Never Again

**see part one for notes and disclaimers**

Section 4:

The first instinct that kicked in was the one to cover herself, and Draco’s previous unreadable expression merged into a frown as he watched Hermione try to tug the sweater into covering her from head to toe.

“Honestly, Granger. It’s bad enough that you’d borrow my clothes without asking, but I really *can’t* condone your stretching the sweater like that. That’s very expensive cashmere, you know.”

As always, aggravation with Draco took precedence over everything else, even embarrassment, and Hermione stopped struggling with the sweater. “I wouldn’t have to stretch it if you’d get out and give me some privacy,” she snapped, discarding the sweater, and wriggling under her comforter, instead. “What are you doing in here, anyway?”

Draco shrugged. “The door was open.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Hermione had charmed her door to close and lock automatically whenever she left the apartment. The last thing she needed was Blaise or Draco coming in to help themselves to a spare bit of parchment, and finding her box of sex toys instead. The door unlocked as soon as she re-entered the apartment, but it still stayed closed.

“It was once I opened it,” Draco replied with his best attempt at an innocent expression. It didn’t quite work.

“How dare you barge in here without my permission!”

“I hardly barged,” he stated coolly, dropping the pretence of innocence as he concentrated on examining a chip in his manicure. “I merely stepped in quietly to see what all the fuss was about. After all,” he looked up with a wicked grin, “you were screaming my name.”

Hermione blanched. “I was?” Her voice cracked a bit as she frantically tried to remember what, exactly, she had screamed. Tom had liked it when she talked dirty, and she’d gotten in the habit of letting her mouth run away with her when she was turned on. Considering just how turned on she had been, and the thoughts that had been racing through her mind about Draco . . .

“Mmm, indeed you were, along with some *very* colorful language I hadn’t thought prim little girls like you even knew.” His grin turned wolfish as he ran his eyes over her body, more clearly visible than she realized since in her distraction, the comforter had started to slip. “Just full of surprises, aren’t you, Granger?” He took a few steps closer until he was standing next to the bed, and ran a finger over the hem of the comforter where it was just barely covering her breasts. “In fact, I—”

He cut off abruptly, and the teasing, seductive look in his eyes changed into pure surprise. “Merlin’s balls, what happened to your skin?”

Confused, Hermione followed the direction of his eyes and caught sight of the swollen red hives covering her torso. Blushing scarlet, she pulled the comforter up higher, and fought the urge to close her eyes until he went away. “I’m . . . um . . . allergic,” she mumbled. “To cashmere. It makes me break out in hives. They’ll go away soon, though.”

“Why did you wear it if you’re allergic to it?”

“Well, I didn’t know it was cashmere when I grabbed it, did I?” Hermione grumbled in response. “I was in a rush and grabbed the first thing I saw from the laundry basket. It wasn’t until we got to the stadium that I realized what it was, and by then, there was nothing I could do about it.”

Slowly, a grin began to spread over Draco’s face. “So . . . you just sat there?” he asked, trailing a smooth finger lightly over her skin, circling around a cluster of hives while subtly inching the comforter down. “In a stadium, surrounded by people, surrounded by *Weasleys*, with *my* sweater rubbing up against your skin,” by this point, the comforter had fallen down enough to reveal her breasts, and Hermione saw Draco’s eyes widen as he saw the evidence written in hives that she had been bra-less all along, “with nothing between my sweater and your body to protect any part of you from the way it felt against your skin?”

Her mouth was far too dry to speak, so Hermione simply nodded, wordlessly.

“Poor thing,” Draco cooed, seating himself on the edge of the bed while adding a finger at a time to her skin until he was rubbing her with his whole hand, squeezing her breast and rubbing his thumb over her hardening nipple. “Shall I . . . kiss and make better?” he suggested, looking up at her with a smirk. He didn’t wait for her response before cupping her breast and lifting it up to present it to his mouth as he latching on to a patch of flesh covered in hives, sucking on it greedily and tracing each bump with slow circles from his tongue.

In spite of her shock, Hermione couldn’t help but moan. The skin was so sensitive, more sensitive than she could ever remember it being before, and the wet heat of his mouth felt far too good to resist.

“Draco, what . . . Oh my . . . oh yes . . . ohhhh, no! Stop!” Pushing against his shoulders, she forced his mouth away from her skin. Cupping her hand around his chin, she jerked his face up until she could look him in the eye. “Eyes aren’t dilated,” she muttered to herself, “and speech isn’t slurred. Not drunk or drugged, then. Possessed, maybe?”

“As fun as this isn’t,” Draco grumbled, trying to pull out of her grip, “I’d like to get back to what I was doing, if you don’t mind.” His hand reached out to recapture her breast, but she slapped him away, grabbing hold of the comforter with her free hand and tugging the material up nearly to her chin.

“Spoilsport,” Draco pouted, looking mournfully at her covered body.

“Draco, think! Yesterday, you wouldn’t have given me a second look and today, you’re all over me! Doesn’t that tell you something’s wrong?”

