Figured You Out

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters that J.K. Rowling is so nice to let us corrupt.

A/N: The inspiration of this story is contributed to “Figured You Out” by Nickelback.

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[Figured You Out]

And so it was to happen again. He was walking across the parking lot, light showers of snow flakes falling from the storm-clouded skies onto him, melting into his robes and making him cold and wet.

He was once again heading to that small, seedy, musty motel room. It was against his own conscience that he was on his way; he had really had no intention of going, but somehow he had ended up in the lot, looking at the door that contained the bed, floor, dresser, and bathroom where he had done so many sinful things.

It really wouldn’t have been so sinful, if it wasn’t for who he commited those debaucheries with. What he hated most about that broken-down, sooty, dank and drabby motel room was who was within it. Yes, the room contained Mudblooded Granger. If it wasn’t bad enough that he had to sneak out to do these things, it was to do them with the person in the world he hated most.

And he still hated her. Despite the trysts, he still despised her. He didn’t hate everything about her, though. He liked when she was at his mercy; he liked holding the control and rarely surrendered it.

He was late, he realised. It was five minutes past the time that she had specified in the letter that she had owled him that morning. He knew that she didn’t *expect* him to show up; she would like it if he did, but if she thought he wouldn’t be coming, she would leave.

He didn’t want her to leave.

Besides, *he* was allowed to be late, it was *her* who wasn’t allowed to show up late. Better never than late in her case, otherwise he would punish her accordingly. He smiled at the thought of how he had punished her the last time she had walked through the door twenty minutes late.

She had had on her Ministry robes and had quickly shed them when she entered. She saw him waiting for her on the bed and he smiled at the infinitesimal look of fear that had crossed her face. He had looked from her fear-stricken eyes to her apparel and found that she was wearing a very expensive black dress.

He had smiled at her and he could tell in her eyes that she was about to run from him, run away before he could do anything to her. He wouldn’t let her get away, though. She had come in, fully aware that he would be angry, so she would pay the consequences.

When she saw him get up from the bed, she shied away more, but wouldn’t let him see the fierce determination to run away in her eyes.

“You’re late,” was all he had said, then he had moved her around and shoved her down on the bed.

He made sure with every caress of the soft silk dress that he was making sure that she would never wear it again. He smeared his release all over it; there was cum everywhere. He knew, by the time that he was done, that no remedy—whether it be Muggle or Magical—would be able to get the stains out of the silk. And the little white tag that he found depicted that it was only to be dry-cleaned.

He smirked.

She had been so angry, obviously dropping a sack of galleons on it, but he had spent a lot more money on this god forsaken motel room and he didn’t care that she would be void of a dress. She left in only her robes, leaving the black silk behind, which was in his dresser drawer at his house. But even though she had been angry with him, she had still come back when he had owled her the next week.

Before he realised where he was, he was knocking on the door of the room. He then hit himself for thinking of knocking. He opened the door handle and walked in to find her sitting patiently on the bed for him, like a little girl at the doctor’s waiting for her medical exam.

“Malfoy,” she said curtly. “You’re late.”

“So,” he said dismissively. *He* was allowed to be late.

“I’m in a hurry,” she murmured as she rose from the bed and began undressing herself.

Draco walked up to her and pushed her hands out of the way, opening her buttons for her. She sighed huffily and moved her hands over his black robes, wanting them off of him. Draco smiled; she was in the palm of his hand.

Hermione’s knees were suddenly filled with the most intense pain she had ever felt and it was only after she opened her eyes and let out her breath of pain that she realised that he had pushed her to the floor. Her knees had hit the overused, plastic-feeling carpeting and she knew she would have bruises.

“Suck me, whore,” he said angrily, livid that she had not moved to pleasure him right away. He lifted his robes over his head and threw them onto a moth-eaten chair in the cobweb-covered corner.

Hermione moved forward and unbuttoned his perfectly-tailored pants, pushing them down to his ankles. She knew by now that Malfoy wore no underclothes and was happy for a moment until she saw his rock-hard cock spring free of its prison. Its presence had an almost magical effect on her, whenever she saw it she only wanted to do whatever it took to make it happy; to turn that angry red colour back into the pale alabaster of his skin.

