A/N: Sorry for the delay, but here is the next installment . . . longer, racier, and hopefully to your liking. On that note, this chapter does get graphic (cuz that's how I roll), so please, if that is not something you're into, you have been warned and it is not going to hurt my feelings if you leave. Also, if you are not mature enough to read this (a.k.a. not over the age of 18), I would appreciate if you directed your little innocent eyes away.

If this is your cup of tea (and if you've read my stuff before, you'll know), please enjoy. Oh, and as always, please read and review . . . it helps my self esteem Thanks!

Chapter 4:

A Chance Encounter?

Hermione's footsteps echoed hollowly as she slowly made her way up the Grand Staircase, lost in thought. She was already halfway up to Gryffindor Tower, but she couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened.

Of course, she had experienced altercations with Draco Malfoy before . . . more serious altercations . . . altercations that had ended much worse—but this one . . . .

She couldn't quite explain why, but she couldn't get it out of her head.

She kept replaying it, over and over, in her mind: Their exchange of words; his eyes traveling up and down her body, undressing her; his breath, hot and wet, against her neck as he whispered in his ear; the feelings that had radiated through her body, causing her toes to tingle and her knees to go weak.

Her mouth was suddenly dry once more, her heart beating relentlessly inside of her chest. She paused, her foot perched on the lowest step. Holding the skirt of her dress, she looked upward toward Gryffindor Tower, before shifting her gaze back down the stairs—the stairs that would eventually take her down to the dungeon.

She didn't know why the thought came to her, but it did . . . and she was suddenly torn between which direction to go.

She knew that she should just ignore everything that she was feeling and just walk away . . . walk away toward the safety and security of the Griffydor Common Room, but for some odd reason, she couldn't.

She wanted to see Draco again.

It was bizarre.

For as long as she could remember, she wanted nothing more than to be as far away from Draco Malfoy as possible. She loathed every fiber of his being . . . every snide, cruel, rude remark. Every smirk, glare, every look of superiority. She hated his family, his morals (or lack thereof) and his stupid ideas. She couldn't stand his friends . . . or how he treated them, and how they still followed him like stupid, pathetic dogs.

But, now . . . .

His face suddenly materialized in her head—and she was embarrassed when heat rushed between her legs.

Gasping lightly, she clutched the railing, midstep, and waiting for the feeling to pass.

Her body felt alive.

She could feel everything—could feel her heart being steadily against her ribcage, feel warm waves pulsing from her lower abdomen to the apex of her thighs, feel the smooth silk against her skin, could feel the cool air licking her bare back, feel how it chilled the chain that lay against the inset of her spine as it kissed the flesh between her breasts, and snaked its way up the high slit on her leg.

Her nipples pressed against the thin material—accentuating her arousal—and it took everything in her power to stop from reaching her hand under the low dip in her dress, just to squeeze them, pinch them, anything to release some of the pressure.

And it was all because of Draco Malfoy.

It was ridiculous.

She should be furious with him: Furious at what he said to her—how he treated her—how he smirked like some goddamned unsung hero as he slowly undressed her with his eyes.

But she wasn't.

Instead, she was thinking of him in a whole new way—in a way that made her cheeks flush and her stomach flutter. And she couldn't get the idea out of her head that she had to go and find him.

But, there was no justifiable reason.

Draco Malfoy hated her. And after what had just happened in the Great Hall, she would be lucky if a physical fight didn't break out.

But, then again, she wouldn't really mind being a little physical with him.

She felt a rush of heat surge through her, and she shook her head, as if it would help to erase the erotic thoughts that were multiplying rapidly in her mind.

She needed to just forget it and leave. She knew that nothing good was going to come from these thoughts, and her best bet would be to just continue up the stairs, get to her room, and go to sleep.

Mechanically, her feet began to move once more as she started to make her way back up toward the tower. But, with each step, she felt an insatiable tugging, like an invisible string that was pulling her back down in the direction of the dungeon.

Stopping, she fought a mental battle:

The urge to go back was so strong, that she couldn't get it out of her head.

Yet, there was a small (a very small) portion of logic trying to get through.

It was pure madness. There wasno reason for these thoughts, these urges to be controlling her movements.

Besides, she would look stupid going back now. There was no reason to.

Biting her lip, she shifted her gaze, first up the stairs, then down, and back again. Her mind was reeling and she couldn't believe that she was actually trying to think of a good excuse to go and find him.

