Work Text:
No one but Theo barges into his office unannounced. Not even her. That's his first clue that something is wrong.
Hermione shuts the door with more force than necessary, and when she turns she's flushed, disheveled, her curls frizzing, a streak of dust marring one cheek. She's still in her black-and-gold work robes, but they're wrinkled, like his own get when she clutches the expensive fabric in her fists.
"What is it?" Draco asks, crossing the room in a few quick strides. He tips her chin up but she won't meet his eyes.
"I n - need - " She bites down on her full bottom lip, stifling a noise.
Draco knows every one of the sounds she makes better than he knows his favorite pieces of music. He never allows her to mask them, unless he's gagged her - he loves them too much, loves watching and hearing the perfect, controlled, organized Hermione Granger come gloriously undone. Fucking lives to be the cause of it. Right now she's suppressing them, fighting a shudder that wracks her body, her eyes wild with fear.
" - help," she finishes, after a moment of strangled silence. "There was a book - "
It's always a goddamn book with this witch.
"Fuck. I can't - "
He's tempted to chastise her for her language but she's clearly not in her right mind to be following his rules for her. She drops her forehead to his chest, grabbing his robes, and another violent shudder works its way through her body. The truncated little cry, that one she gives when she's not got enough breath in her lungs - well, if he hadn't put it together by now that would give him a picture of what's going on.
She's in the throes of an orgasm.
He reaches to grip the backs of her thighs, lifting her, and she wraps her arms and legs around him, burying her face in his neck with a whimper.
"Damn it, Min, I told you this job was a bad idea."
"I know." She sighs it miserably when she's recovered her breath, squirming and rubbing up against him like she's in heat. She's always tactile, clingy, and he's reminded of how she gets so needy when he's denied her, waking him up in the middle of the night grinding her beautiful little cunt against his leg in her sleep. Usually they both like that, but right now she's sniffling into his neck, keeps hiding her face even once he's settled them on the couch near the big windows that take up one wall. "I know I should have listened to you. I'm sorry, Daddy."
Out there, she's Curse Breaker Hermione Granger, Arithmancy expert, war heroine, crusader for the downtrodden, and all around superhero. Far too good for his barely-rehabilitated ex-Death Eater ass, but he's too selfish to give her up. With him she's like this, though - impossibly small and sweet and vulnerable, at least to the extent she ever allows of herself, like the little lamb he often calls her. And sometimes a bit petulant, a bit of a brat, which is just as well since he has a fantastic time correcting her.
It's a gift, the way she softens with him, and gods, he's a fucking prick for throwing his words from that morning back in her face when she's busy wetting his neck with her tears.
He shushes her, kisses her temple. "I'm sorry, baby girl. I didn't mean it. You want to tell me what happened?"
She lifts her head and swipes at her cheeks, biting her lip again and rocking into him. Before she can speak, he senses the rise of another climax; she's trying so hard to hold herself back, tense with the effort, but her head falls forward again and she clutches at his shoulders. He holds her, lets her ride his lap and find purchase against his now-hard cock, doesn't reprimand her like he would any other time for coming without permission.
When she recovers, she whispers, "I was clearing the - the library and there was a book in French, I think, but I don't remember the name, and I brushed my hand against it by accident, and - and - and now I'm like this." Her bottom lip wobbles and her amber eyes fill with tears again. "I came straight here. I can't stop, Draco, and I can't think well enough to fix it. I don't know how - "
"I do, I think."
Her look of utter relief is broken by another moan. "Y - you do?"
He'd warned her off the Fawley estate job, asked her to at least let him go with her, but she frowned and told him she didn't need minding. Work's one of the areas she keeps a stranglehold on her autonomy. As submissive as she is, Hermione's also a staunch feminist, and he'd had no interest in having his balls hexed off before his morning tea, all for trying to protect her from sex curses. The Fawleys - Hufflepuffs, the lot - have been known down the generations for that sort of thing.
Thankfully, so have the Malfoys. Hermione's spent endless hours enjoying the sections of his family's library he allows her access to, for that and many other reasons. He's pretty sure he knows which obscure volume of French sex magic literature got her into this mess, and the curse is far from innocuous, but it could be worse.
He allows himself a moment of mind-bending terror at the thought of the more dangerous books she could've gotten her hands on, before neatly boxing it up and setting it aside. Experience has taught him that if he dwells too much on the risks of her job, he's liable to keep her tied up in his bed and never allow her to set foot in Gringotts again.
"Mm-hmm," he says, his tone light and coaxing as he brushes her hair back from her forehead. "The only way out with this one is through, though, lamb. You're aching, aren't you?"