“Yesterday, I wouldn’t look at you twice because I was afraid I’d grab you and shag you into the mattress. Today, I *am* going to grab you and shag you into the mattress. Nothing’s wrong, nothing’s changed, so can we *please* shag now?”

In Hermione’s shock, she completely forgot to hold up the comforter, and it fell to pool around her waist. Draco’s eyes lit up at the sight of her breasts fully revealed to him once more, and started to lean in only to growl in disappointment when she pushed him away again; this time pushing so hard and so abruptly that he nearly fell off the bed; and held him there at arm’s length with her hands grasping his shoulders.

“You’re lying,” she insisted, sounding confused and desperate and almost on the verge of tears. “It isn’t true; it can’t be true! You didn’t want me yesterday, and you don’t want me today.”

“I wanted you yesterday,” Draco stated lifting one of her hands off his shoulder and placing a sensuous kiss on the palm. “I want you today.” The other hand was also taken and kissed. “And when today’s over, I’ll want you tomorrow, and the day after that.” He worked his way from her hand up her arm, kissing every hive that he found, until he was sucking on her shoulder. “I’ve wanted you for a very long time, Granger,” he whispered, nibbling on her earlobe. “It’s not going to stop.” His mouth moved to her neck, exploring with licks and nibbles until he found a spot that made her shiver when he touched it. “And now that I’ve heard you call my name . . . now that I know for certain that you want me, too . . .” He released her hand, sliding his smoothly up her torso until it reached her breast, slipping his hand over it at the same moment that he sucked on the sensitive spot on her neck. “. . . there’s nothing to stop me from *having* you, at last.”

His body uncoiled like a spring as he levered himself over her in one, smooth movement, positioning his body on top of hers, his knees on either side of her thighs, one hand bracing himself on the headboard, the other hand indulging himself on her breast, and his mouth locked firmly onto hers.

The kiss was dizzying and disorienting and knocked every single thought out of her head. It put her in mind of her first drink of firewhiskey, her first view of Hogwarts, the first time she held her wand. It made her feel like she had felt when she was sixteen, riding a thestral she couldn’t even see, flying through the air on pure sensation. She was shaking from head to toe by the time Draco pulled away to catch his breath. It took a few, long moments before her mind started functioning again, and even then, it came back to her slowly, once piece at a time.

[Hair,] she realized first, categorizing the silky sensation underneath her palms. [My hands are tangled in his hair.] She rubbed a few soft strands between her fingers, grateful that her hands, in spite of their trembling, were steady enough to obey her commands. [Tongue,] came next. [That taste in my mouth is his tongue.] [My name,] was next. [He’s saying my name.] He was, indeed, gasping her name, the four syllables coming out as a cross between a whisper and a growl as he repeated it between each lick and suck of a hive. [I didn’t think he knew my first name,] she thought wonderingly. [I didn’t think he knew *anyone*’s first name. It’s always “Granger,” or “Lupin,” or even “Zabi—”]

“No!” Hermione yelled, recoiling so abruptly that Draco really *did* fall off the bed.

“Granger, I’m all for a bit of ‘slap’ in my slap-’n-tickle,” he grumbled as he crawled back on, “but don’t you think you’re taking this a bit far?”

“Don’t touch me!” she squealed, backing away from him until she was practically plastered against the headboard, her knees up to her chest so that not even her legs brushed against him as he knelt, bewildered, at the foot of the bed.

“You can’t possibly still think I don’t want you, right?” he finally asked, moving toward her, frowning when she flinched away. “Would I honestly have taken it this far for just a gag?” he questioned, clearly exasperated. She didn’t answer aloud, but he must have been dissatisfied with whatever answer he saw on her face. “Because really, Granger,” he continued as he rose to his feet, pulling his sweater over his head, “modesty is one thing and,” he kicked off his shoes, lifting one foot, and then the other to pull off his socks before beginning to unbutton his trousers, “sheer obliviousness is another.” His unfastened trousers fell to his ankles and he stepped out of them casually, walking around to the side of the bed so that she could see him clearly, head to toe.

“This,” he said in an exaggeratedly patient voice as he gestured with his hand between his legs, “is an erection.” And indeed it was. A fully visible (Draco obviously disapproved of undergarments), fully engorged, ready-for-business erection. “This is what happens to a man when he’s aroused, as I *clearly* am, right now. For you.”

He wrapped his hand around his cock and began stroking it, slowly and deliberately. “If we don’t get past this protesting nonsense soon,” he stated, making a visible effort to keep his voice cool and unconcerned in spite of the breathiness she could hear just behind his words, forcing pauses and breaks in his usually smooth speech, “I’ll be forced to take this problem . . . completely in hand. And I’m sick of it. I’ve been taking myself in hand for . . . too many years over you. I want you. I’m finally . . . damn well sure that you . . . want me. If there’s a real reason we can’t do this, speak now so we can resolve it, or for . . . forever after hold your bloody peace.”

“You’re taken!” Hermione blurted out, squeezing herself into a tighter ball, forcing her arms to wrap firmly around her legs. Her hands, which hadn’t been bothered by the cashmere *before* were suddenly itching like mad, and she had the sinking feeling that the only way to cure that particular itch was to reach out and stroke that oh-so-tempting column of flesh being displayed in front of her. She gripped her knees a bit tighter.

