Heightened Pleasure, the Intense Pain

AN: Thanks again to my wonderful beta, A.Renika. Without her, this story wouldn’t have the dramatic effect it does now.

Hermione closed her eyes against the pleasure tingling down her body and pooling between her thighs. The feeling both grounded and lifted her and held her body in the murky in-between. She was floating, placidly drifting along with thousands of shining silver stars all the while feeling the cotton of her bedspread underneath her.

It built up slowly and she desperately wanted to move, to return the pleasure, to do something to make the almost painful pleasure ease so she could breathe.

The spell stopped her.

Draco looked up at her groan of discontent. He licked her juices off his lips before sliding up her body, glistening with sweat. She moaned into his mouth, tasting herself as his tongue languidly tangled with hers.

“Delicious, aren’t you, pet?”

His thumb flicked her nipple, and a half-moan, half-whine came out from her throat. She wanted to pull his lips back to her, arch under him, wrap her legs around his hips and make him have his way with her.

She wanted to move.

He chuckled darkly against her neck and moved to where his hot breath was tickling her ear.

“Say you want me.”

“I want you,” she whispered immediately. It came out as a moan and his breath caught.

He leaned back to look at her, lit by the candlelight that even in her lust-induced haze she thought them only a mockery of romance. A mockery of love. But they were only a blip on her radar, only a peripheral vision when all of her was focused solely on the pale man above her.

“Please,” she whined when he seemed intent on torturing her by just staring at her and not doing anything about the pleasure his lips had promised.

He dipped his head, a fleeting smirk on his lips before they brushed hers softly. Her body craved his touch, and she found herself free of the spell and arched under him, nipples grazing his chest and sending a delicious tingling through her entire being. His hand found its way between them, stroking her clit in a way that made her eyes roll back and her whimpers swallowed by his mouth.

“So wet, so responsive,” he murmured, nudging her legs further apart. “So fucking beautiful.”

Hermione threw her head back when he entered her, one sharp thrust that had her body melting and brain blanking as bliss washed over her. She felt wonderful, as if her body was lit on fire by pleasure and the pain as he nipped her neck only added to it. She arched under him, lifting her hips and trying to find more. More of this decadence and sensuality, this haze that had settled on her and made her forget her name. They were just two people, filled with pleasure and -- oh, gods!

“More, more, more.”

“Say my name,” he growled, pulling back. She opened her eyes to find his silver eyes almost charcoal, dark with lust and passion and promises of a lethal pain if she didn’t do what he ordered.

“Draco,” she said, her voice coming out a purr of sexuality.

He closed his eyes, savoring his name coming from those pink lips, bruised with kisses.

“Again.”

“Draco.”

She was rewarded with a swift thrust, again and again he ordered it and again and again she repeated it, rewarding them both as he rolled his hips and scoured her insides, forcing her to new heights. What had started out as a whisper quickly became a scream as he fucked into the mattress, following her as she started sliding up the bed from the force.

His arms were corded and tight, veins and muscle outlined as clearly as the sweat on his brow as he lifted up from her body, staring down at her with those dark and seemingly endless eyes. Her body was on fire now, every ounce of her on the edge of something -- something wonderful and awe-inspiring and just as endless as his eyes -- and waiting for the last push over.

He gave it to her. He pinched her clit and she was sent screaming into that abyss, that heaven, that undeniable euphoria and her nails dug into his back as it opened its arms to her and enfolded her in indescribable ecstasy.

He groaned, leaning down to kiss her roughly, all tongue and teeth and pain as he spilled his seed inside her.

Her breaths were heavy as she came down from the high, looking up at Draco with expressionless eyes as he leaned back, only savoring a last chaste kiss before pulling out of her entirely, the bed groaning faintly as he got off.

She felt lonely without him.

Hermione sat up slowly, watching his pale back as he pulled on his pants. His hair, shaggy and messy and not at all like how it had been when he came to her flat for a talk that she could remember nothing about. He turned. His eyes -- gray now -- watched her as he pulled on his black trousers.

“It won’t matter if you tell. No one would believe you.”

He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t ask him to. He threw his shirt over his arm. There were red marks on his chest and she saw, with an amount of disgust, that his finger was still wet with her. Then he was gone.

Hermione stared at the door that had closed on his back for what seemed like hours, the snap still resounding in her ears. Still in a trance, she moved off the bed languidly, her cold feet meeting the hardwood floor in an icy greeting. This, she ignored, as she Vanished the melting candles, the romantic atmosphere long gone, leaving it empty and hollow. Leaving her empty and hollow. She stared at where the red wax had dripped off the window sill and reached out to touch it. It should have felt waxy, at the very least, but it was still the same texture as it had been before the candles were planted along it.

Her eyes scanned the room. It was just like before--her books in the right order, her desk arranged neatly and her clothes hung where they should be. The only evidence that she’d just had wild, fantastic sex was her unmade bed and her pillows strewn all over the floor. The change made her gut churn, and she padded into the bathroom to escape her now unrecognizable bedroom, locking the door behind her.

She stared at the white tiles as the scalding water splashed all over her back. Tears stung her eyes, just as hot as the water that burned her skin an angry red. It had nothing to do with him -- even though his departure left her vulnerable, naked, and absolutely humiliated. Her skin still felt warm where he’d touched, her traitorous body still on fire for him. She was disgusted with herself. She loathed her own body for her response to his touch, for her desire for him, under enchantment or not.

What made her cringe most was that she should have known. She should have been more wary, more cautious with him. A part of her wondered, though, what if she had let him bring her the lust potion under disguise as a wine?


Finite.