She nods, squeezing his thighs between her knees. She's too arousal-fogged to entirely follow where he's going with this, but he also doesn't want to alarm her by being blunt.
"Will you let Daddy make it better?" He runs his thumb along her bottom lip.
She blinks up at him, eyes still luminous with the remnants of her crying. "C - can you - is there a countercurse, or - "
He shakes his head, unable to keep his lips from quirking. "Not a spell, lamb."
"Are you laughing at me?" Her brow wrinkles and her lips curve into a frown. If she were capable of standing without assistance she'd probably be stamping her foot.
He can't resist letting out a chuckle then, but he shakes his head, rubbing the smudge of dust from the apple of her cheek. "No, baby girl, I just...you're so damn cute, you know that?"
She ducks her head, then peeks up through her thick, dark lashes. "But I don't want you to feel like you have to - "
"Hermione." He winds her hair around his fist, gives it a tug. "Trust me, it's no hardship to fuck you better. I can get the elder ginger over here, though, if you want us to try and construct a countercurse."
Bill Weasley's one of the few people aside from Hermione smart enough to do it, and he's protective of her in a brotherly way that's earned Draco's respect. But that's no guarantee of success. It'd be wrong not to at least give her the option, though.
She searches his gaze so thoroughly that if he didn't know better he'd wonder whether she were using Legilimency. Finally, she says, "No, we - we can try the other thing. If you don't mind. If you're sure it'll work?"
It's a little more complicated than that, if he's right about the curse. Fucking her will relieve her, give her more satisfaction than suffering through endless orgasms on her own, needy and empty. But this particular bit of magic is more about a soul connection than a sexual one, and that's something she continues to resist. He's put an engagement ring on her finger and a consideration collar around her neck, has enough of a foundation of trust with her that she wants to build a life with him, that she loves to submit to him in so many things. She's told him, over and over, that it's not his fault she struggles with surrender, that her emotional issues are hers alone. He believes her, but he's going to have to break through them today or else he'll just exhaust her with no end in sight.
Draco keeps that to himself, though. Hermione Granger is the poster child for the phrase 'psyching oneself out.'
"I'm sure," he says, running a soothing hand down her back. "You want to go home first?"
She always gets shy when he plays with her at work, makes her straddle his lap or lay over his desk. She prefers more privacy. But she just mumbles, "Takes too long," reaching up to unclasp her robes.
His stern look stops her in the midst of shrugging them off. "You're getting away with an awful lot right now, lamb, but other than our rule about orgasms, you're going to be a good girl for Daddy and do as I say. Or else there'll be a reckoning when you're better."
She nods quickly as he takes her robes from her, laying them over the end of the couch.
"Here." He summons a glass and a bar of chocolate, then casts an Aguamenti, making her drink and eat from his hand. When she's done, she clings to him like a spider monkey as he stands. He Transfigures the loveseat larger, making it into more of a daybed. It lacks the accessories he prefers to use to anchor her, and he wishes he had some of their toys here, but it'll do well enough.
He sets his wand aside and taps her bottom, waiting for her to unfurl herself. When she's kneeling on the sofa he grabs the hem of her blouse and she lifts her arms so he can pull it over her head. He pushes her back until she's sitting, takes her shoes off and tugs her jeans down her legs, smiling when he notices the darker spot where her arousal's begun to soak the fabric. Beneath, she’s wet her little pink panties all the way through, her nipples taut and pressing into the lace of her bra.
"Finish undressing, lamb."
Hermione reaches behind to unclasp her bra as he divests himself of his own robes, but before she can work her panties very far down her thighs, the sensations become too much for her again. He watches her struggle while he unbuttons the cuffs of his dress shirt.
When she realizes he's not going to swoop in and save her, she whimpers and wriggles and begs breathlessly, "Daddy, c - can I touch myself, please?"
Draco rolls one sleeve to the elbow, then the other, waiting long enough for her to press her thighs together in a desperate attempt to ease the ache. "Go ahead, needy girl."
He's embarrassed her and that makes his cock twitch, uncomfortably hard in his trousers. The pull of the curse is stronger than any shame she might feel, though, and anyway, she's got a humiliation kink. She parts her thighs as much as the elastic of her panties will allow, and he catches a glimpse of her swollen clit peeking out before her fingers find it. Her eyes flutter closed and she grinds on her hand; he's satisfied to find she's not stifling her cries anymore, but that knowledge prompts him to reinforce the room's privacy charms.
