La Fièvre de L’amour

Title: La Fièvre de L’amour

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story, all Harry Potter copyrights belong to J.K. Rowling.

Authors Notes: My knowledge of French is not very extensive and pretty much consists of my dictionary. Please forgive my errors (and tell me how to fix them :P) Also, I was really hungry when I wrote most of this (You’ll understand later). Many thanks to my LJ crew for all of the great brainstorming, especially Bambu, of course, many, many thanks to my wonderful beta Lorett! Bow before her editing talents!

Summary: Add one fertile imagination, one raging libido, and one hedonistic paradise and what do you get? More than you bargained for. And maybe just what you’ve needed all along.


000


Hermione Granger had always had an active imagination.


Being a very bright child, she caught onto lessons much more readily than the other students in primary school. Encouraged by her weary teachers, she would play quietly in the corners of the classroom, eventually joined by other bright, bored students. There, she tried on various roles- Robin Hood, Aladdin, Florence Nightingale, the Red Baron, Catwoman – but she had always liked playing Merlin best.


Appropriate, considering how things worked out.


Her entry into the Wizarding World was more stimulating than Hermione could have ever hoped. For the first few months she was on sensory overload, the magic that permeated her new world was intoxicating to her fertile mind. Soon, she grew accustomed to the wonders and mysteries of the magical world, but unlike the blasé purebloods, she always felt a deep appreciation for the magic that tingled in her blood.


Even after all these years, she still felt that admiration for the gift of her powers. She was especially fond of her abilities at moments like this. When her magic was a privilege she could take rare advantage of.


Hermione smiled contentedly as she viewed the interior of the little one bedroom cottage she had rented. While the cottage was small by Wizarding standards, it was nonetheless one of the wealthiest homes that Hermione had ever lived in. It was open and airy, but the heavy wood furniture and rich upholstery gave an impression of warmth and sensuousness that was often absent from cottages like this one. This will do nicely, Hermione thought.


Setting down her luggage noisily, Hermione kicked off her sandals and wandered through her luxurious appointments eagerly, stopping in the bathroom to squeal at the humongous magical-jet bathtub, Hermione then entered the elegant master chamber. Coming to a halt in front of a large pair of French doors, Hermione drew back the light curtains and threw open the doors.


The intense scent of the Mediterranean assaulted her. Smiling widely, she stepped out onto the balcony.


The small house was on a cliff, overlooking the peaceful bay of Monaco. From her vantage point, Hermione could just see the Prince’s palace looming majestically over the rest of the principality. Her eyes strayed to the cerulean blue harbor below and she smiled as she watched the magnificent white yachts that cruised imperiously into and out of the waterfront.


Hermione’s little house was in the elite Wizarding society in Monte Carlo. Some centuries ago, a small group of Wizards and Witches had formed a pact with the Prince of the territory, gaining the right to form their own community, and access to the cliffside territory and the beach. In return, the Wizards had cast a glamour over the place. Not enough to really influence the minds of the people, but just enough to give Monaco the extra panache needed to attract the wealthiest and most beautiful of people from around the globe. This brought in the income the tiny principality needed to protect it from greedy neighboring kingdoms.


Hermione rested her chin on her folded hands and sighed contentedly as the wind gently ruffled her hair. She was glad her editor had picked such a beautiful location for her next books. After the disaster with the cannibalistic Wizard pygmies in the Amazon last year, she had grown increasingly wary of her assignments. This one, however, looked to be a winner.


Padma may have a hard time tearing me away from this place.


Humming to herself happily, Hermione walked down the stairs to the beautiful little kitchen, its cold stone floor cooling her bare feet. Stopping next to a pretty little cupboard prominently placed on the green granite countertop, she smiled. “I hope this is what I think it is,” she murmured.


Hermione fiddled with the gold latch, opening the doors. She closed her eyes for a moment, shut the doors, and replaced the latch. Eagerly, she opened the cupboard again, revealing freshly baked croissants and a jar of strawberry preserves.


“Oooh,” Hermione moaned, “I love the French! They can feed me anytime.”


Ah, magic. How did I ever live without it?


As Hermione lathered the warm, buttery croissant with preserves, she snorted as she recalled the agonizing summer after her first year. I was such an annoying little brat, she thought affectionately.


The return to the Muggle world had proved excruciating to Hermione. At Hogwarts, her mind had been nourished, her imagination pushed to its limits. At home everything was, well, the same as it always had been. No magic, no dragons, no evil Wizards, nothing.


The thought that a Wizard would be as fascinated by her world as she was by theirs didn’t exactly bring her comfort.


She wanted to go back. Immediately, if not sooner.


At first her parents, overjoyed at being with their precious baby after long months, humored her by taking her for visits to Diagon Alley. Soon, however, they grew weary of her imperious demands, and put a kibosh on her visits.


Bored out of her mind, Hermione finished all of the reading for second year within the first few weeks of summer break.


Her mind was eating itself in misery.


She needed an escape, and she needed it fast.


She soon found it, although completely by accident. One day, while she was rifling through her home’s extensive attics, Hermione found the blissful relief to her boredom in a stack of innocuous boxes along the north wall.


She had discovered her mother’s romance novels.


Once, when she was younger, Hermione had asked to read one of the prettily colored books on mummy’s special shelf. Her mum had flushed a deep crimson, stammered a ‘no’ and ran off to clear said shelf. A baffled Hermione had just watched her embarrassed mother and wondered why adults acted so strange sometimes.


Naturally, being the insatiably curious sort, Hermione had picked one of those garishly colored books from the boxes at random and dove in.


She was captivated.


The romance, the settings, the characters… it was enough to set her banked imagination afire again.


At first, she hadn’t understood the sex. She had gleaned some vague inkling about it from the older students at Hogwarts, but she really didn’t have the least clue besides the basic mechanics of it.


And if there was anything Hermione didn’t like, it was being in the dark about something.


As such, she devoured the novels until she understood that sex was more than just sticking a penis into a vagina. It seemed to involve a whole mess of other things that she didn’t comprehend.


When she came back to the romance novels a few summers later, she understood completely.


A simmering ball of hormones, Hermione fed off the novels and fantasies like she never had before. Her first tentative explorations of her changing body had occurred that one summer, and after it was over, she knew that the novels hadn’t lied to her.


She could only imagine what it would be like with a man.


So she did. A lot.


