Everything\'s Free in America

After a moment Hermione realized Malfoy was kissing her throat again, his hands fondling her breast and her thigh. “Don’t tell me you’re ready to go again,” she said, exasperated.

“Hey, I’m young. In the prime of my sexual career.” He rolled his hips, bringing his hardening manhood into contact with her leg. His breaths were still shallow and rapid. “Besides, in a little while you’re going to decide this was a bad idea and kick me out. So I might as well fuck you as hard as I can and as much as I can until then.”

Hermione felt like this at least made a modicum of sense. She pushed him onto his back and straddled him.

“Oh, feisty,” Malfoy growled, allowing her to pin his wrists. Hermione bit at his neck and chin, before trailing lower to nip at the fine collarbones. She scooted forward and wrapped her hand around his cock, guiding him carefully inside her. He threw his head back and groaned deeply. Hermione moved sinuously, experimentally, and Malfoy’s hiss of pleasure emboldened her.

When she crawled off of him and lay gasping on the bed, he rolled over and crawled over her.

“Again?” she asked, incredulous. He shook his head.

“Even I am not up for a fourth so soon,” he panted. Then he grinned. He kissed her stomach. She watched, fascinated, as his head dropped between her legs. Hermione shouted as his tongue delved deeply into her. He mouthed her eagerly, with lips and tongue and teeth, driving her wild with sensations. She clutched at the sheets once more, drawing them into tight knots in her hands. Malfoy glanced up at her face and she could see the smile in his eyes.

When she was shuddering out her orgasm, Malfoy sprawled beside her. He licked his lips like a predator fresh off a kill, his eyes gleaming wickedly. Hermione lay staring at the ceiling for several minutes.

“You’re all sticky,” she commented, touching Malfoy’s chest.

“Mm, but so are you,” he purred, lapping at her ear, his fingers tickling between her legs. She pushed him away.

“I feel kind of gross.”

Malfoy stood and dragged her after him, picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing at all. She kicked and punched at him, but to no avail. He took her into the bathroom and turned on the hot water. While it warmed, Malfoy set her down against the cool tiled wall and groped her determinedly. He tested the water and found it to his satisfaction.

Hermione gasped as the hot spray hit her. Malfoy soaped her skin almost gently. She watched the water sluice off his skin and drip from his hair; his bangs hung nearly into his eyes under the added weight, and he looked up at her mischievously. Hermione brushed his hair out of his face and kissed him. In the hot water the scent of his cologne was suddenly sharpened before it rinsed off, and she inhaled deeply. He chuckled.

“I thought my cologne reeked,” he said. She picked up the soap, and he turned obediently to let her wash his back.

“It does,” she murmured, bending to bite his back lightly before lathering the spot.

He turned back to her, his body seeming to engulf hers. eye eyes were chillingly blue as they bored down into hers. “This changes nothing,” he told her, his grin replaced by an eerily serious expression.

“Of course not. I’m not going to suddenly change my mind about you just because you’re dynamite in bed,” she said.

“Dynamite?” he asked.

“Well, you’re pretty good.” He scoffed, but he was smiling again. Hermione kissed him deeply. “We can go back to being enemies whenever you feel like it, Malfoy.”

“Not just yet,” he purred, pushing her gently back toward the wall of the shower cubicle. He lifted her so her legs were wrapped around his waist; she leaned back against the sweating tiles. Malfoy found firm footing on the non-slip mat on the bottom of the shower stall. It took some jockeying but in moments he was inside her again. His movements were slower, savoring. The cold blue eyes fluttered shut and Hermione found herself watching his face, as rivulets of hot water dripped from his hair and nose. The muscles around his eyes and mouth relaxed. She drank in the sensation of it all: the cool tiles sliding against her back, his body pressed tightly to hers, his rock-hard stomach under her hands, the feeling of him inside her. His climax was less violent, and he shuddered silently against her.

The water rinsed away the last evidence of their coupling, and they stood apart as they dried themselves. Malfoy toweled his hair roughly and went back into the bedroom to dress. Hermione followed, carding a brush through the damp curls that surrounded her face and swept down over her shoulders.

“Well, Granger,” he said awkwardly, standing by the door. She paused, buttoning up her shirt.

“Well, Malfoy.”

They looked at each other for a moment. He extended his hand; she shook it firmly. As she moved to pull away he grasped her shoulder. His eyes were piercing. He kissed her with finality, his lips pressed tightly to hers but his mouth closed. When he released her, she nodded. Malfoy put his hand in his pocket and withdrew the black handkerchief. He pushed it into her hands, not saying a word, and opened the door to the hotel room. Hermione nodded and did not follow him to the door. And then he was gone.

She pressed the handkerchief to her nose, inhaling the rich musk of his scent.

“Goodbye, Draco,” she murmured, holding the handkerchief to her chest.