But she needed to think of one because, at that moment, she had to go and find him. She couldn't get it out of her head.

In a sudden stroke of genius, she realized that she could find him and apologize. Not that he truly deserved it, mind you, but she had been a bit harsh with her actions.

And the more she thought of it, the more it made sense.

She would be the bigger person. She would look humble and remorseful. Plus, she would be able to see him again, to see the look in his eyes as he saw her, and perhaps . . . just perhaps, he would be appreciative and show his gratitude in his own personal way . . . .

Her pulse raced in anticipation.

Her mind made up, she spun on the step. Hitching her skirt, she began her slow decent. Her heels clicked, creating the only noise, but it wasn't enough to drown out her thoughts. They were running a mile a minute: She wondered what she would say—how she would even start the discussion, she wondered how Draco would react, but most of all, she wondered what she would do if he rejected her.

Her heart was pounding as the conversation ran over and over in her head.

Stepping gently onto the landing of the 4th floor and lost in thought, Hermione didn't notice another individual slowly making their way up the stairs, hands in pockets, head bowed.

Her lips moving slightly with the imaginary dialogue, her eyes trained on the ground, she gasped loudly when her shoulder hit the body of the person that had also just reached the landing.

Gasping, she dropped her skirt, her head jerking up. As the material ruffled gently around her ankles, her breath caught in her throat as she was met with a pair of stunning gray eyes.

Still in his dress robes, the amber colored liquid dried to nearly nonexistent stains, Draco Malfoy looked down at her in surprise.

Tipping her head back, Hermione looked him in the face and struggled for breath. Her stomach was doing flip-flops, her chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths.

"What are you doing, Granger?"

The sound of his voice caused her body to awaken. She licked her lips slowly before answering and couldn't help but notice that his eyes followed the motion of her tongue.

"I was looking for you, actually." Her body tingled.

Draco crossed his arms lightly across his chest and raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

He was standing close—almost too close—and his scent was making Hermione's head swim. Unable to speak, she merely nodded.

His eyes were slowly traveling the length of her body, and Hermione felt her nerve endings ignite.

With each breath, her breasts pressed full and heavy against the bodice of her dress, and she felt weak when his eyes lingered over her fully erect nipples.

His eyes, smoky with craving, finally met her face once more. "And why were you looking for me?"

Hermione's throat was dry. As she watched his lips move, everything that she had practiced—her entire conversation—was gone from her head and her excuse now seemed incredibly pitiful.

"I wanted to—" she paused and swallowed thickly, "apologize."

His eyebrows lifted. "Apologize? Really . . . ."

Hermione nodded woodenly. "What I did . . . you know, back in the Great Hall . . . well, um . . . ."

Draco moved a step closer and Hermione's words died in her throat.

She swallowed and tried again: "Um . . . well, it was w-wrong."

Draco was looking down at her, his eyes shiny and bright, and she was finding it exceedingly difficult to form words as her eyes traced the sharp features of his face. She could feel a heat radiating between their bodies and was suddenly feeling so light-headed, she had to fight the urge to place her hand against the wall to steady herself.

He wasn't saying anything and, abruptly, Hermione was beginning to feel stupid.

Using all of her will power, she tore her eyes from his face and cleared her throat uncomfortably. "So, um . . . I'm sorry. And, uh . . . yeah. That-that's about all that I, uh . . . had to say."

Keeping her head bowed, she raised her eyes slowly until she was looking at him from beneath heavy lashes.

She paused, waiting for a reaction, her heart beating painfully inside of her chest.

But none came . . . and it felt as if her world were crumbling inside of her.

Giving a small, tight-lipped smile, she nodded once. "Well, um, okay . . . . since that's all, I will, uh . . . just say goodnight."

She turned, feeling unbelievably small and pathetic, and had to bite her lip just to keep the tears of frustration and embarrassment that were forming in the corners of her eyes from falling down her face.

It was completely unreasonable, and she knew that. There was no valid reason that she should be feeling this way, yet, as she took a small step away from Draco, she felt as if her world were going to end.

But, it was the only thing to do. His lack of reaction was answer enough. And there was no more reason to stand in front of him and continue to humiliate herself.

She was a strong witch—a strong woman—and she was not going to let the likes of Draco Malfoy change that . . . .

"Granger, wait." His hand wrapped lightly around her arm, just near the elbow.

She stopped, her breath caught in her throat. It was as if electricity were traveling from his fingers and enveloping her entire body.