She even started a secret trade of romance novels amongst the Gryffindor girls, without them knowing the source, of course. It had all started innocently, with Ginny borrowing her novels every once in awhile, lending them to another girl who wanted to read, until it was passed through the tower completely, sometimes through the other houses as well. Soon, Hermione was leaving erotica all over the school, in pre-arranged nooks and crannies for the gaggles of Witches who couldn’t get enough.


Soon, she was writing it for them.


Obviously, she didn’t take it too seriously. The NEWTs and Voldemort were still at large, after all. But she did enjoy it immensely, and when the war was over and everything was settled, Hermione once again found herself with a lot of time on her hands.


Ron and Harry were happily settled as Aurors, but Hermione had never wanted a life in law enforcement. Harry had sensed her indecision about a writing career, and offered to finance her first few books. Gratefully, with a stern promise that she would pay him back, Hermione stewed and scribbled until she finally came up with a first novel. As first novels go, it wasn’t brilliant, but she figured it would do.


It was a hit.


As was her next, and her next… she could barely keep up with the demands her publisher made on her, she was so popular. Soon, Hermione was writing history texts as well as erotica, this time under her own name. With her innate love of the subject and her fertile imagination, she became quite acclaimed in that field as well.


But in all of that work… where was the romance I’ve always dreamed about?


Shaking off depressing thoughts, Hermione looked out the window at the gleaming, white sand and the sparkling water. She needed to proof-read the final galley copy of her latest novel for any minor mistakes. What better place was there to read a romance novel than on a beach?


So, Hermione set off, galleys in hand, for a quiet afternoon of reading under the tropical sun and maybe to get a little ‘R and R’ in too


000


Draco’s feet pounded against the soft sand, his heartbeat loud in his ears drowning out the sounds of the surf as he ran along the beach. Grimacing slightly at the twinge of pain from his calves, he wondered if he was getting shin splints again.


Hmm. Did he have any of that potion left? Maybe in the upstairs cabinet…


For Draco, life was good.


After the traumatic events of that horrible night in sixth year, Draco had clung to Snape. So when Snape went to Voldemort after killing Dumbledore, Draco followed. Fortunately, Voldemort was ecstatic that Dumbledore was dead, so he let Draco go with only a minimum of pain, and no further thoughts of punishment for the Malfoy family. Draco made sure to stay out of his way, and escaped as soon as possible. Voldemort was mildly annoyed at this, but promptly forgot Draco in his obsession with Harry Potter.


Not that Draco had minded.


Draco had family in southern France- his father’s paternal cousins, twice removed. A few threats later, they had set Draco up in Monaco, which suited him quite nicely. It was rich, sexy and exquisitely civilized, even more so than London or Paris… and it was far, far away from troublesome Wizards with delusions of grandeur.


Which was very, very important to Draco.


After the war, the Ministry was more concerned with rebuilding the devastated Wizarding community than hunting down a comparatively minor war criminal. They banished him from England, and Draco thought he got the better of the deal. He still had his fortune, and he would rather never step foot in England again than spend the rest of his life in his homeland, locked away in Azkaban.


He was happy with his life here, Draco thought proudly as he gazed upon Monaco’s lush beauty. He resided in an affluent three-bedroom villa on the cliffs overlooking the harbor, set a bit away from the touristy area and casinos of Wizarding and Muggle Monte Carlo.


He had private access to the exclusive Wizarding beach.


Unrestricted access to the Malfoy forty-meter yacht didn’t hurt either.


Draco’s chiseled, slick chest started heaving as he pushed himself harder. He absently waved at a few fellow joggers, Muggle and Wizard.


His lips quirked slightly. Who would have thought that he, the king of all that was pure, would become tolerant of Muggles?


It had happened gradually, of course, as all change does. The Wizard population of Monaco was much, much smaller than that of London or Paris. On par with Hogsmeade, really, except Monaco was more populated than the wilds of Scotland. Consequently, Draco was in contact with Muggles consistently for the first time in his life.


It was a strain at first, to talk to them, to pretend that they weren’t inferior beings that were hardly worth the mud on his boots. But, as there was no one around to influence his behavior anymore, he began to relax and have actual conversation with them.


They weren’t all that bad. He had even slept with Muggle-borns and Halfbloods without a second thought.


He still wasn’t comfortable in the Muggle world, and probably never would be, but he knew that they weren’t the animals that his parents and Voldemort had said they were. He was proud that he could shop at the Muggle grocery without looking silly. He still slipped up, but not often.


As Draco rounded the bend that led to his home, he wondered why he had been feeling both bored and edgy lately. He supposed it was because he hadn’t had a woman in awhile. He was always on the lookout for woman of potential and in Monaco, there were always plenty. But recently nothing seemed to peak his interest.


The fundamental problem, Draco mused, was that as different as they seemed on the outside, they were always the same. So beautiful, so predictable, so boring. The thrill of the chase was gone.


Good God. Did that mean that he, Draco Malfoy, wanted an actual relationship?


He shuddered delicately.


He was only thirty. He wasn’t ready for a prison sentence quite yet, thank you very much.


As Draco approached his house, he spied an unfamiliar feminine frame on the private beach. He vaguely recalled his neighbors, an annoyingly affectionate Italian couple, had told him that they were renting their villa while they were away on their third honeymoon or some such rubbish.


He jogged a bit closer, closer still, and then skidded to a halt, stunned. All he could do was gape. He felt vaguely like those perverted tourists who stared at the topless women at the beaches as if they had never seen one before. But he stared anyway.


Her slender bronze body was lying on a wine-red blanket, writing materials and a book strewn haphazardly around her. Asleep, her slow, even breathing caused her naked chest to rise and fall gently, her high, round breasts jiggling slightly with every exhalation. Her small nipples were a pale peach, their sensitive peaks taut from the caresses of the sea breeze.


His eyes skimmed from her curvy torso to her long legs, the tanned skin contrasting sharply with tiny white bikini bottoms. Her face was turned away from him, exposing a long, elegant neck. Riotous, russet curls slightly dampened from a recent swim playfully caressed those perky breasts, as Draco suddenly wished to.


She shifted slightly, and her sleep-relaxed face came into view.


He didn’t recognize her, exactly, but was assaulted by a vague feeling of familiarity. He catalogued her features, trying to place her- a straight, haughty nose, high cheekbones, delicate brows. Long, curly eyelashes fanned out as her eyelids twitched in sleep.


Damn, I hope I didn’t shag her and leave her. I really hope not, Draco thought fervently.


She whimpered slightly in her sleep, her coral-pink lips opening slightly.