“Pardon?” Draco replied, looking genuinely confused.

“You’re with Blaise,” Hermione clarified. “He’d kill me if he walked in on us together, or at the very least, he’d never speak to me again.”

Enlightenment dawned on Draco’s face. “Is that all that you’re worried about?” he asked, climbing back on to the bed and crawling toward her. “That’s not a problem at all. He’ll understand. We have rules about that.”

“Rules?” Hermione asked, batting his persistent hands away. “You have rules about cheating on each other?”

“No, we have rules about you.” Hermione froze, and Draco took the opportunity to pull her unresisting body onto his lap.

“M-me?”

“Quite,” Draco agreed, only half-listening to her words as he attempting to peel the comforter down off of her body again.

“How long have you had rules about me?”

“Since we lived in the headquarters. In fact, Blaise made the first rule about you just a few days after he moved in. Rule number one: All fantasies must be shared.”

“Fantasies.”

“Yes.”

“About me?”

“No, Granger, fantasies about Longbottom. Naturally, fantasies about you!” His voice and tone were as snarky as ever, but his hands were *decidedly* more friendly. He had finally given up on removing the comforter altogether; Hermione was holding on to it with a death grip as she tried to process the way her world had just turned upside down; but he had discovered, to his great pleasure, that it was perfectly easy to work his way around the comforter, exploiting the space between the material and her skin.

“You have fantasies about me?” Hermione asked, arching into his touch in spite of herself as his fingers expertly groped her body.

“Of course. Been having them for years.” Nuzzling her neck, he nipped at her earlobe. “Clever girl, how did you know that seeing you in my clothes was one of them? Not that I intended you to break out into hives of course,” he scraped his nails over a cluster of hives and grinned when Hermione gasped at the sensation, “but they do seem to have made you delightfully responsive, haven’t they?”

“And Blaise?” Hermione managed to ask, trying to force herself to think clearly. It wasn’t easy, especially as Draco’s hands continued exploring for more spots that could make her shiver and squirm in his lap.

“Blaise wants to see you in his clothes too, of course. Wanker always latches on to my favorite fantasies.”

“Not what I meant,” Hermione gasped out, [but still, good to know,] a wicked part of her mind added silently. “What rule do you have . . . mmm, feels good . . . [rule, something about a rule,] she thought, trying to remember what she had wanted to say. [Rule, rule, ruler? Mmm, spankings. Never tried that with Tom. Bet I could get Draco to . . . No! Rule, must ask about the rule.] “What rule do you have about this?” she finally managed to say.

“Oh, you mean why Blaise won’t get angry?” Draco asked, finally cottoning on to what she was getting at.

“Yes!” Hermione panted, in a combination of pleasure at him finally understanding what she was trying to say . . . and pleasure at him pinching at that spot where her hip curved in to her thigh.

“Rule number seven,” Draco stated, slipping a single finger between her folds and rubbing back and forth between her opening and her clit. “If either of us gets the chance to be with you, we have not just the right, but the obligation to take it, and the other will understand.” Draco curled his finger, scraping his fingernail over her clit and grinning at the way it made her shudder from head to toe. “Especially if he gets details, afterwards.”

“Inside me,” Hermione begged, practically sobbing as she writhed against his fingers, pleading for more penetration. “Inside me, Draco, please!”

“Are you protected, love?” he asked, all smoothness and snark gone from his voice as he tried desperately to hold himself together while she wriggled wildly against him.

“Yes. Potion. *Now*, Draco, *please*!”

“Anything for you,” he whispered as he lifted her hips, guiding her into position to slide down on to his cock, clasping his arms around her tightly to hold her still while they adjusted to each other. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. “Always for you,” he sighed.

Carefully, Hermione maneuvered her legs so that they were positioned on either side of his thighs, and began levering herself up and down on him, actually whimpering at how good it felt when she took all of him in, filling herself with him and relishing the way the head of his cock rub against her g-spot.

“Good, Draco, so good!” she gasped, as he started actively participating, thrusting up against her each she seated herself upon him and using both hands to stimulate all the sensitive spots he’d discovered.

He would have replied, but his mouth was full of the soft skin of her neck which he was sucking and nibbling almost savagely, clearly intending to give her the mother of all love bites to make up for all the years when he *wanted* to mark her like that, and couldn’t.

She’d had a mini-orgasm as soon as he entered her, just from the feel of him inside her, but she could feel him working her up to a big one. A *very* big one. The kind of orgasm that only thoughts of him and Blaise had ever managed to rouse in her in the past. The muscles in her legs were screaming from the workout she was giving them, the hives all over her torso were burning from the sweat dripping over her body, and her vision was growing blurry and spotty from lack of oxygen as she gasped and panted and screamed out every filthy thing that came into her head, and if she didn’t come soon, she’d die, she’d *die*, and then . . .

Every muscle in her body locked (including the ones in her cunt, squeezing Draco like a vise) and she used the last bit of breath she had in her body to scream as hard as she could as her orgasm smashed into her, and everything went black.


To be continued . . .