She licked the head once, tasting him—precum and sweat and piss. She licked him again, savouring the salty taste and then took him into her mouth, accustoming her jaws once again to the thickness of him.

His hands were in her hair. They were pulling at the brown curls and tugging her face closer to him, his hips thrusting forward into her mouth, shoving himself further and further down her throat until she took in all she could—she couldn’t fit it all, he was too long.

She rolled her tongue around on him and sucked his dark flesh, running her tongue along the veins and ridges of his penis, looking into his face and loving the fact that she had brought about the passion and the look of complete desire in his features.

She stopped just when she knew that he was close, so bloody close it hurt, and Draco looked down at her. She met his eyes. “Fuck me, Malfoy, please.”

She begged.

She never begged.

He pulled her up by her hair, holding her at arms length away and looking into her eyes and look of complete need that were in them. “I’ll fuck you, Granger,” he said in a soft voice. He flipped her in his arms and pushed her forward onto the bed.

He hated her! Hated her for doing this to him, for making him lose control. For having the effect on him that had him pulling his pants the rest of the way off and moving his hands to the clasp of her jeans and pulling them open and down her legs. He didn’t fully take them off, just left them hanging on her feet as she lay on her stomach on the bed.

He hated the fact that she was beautiful, despite her heritage and her absolute bossiness.

He hated the fact that she was sexy and passionate and *fuck!* desirable. He moved between her legs, spreading them as wide as her pants would allow and pushed himself forcefully into her cunt.

He *loved* the sounds she made.

“Oh gods! gods, Malfoy. *Harder,* bastard!”

He loved when she was here with him instead of with her friends. She was betraying her precious Order and everyone she loved to be with him, just for their weekly fucks.

“Deeper, Malfoy. Fuck me harder!”

He loved that she chose him over Potter or Weasley, that he had been the one to take her virginity.

“Harder, Malfoy!”

He loved her freckles. She had two on her back that he was staring at while he fucked her cunt, fucking her into oblivion.

“Oh, Malfoy!” she cried, grabbing the sheets in her fists as she bit the comforter, her face smashed against the bed, tears of pleasure running down her face. Draco leaned forward, taking her tits in his hands, running his fingers across her nipples.

Most of all, though, he loved the fact that he knew her. He knew that Fucking Mudblood Know-it-all Granger was a sex kitten in bed. He knew that she was his and liked being his, enjoyed being dominated by him. He knew that she liked being fucked hard but wouldn’t let him in her other entrance. He knew that she was there because she wanted to be.

He knew her. He had her figured out.

He especially knew that right when he did this…

He thrust hard into her as he pinched both of her nipples…

“Oh, gods! Draco!!” she screamed out her orgasm.

…she screamed his name—his name.

Her contractions sent him into his own orgasm, flooding her with hot sticky seed, muttering her name, “Hermione,” into her back and collapsing into a heap on top of her.

They never talked. Never did they talk after their trysts. They simply got dressed in silence and left to go their separate ways.

“Draco,” she sighed into the sheet.

He stared at her back-freckles for a moment, not sure if he should answer, not sure if he should break the tradition that they had had for over a year.

“What?’ he finally asked and moved off of her, stepping out of the tangle of her pants and her legs.

She rolled over and looked up at him and he couldn’t think of a time when she looked more beautiful, thoroughly fucked with her pants around her feet. He loved when she looked like that.

“What?” he asked again, more irate than before. He hated not knowing what to do. She was confusing him by all of a sudden changing the routine.

“I just wanted to say something,” she started as she got up and put her hand on his still clothed chest. “I love you.”

She was staring at his chest, not looking into his eyes because she was afraid of what she would see there. She knew that he would be confused at first. She knew that he would probably get angry at her for saying something like that and she thought that he would probably throw her out of the room for saying it, but she had to tell him.

She smiled, though, as he bent his head and took her lips in a breathtaking, almost brutal, kiss.

She moved her hand down to his already semi-erect penis and stroked its underside, bringing it once again to full hardness. She knew that that would happen. She knew how to touch him and make him cry out as well.

He reciprocated her words against her lips as he pushed her back towards the bed.

He had thought that he hated her, but Hermione knew better.

She had him figured out.

A/N: Please tell me how you liked it, or didn’t like it.

Temptress~