Draco felt an answering tug in his groin and groaned. Not now!


She opened her eyes, and bleary brown met intense grey for a long moment.


“You!” Draco gasped, finally recognizing her, a bolt of shock running through his body at the realization.


Hermione Granger. Here. Here and pretty much naked.


His brain just couldn’t process it.


“Why are you on my beach?”


After a frantic effort to cover herself Hermione sat up, trying to look as dignified as possible. “It’s not your beach, Malfoy. I’m renting that cottage, if you must know.”


In an effort to divert attention from his still raging hard-on, Draco went for the jugular. “I should have known. Those Italians have no taste. Now that you’re living next to me, I’ll have to get the whole place cleaned.”

“Next to you?” Hermione said, flabbergasted.


“How nice of you to repeat me,” Draco said sarcastically, “I certainly hope you’re leaving soon.”


“Now that I know you’re here, definitely. I’m here to write a book on the history of the Wizarding Elite in Monaco. I should have known something would happen to ruin my trip.”


“Hm. Well, that sounds frightfully boring, as usual Granger.” Draco smirked nastily. In an effort to distract her so he could escape and quiet his treacherous body, his hand shot out to grab her novel.


She made to grasp it, but his Seeker’s reflexes were still lightening fast even after so many years and Draco grabbed it first.


Forgetting to cover her breasts, she reached for the book desperately, setting them a-bouncing. Draco stared stupidly for a moment, transfixed.


To cover his lapse, Draco teased, “What is so important about this? Hmmm… it’s certainly not history.”


He held it above her grasping hands, gritting his teeth against the pleasure the brief touches of her body against his brought. If he had to suffer her presence, he might as well get some enjoyment out of it. Opening the book randomly, he began to read, melodramatically.


“He moved over her, panting, his rock-hard penis cock aching to penetrate her molten core…”


Draco could barely speak he was laughing so hard. “You corrected your smut? I can just see it now- Granger, reading an erotic fantasy and critiquing the spelling.”


Hermione was beet red, her small hands clenched into fists. “Give it back. Now!”


Draco, still laughing, his blond hair falling over his eyes, tossed her the book. “I can see your tits, Granger. You may want to fix that.”


Draco chuckled as he climbed the stairs to his house, leaving a mortified Hermione on the beach glaring daggers into his back.


000


It took him awhile to recover from the shock.


Hermione Granger? Here? He supposed that it seemed so jarring to him because someone who featured so prominently in his old life had suddenly appeared after so many years. That could be it. But he didn’t think so.


She roused emotions in him… She always had. Hatred. Disgust. Fear. Curiosity. Jealousy. Fascination…


And now she was here in Monaco.


He couldn’t avoid her here, unfortunately. The Wizarding community was small and select, so there would be plenty of opportunities to run into each other.


Damn.


He didn’t remember her being so intriguing, so full of life, so… so… well, beautiful, damnit.


For the next few weeks he would see her on the beach, absorbed with her TopLap thingy that all theMuggles always carried around with them. Sometimes she would swim; sometimes she would take long walks along the shoreline.


Never without her bikini top again, much to his disappointment.


She would go into town every day… to do what, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t curious enough to stalk her. Yet.


What in the name of Circe and the Seven Witches of Atlantis was he doing?


Not obsessing about a prudish twit from Hogwarts, that’s what.


Definitely not.


Decision made, Draco marched into town to pick up his groceries.


000


Draco loved good food.


He supposed that was why he loved living in Monaco so much. Living so close to both France and Italy, he really had his pick of the best of both culinary worlds. Draco never overate; really, he just had a preoccupation with different flavors. Living in England was fine, but he had always loved visiting his French relatives, mostly because the food was so much better there then it was in England.


Much to his mother’s dismay, he had taken up cooking after his banishment. Partly to relieve boredom, partly to assuage his loneliness, he threw himself into food and the sensual celebration of flavor. He walked to the grocery himself and cooked the food himself. It was mundane, it was servile and totally uncharacteristic of him, but he loved it.


Plus, he met some hot women at the grocery.


So, Draco was patronizing his favorite Wizarding grocery, contemplating the cheese section. He had acquired a particularly good Pinot, and was trying to decide what flavors would best compliment it.


Hm. Strawberries are in season now… I should head over to the market to pick some up after I go to the bakery for my baguettes.


Selecting a small wheel of brie, he moved to the cashier, and stopped dead in his tracks.


Draco rolled his eyes heavenwards in annoyance, Why me? Can’t I have any peace?


Slowly walking to the young man who was ringing up Granger’s groceries, Draco took the opportunity to really study her. Unlike Draco, who was wearing light robes, Hermione was wearing Muggle summer clothing, which, it seemed to Draco, was barely better than underwear. A bright blue, clinging top, which revealed more than it hid was paired with itty-bitty white shorts that barely covered her arse. He stared at that perfect bottom for a long moment as she beguiled the cashier with her perfect, unaccented French.


She, of course, seemed oblivious to the male patron’s ogling and the female patron’s glares.


Typical.


Slamming his groceries onto the counter, he sneered, “Aren’t you a little old to be wearing that outfit, Granger?”


Head snapping around, her eyes met his for a long moment before she relaxed. “Oh. It’s just you.”


Haughtily, she turned back to the entranced cashier, ignoring him.


Draco fumed. How dare she ignore him? That impertinent, filthy…


Deliberately stopping that train of thought with an effort before he slipped back into old habits, Draco focused on the food Granger was purchasing.


Let’s see…ripe Roquefort, a tin of bergamot tea, a tub of chocolate mousse- I’ll have to have some of that later- some pasta, garlic... I’m impressed, Draco thought in surprise, Granger actually has good taste. I wonder what she’s going to do with all of that food?


He could imagine those lovely bowed lips licking delicate morsels of chocolate off of his skin. Her elegant fingertips and her wet, pink tongue moved in sensual abandon over his hard, aroused body. Her dark eyes would be simmering, not with rage, but with passion. All for him…


Gah! What was wrong with him?


“I’m surprised, Granger.”


Hermione turned to him reluctantly, one delicately arched eyebrow raised.


“You actually seem to have a palate. I thought that was impossible for a Gryffindor, as your type usually just consumes food of the highly sugared, highly bland variety. I’m proud of you for overcoming your natural inadequacies, really.”


Draco watched eagerly for her reaction to his words. She was trying to control herself, he could see. Her face was flushing quite prettily and she was biting her bottom lip viciously in her efforts. He almost thought she would lash out at him, but fortunately, she controlled her violent urges and settled for glaring at him as if she could kill with a single look.


