Be mine in the shadows…”
It was tempting—so tempting. To return to their world and pretend to be nothing more than in-laws. To maintain a carefully curated lie while letting themselves exist in secret, behind closed doors, lovers cloaked in moonlight. It was the kind of dangerous, all-consuming affair that could unravel her. She had offered him the forbidden apple yesterday, and now he was offering her the seeds—the ones that would bind her to the underworld with him.
They were the stuff of tragedy and myth, a perilous mix of light and dark, of virtue and vice.
“We shouldn’t continue this when we go back… You know that…”
“Why?” he countered, his voice edged with frustration. “Why can’t we indulge in this for as long as we can? The twins won’t be cognizant of what we are to each other for years. Theodore will marry Astoria soon, and I’d imagine by next year, finally move out. Who would we have to answer to?”
She hesitated, heart aching with the conflict tearing through her. “We would still be lying to everyone who cares about us. You don’t think they would feel betrayed if they found out one day?”
He scoffed, brows furrowing. “I fail to see how their opinions bloody matter…”
“Blaise, Theo, Pansy… they were his best friends, Lucius. Think of the optics from their point of view. They would feel like they’d have to be against it on Draco’s behalf,” she tried to explain gently, imploring him to see reason.
His eyes narrowed, but his voice lost none of its conviction. “You don’t think they’d get over it? They love you too. They saw how you grieved Draco. How lost you were.”
His words opened up the dam within her that she was trying to hold back all morning. She shifted to sit in front of him, eyes staring into his.
“How lost I still am! Just because I’ve let you in, just because you’re in my heart, doesn’t mean Draco doesn’t still own it. Doesn’t mean I’m not still torn up inside about losing him…” she said, her voice trembling as tears welled in her eyes.
Lucius exhaled slowly, his features softening. He raised his hands in surrender, then gently placed them on her shoulders, grounding her. “I’m sorry, my darling. I didn’t mean to upset you… Please understand, I want you so badly. I want to share my life with you—in the dark or the light, it makes no difference to me. I just want you… I need you to be mine.”
“That wasn’t the agreement…” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“I’m a greedy man. I always want more,” he murmured darkly, his tone velvet over steel. “Will you let me have more, my little lioness? Will you allow me to take more pieces of you? To claim you further?”
She swallowed hard, her pulse skipping. He dragged his fingers slowly down the length of her arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Her body shivered beneath his touch, already betraying her.
“How much more will you take?” she asked, voice barely audible, trembling with the weight of her own surrender.
He leaned in, the heat of his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear, making her breath hitch. “Every last drop you have to give me. Every shudder, every cry, every scream I pull out of you. You may not be ready to admit it to yourself yet, but you are mine. I claimed you last night, and you let me in—freely. Begging for it with those pretty whimpers and moans of yours.”
Her breath hitched as vivid flashes of the night before overwhelmed her—how thoroughly he had taken her, how completely she’d given herself up to him, how exhilarating it felt to relinquish control and drown in sensation.
“You ask for too much, Lucius,” she whispered, though her tone was already softening.
“And I’ll take everything, if you let me. If you don’t stop me.” His fingers brushed her jaw, tilting her chin up. “I’m in your system now, running through your veins. You can try to deny me when we return to the manor, bleed me out piece by piece… but it will be in vain. You’ll come back to me, because you and I are inevitable. I can feel it. Can’t you?”
Her eyes closed tightly, and a tear slipped free, trailing down her cheek. Because she did feel it, she knew he was right. And that knowledge terrified her.
He kissed the tear away, then reached for the hem of her dress, slowly pulling it up and over her head until she was bare before him once more. His hands slid to her waist, warm and firm, then slowly traced upward in a possessive kind of touch. When he cupped her breasts in his hands, she gasped, her body arching into his touch.
“You have the most exquisite breasts,” he said lowly, thumbing over her nipples until they hardened. “So full in my palms… I can scarcely cover them with my fingers.”
He leaned down, his breath brushing hot across her chest, and pressed open-mouthed kisses along the soft curves. “These are mine now… to adore…” His lips moved slowly, reverently.
“…to kiss.” He placed another lingering kiss, making her whimper.
“…to suck.” He drew one nipple into his mouth and lavished it with his tongue, sucking gently, then with firmer pressure.
“…to nibble.” He caught the bud between his teeth, teasing it with a soft bite that made her moan and clutch at his shoulders.
“Mine,” he growled.
Each word, each movement, was calculated, deliberate. He was worshipping her and claiming her all at once.
