Chapter Thirty Eight - Wedding Plans

Chapter Thirty Eight – Wedding Plans

 

            Hermione woke slowly to the delightful sensation of being wrapped in Draco’s arms.  She pondered leaving for all of five seconds, but realized she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to.   Her head was lying over Draco’s left arm and her hair was trapped quite firmly beneath him.  His chin rested against the top of her head and his right arm was flung carelessly over her chest.  His right leg lay across her hips, effectively trapping her beneath his delicious warmth.  The room was dreadfully cold, she realized.

            Her right arm was between them, though her palm lay upon her waist and the edge of her hand touched Draco’s bare thigh.  Her other hand sat familiarly on his bicep.

            She had nearly left him the night before—had gotten out of bed quite late without stirring him, but she had paused to look at him and that had been her undoing.  His silver hair had glinted in the candlelight and his features had looked so beautiful and guileless…  She had sent Harry a quick Patronus message and transfigured her clothing into pajamas—demure, warm, modest pajamas—and gotten back into bed with Draco.

            Now she listened to the even sound of his breathing and felt the steady movement of his chest against her shoulder.  She wondered what time it was—the darkness of the dungeon made it bloody difficult to determine that simple fact.  She released Draco’s arm and raised her wrist to look at the glowing numbers on her watch face.  6:42.

            The tiny movement was enough to wake him.  The rhythm of his breathing changed slightly and he tensed minutely, most likely in surprise.

            “You didn’t leave,” he murmured.

            “Apparently not.  Did you want me to?”

            He chuckled.  “Definitely not.”

            “How do you feel?”

            “You tell me.”

            She giggled.  “You feel nice and warm.”

            “I feel wonderful.  Would you like me to show you?”

            Without waiting for her response, Draco levered himself downward in a lithe motion and twisted himself about.  The movement ended with him lying half-atop her.  His face hovered over hers for a moment and her heartbeat responded instantly to the look in his silvery eyes.  She felt like a foolish damsel that had wandered into the dragon’s lair.  When he lowered his mouth to hers, she found that she didn’t care.

            After several soul-stirring kisses, he asked, “Do you think it was wise to stay here with me?”  Hermione could barely breathe.

            “No,” she admitted.  “It was probably the exact opposite of wise.”

            He made a noncommittal sound of agreement and proceeded to prove her words true beyond the shadow of a doubt.

            An hour later, Hermione’s body alternated between icy cold and blisteringly hot.  Tremors of mindless desire enveloped her with a nearly physical pain; and all Draco had done was kiss her.  She would never have imagined the variety of things one could do with lips, tongue, and teeth, but Draco could have written volumes on the subject.  His hands had remained clamped firmly on either side of her waist—she marveled at his self-control and cursed him for toying with her.  Hermione’s restraint was completely gone.  Her hands alternately twisted in his silken hair or gripped the smooth skin of his back and shoulders.

            Just when she thought she couldn’t take it any more, when she was nearing the point of begging—for what, she wasn’t sure—he drew a ragged breath and kissed his way down her neck.  Her relief was short-lived.

            She didn’t stop him when his hands slipped up to undo the first few buttons of her top.  She didn’t want to stop him.  He followed his hands with his lips, button by button, until he reached her navel.  His tongue plunged into the hollow and she gasped sharply and arched against him as a new form of desire flooded her senses.

            Incredibly, he raised his head.  His eyes looked like dusky pools in the near-darkness.

            “So,” he asked casually, “What shall we do today?”

            The incongruous question couldn’t quite penetrate Hermione’s fogged mind.

            “I imagine we can either go search for Horcruxes, or stay here where I can spend a few hours driving you half-mad with indescribable ecstacy.”

            Hermione thought her heart would stop for a moment and she struggled to find her voice.

            “Hours?” was all she managed in a hoarse tone.

            She could make out the twist of his incredible, talented lips as he smiled wickedly.

            “Of course.  You should know I’m not the type to pleasure myself, roll over, and light up a cigar while giving you a dismissive pat on the fanny… It’s far more satisfying to bring you to the pinnacle of delight over… and over… and over.”  With each repetition, his tongue dipped into her navel and she shuddered, having no difficulty believing his words.  He chuckled.