“Well. It’s been singularly unpleasant as usual, Malfoy.” Hermione snapped, as she furiously gathered her groceries. “I hope never to see you again.”


“Au revoir!” Draco said merrily, smirking at her furious exit.


Smiling to himself, he edged his groceries towards the clerk as the boy tallied up the total. He watched her through the windows of the shop, and came to a startling conclusion: teasing Granger was fun.


He wished he had been on better terms with her in school. He wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of one of those stunning smiles. Was he really that blind when he was a teenager? So wrapped up in his pureblood mania and his blind hatred of Harry Potter that he missed the blossoming of the sidekick?


No, not the redheaded one.

Not really, Draco mused quietly as he watched her. He had always noted her and remarked to himself, even if it was in envy and disdain, that Granger was too good for her dirty blood.


His eyes tracked her progress as he waited at the counter. A very excited young girl suddenly stopped her in the street clutching a book to her chest. Granger looked surprised for a moment, but then smiled and laughed. Taking out a quill from her basket, she signed the novel and walked away, her tawny hair gleaming in the sun.


Draco’s golden brows drew together in confusion as he muttered, “Why would a teenager be interested in deadly dull history texts?”


Quickly paying the cashier and taking his groceries, he ran after the dreamy-eyed girl.


“Pardonnez-moi! Mademoiselle!”


The girl turned and regarded him with wary eyes.


“So sorry,” Draco began in French, “I was just wondering why you asked that woman to sign your book.”


“Oh! She is my favorite romantic author, Helena Garnier. I am so lucky to have her sign one of my books.”


Draco was pole-axed, “Helena Garnier?”


“Oui,” She thrust the book,A Wild, Tender Night, at him. “Helena Garnier.”


Hermione Granger winked at him from the book jacket.


The novel tumbled to the street from numb fingers.


000


Draco prowled the small town restlessly, bypassing the elegant shops and beautiful, wealthy people without a glance. He came to the ancient wall that surrounded the town, and stared sightlessly at the beautiful white yachts on the bright blue of the Mediterranean. He slumped against it and looked at the water, sightlessly.


How was it possible?


As soon as that silly girl had scurried out of his sight yesterday, Draco had rushed to the bookstore. He had felt a little ridiculous walking to the romance section, and had looked over his shoulder warily as he browsed the selection of ‘Helena Garnier’s’ books. Snickering to himself over the titles, he bought one with the auspicious title of The Wizard’s Woman. The ridiculously over-endowed woman gracing the cover had pouted and smiled at him, causing him to smirk.


As he had settled down to read that night, he prepared himself to laugh at Granger’s poor, poor attempt at sexiness.


Much to his disgruntlement, he was riveted.


It was surprisingly well written. Not overly dense, and certainly not as dry as he would expect from an author like Granger. This had plot, clever witticisms that had him smiling at parts, and characters that he could relate to. And sex. Oh Merlin, did it have sex.


Vivid encounters, so lushly painted that he could almost see the sweat pouring from their skin as they moaned in ecstasy. Beautiful bodies moving with each other in abandon. Sex so graphic that Draco had to take his erection in hand to fall asleep that night.


He just couldn’t wrap his mind around it.


Hermione Granger was a prude.


It was a fact of life, a constant. He had known the little swot since she was eleven years old all the way through puberty. If there had even been a hint of sexual awakening the lads at school would have caught it. It was what teenage boys did best, after all.


Hermione Granger was a snooty know-it-all.


But what if she wasn’t?


The question sprang from the depths of his subconscious. What if he had misjudged her? Draco’s brows furrowed in puzzlement as he considered his dilemma. Leaning back on the wall, he faced the busy shops, letting the cool breeze blow on his overheated back.


His eyes, as if magically drawn, focused on a café just a few yards away.


Well, Draco thought wryly, it seems I will have a chance to test my hypothesis.


Hermione sat alone at a table in the bright sunlight, reading. Her long, thick hair was unbound, the playful breeze causing it to dance around her still form. She was wearing a light, flowing yellow dress that alternately clung to her every curve and billowed around her in a pool of brightness. As usual, she seemed completely oblivious to the hot masculine gazes of appreciation sent her way.


She can’t be the author of those novels, Draco thought confidently as he marched to her table, she just can’t be.


Draco elegantly slumped into the empty chair across from Hermione. Hermione looked up, her eyes wide with surprise. When she recognized him, she sighed and carefully placed a bookmark in the thick tome she was perusing. Slowly laying it next to her wide-brimmed hat, she took a deep breath that set her unbound breasts bouncing.


“My eyes are up here, Malfoy.”


Unabashed grey orbs lazily met hers after a few moments. “Yes they are. But they aren’t nearly as nice to look at.”


Hermione huffed in exasperation and squashed the urge to cross her arms over her chest. She wouldn’t give the jerk that kind of satisfaction, and it would just encourage him more. “What do you want?”


“Granger, I am ashamed of you. No courtesy toward an old acquaintance?” Draco motioned imperiously to the attentive waiter, who hurried over. “Expresso, s’il vous plaît.”


“Oui, Monsieur. Mademoiselle?”


Hermione stared at Draco stonily for a moment before forcing a smile. “Ah… Café au lait, s’il vous plaît.”


Orders in hand, the waiter scurried off.


Draco raised an eyebrow and smiled, “So you like them blond and sweet, eh?”


Hermione cocked her head, assessing. “And you dark and strong.”


They sat in uncomfortable silence as the breeze quietly rustled the pages in Hermione’s book.


Hermione sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose with two of her slender fingers. “Malfoy… What do I have to do for you to leave me alone?”


“Marry me.”


“Dear God!” Hermione gasped. One hand clutched the sheer fabric covering her breasts, her eyes wide in shock. “You had better be joking!”


“Of course, of course,” Draco mollified calmly, “Why would I want to marry you? You would have my balls in a vice in an instant. It would be utterly dreadful, I’m sure.”


“Then why, oh why, are you still bothering me?”


Draco leaned forward, his bright hair catching the light. Fascinated, Hermione’s eyes drifted to his amused face, tracing over his sharp, handsome features. A waste, she thought, Such a handsome face for such a horrid man…


“I need to ask you a question.” Draco hesitated for a moment, and then spoke hastily, “Something’s been bothering me that you can fix.”