His hand still on her arm, he took a step closer to her so that his body heat emanated against the exposed flesh of her back.

She was intoxicated by his touch but couldn't find the strength to turn and face him, in fear that she would sway.

They stood in silence momentarily—Hermione's eyes closed as she slowly breathed in his scent and listened to the sound of her heart beating steadily inside of her chest.

When he did speak, his voice was low—husky—and nearly a whisper. "I don't know why, but I've been fighting this odd feeling . . . this feeling that I needed to find you. And now that I have . . . I think I need to apologize, too."

His breath was soft and hot against her neck, and goosebumps rose on her skin.

"I was wrong to say those things to you . . . they were inappropriate, uncalled for, and I didn't mean any of it."

He paused briefly—as if deep in thought—before speaking again. "Well, no . . . that's not exactly true."

He spun her gently and pulled her closer to his body. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he let his hand come to rest lightly at the lowest part of the dip in the back of her dress.

"I did mean some of it." He bent his head slightly, dipping it closer until he was looking directly into her eyes. "I can still think of one way to put that mouth of yours to use."

Without warning, he bowed his head until his mouth was a mere inch away from hers. His breath was hot and sweet, and Hermione's knees suddenly turned to jelly.

Slowly, his hand moved along the skin of her lower back until he slipped it beneath the fabric of her gown.

She shivered at his touch.

Cupping her ass casually, he pulled her into his body, his mouth hovering directly over her skin, roaming over her flesh, as if trying to inhale it, his breath leaving a hot, burning trail, but never quite coming close enough.

Her mouth parted slightly, Hermione melted into his body, pressing against him with need. Her palms pressed flat against his chest, she lifted her face, tipping it to one side until her lips just barely brushed against his.

Panting against his mouth, she moved her lips gently against his, teasing him with nothing more than soft contact, always pulling back before giving him what he totally desired.

Draco's other hand trailed up her back, his fingertips tracing up both sides of her spine, until he reached her neck. With skillful fingers, he released the chain that draped down her back.

Hermione shuddered as the cold metal tickled her skin, but Draco's hands were instantly on her bare back, warming it with his touch.

Bending his head, he sucked at her jaw line, directly below her ear. "I can't stand this . . . I need you." He nipped lightly with his teeth, "now."

Hermione felt wetness pool between her thighs. Wrapping her arms around him, she buried her face into his neck. "Not here."

Pulling back slightly, Draco's eyes shifted rapidly.

When he spotted the door that lead into the 4th floor corridor, a mischievous look crossed his face. "Come on."

Grabbing Hermione's hand, he crossed the short distance, opened the door, and pulled her into the hallway.

As soon as the door shut behind them, he spun her, pressed her against the wall, and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss.

Hermione moaned against his mouth at the surprise attack, but soon melted into it—her body awakening with his animalistic need.

Gripping the front of his robes, she pulled him closer, needing to feel his body pressing against hers. Her mouth moved against his, greedy—drunken with desire.

Draco hands roamed Hermione's body, sliding over the soft, silky material, moving lightly over her stomach—palming her breasts—as he deepened their kiss.

Using his tongue, he urged Hermione's mouth open.

Moaning as their tongues tangled, Hermione's hands moved from his robes until they were wrapped behind his neck, her fingers tangled in his shaggy blonde hair.

Draco's hand suddenly found the slit high on her thigh. His skin hot on hers, he gently guided her leg, bending it until it was wrapped tightly around his waist. With his other hand, he reached around her, cupping her ass, and pulled her hard against his body, letting her feel his hardened excitement between her parted legs.

Feeling his erection pressing against her center, Hermione's mind went blank. Needing to feel even more of him, she tipped her hips up into him—hard.

Draco groaned against her mouth as he slowly began to move his hips, pulsing them against her.

The sensual movement caused Hermione to gasp and break their kiss. Panting, her head tipped to one side, Draco sucked at the flesh of her neck, his hands once more finding the fullness of her chest. His thumbs moved back and forth over her hardened nipples, causing her to shudder.

Slowly, Draco's mouth inched—moving from her neck, to her collar bone, and then, nibbling, to the flesh exposed by the low cut of her dress between her breasts.

Without warning, his fingers found the clasp behind her neck.

Hermione's eyes snapped open in panic.

Placing her hand over his, she gripped it tightly, stopping his actions while she tried to catch her breath. "Wait . . . wait . . . plea— . . . please, stop. We can't do this here . . . Someone will see . . . ."