He might tease her sometimes about public fantasies, but he's greedy. And Hermione Granger, when she's like this, is all fucking his.
He can smell the earthy-sweet tang of her from where he stands, and he has the urge to bury his face in her. He looms over her while she makes herself come, watching her with his arms crossed over his chest, because he knows that'll make her wetter.
When her shudders subside and she finds the courage to open her eyes again, it's obvious she's been aware of him the whole time.
He tuts, drinking in the sight of her. "Did you make a mess, lamb?"
"Uh-huh." She averts her gaze. Then she remembers what she's supposed to be doing and hooks her glistening fingers in her panties, pushing them the rest of the way off. She looks up at him hopefully. "Daddy, you said you'd fix me."
"I don't know that you're broken," he teases, his brow lifting. "I quite like you like this."
She scrunches her nose. "Don't be mean. I don't know how much longer I can take this."
"Oh, you've taken much worse at my hands, baby girl. Don't sell yourself short." He leans forward and taps her nose. "But I promise we'll sort you out. Scoot."
She scoots up, enough that once he's freed his cock from the confines of his slacks and briefs he'll be able to climb over her. He waits, though, strokes his cock a couple of times, watches her watch him hungrily. Swiping his thumb over the head, he offers it to her, and she laps up the beads of precum. Then she sucks it into her mouth, curling her little kitten tongue around it. That gives him more interesting ideas, but those can wait.
He doesn't bother undressing the rest of the way. She likes being naked while he's clothed, and he likes the headspace it puts her in. He settles himself atop her, covering her small, lithe body, kissing her forehead and eyelids and cheeks and neck as his cock slides through her folds.
"Mm." She sighs, a sweet, satisfied sound. It's momentary, he knows, an oasis in the midst of the hell of pleasure her body's putting her through, but he likes the way she relaxes some, contented with his closeness.
No one's ever wanted all of him the way she does.
He drives into her without warning - not brutally, but not gently, either, given his size. She cries out and her nails dig into his biceps, blunted by his shirt. The fabric grows damp where her juices still coat her hand.
"Is this what you needed, baby?" He gives her a moment to adjust, to open her eyes and whisper, "Yes, Daddy," and then he sets a punishing pace. He likes to think he's learned a lot about how to take her apart, and though clearly he hasn't learned enough - because otherwise she wouldn't still struggle, sometimes, to open up to him - he does know a thing or two. Like how she might enjoy it when he's gentle, might adore being coddled, but she fucking loves it when he's harsh.
The first climax overtakes her, ripping another cry from her throat.
"Do you hear that?" he asks her while she's still trembling from it, slowing his thrusts. "Hear how wet you are around my cock? You little slut. You wanted this, didn't you? Wanted to distract me from work, make me have to fuck you?"
She doesn't answer at first, still trying to catch her breath, her eyes tightly shut. When he wraps a hand around her throat, though, his signet ring pressing into the skin above the slender chain of her collar, she looks up at him, shaking her head. "N - no, Daddy, I didn't mean to - I swear I didn't mean to - "
"Hmm." He squeezes slowly, carefully - so carefully. She loves breath play, but he's ever aware of the risk of hurting her. "Maybe you didn't mean to, but you've enjoyed it, deep down, haven't you? Getting to rub yourself off in my lap, getting to come on your fingers because you can't wait long enough for me to get inside of you. I know you, you greedy little girl."
If he needed an answer, her gaze is enough. There's the very real fear of the effects of the curse, and the much more mellow and welcome fear of his hand tightening around her neck, but beneath that he can see this is filling some need of hers to be out of control with him, something she unconsciously resists despite her best efforts to let go. She whimpers and nods. The tacit acknowledgement, the courage of it, makes him proud.
He files away a mental note to ask her how she feels about aphrodisiac potions, once she's recovered.
He notices the second her awareness starts to fuzz; she clamps down on his cock so hard it drags a groan from him, and he releases her neck before she falls beneath the elusive waves of unconsciousness. She's coming again, her orgasm tearing its way through her body with surprising force, buoyed by the euphoria of oxygen deprivation.
"Fucking hell, Min - " The bliss of his own peak drowns whatever else he might’ve wanted to say, and his vision goes blurry as he presses his face to her neck.
They're both shaking and sweaty, and it takes a few minutes for him to come down. He kisses her nose, smiling at her, but she's frowning as her walls spasm around him.
"You said I'd be better."
He taps her bottom lip, pushed out in a pout. He likes it when she whines and wheedles - it's probably weird, but he finds it adorable, even when he punishes her for it. "Lamb, a simple quickie isn't going to fix your little...predicament, I'm afraid."