Hermione was taken aback. A serious question? Hiding her shock, she was saved from forming a reply with the arrival of their refreshments. Thinking rapidly, she took a tiny sip of the scalding beverage and held it in her mouth, savoring the sweet flavor. Swallowing, she said evenly, “Ask me. But will you promise not to bother me?”


Draco grinned, “Slytherin’s honor.”


Hermione just rolled her eyes.


Draco cleared his throat a bit and suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Do you… erhm… write books?”


“Of course I write books, nitwit, I am an author.”


“Not those kind of books.” Draco leaned in closer, his sinfully beautiful lips pursed, hesitant. “The naughty kind.”


“Ah!” Hermione flushed crimson, her body froze in shock. He knew! Dear Merlin, what was she going to do?


Taking her silence as an assent, Draco charged on with his speech. “I mean, you aren’t a very sexual creature. Take Hogwarts, for example. Everyone knew that you were frigid, so you see that I’m having a… little problem reconciling the details. You couldn’t have written those books.”


Draco stopped, appalled. What had happened to his subtlety? His wit? Even though she was not a skittish pureblood girl, she had to have taken offence to that monstrous bit of stupidity. She had turned him into the Weasel. Was this her effect on men? To turn them into complete and utter morons in her presence?


Before he could peruse that train of thought, he heard a sharp popping sound. Looking up, his eyes widened in alarm.


Hermione’s eyes blazed with anger. Her body, tense with rage, shimmered with wild, uncontrollable magic. Her hair snapped and crackled as it whipped through the magical currents, making her look less like a young woman and more like an avenging angel about to slaughter a horde of demons.


Suddenly, he had a bad feeling about this.


“Malfoy,” Hermione began softly, her voice scarily unemotional, “You are damn lucky I don’t have my wand on me right now, or you would be hexed so thoroughly your grandchildren would feel it. Much to my dismay, I find that I have been foolish enough to leave it at home. It won’t happen again.”


Draco opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off. “So I’ve decided to punish you the only way available to me at the moment.


“So you think I’m a prude, huh?” She leaned down, slowly, drawing his eyes to where her light sundress gaped from her heaving breasts. Her voice dropped to a dusky, midnight pitch, “An asexual, unfeeling creature who wouldn’t know sensuality if it bit her in the arse?”


Slowly, her little pink tongue traced her full red lips, wetting them. She took an unsteady breath, and then looked him straight in the eyes.


“What if I spin a fantasy for you right now? Will you believe then?”


What? Draco thought, taken aback, she can’t mean to…


Hermione smiled coldly, eyes blazing. “How about my captive slave fantasy? It involves the subjugation of women. That might give you a cockstand, you seem that type.”


Before Draco could speak, Hermione’s dark, melodic voice continued on, binding him in her spell.


“Deep in Arabia, I walk along the dry city streets at night, delivering medicine to my sick grandmother. It’s unnaturally silent, and I’m scared because I’m not usually out after dark. The tall buildings loom over me as the flickering lamplight from the houses create twisted shadows.


“I’m almost there, I can see my grandmother’s doorstep. As I let down my guard to rush to safety, two well-dressed men spring out from the shadows, grabbing me, fondling my breasts, groping up my skirt roughly.


“’Wait!’ I scream desperately, ‘I’m a virgin! My family will pay for my safe return.’


“One of the men keeps fondling my breasts through the thin silk of my gown, but the other looks speculative. He shouts at the other one to stop, and although he protests, he removes his hands from my body.


“’Are you taking me home?’ I ask desperately.


“’You’ll see, pretty one,’ the man says, gagging and blindfolding me.


“I am detached from most of the events happening around me, as my shock numbs me, paralyzing my slender body. There is some talking, some clinking, and I am being led into another room that smells like jasmine incense. I am placed, unresisting, onto a soft bed, the gag taken from my mouth, my clothing removed and my hands tied in front of my by a cord of soft silk.


“Ashamed and scared, I try to cover my nakedness as best I can.


“’Don’t,’ a deep voice says, startling me, ‘you are beautiful.’


“I can sense a powerful presence walking towards me, and then my blindfold is ripped off from my eyes. My eyes slowly adjust to the dim candlelight as I take in my new captor. Tall, powerfully built, he looms over me, his gleaming naked body so close to mine I can feel the elemental heat rising from him, smell the scent of his maleness mixed with sandalwood.


“He had coal black hair and feral amber eyes that devoured my every move. They traced the curves of my body, heating me, turning me pliant against my will.


“His large palms cup my full, aching breasts, massaging them gently, tugging their aching centers into peaks. My body melts, but I cringe away from the overwhelming sensations. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ the prince murmurs, ‘I won’t hurt you.


“He gently unravels me from my fetal position on the bed, stretching my bound arms over my head until my naked body is fully bared to his gaze. His eyes flare hotly as one be-ringed hand moves slowly from my trembling lips down my neck, lingering on my fluttering pulse, to my heavy breasts.


“His beautiful mouth descends, capturing one aching peak lightly in his lips as his hands tenderly molded and shaped them. The sensation was ethereal, almost nonexistent, but my body grew ultra-sensitive to his touch as he gently traced the very tip of his tongue over the pink areola. Then, his eyes darkening wickedly, clamped down, enclosing it in boiling inferno.


“Streams of hot, pulsing desire shoot to my core. Scared at the intense new feelings, I press my thighs together, trying to diminish the sensations.


“’Oh no, we can’t have that,’ the sheik chuckled, one hand immediately shifting to my most intimate parts, cupping the heat in his palm.


“Smiling at the wetness already pooled there, he traced my labia slowly, torturously, leisurely spreading my inner lips, exposing the delicate center. Two fingers probed my opening, spreading the wetness. He lightly flicked my clit in the process, making me writhe on the silk sheets.


“His amber eyes trained on mine, he began to touch the little button of flesh with more pressure, his fingers sliding faster and faster as rhythmic bursts of pleasure exploded in my brain.


“Just as I felt like I could take no more, he withdrew his fingers. I cried out in protest, but his fingers were immediately replaced by his thick, warm cock.


“My eyes flew to his, and he was looking at me with an expression of intense concentration. As his phallus slowly stretched my virgin canal, I grimaced at the pain, my fingers white-knuckled against my bonds.


“When he was buried in me to the balls, his wild amber gaze raked me over with a look of triumph.


“Then he began to move.


“In and out, in and out, the pain lessening and the pleasure increasing with each grinding thrust. I gasp helplessly as I approach the precipice again.