Draco's mouth remained hot and wet against her skin, his tongue and teeth moving against her flesh, and when he spoke, his voice came from between her beasts. "They're all at the dance . . . . We won't get caught."

He licked a slow trail up her sternum until his mouth found where her neck met her shoulder. He bit down gently, and Hermione's knees almost gave out as a jolt of electricity rushed through her abdomen.

The part of her brain that controlled her logic was screaming that this was ridiculous . . . that this was insane . . . that they were going to get caught.

Yet, the part of her brain that controlled her desire. . . her need . . . her pleasure was screaming even louder—overshadowing her logic, as his tongue found her ear and began nipping at the lobe.

He pressed harder against her, letting her feel his yearning.

"Come on . . . ." He prodded, quietly speaking into her ear.

All though lost, she gave in, her hand relaxing on his, which allowed for Draco's fingers to expertly undo the clasp behind her neck. The silky material of her dress fell delicately down to her torso, exposing her bare breasts.

She shivered as the cool air touched her nipples.

Draco pulled away and feasted on the sight of her, his eyes dark with lust. "Beautiful . . . ." He mumbled the words, his eyes never leaving her body.

Bending his head, he sucked her breast into his mouth and flicked the tip of his tongue over her extended nipple.

Gasping, Hermione gripped his shoulders, her leg wrapping even tighter around his waist . . . pulling him closer . . . needing to feel him more.

Switching his attention to her other breast, Draco's hand traveled high up her exposed leg.

Slowly, he massaged her thigh as he straightened. Pressing his body against hers, he licked the outer ridge of her ear. "I want you . . ."

His hand moved lightly over her inner thigh until his fingers found her moistened core. Her juices coated his fingers, and he groaned as he realized that she wasn't wearing any underwear.

His fingers moved against her, stroking her gently and Hermione's breath caught in her throat.

Without warning, Draco slipped a finger inside of her. Unhurriedly, he thrust it in and out, intermittently hitting the spot deep within her walls.

He slid in a second finger, stretching her slightly. "But, you want me, too . . . don't you?"

Hermione wasn't able to form any words as his hand moved faster—purposefully . . . almost franticly—and she could only nod in response, her face beginning to flush.

He kissed her again, deep—his tongue invading her mouth. She whimpered as his fingers curled inside of her, touching new points of pleasure.

Her head was swimming.

She rocked her hips against his hand as she feasted on his mouth, urging him to go deeper—faster.

Without inhibition, her hands groped at his fly. Quickly undoing the button and zipper, her hands delved into his pants until she found his hardened member. Wrapping her fingers around him tightly, she stroked him firmly.

He groaned against her mouth and thrust into her hand. His thumb found her clit and he flicked it once . . . twice.

Hermione's sharp intake of breath broke their kiss.

Swiftly, her hands pushed his pants down to his thighs. "Now . . . I need you now."

Pulling her skirt up to her hips, Draco gripped behind her thighs and lifted her. Hermione wrapped her other leg tightly around his waist.

Gripping his shoulder with one hand, she reached between them with the other and once more found his erection. Using her thumb, she curved it lightly over the enlarged head in a sweeping circle before guiding it into her opening.

Sandwiching her between his body and the wall, Draco slowly lowered her until he was sheathed tightly inside of her.

She was so wet, he slid in easily. She was warm and moist, yet she gloved him tightly.

His head buried into her neck, he tipped his hips up into her, burying himself even deeper.

Slowly, Draco began to move, creating a steady rhythm.

Pressed against the wall, Hermione's nipples rubbed against Draco's cloak and the cool brick scratched her naked back—adding to the pleasure.

Panting, she used her legs to squeeze his waist and allow for greater leverage. She could feel his thighs pressing against her ass, assisting her as she slid up and down his length.

Their moans echoed softly around the deserted corridor and she clawed at him, her nails digging into his back and neck.

Draco paused suddenly, concealed completely within her. Hermione could feel his cock twitching slightly—pulsating—as if it was alive, and she tried to move against him . . . needed to move against him.

Clenching his jaw, Draco held her hips to stop her. Bowing his head, he tasted her breast again, suckling at it like an infant.

Hermione cried out as he suddenly bit down on her nipple.

She couldn't stand it anymore. Overpowering the grip he had on her, she started to move her hips, circling them in small figure eights.

Draco moaned, pulled out a little, and slammed back up into her.