He kissed his way slowly up her chest, then her collarbone, then her neck—where he sucked a deep mark into her skin, one that would surely linger. She whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut again, but he didn’t let her slip too far into the haze.
He guided her down gently to the mattress, settling over her, pressing kisses to her throat as one hand slid downward between her thighs. His fingers brushed her clit, and she jerked against him, a needy moan escaping her lips.
“These sounds you make are mine as well.” His voice was a low command. “Open your eyes for me.”
She forced her eyes open, locking onto the intensity of his silver gaze. He held her there, anchored in that moment.
“Say it,” he whispered. “Say that you’re mine, Hermione. I need to hear it before I make you shatter again.”
She bit her lip, chest heaving. The words trembled on her tongue, aching to be said. He was right—no one else had ever drawn such reactions from her, such hunger. He was already in her blood. Denial was pointless.
“ If I tell you I’m yours… you have to agree to back off when I tell you to. When we return to the manor, if I ask you to treat me like a friend, only as a friend… you do that. If I fail in my resolve, if I come to you again, then you can treat me like your lover. But it’s on my terms. It could be years before I let you have me again.”
He let out a dark, amused chuckle, lips curling. “I accept the terms, my lioness.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you look so smug—like the cat that got the cream?”
“Because, my Hermione,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “you won’t last a week. And I’ll delight in watching you try and fail.”
She let out a scoff and tried to shove him off her, but he didn’t budge—smirking as her palms pushed at his chest to no effect. He was too strong. And, truthfully, she didn’t want him to move.
“Stop fighting me,” he murmured, voice thick with heat. “You know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than writhing under me.”
His hand cupped her mound with firm possession, his grip halting her squirming hips. “This beautiful quim of yours is mine too. Every flutter of pleasure, every grip of your inner walls… they all belong to me.”
Two fingers slid inside her in one fluid motion, thrusting slowly but deliberately, curling with maddening precision. Her body arched instinctively, a moan slipping free before she could bite it back.
His thumb found her clit, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles that made her whimper. “This swollen knub is mine as well,” he continued, voice low and commanding. “Every time you break apart, every time you shatter—I own that. I own your pleasure now. You’ll never chase it again without remembering how it feels to unravel for me. Without feeling the ache for my touch… or my cock.”
She sobbed, overwhelmed—not from pain, but from the unbearable truth in his words. Her body knew him now. It responded to him as if wired for his pleasure alone. And she hated how right he was, how deeply she had surrendered, how there was no going back.
He never stopped rubbing her clit, slow and torturous, coaxing her closer and closer to that edge again.
“I’m glad my son was gentle with you,” Lucius murmured darkly. “That he adored your body. That he gave you sweetness. Because now, I can give you everything he didn’t. I can wreck you in ways he never imagined. I can make you cry for me to take you under—let me show you pieces of yourself you never knew were there.”
He leaned over her ear, voice rich and dangerous. “So cry for me, little witch. Scream if you must. The room is silenced and sealed. No one will hear you but me.”
She was teetering on the edge, her climax so near it felt like lightning tightening in her limbs—and then, cruelly, he pulled his hand away just before she fell.
“No—please,” she gasped.
He brushed his lips against her ear, breathing the next words like a vow, “Say that you’re mine, Hermione. Give that to me. I need to hear you say the words.”
Her eyes locked on his, wide and pleading, her body trembling beneath him. Her lip quivered as she tried to resist, to hold back the thing she couldn’t take back once it left her tongue.
Lucius smiled faintly at her struggle. He leaned back, drawing off his shirt and then stripping away his boxer briefs, freeing the proud, thick line of his arousal. He looked much more imposing now than the night before—his length flushed, and heavy in the daylight, making her breath hitch.
He climbed over her again, spreading her legs with his knees and dragging the velvety heat of his cock along her slick folds. She gasped at the contact, her hips twitching involuntarily as he rocked against her, running the thick length of himself through her soaked slit again and again—slow, deliberate strokes that left her trembling.
“Gods,” she whimpered as the swollen head caught at her entrance, only to slide upward again, denying her. The friction was maddening. Her thighs quivered with every pass.
“You’re already soaking for me,” he murmured, voice low and sinful in her ear. “So eager… so ready. Do you feel how your body opens for me? How it aches for me to fill you?”
He reached down between them, coating his fingers in her arousal before lifting them to his mouth and sucking them clean with a guttural groan. “Mine,” he said darkly. “This honey, this need—mine. How many more pieces of you must I take before you admit it out loud, my lioness?”
Without warning, he grabbed her hips and flipped her onto her stomach. She yelped, startled, as he manhandled her into position—cheek pressed to the pillows, arse in the air, completely exposed. The sheets were warm against her flushed skin, but his hands were hotter. He cupped her bottom possessively, spreading her for his gaze, and she could feel the heat of his stare rake over her bare form.