“The sheik, sweating and trembling from the efforts of holding back his pleasure, twisted his fingers on my clit a final time, and the world went black.


“’My slaves know only pleasure,’ he said, ‘and if you are good enough to bear me a son, I may make you my Queen someday.’


“He curls his body around mine protectively as I fall into exhausted slumber, trying not to wonder what tomorrow will bring.”


Draco’s world had melted away. In some corner of his mind, he knew he was still on the hard stool outside the café in Monaco, the bright sun of the Mediterranean beating down upon him. But his mind was transported to the boudoir in the heart of the Arabian wilderness; he was the Prince, enthralled by his newest slave, indulging himself in the pleasures of the flesh.


“And that, Malfoy, is a fantasy. Bastard.”


Draco blinked uncomfortably as he shifted in his seat to look at Hermione Granger, this girl he’d known most of his life, yet was obviously a total stranger. He gaped at her in wonder.


Hermione shot him one last burning glare before rising, gathering up her thing unceremoniously and stalking off without another word or backwards glance, leaving Draco to stew in a puddle of molten desire.


000


The pattern was always the same.


Observe target.


Initiate contact.


Insult.


Stomp off in disgust.


Every. Goddamn. Time.


To make it worse, Draco could hardly remember their arguments anymore; he was so fascinated by her. Her expressions, her body, her full lips, her snapping eyes… They were slowly creeping into his brain all times of the day or night, rotting it, making it useless for anything but contemplating how good her sweat-slick body would feel underneath his.


As Draco saw her more and more, he became more obsessed with her books. He would read the scenes, painting the erotic images in his head. Beautiful words, dirty words, erotic words- but still, they were just words.


But knowing that they sprang from her, that they were her fevered imaginings…


He would take his hard, tender prick into his large hand and furiously come to fevered dreams of glowing cinnamon eyes.


He couldn’t take it anymore.


He had to have her, or he would go insane.


His only consolation was that the strain had to be wearing on her as well. He saw it in her eyes, growing with every encounter. The mania of unfulfilled desire, growing stronger and stronger, snowballing out of control.


Fortunately he had another more immediate source of distraction at hand.

The Prince of Monaco was having a party at the Monte Carlo casino. The Wizarding population, of course, had their own suite at the casino and the Vice-Secretary of Magic had invited Draco to the party personally.


Usually, he would have a fantastic time at one of these parties. It was a way to break the monotony of his carefree life, and he usually met an acceptable bedmate to take home for the night. Regrettably, he knew that this time would be different.


Granger would be there.


He would have to spend all night looking at her in evening robes, watching her flirt with every man in sight, torturing him.


He knew he was being irrational. He just didn’t care anymore.


000


Hermione stood amongst the glittering whirl in the elegant, exclusive suite for Wizards and Witches at the Monte Carlo casino. Men were flocking to her. Women were complimenting her fashionably cut green robes and asking about her next book.


She should be having the time of her life.


She wasn’t.


Damn Draco for ruining this!


She was crawling out of her skin, a big mass of indecipherable feeling. The only thing she could liken it to was an itch. Starting slowly, it rippled under the surface, irritating the hell out of her. Her body was sluggish, inflamed, the liquid heat pooling inside rising and falling to her active, wild fantasies.


Of which a certain blond was the star.


Hermione hid her preoccupation well. She flirted with the Vice-Secretary of Magic. She actively debated the role of the Goblin Rebellions in the development of the Unforgivable Curses with a Professor of History from the University of Paris. She lost a few hands of baccarat to a handsome Italian Count. She won a game of roulette, the ladies in her fan club cheering wildly.


She still itched.


Making her excuses, to a crowd of her fans, she stepped onto the balcony to try and enjoy the night. The nights in Monaco were unique. Deep and silent, they embraced her in a dark velvet blanket. They weren’t black and cold, like the harsh Scottish nights of Hogwarts, but violet and warm, the bright moon gently caressing her skin with its beams.


Hermione sighed. She had hoped she could relax tonight. Her latest book had hit a block. She just couldn’t see the hero, couldn’t hear him, couldn’t get into his head.


Trailing her hand across cold, blue-veined marble, she sensed him before he spoke.


His deep voice sliced through her consciousness, turning her insides to water.


“You aren’t at the party.”


She couldn’t look at him. She would fall apart if she looked at him.


“No. I’m not.”


“You were having a good time, it seemed.”


Hermione’s lips quirked. “Jealous?”


Draco circled her and leaned casually against the rail. “Terribly.”


Hermione quickly glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and her breath stopped.


Draco, in formal dress robes, was a God.


Not caring anymore, Hermione’s hot gaze devoured his body. Starting at his perfectly polished black wingtips, lingering on his muscular legs, up his trim abdomen and wide chest. Her eyes traced the strong lines of his neck and chin to the tanned skin that contrasted with the white collar of his robes. Her eyes made love to the beautiful fullness of his lips, his sharp, elegant cheekbones and bright blond hair, elegantly mussed…


Hermione’s heart tripped over itself and her breathing accelerated. Her sensitive nipples rubbed against the tight silk of her dress, causing shafts of desire to quicken her womb.


Draco was born to wear dress robes, Hermione thought. Harry was stunning in his formal robes, but he didn’t have nearly Draco’s impact on the female psyche. Harry was physically handsome, even more so than Draco, but he lacked Draco’s confidence, Draco’s assurance that he was dressed to kill, irresistible.


And Hermione was scared because she realized that maybe he was.


“Would you like to dance?”


Hermione blinked and came back to herself, putting aside any lingering doubts. She smiled. “I suppose. As long as you don’t step on my feet.”


Draco snorted as he led her onto the dance floor. “I haven’t stepped on a woman’s toes since I was four years old.”


At the first touch of Draco’s elegant hands upon her body, Hermione melted, the itching sensation satisfied for the moment. She looked up, eyes hot, expecting a biting quip, but Draco just smiled, his intense gaze devouring her.


Draco’s expert hands gathered her in his arms, spinning her precisely in time to the music, the beat echoing in her thrumming pulse. When the dance ended in dreamy unreality, Hermione floated with Draco to the buffet table.


“Do you want anything?” Draco’s deep voice rumbled.


Do I want anything? Oh, yes. I definitely want something.


Hermione smiled saucily, “Surprise me.”