He did it again . . . deliberately teasing her, moving slowly—then quickly.

It was torture.

Hermione's mind went blank with each movement. Her muscles clenched around him, milking him.

He swelled, stretching her more, and she could feel that he was on the brink of release.

"Stop," she panted, her fingers digging into his biceps, "not yet."

Draco stopped.

Panting against her neck, he held her momentarily as he waited for his heart to slow.

Then, lifting her gently, he lowered her until her feet were back on the ground.

Sliding down his body, her hands trailing from his shoulders to his abs, Hermione gradually dropped to her knees. She stared at his stiffened organ, her breath catching in her throat as she was finally able to see it up close.

Hesitantly, she reached out and touched him gingerly.

Draco gazed at her, his heart beating heavily in his chest.

His mouth dry, he watched as she leaned forward, painstakingly slow, and kissed the tip of his penis.

She could taste her juices on him.

Looking upward, she stared into his eyes as she sucked him deep within her mouth. Bobbing her head, she stroked him with her hand as her tongue worked the underside of his shaft.

Draco tipped his head back in a groan as Hermione's fingers caressed his testicles, pulling on them lightly.

Gripping his buttocks, she took him as deep as she could.

Draco tipped his hips toward her, urging her to take him deeper.

Hermione suddenly hummed lightly and the vibrations nearly sent him over the edge.

Grabbing her by the shoulders, Draco stopped her and gently pulled her until she was standing.

He kissed her once . . . passionately—their tongues swirling briefly—and then twisted her so that she was facing the wall.

Draco's hands rubbed over her thighs and ass. Pulling her skirt up, he gripped her hips.

Biting her lip, Hermione bent forward, placing her hands flat on the wall in front of her.

Spreading her legs with his knee, Draco stroked her with the head of his cock before thrusting into her.

When he entered her, the new sensation caused Hermione to gasp.

He started slow, enjoying the feeling of her wet heat. But soon, his pace was hurried, his hips working like a piston against her.

Steadily, he pounded her, their skin slapping together loudly.

Lifting up onto her toes, Hermione rocked against him, meeting his thrusts.

His fingers dug into her skin, and she could feel sweat forming on her back. Reaching between her legs, her fingers frantically worked her clit.

Draco spanked her suddenly, causing a sharp crack to echo down the hallway as his hand connected with her ass.

Hermione swore out loud and suddenly, she was panting his name. Draco was grunting softly as pressure slowly began to build in her womb.

With two more hard thrusts, Hermione's world suddenly broke apart as an intense orgasm rippled through her body.

A tremor surged through her—her muscles contracting—and her fingers curled involuntarily against the wall.

Draco continued to thrust into her until a growl ripped from his throat. His hands squeezing her hips, he buried himself to the hilt as his cock twitched and spasmed—shooting his hot seed deep within her.

Collapsing forward, he draped over her back, panting into her hair.

Moments passed—their hearts pounding, their breathing as one—as they waited to come back down from their euphoria.

Finally, Draco straightened and slowly withdrew from Hermione. Performing a quick cleansing charm, he redressed.

Breathing evenly, Hermione tried to settle her heart. Shaking slightly, she unbent, her dress fluttering back down around her ankles.

She, too, performed a cleansing charm before pointing her wand toward her lower abdomen. Mumbling slightly, she felt a rush of heat fill her torso as she administered a precautionary charm to ward off any chance of pregnancy.

Pulling her dress up from her waist, she silently re-clasped her top behind her neck.

Draco came up behind her.

His fingers found the long chain that ran the length of her spine. Torturously slow, his fingers trailed lightly up her back until he reached her neck. Planting a kiss between her shoulder blades, he reattached the delicate links.

His hands remained on her back and Hermione turned her head until she was looking over her shoulder.

Briefly, she caught his eye.

Her thoughts were reeling, muddled.

It was wrong . . . yet it was right. Her feelings were changing again, and she couldn't put her finger on exactly what she was experiencing. This whole thing was like a dream—completely out of character—and she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment, or the exact reason, desire had taken over.

It was almost as if a light switch had been turned off.

She felt awkward . . . as if her actions were controlled by someone, or something else.

And she didn't like it.

She needed time to think—away from Draco—where her thoughts would be clearer, not hazy with the emotion Draco caused.

Smoothing her hair, she pulled quietly away from him. Then, walking toward the door that lead to the staircase, she exited without looking back—leaving him, and their experience behind.