“This arse,” he growled, kneading it in his palms, “is mine too. So round… so bloody perfect. You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you spread like this for me.”
She flushed scarlet, humiliated by how turned on she felt from the vulgar praise, the way he touched her like he had every right to. Her instinct was to wriggle away, but his grip tightened, firm and commanding, and something about that restraint thrilled her. She hated that she loved it.
Then she felt his thumb press lightly to the tight ring of muscle between her cheeks.
Her breath hitched.
“I wonder…” he murmured, stroking the spot in slow, teasing circles. “Still untouched and virgin I imagine. I could claim this from you too, if you’d let me.”
He licked his thumb and returned it, tracing soft, wet circles over the sensitive skin. The sensation was strange—intimate and invasive—and it sent a cascade of confusing heat straight to her core. She tried to focus, tried to decide whether she hated it or needed more, but she couldn’t think clearly with him behind her like this, touching her like he owned every inch of her. Draco never did anything like this before… She wasn’t used to the dominance, and she certainly wasn’t used to secretly craving it either.
“Draco never touched you here, did he?” Lucius said softly, clearly reading the tension in her spine. “Never thought to push you to your limits? To see how much of yourself you were willing to give up?”
She tried to speak, but her voice failed her. Her body was burning, her thighs trembling.
Lucius hummed. “It’s alright,” he whispered. “You don’t have to know whether you like it yet. Let me show you.”
He didn’t force his finger inside yet, just circled the area with patient strokes, watching her reactions carefully. She was panting now, torn between shame and arousal, her hands fisting in the sheets. She couldn’t take much more. Just when she thought she might shatter, she finally choked out, “Lucius… please… not there.”
He paused immediately and withdrew his hand, gentle and unhurried. “Not today, then,” he murmured, not unkindly. “Another time… when you’re ready to give me everything.”
He whispered the lubrication and contraceptive charms, and then reached down, guiding his thick cock to her quim once again. The head pressed against her, slow and steady, and she gasped as he began to slide into her from behind.
The stretch was unbearable—blistering in its intensity, almost too much to bear. Her walls strained around him, trembling under the pressure, as the thick head of his cock pushed slowly past her entrance. He was huge, unforgivingly so, and in this position—with her knees pressed into the mattress and her chest low to the bed—she felt every torturous inch with excruciating clarity.
Her body was too open, too vulnerable like this. There was no shield, no leverage, nowhere to run. Just her exposed flesh, his unrelenting grip on her hips, and the devastating way he was splitting her open inch by inch. He was already much deeper inside her than he’d been the night before, and she had felt caged and full then—like her body could take no more. But this was different. More primal. More dangerous. As if he were reaching into her soul to brand it.
He didn’t rush. He pressed in slow, steady, inch by inch, letting her feel just how thick, how intrusive, how utterly possessed she was.
She sobbed out a ragged breath, her fingers clawing at the sheets. “Lucius—”
“You feel that?” he growled low against her spine, his breath a searing whisper. “That stretch? That ache? That’s what it means to be claimed by me.”
His voice was like molten honey laced with sin. She could feel the smirk in his words, feel the heat of his lips as he bent low and kissed the nape of her neck—soft and slow, in sharp contrast to the brutal stretch he was subjecting her to.
She whimpered into the pillow, every nerve ending in her lower half ablaze. Her inner muscles spasmed, fluttering helplessly around the thick girth of him as he began to move—just a little—grinding deeper, coaxing her body to open. But her body wasn’t yielding, not fully. She was too tight, too tense, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting desire and resistance.
It was too much, though a part of her didn’t want him to stop.
He thrust again—deeper, slower, heavier—dragging a moan from her lips that she couldn’t swallow in time. Her breath stuttered, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The stretch bordered on pain, her body still clenching in self-protection, unwilling to let him all the way in. Her muscles trembled, thighs shaking from the effort of holding herself up.
“Relax,” he murmured, running one hand up her spine, the other still gripping her hip. “Let me in more fully, darling… You know I won’t hurt you. But I want all of you. Every inch.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to breathe through it, trying to loosen the tension in her belly. But it was so overwhelming—the pressure, the fullness, the humiliating sounds she was making. It wasn’t just her body that was struggling. It was her mind—still battling the truth of what she’d become with him. How deeply, maddeningly, she was coming undone for this man.
Lucius.
Not Draco.
