A/N: lemons. Not sure how good they'll be, I'm rather rusty.


(Continues from chapter 3)

They didn't have sex in the lift. They didn't know each other well enough for that.

So, after a decent interval in which hair was mussed, ties were yanked and exploratory fingers determined the laciness of Hermione's knickers, Draco and Hermione managed to keep their clothes on and headed more or less sedately down to the Atrium and out the door before too many people wondered why they looked rather dishevelled. Maybe it was because the lift stopped between floors six and seven? pondered a worker out loud. Merlin knows, if she got stuck in a lift she'd had the Mother of All Hissy Fits. Which is quite dishevelling work.

Once out of the Ministry, around the corner and in a conveniently dark alleyway, Draco side-apparated Hermione to his posh digs in an area of Wizarding London similar to Muggle Belgravia. Hermione had a dizzying glimpse of a house elf and a polished hallway of hothouse plants and Greek statuary before she found herself on the other side of two enormous wooden doors, facing a sumptuous bed so large she could have swum laps in it if it contained water instead of luxurious bedlinen.

Draco pulled away from her, his lips having taken on the colour of her lipstick. It kind of suited him, go figure. "Can I get you anything to eat?" he asked.

Breathless, she shook her head.

"To drink?"

"Maybe later?"

"Good." With that, Draco clamped his lips over Hermione's again, and led her to the bed.


Once Hermione's blouse and bra were despatched to different corners of the enormous bedroom, Draco stopped, and – despite the awful manners – stared.

Scratch that. Ogled.

Draco was a man of the Wizarding world, and occasionally, the Muggle one, too. He'd seen (and handled) his fair share of busts, boobs, knockers, tits, melons, globes and bosoms. But he had never seen a pair of breasts as lovely as Hermione's before. He was entranced.

"Draco?" Hermione asked nervously, wondering why the action had come to a sudden halt.

They were a perfect size for his hands, he could tell. Each was a perfect teardrop shape, and perched high on her chest. Her pink nipples jutted out proudly, pointing slightly upwards and tantalising him, teasing him, coyly inviting him to touch and taste...

"Draco?"

Shirtless but still clothed in his trousers, he fell to his knees. With slightly shaking thumbs, he brushed each pert and sensitive nipple and revelled in their touch and puckered reaction. Without further ado, he leaned forward and drew one of those jewels into his mouth with his tongue.

"Omigod!"

Hermione's knees buckled and she would have fallen to the floor if she hadn't grabbed on to Draco's warm, bare shoulder for support. "Harder," she begged, and it was a symphony to Draco's ears.

He ravished each of Hermione's nipples, kneading her breasts, coaxing the most beautiful sounds from Hermione's throat. Her breathing quickened and she shifted her legs impatiently. Without pause or even looking away from his prize, Draco brushed an inquisitive finger along the seam of Hermione's panties – growling in satisfaction when he found the material was soaked through.

Swiftly pulling the gusset aside, he slid two long fingers into Hermione's drenched pussy, and –

The effect was electric.

Hermione's orgasmic wails bounced off the walls, and Draco was treated to a most enjoyable preview of the slick suppleness of her core. Salazar save him, he wasn't too far off coming himself.

Both breathless, they eased their bodies apart.

Draco looked at Hermione.

Hermione looked at Draco.

He divested their remaining clothing with a wandless spell, and carried Hermione to his bed.


Oh the agony.

The agony!

These were Draco's thoughts as he lay on his back on the bed, staring up at the canopy. His entire reason for existing had boiled down to the following: sheathing himself in the warm wetness of Hermione's body and fucking like rabbits until the sun came up. And probably beyond.

But here he was, prostrate on his bed, suffering in not-so-much silence as Hermione knelt between his legs and fellated his impressively large cock with her mouth and tongue, applying a suction so sweet it made his eyes roll in the back of his head.

It was too good. "No more!" he begged.

Hermione simply raised an eyebrow and plunged his cock deep into her throat.

Now it was Draco's turn for jumbled, meaningless words to tumble from his mouth as she quickly brought him to the edge of orgasm, wrapping her small hand around his erection and pumping it in time with the thrusts into her throat. She was going to make him come.

That's exactly what she wanted.

But with a super-wizard effort, he raised himself up, pulled Hermione off his protesting organ and laid her on the bed. Leaning over her, he said "That's not how I'm going to come in you tonight, my dear."

And as if their bodies had minds of their own, Hermione's legs parted, and Draco filled her core with one hard, slick, knee-trembling thrust.


Sunday afternoon

After having made the acquaintance of Draco's bed, Draco's enormously talented cock and Draco himself over the weekend, Hermione reckoned it was about time to head home and see how different it looked after being party to an exceptional shagging.

After doing up the buttons of her freshly laundered blouse (which Hermione felt guilty for making the house-elf go to extra trouble), she popped into the en suite (also enormous, of course) and magicked her hair into submission. "Uh, Draco?" she called out.

Draco was flicking through some correspondence on the escritoire situated in one cavernous corner of the bedroom. "Yes?"

"What's going to happen on Monday?" she asked.

Draco was confused. "What?"

Hermione didn't hear. "What?"

"Yes, what?"

"What? I said, 'what's going to happen on Monday?" she asked, exiting the en suite and looking lovely.

Draco was still confused. "Are you referring to work?" he hazarded.

"Yeah. I mean, are we going to let people know about us or are we keeping it quiet for now?"

Draco should have gone for circumspect, but he went for callous honesty instead.

"There's no 'us', love," he said baldly. "We both had a lovely time, and I'm more than happy for us to spend more time together if that's what you want too, but don't interpret this weekend as the start of a relationship. I'm not looking for one right now."

Hermione stood stock still in the bedroom, face expressionless, his words blackening her mind. Even though Draco had only known her a few days, he had a feeling that a tantrum of epic proportions was about to erupt. He looked around for a place to take cover.

Just as he was certain her stare was going to ignite one of his more cherished body parts, she picked up her handbag and shouldered it. With cool, even words, she spat "You're a loathsome piece of shit, Draco Malfoy."

With that, she turned and headed out the door, head held high.

Draco slid onto the escritoire's chair, feeling hollow. He'd fucked up in some way, hadn't he?