            “I…”  She couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought.  She knew she should choose the sensible route.  Stop him from… hours of driving her half-mad with indescribable ecstacy.  Although she really couldn’t think of a valid reason why, at the moment.

            He laid his cheek against her belly for a moment and her hand touched his sleek hair tenderly.  She felt a sudden rush of something that wasn’t desire.  Something stronger and even more terrifying.  She swallowed hard and refused to acknowledge it.  Draco sighed.

            Hermione held her breath when he raised his head again.  His tongue touched her skin once more, sliding upward over the hill of her ribcage, caressing her breastbone, and followed the links of the chain around her neck.  His breath was hot in her ear as he nibbled it with his teeth, sending shivers down her spine again.

            “You’re not quite ready for this, are you?” he asked.  His voice wasn’t amused or accusatory or disappointed—it was simply matter-of-fact.

            “I don’t think so,” she managed shakily.

            “All right, Granger.  I’ll let you escape with your virtue intact.  This time.”  The words were tinged with amusement.

            He pushed himself away from her and rested his head on the pillow.  He left one hand on her stomach and his fingertips brushed her ribcage in a teasing caress.  She began to fasten her buttons; glad he couldn’t see the color of her cheeks in the dim light.  She tried to convince herself that she was relieved.

            “As I was asking, since you snuffed my first choice—what shall we do today?”

            She forced herself not to think of his first choice.

“I do have one idea where we might find a Horcrux, but I don’t think we should tell Harry,” she said in as normal a voice as possible.

            Draco gasped in mock astonishment.

            “You?  Keeping a secret from The Chosen One?  Won’t you have to turn in your Gryffindor robes for such an offense?”

            She smacked him lightly on the bare chest.

            “I have a good reason.  But, I’ve been thinking—“

            “When are you not thinking?”

            She ignored that.

            “I’ve been thinking about your parents.”

            Draco’s hand on her skin ceased its motion.

            “What about them?”

            “How safe do you think they are?  You’ve had some very close calls.  What if Wormtail or Greyback had escaped to Voldemort with the news that you were alive?  What do you think would happen to them?”

            “I try not to think about it,” he admitted.  “But I don’t know where they are.  Which reminds me—how did you find me when I was in the forest?”

            “I used a Scrying pool.  Well, Firenze did, actually.”

            Draco’s features twisted.  “The bloody centaur?”

            She scowled.  “Yes, the bloody centaur.  If not for Firenze, you would have been a werewolf’s dinner.”

            “No, Fenrir had other plans for me,” Draco said absently.

            “What do you have against centaurs, anyway?  They are intelligent living beings.”

            “So are Cornish Pixies, but that doesn’t make them any less revolting.”

            “Centaurs are not revolting!”

            Draco sneered.  “Half-man, half-horse?  Think about it!  It’s a perversion of nature.”

            Hermione sat up in annoyance and climbed out of his bed.  She was almost grateful that they had returned to the comfortable state of continual disagreement.

            “Your bigotry knows no bounds,” she snapped and transfigured her clothing back into jeans and a T-shirt.  She sat down and tugged her shoes on.  Draco hadn’t moved.  She didn’t need to look at him to know he was watching her with his patented annoying smirk.

            She grabbed her wand and lit several candles before she walked to the dressing table and snatched up his comb.  She yanked it through her tangled locks.

            “Nice of you to return my comb,” he commented.

            “I didn’t want you to have a panic attack when you noticed it missing.”

            Her eyes touched his in the mirror and she laughed at his expression.  She carefully pulled the accumulated hair from the silver comb and vanished it before dropping the comb back onto the table.

            “I’m going to get some breakfast.  Are you coming?” she asked.

            “I’ll be along.”

            She shrugged and started out.

            “Hey, Granger?”

            She paused and looked back at him.

            “Your shirt—what does it mean?”

            Hermione blinked at him.  She had unthinkingly turned her shirt into a duplicate of one of her favorites.  It said ADIDAS.  Almost, she told him the truth—that it was a Muggle company that made shoes.  Instead, she grinned wickedly.

            “It’s an acronym.  It stands for All Day I Dream About Sex.”

            She went out and Draco’s incredible laugh followed her.  She smiled.  He was maddening, but so utterly damned attractive.  She began to think virtue was overrated.  Hours.  God.