“Alright.” Draco scanned the table, grey eyes sharp. Finding what he wanted, he placed a few bites onto a delicate china plate. He grabbed her hand and led her outside again, further away from the party, deep into the violet night. He walked onto the balcony and into the gardens away from the people, until the only thing surrounding them was the heady scent of roses and the soft sounds of the sea.


“Here,” Draco said throatily, his tall frame brushing Hermione’s silk-covered backside tantalizingly. “Have you ever had an oyster before?”


“No.”


“Then I’ll show you the proper way to eat one.”


Draco’s hand gently came to rest on Hermione’s jawline, his long, elegant fingers lightly caressing her neck, sending electric pulses of desire down to her core. “Open your mouth for me.”


Hermione helplessly complied, parting her moist coral-pink lips.


“Good.” Draco held the cool oyster shell to Hermione’s hot lips, tipping it so the tangy meat slid into her mouth, down her throat. Draco’s other hand caressed her neck and jaw, his large, warm body dangerously close.


“Do you like it?”


“Yes,” Hermione croaked. She cleared her throat, “May I have another?”


Draco chuckled lowly, and Hermione felt the vibrations shoot into her body, winding her even tighter, “Of course.”


Never loosening his grip on her jaw, Draco brought another oyster to Hermione’s slightly parted lips. Bending his head, Draco’s warm lips caressed the sensitive nerve endings of her neck, his wet tongue lightly tracing her leaping pulse.


Hermione gasped.


The cool meat slid into her mouth, down her throat.


Turning to him, feverish, Hermione grasped his soft blond hair with her fingers, relishing its cool, silky feel in her hot hands. She brought his lips down to hers… and the world exploded.


Tongues battling, hands grasping, lips bruising- it was a kiss twenty years in the making.


Draco finally tore away, panting, eyes glazed. “Tell me you aren’t toying with me.”


Hermione looked at him, umber eyes glowing hotly and slowly smiled. “Do you want to be my research partner?”


000


Hermione could never really remember how they got to a bedroom that night.


She didn’t really even see it, she was so far gone. Absorbed in Draco and her own desire, she was a madwoman.


Ripping at his clothes, kissing every bared inch. Biting, licking, smoothing, loving his body until her skin burned from his touch and the need to be touched. She closed her eyes as his talented fingers explored her skin, baring every inch slowly, leisurely in contrast to Hermione’s frantic ripping.


After removing all of her clothing, he sat back on the bed, his eyes assessing her, leaving Hermione’s hands bereft. Without his warmth urging her on, her nerves grew exponentially. She was a great lover, but what would Draco expect?


“… Eroticism can be built in many ways,” Hermione babbled as she looked at Draco’s naked, violently aroused body lounging amongst the plum pillows. Could she really do this?


“… I prefer to juxtapose the descriptive and the…”


Draco’s eyes, gunmetal grey, unblinking, still roamed her body, as he stayed silent, poised like a viper about to strike. He noticed that she was blathering. Good.


Weaknesses were to be taken advantage of.


Also, Draco thought, it was damn comforting to know that she didn’t have all the power in their twisted little game. He had been feeling too much like a sexual puppet, jerked along at her whim. Now, he felt like they were on equal footing.


Confidence regained, he waited, as still at the velvet night.


Hermione knew that she was babbling. Her brain screamed at her larynx, but there must have been a blown circuit somewhere because Dear Merlin she sounded like an inexperienced idiot.


Always in her previous relationships, casual or not, she held the upper hand. She called the shots.


Draco was different.


It was cliché, but she felt wild when she was with him, reckless, more like the heroines of one of her novels. He had always had the unique ability to really crawl into her, to reach into her essential core and really make her feel.


It terrified her and thrilled her.


So Hermione tried not to gape at his hard, lightly tanned body like a thirteen year old who had just seen her first dirty mag. It wasn’t working.


A bead of sweat caught the flickering candlelight and sparkled on his chest, just below Draco’s angular collarbones. He moved slightly, and it trickled slowly – so slowly – down the plane of his pectoral to trace one of his rosy nipples. Hermione licked her dry lips.


Draco exhaled loudly, and her eyes flew up to meet his, dilated with lust.


Hermione realized that she had been silent for some time.


She opened her mouth to speak, but Draco quickly reached out and covered her mouth with one of his large, smooth hands. His palm lightly traced her lips, drawing a breathy gasp from her.


Draco promptly shoved a juicy, dripping piece of mango into her parted mouth.


Eyes wide, startled, Hermione chewed on the ripe fruit and opened her mouth again to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.


It was a strawberry this time.


Hermione narrowed her eyes.


Draco smirked.


As she chewed the berry slowly, the pads of Draco’s fingers began to explore the curves of her face. He leaned into her, close but not touching, so that she could feel the masculine heat emanating from his body. His gravelly voice rasped, “You talk altogether too much.”


As he leisurely began to stroke her, he fed her the fruit from the silver tray next to the bed, effectively keeping Hermione silent, adding to the growing restlessness he was eliciting from her slender body.


“You know what I think you want?” Draco’s passion-glazed eyes bored into her own, pinning her to the bed, “I’m going to talk dirty to you, tell you all of the things I am going to do to your hot, slick body and you aren’t going to say a thing.”


Hermione wanted to protest, to say that she needed to speak, needed to vocalize her desire, but when she opened her mouth to talk, Draco promptly shoved a silk cloth in her mouth.


“Sorry darling, it’s for the best.”


Hermione’s anger was mostly for show, as she found that the thought of it turned her on more than she expected. Her hands were unbound, and she could rip the gag off at any time. Draco wanted to play, and she was game.


And, she thought lustily, I may be gagged, but I’m not helpless.


“Your breasts are so beautiful,” Draco said as his hands slowly cupped their fullness. “When I saw you on the beach, these round, perky tits gleaming in the sun, I wanted to rip off those tiny bikini bottoms and shove my cock into you right there.”


Hermione’s breathing grew difficult as he toyed with the peaks, his head slowly lowering, his hot breath sensitizing them to the point of pleasure-pain. “And in the grocery, those naughty little shorts gave me a hard-on for days. Do you know what I did when I got a hard-on?”


Hermione shook her head ‘no,’ her pupils dilated until her eyes appeared black.


Draco smirked. “No?” His hands gave her breasts one last squeeze. He then trailed them down her ribcage, spanned her small waist for a moment and then smoothed them over her luscious hips where they stilled.


He scooted down a bit, his head lowering until she could feel his breath on her bronzed thighs. “I would take my prick into my hand and imagine you, spread out like this, at my mercy. I would open your thighs and give your pretty little cunt what it deserves.”