Lucius, who worshipped her with his mouth and tormented her with his cock. Lucius, who teased and conquered her with the same breath. Lucius, who demanded her surrender—not out of cruelty, but out of hunger. Out of need.
She realized that he wasn’t doing this to punish her.
He was doing it to make her say it. To admit she was his.
And gods help her, because she truly was ruined for anyone else.
His next thrust came deeper still, drawing a helpless cry from her lips as her walls clamped down around him involuntarily. The burn, the ache—it was consuming her. She could feel every nerve ending in her body lit up with sensation, yet it wasn’t just physical. It was emotional, mental, everything tangled together in a desperate, dizzying knot.
She didn’t know if she wanted to pull him closer or push him away.
His hand slid up her spine again, coaxing, soothing, and yet so firm. She felt his control wrapped around her like a silken rope—never cruel, never truly painful, but inescapable. He was guiding her into surrender, tempting her to cross that final line, to give herself over completely.
But she wouldn’t say it for him under duress, or because of her desperation to shatter already.
She wanted him—gods, she wanted him—but something in her was splintering under the weight of it all. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes stinging with sudden tears she hadn’t expected. Her body was still struggling to fully yield, caught in that liminal place between pain and pleasure, between longing and fear.
Her hips trembled in his hands. Her fingers curled uselessly into the sheets.
“Lucius…” she gasped, voice cracking. “Please… stop.”
He froze.
The spell shattered in an instant, and without a word, he withdrew—slowly, carefully—his hands steady, no frustration in his touch. Just concern. Just care.
He moved quickly, gently, shifting her with practiced ease. He pulled her upright, cradling her against him as he knelt behind her, his broad chest pressing into the line of her back. His arms encircled her waist, protective and grounding, and she slumped into the warmth of him with a quiet, shaking breath.
He brushed her damp curls away from her neck and pressed a soft kiss there, gentle and remorseful, his breath warm against her skin.
“I’m sorry if I pushed you too far,” he murmured against her temple, his voice low and rough with emotion. “You drive me mad, Hermione…”
She closed her eyes, letting the comfort of his embrace settle the storm within her. Her heart still raced, her body still humming with overstimulated need, but his restraint—his willingness to stop the moment she asked—soothed something deep inside her.
“I wanted you to take me, but you’re too deep from behind,” she whispered. “And I’m too tense from all the thoughts in my head…from you trying to claim me…You’re driving me just as mad, Lucius.”
His hands tightened around her waist. “I only ever want what you’re ready to give,” he said. “But gods, it’s so hard not to want more.”
She leaned her head back against his shoulder, feeling the heat of his skin, the rise and fall of his breath, and the unmistakable hardness still pressed against her lower back—unrelieved, yet patient.
“I want to give you more,” she admitted. “But not all at once.”
He kissed her hair and rested his cheek against her crown. “Then I’ll take whatever pieces you’ll give me, my lioness. And wait for the rest.”
She didn’t speak for a long moment, just curled into him, breath still shaky. But then she reached for his hand around her waist and laced their fingers together, her voice soft but certain. “You don’t have to keep proving I’m yours. I know that I am…That’s what frightens me.”
His lips brushed her temple again.
“I need to hear you say it clearly,” he said. “Because once I have that… once you say you’re mine, I’ll never let you go.”
She was quiet for a long moment.
Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “I am yours, Lucius…I’m just…scared… Scared of what might come from admitting that truth aloud.”
“I’m scared too,” he confessed. “Scared of ever losing you…”
“Of losing your claim on me?” she asked gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“No. I’m afraid of your Gryffindor moral high ground keeping you from me,” he said, bitter amusement in his voice.
She turned slightly to look at him, nerves fluttering in her stomach. “And what’s the alternative?” Her voice trembled. “Just give in? Let our desire ruin the family we’ve worked so hard to hold together?”
“We can leave it all behind,” he said without hesitation. “Wiltshire, the Manor. We could go to Provence, live among the lavender fields, far from anyone who would judge us. Start over. Just us and the babies.”
Tears welled in her eyes at the vivid simplicity of it—Provence in bloom, summer breezes, laughter echoing through the gardens. It was a lovely dream. Too lovely. Her mind, forever practical, refused to let her fully believe in it.
“Run away and leave everyone behind?” she whispered, voice cracking. “Like we’re in some romance novel where the characters get their happy ending just by wanting it badly enough? As if all the complications and entanglements just vanish into thin air? You’re too old to be this naïve, Mr. Malfoy.”
“So what if I’m a romantic when it comes to you?” he whispered. “So what if I want the world to bend to our love? I’ve only ever known a world where my wants were law. Why can’t we carve out a future for ourselves, too?”