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Chapter Thirty Eight - Wedding Plans

Chapter Thirty Eight – Wedding Plans

 

            Hermione woke slowly to the delightful sensation of being wrapped in Draco’s arms.  She pondered leaving for all of five seconds, but realized she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to.   Her head was lying over Draco’s left arm and her hair was trapped quite firmly beneath him.  His chin rested against the top of her head and his right arm was flung carelessly over her chest.  His right leg lay across her hips, effectively trapping her beneath his delicious warmth.  The room was dreadfully cold, she realized.

            Her right arm was between them, though her palm lay upon her waist and the edge of her hand touched Draco’s bare thigh.  Her other hand sat familiarly on his bicep.

            She had nearly left him the night before—had gotten out of bed quite late without stirring him, but she had paused to look at him and that had been her undoing.  His silver hair had glinted in the candlelight and his features had looked so beautiful and guileless…  She had sent Harry a quick Patronus message and transfigured her clothing into pajamas—demure, warm, modest pajamas—and gotten back into bed with Draco.

            Now she listened to the even sound of his breathing and felt the steady movement of his chest against her shoulder.  She wondered what time it was—the darkness of the dungeon made it bloody difficult to determine that simple fact.  She released Draco’s arm and raised her wrist to look at the glowing numbers on her watch face.  6:42.

            The tiny movement was enough to wake him.  The rhythm of his breathing changed slightly and he tensed minutely, most likely in surprise.

            “You didn’t leave,” he murmured.

            “Apparently not.  Did you want me to?”

            He chuckled.  “Definitely not.”

            “How do you feel?”

            “You tell me.”

            She giggled.  “You feel nice and warm.”

            “I feel wonderful.  Would you like me to show you?”

            Without waiting for her response, Draco levered himself downward in a lithe motion and twisted himself about.  The movement ended with him lying half-atop her.  His face hovered over hers for a moment and her heartbeat responded instantly to the look in his silvery eyes.  She felt like a foolish damsel that had wandered into the dragon’s lair.  When he lowered his mouth to hers, she found that she didn’t care.

            After several soul-stirring kisses, he asked, “Do you think it was wise to stay here with me?”  Hermione could barely breathe.

            “No,” she admitted.  “It was probably the exact opposite of wise.”

            He made a noncommittal sound of agreement and proceeded to prove her words true beyond the shadow of a doubt.

            An hour later, Hermione’s body alternated between icy cold and blisteringly hot.  Tremors of mindless desire enveloped her with a nearly physical pain; and all Draco had done was kiss her.  She would never have imagined the variety of things one could do with lips, tongue, and teeth, but Draco could have written volumes on the subject.  His hands had remained clamped firmly on either side of her waist—she marveled at his self-control and cursed him for toying with her.  Hermione’s restraint was completely gone.  Her hands alternately twisted in his silken hair or gripped the smooth skin of his back and shoulders.

            Just when she thought she couldn’t take it any more, when she was nearing the point of begging—for what, she wasn’t sure—he drew a ragged breath and kissed his way down her neck.  Her relief was short-lived.

            She didn’t stop him when his hands slipped up to undo the first few buttons of her top.  She didn’t want to stop him.  He followed his hands with his lips, button by button, until he reached her navel.  His tongue plunged into the hollow and she gasped sharply and arched against him as a new form of desire flooded her senses.

            Incredibly, he raised his head.  His eyes looked like dusky pools in the near-darkness.

            “So,” he asked casually, “What shall we do today?”

            The incongruous question couldn’t quite penetrate Hermione’s fogged mind.

            “I imagine we can either go search for Horcruxes, or stay here where I can spend a few hours driving you half-mad with indescribable ecstacy.”

            Hermione thought her heart would stop for a moment and she struggled to find her voice.

            “Hours?” was all she managed in a hoarse tone.

            She could make out the twist of his incredible, talented lips as he smiled wickedly.

            “Of course.  You should know I’m not the type to pleasure myself, roll over, and light up a cigar while giving you a dismissive pat on the fanny… It’s far more satisfying to bring you to the pinnacle of delight over… and over… and over.”  With each repetition, his tongue dipped into her navel and she shuddered, having no difficulty believing his words.  He chuckled.