He attacked her clit voraciously then, alternating between slow, long measured licks meant to tease, light butterfly flickers on her clit, and short, strong pulls that made her moan helplessly around the silky material.


He slowly worked in two fingers, timing their thrusts to his rhythmic mouth. Suddenly, without warning, Hermione convulsed, her body shuddering in release, her canal clutching at his two fingers buried deep inside her.


Draco’s head lifted and his predatory steel eyes caught and held hers as he slowly crept up her body, covering her in his heat. He lowered his frame onto hers, cradling his thick cock betwixt her thighs. Draco and Hermione both sighed at the sensation, their bodies eager and straining.


“You’re so wet,” Draco groaned, grinding his hardness against her clit, causing her to clutch at him, running her soft fingers over his rigid back.


“I need to fuck you, Hermione,” Draco panted, moving his painfully thick erection into position, “To take you until you scream my name.”


Than do it! Hermione’s mind screamed, her cries muffled by the gag.


Draco slowly pushed his prick into her, stopping short at only a few inches of penetration. He withdrew slightly. And thrust slowly. And withdrew. And thrust slowly, slowly, slowly, until Hermione’s needing, aching, body couldn’t take the shallow thrusts anymore. But she was incapable of screaming, ‘harder, harder,’ and her frustration only added to the frenzy of her desire.


And that look in his eyes said that he knew that he was winning this game, and her taking off the gag to scream would make her the loser.


So, unable to sway him by the frantic motions of her hips, Hermione reached around and down, skimming his flexing buttocks and finding the little patch of skin below his anus.


Smiling, she pressed down. Hard.


Draco gasped in shock, his wide eyes jumping to her triumphant cinnamon ones as he buried his thick cock to the balls.


Draco moaned her name sharply, and they were lost. Draco’s prick slammed into her canal unrepentantly, his hard fast thrust causing the bed to squeal in protest. Hermione’s slick muscles gripped his hardness, fluttering against it in pre-orgasmic joy.


Draco grunted, strained, “Sorry… darling. I can’t hold… Ahh!” Draco convulsed in ecstasy, his seed shooting forcefully into her wet, welcoming cunt.


Hermione’s muffled screams filled the room as pleasure exploded through her body, hot and slick. Her mind, usually so active, was blank. The world narrowed until there was only the two of them, and neither of them knew where one of them started and the other began.


Exhausted, they collapsed upon the bed, sated at last.


000


Hermione absently swiped at a bead of sweat trickling down her dusty brow as she knelt in the dirt, dutifully tending to the plants in the dark earth. She rolled back on her heels and sighed happily as she took in the neat rows of herbs in front of her new little cottage in Tuscany. She could have spelled the weeds away of course, but she found that manual labor was more useful.


More useful to sweat a certain blond out of her system, that is.


After that night, Hermione and Draco had barely left the bed for the week afterwards. They couldn’t seem to leave each other alone- her body craved his like a drug, growing heady and restless if she went too long without a fix from his hard, hot cock. She thought that he felt the same- she could feel his eyes upon her all day, even when they were too tired to have sex. He looked at her as if she would disappear if he stopped watching her.


Sometimes he would take her fast- his eyes would darken during breakfast, he would sweep the dishes off the table and then, oh Merlin, his cock would be so deep inside her she couldn’t breathe. Other times Draco would take her slow- melting her body with slow, taunting caresses, daring her body to break under the onslaught.


With remarkable, eerie accuracy, Draco fulfilled her fantasies, but also awakened desires that Hermione, with all of her imaginative prowess, hadn’t known she possessed.


But all too soon, Hermione’s lease was up, and her book finished.


Her book was finished, and she had to move on to her next destination. So, she had a decision to make. Was this… thing… with Draco relationship material? Or just the best sex of her life?


In the end, she found that she couldn’t choose.


It was too tempting to stay with Draco, to ask him if there was more to their relationship than just sex. But she knew Draco, and whenever she thought about being in a relationship with him, old insecurities rose in her breast, things that hadn’t bothered her for years, choking her. Had he truly changed?


Maybe.


Was she willing to find out? Brave the potential heartbreak that staying with him might cause?


She wasn’t too sure.


So in a very un-Gryffindor-like move, she packed up, left a note on Draco’s doorstep and left Monaco to clear her head. Taking some time off to put their relationship in perspective was just what she needed.


Except it wasn’t working.


Grumbling to herself, Hermione stripped off her grubby work gloves and sat up on her knees.


SLAP!


Stunned, Hermione’s slight frame reflexively jerked toward the loud noise.


Her newest novel, La Fièvre de L’amour, lay on the ground. Hermione stared at the lewd couple on the cover for a moment in a daze. When the shirtless, slightly sleezy-looking man winked at her from in between his voluptuous partner’s abundant breasts, Hermione snapped out of it, and gingerly looked up at the smirking face she had been trying to purge from her memory.


“It’s your best yet, you know.”


Cinnamon met intense grey for a long breathless moment.


Hermione swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Yes, I know.”


“It’s on all of the bestseller lists in England and France. The scandal is most entertaining.” Draco fluidly sauntered towards her, quietly invading her space. Never taking his eyes off of her slender figure, he smoothly knelt beside her. One elegant hand cupped her yielding cheek, his thumb fondly wiping away a smudge of dirt. He looked away briefly, uncertain, his blond hair almost colorless in the powerful Italian sun. When he finally looked at her, his eyes were naked, honest.


“It seems we make quite the team.” Draco smiled a small, true smile. “How about taking me on as your research assistant on a more permanent basis?”


Hermione’s eyes sparkled and she smiled a tremulous smile, her eyes closing briefly as she leaned her cheek into his caress and covered her own hand over his. He let out a slow breath, relief flooding and softening his features. Hermione’s heart fluttered and she tugged Draco into her embrace and melted into him.


Feeling his heartbeat so strong and solid against her, Hermione thought that nothing had ever felt better or more right. She looked up into his eyes, her voice trembling ever so slightly as she announced, “I think, Mr. Malfoy, that can be arranged.”


000


95 Vashka_kat for 41 Krissy


STORY REQUEST
BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive: Post-Hogwarts; Draco and Hermione run into each other in an unlikely place (not in England - someplace exotic!)) and find themselves unexpectedly enjoying each other's company; I want hot, horny, and hedonistic!
What rating would you prefer? preferably R-NC17
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): Character death; children; Homely!Hermione/SexyCEO!Draco.