Have and Have Not

Draco Apparated home. Malfoy Manor was empty and after the cosy restaurant seemed cavernous. He stalked upstairs to his suite and slammed the door, a cue to the house elves that he was not to be disturbed. He was angry and frustrated and aroused. It was an uncomfortable combination.

Draco gripped himself through his trousers. A cold shower was not going to solve this. He shrugged off his jacket. It was still slate grey, a testament to her skill at transfiguration. Her. Granger. Her, Hermione. He swore and unbuttoned his shirt to rid himself of it and cool his heated skin.

He could accept getting hard over a witch. He was a healthy male who had been abstinent longer than he cared to admit. But why did it have to be her? He couldn’t have her and he wanted her badly.

There could be someone else but Draco had never liked buying companionship, not when pleasurable company had always been readily accessible. The days when he could snap his fingers and a willing witch would come running were over. He kicked off his shoes then crossed his sitting room into the bedroom. Bed large enough for four. Pillows for one.

If only she was a pure-blood witch. A half-blood would have been acceptable given her credentials. Draco told himself angrily not to think about it. Think of her as Weasley’s leftovers. That did not ease his erection for that thought was followed quickly by the imagined expression on Weasley’s cretinous face when he saw them together. Potter’s face had been a picture!

He was painfully hard. Draco dragged off his socks clumsily. Bending over was a challenge with his dick poking him in the stomach. There was nothing for it but a good stiff wank then a stiff Scotch. He stripped off his pants and boxers, stretching out on the counterpane to relax.

Closing his eyes, an image of Hermione floated easily to mind. He pictured her just after she had graduated. Before she married Weasley. He’d seen a photograph of her in the Prophet at the ceremony. Her hair had been braided and she had been on the stage alone giving a speech. Draco concentrated on her as he stroked himself slowly.

Too many clothes, Ms Granger. He stripped her down to lingerie, cognac silk to flatter her. She wouldn’t wear lace but he might get her into leather. Draco’s breath quickened at the possibilities. Her breasts had always been impressive and in his mind Draco had Hermione tease him by taking her brassiere off slowly. She looked at him coyly, stray curls escaping from her braid to frame her sweet face.

She bent over for him and shook her hips so her ass wiggled like it did when she walked. He put her in stockings and heels like a fifties pin-up. No cheap thrill was his Hermione. She laughed as Draco imagined caressing the curve of her buttocks then spanking her because she was a naughty, naughty witch. He groaned.

Hermione slid her knickers off slowly, shimmying so he clenched with anticipation before tossing the damp silk away to stand before him with her legs open. Meeting his stare boldly because she knew what he wanted and wanted it too. Draco squeezed his balls as he pictured her straddling him. She’d be tight and wet for him.

Damn it, he was rigid. He gritted his teeth. His hips jerked upwards to stroke into her but she wasn’t there. Draco swore. Why did he want her? She was just some mudblood slut. Weasley’d had her. And Greyback. What sort of things had the werewolf done to her to knock her up?

He didn’t want to imagine that. He could, far too easily. Draco would have pulled those memories from his head but in a Pensieve everyone could see what he had seen. He let go of his dick and smacked a fist against the bedding.

Fuck, he had made some bad choices; pushed into them by his father and by his own desire to be the best. Granger had tormented him at school getting top marks as though she had been born to it. Beating him like it was nothing. An image came to him of her under him flushed and gasping as he thrust hard between her legs. Draco groaned again as he felt himself stiffen back to full attention.

So, screw her and get over it. He conjured a little lubrication. Getting too good at that charm, old boy. Draco touched himself. Hermione writhing under him, her legs wrapped tight around his hips. Begging him to keep going. Begging him. Yes. That he would imagine. Her so hot she was pleading for him to take her.

He braced his feet against the duvet so he could lift his hips and get a good stroke. Yes, her breasts bouncing as he ploughed into her. Would she scream when she came? She would scream for him. Draco kept his eyes tight shut as he pictured himself teasing her, licking her nipples and making her moan. His balls tightened at the thought.

She’d scratch her nails down his back and gasp his name as she came. So wet for him. So ripe. Draco rubbed the head of his dick as he saw Hermione in his bed with a round stomach. Pregnant in silk. From their lust, an heir. She lifted her shirt for him, her eyes wicked as she put his hand on her belly like he had wanted to do when he had seen her asleep after their shopping trip.

But his children, no one else’s. His legacy, as brilliant and talented as a Malfoy should be. Only the best was good enough. Draco saw her crawling across the covers to kiss him, her curves as luscious as a Renoir nude. Her smile like the fall of angels.

He came hard, spurting into his hands and cursed like the Devil.