Questions she didn’t have the mental clarity to answer for him in that moment.
Not while she was still wrapped in the warmth of his body. Not with his touch still humming through her skin, clouding her thoughts. His presence was too consuming—too magnetic—for her to think clearly. Every time he looked at her like she was his salvation, it chipped away at her resolve. And right now, she couldn’t tell the difference between desire and destiny.
She needed space. Distance. A moment to step out of the gravity of him and breathe.
Time away from his hands, his voice, his gaze—just enough to sift through the noise and find her truth beneath the ache. To weigh the pros and cons without the weight of his affection tipping the scale. To imagine what their life might look like beyond the walls of this villa, outside the golden bubble they’d built on this island.
Because love, however powerful, wasn’t the only thing that mattered. There were consequences to be considered. Children to protect. A life already lived that couldn’t simply be erased in favor of something new and dangerous.
She needed to ask herself hard questions. What did she want? What did she need? And could she truly live with the fallout of choosing him? She’d have to figure that all out when they returned to the manor.
Instead, she turned fully in his arms, raising her hands to his hair and threading her fingers through the soft pale strands. She pulled his head down until their foreheads touched.
“I am yours,” she murmured. “I want you. I need you. Let’s figure the rest out another day… when we can think clearly. But for now… please, make love to me. I fear I’ll die if you don’t.”
Lucius didn’t hesitate. His lips were on hers before the last word left her mouth—desperate, consuming, like he needed to kiss her as much as she needed to be kissed. He laid her back gently, his hand cradling her head, the other splayed across her hip as he covered her body with his own.
Their mouths moved in wild synchrony—hot, open-mouthed kisses, tongues sliding, teeth catching, breath mingling in gasps between parted lips. She whimpered against him, arching into the heat of his chest, nails digging into his back. He devoured every sound she made like it was nourishment, groaning into her mouth as if he was starving.
She felt his hand slide between them, fingers brushing her slick folds as he guided himself to her entrance. The anticipation sent tremors down her thighs.
And then—slowly, achingly—he pressed inside.
A low, guttural sound escaped him as her body stretched to take him in. She cried out softly, her legs parting wider around him instinctively, seeking to accommodate his thick length. Inch by inch, he filled her, patient but hungry, watching her face for every flicker of sensation.
“Gods, you feel perfect,” he rasped, voice rough with restraint, his breath brushing her cheek.
He stilled when he was nearly fully sheathed, his body trembling slightly above hers. The stretch still burned, but it didn’t overwhelm her this time. It felt right. Whole. She could feel every part of him—every throb, every twitch—as if their bodies were fused.
He looked down at her, eyes searching hers with something raw and uncertain. “Is this alright?”
She nodded, her fingers brushing his cheek, voice breathless. “Move for me.”
He began to thrust—slow, deep, unhurried strokes that made her back arch and her thighs tremble. Each movement pushed deeper, dragging moans from her throat, the rhythm of it hypnotic.
Lucius kissed along her jaw, down her throat, across her chest. “So good,” he whispered, voice thick with awe. “You take me so beautifully. My perfect little lioness…”
His words seared into her skin, into her blood.
She tightened her legs around his waist, tilting her hips to meet every thrust, needing more, needing him. Her hands roamed his back, nails raking gently along his spine. He groaned at the sensation, thrusting harder in response.
The pressure inside her built fast—hot and electric, winding tighter with every stroke of his hips. She was close, so close, the edges of her vision already beginning to blur.
Lucius reached between them, fingers finding her clit with practiced precision, rubbing tight, insistent circles that sent her spiraling.
Her breath caught. Her body tensed. She tried to hold it back, but—
“You can let go now, love… I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice softer now, coaxing.
And with a cry, she did.
Pleasure crashed over her, fierce and blinding, her muscles clenching around him as she came hard, her fingers curling into the sheets. Her voice broke on a sob as her orgasm tore through her—hot, unstoppable, dizzying.
Lucius groaned low in his throat, burying himself to the hilt as her body milked him. His rhythm faltered, and with a strangled grunt, he spilled inside her, shuddering as he held her close, clearly reveling in the feel of her all around him.
They stayed that way for long moments—bodies joined, breath mingling, foreheads pressed together, his long hair falling like a curtain around them, closing off the rest of the world.
She clung to him, boneless and dazed, still pulsing with aftershocks, his weight anchoring her to the bed and to the moment.
She would never get enough of him—never stop aching for his touch, his voice, his possession. They were perversely made for each other, stitched together by grief and forbidden longing. And what frightened her most was how she was slowly, despite her every instinct to the contrary, starting to care less and less about the consequences…