            “I…”  She couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought.  She knew she should choose the sensible route.  Stop him from… hours of driving her half-mad with indescribable ecstacy.  Although she really couldn’t think of a valid reason why, at the moment.

            He laid his cheek against her belly for a moment and her hand touched his sleek hair tenderly.  She felt a sudden rush of something that wasn’t desire.  Something stronger and even more terrifying.  She swallowed hard and refused to acknowledge it.  Draco sighed.

            Hermione held her breath when he raised his head again.  His tongue touched her skin once more, sliding upward over the hill of her ribcage, caressing her breastbone, and followed the links of the chain around her neck.  His breath was hot in her ear as he nibbled it with his teeth, sending shivers down her spine again.

            “You’re not quite ready for this, are you?” he asked.  His voice wasn’t amused or accusatory or disappointed—it was simply matter-of-fact.

            “I don’t think so,” she managed shakily.

            “All right, Granger.  I’ll let you escape with your virtue intact.  This time.”  The words were tinged with amusement.

            He pushed himself away from her and rested his head on the pillow.  He left one hand on her stomach and his fingertips brushed her ribcage in a teasing caress.  She began to fasten her buttons; glad he couldn’t see the color of her cheeks in the dim light.  She tried to convince herself that she was relieved.

            “As I was asking, since you snuffed my first choice—what shall we do today?”

            She forced herself not to think of his first choice.

“I do have one idea where we might find a Horcrux, but I don’t think we should tell Harry,” she said in as normal a voice as possible.

            Draco gasped in mock astonishment.

            “You?  Keeping a secret from The Chosen One?  Won’t you have to turn in your Gryffindor robes for such an offense?”

            She smacked him lightly on the bare chest.

            “I have a good reason.  But, I’ve been thinking—“

            “When are you not thinking?”

            She ignored that.

            “I’ve been thinking about your parents.”

            Draco’s hand on her skin ceased its motion.

            “What about them?”

            “How safe do you think they are?  You’ve had some very close calls.  What if Wormtail or Greyback had escaped to Voldemort with the news that you were alive?  What do you think would happen to them?”

            “I try not to think about it,” he admitted.  “But I don’t know where they are.  Which reminds me—how did you find me when I was in the forest?”

            “I used a Scrying pool.  Well, Firenze did, actually.”

            Draco’s features twisted.  “The bloody centaur?”

            She scowled.  “Yes, the bloody centaur.  If not for Firenze, you would have been a werewolf’s dinner.”

            “No, Fenrir had other plans for me,” Draco said absently.

            “What do you have against centaurs, anyway?  They are intelligent living beings.”

            “So are Cornish Pixies, but that doesn’t make them any less revolting.”

            “Centaurs are not revolting!”

            Draco sneered.  “Half-man, half-horse?  Think about it!  It’s a perversion of nature.”

            Hermione sat up in annoyance and climbed out of his bed.  She was almost grateful that they had returned to the comfortable state of continual disagreement.

            “Your bigotry knows no bounds,” she snapped and transfigured her clothing back into jeans and a T-shirt.  She sat down and tugged her shoes on.  Draco hadn’t moved.  She didn’t need to look at him to know he was watching her with his patented annoying smirk.

            She grabbed her wand and lit several candles before she walked to the dressing table and snatched up his comb.  She yanked it through her tangled locks.

            “Nice of you to return my comb,” he commented.

            “I didn’t want you to have a panic attack when you noticed it missing.”

            Her eyes touched his in the mirror and she laughed at his expression.  She carefully pulled the accumulated hair from the silver comb and vanished it before dropping the comb back onto the table.

            “I’m going to get some breakfast.  Are you coming?” she asked.

            “I’ll be along.”

            She shrugged and started out.

            “Hey, Granger?”

            She paused and looked back at him.

            “Your shirt—what does it mean?”

            Hermione blinked at him.  She had unthinkingly turned her shirt into a duplicate of one of her favorites.  It said ADIDAS.  Almost, she told him the truth—that it was a Muggle company that made shoes.  Instead, she grinned wickedly.

            “It’s an acronym.  It stands for All Day I Dream About Sex.”

            She went out and Draco’s incredible laugh followed her.  She smiled.  He was maddening, but so utterly damned attractive.  She began to think virtue was overrated.  Hours.  God.

( Read more... )