"Oh." Her face falls further, impressive given how punch-drunk and sated she usually is after he's choked and fucked her into an especially powerful orgasm. She tenses and looks as if she might cry again, and his heart cracks in two.
"Hey there." He nuzzles his nose to hers, chucks her under the chin. "I promised you Daddy would fix it, and I will." He has an inkling of how to go about it, too, but he needs to work on getting those walls down a little bit more, getting her more open, softer. Then he can circle back to that. "Think you can kneel?"
A nod, and he helps her down to the floor, perching on the edge of the Transfigured couch and giving her room between his legs. A cushioning charm protects her knees. She likes this position - kneeling calms her, and she's addicted to sucking his dick. Sometimes she just holds it in her sweet little mouth for comfort. It'll soothe her, hopefully push her further into the space she needs to be in for what comes next.
"Be a good girl and clean up the mess you've made."
"This will help?"
"Mm-hmm." He offers her a reassuring smile, trailing a fingertip down her cheek. He almost never gives her permission to come with his cock in her mouth, but.... "You can touch yourself while you do. Come as many times as you need to, baby."
"Thank you, Daddy."
She takes to it with the same dedication as always, but more...intent. Usually she loves to play, to worship his cock; as much as she likes making him come, having him in her mouth is an end in itself. But this time she brings him to the edge and keeps him there. She's being coy, pulling back and nuzzling his thigh every now and then while she runs her fingertips up and down his shaft, curls her small hands lightly around him. Her eyes dart up to his face each time she takes him back into her mouth, as if she's waiting for something.
Manipulative little minx.
Draco fists his hand in her curls and next time she takes him deep he holds her head. She never fights him, but she struggles despite her muffled moans, and he lets her up.
"Did you suddenly develop an aversion to deep-throating, baby girl?" He keeps his tone light. "What's the matter, you don't want to take my come again?"
"N - no, Daddy. It's just, I...." Hermione bites her lip, abashed. It's not in her nature to top from the bottom, and she's clearly not happy with herself.
"You what?" he asks, running a hand through her hair. "You don't think Daddy will take care of you?"
"It's not - "
To her credit, she doesn't finish that denial, sighing and shutting her mouth. They both know it'd be a lie, and that's something neither of them tolerates from the other.
She looks down. "I guess I just thought...I thought you'd fuck me again."
"I plan to," he says calmly, "but it'll be no great hardship to me if I have to stripe your ass with my belt first to get you to behave."
Her sharp inhale tells him she's penitent - perhaps too much so. She likes the belt, but she hates being in trouble. She hugs herself, hands gripping her upper arms, and he reaches to pull them away from her body.
"None of that, baby. I'm not angry with you. Look at me." He cups her cheek, holding her gaze. "Will it help? If I lay into you?"
It can send her flying into subspace even more deeply than kneeling does, and maybe that's what she needs. But the shake of her head tells him his instincts were right. Not today.
"I - I don't think so, sir." She takes a shuddering breath. "God, maybe I really am fucked up - "
"Stop." If there's one rule he hates her breaking the most, it's talking down about herself. "Do you want to take my come in your mouth, Min? It won't change my plans for after, if you say no. You never have to do anything you don't want to do."
"I do," she whispers. "I always do. I'm sorry, I just - "
"I know it's scary, baby girl." He leans forward, presses a kiss to the top of her head. His little control freak. He can guess at the anxieties clouding her mind. "You've been handling it so well, though."
At her look of disbelief, he wants to smile. She's so hard on herself. Most people would be panicking, faced with the prospect of endless orgasms. It's all fun and games until you dehydrate or have a heart attack.
That thought sobers him. Healing magic can help, but in the absence of a countercurse such outcomes aren't unheard of. He's going to get her through this just fine, though. If he fails at this method, he'll spend the evening finding common ground with the big ginger.
But after this he's vetting every goddamn assignment she takes, no matter how much she grumbles. The longer she blinks those doe eyes at him, the more his caveman desire to keep her tied to his bed 24/7 so she can never do anything dangerous ever again begins to seem downright reasonable.
"I promise it'll be over soon," he says, careful not to let his concern bleed into his voice. "You can hold on a little longer for me, can't you?"
They've been at this for less than an hour. She's enjoyed much more strenuous play sessions before, and he's forced plenty of orgasms from her, though not quite this many all at once. It's the fear getting to her more than the curse itself.
"Yes, sir."
"There's my brave girl. C'mon, lamb, touch that pretty pussy for Daddy."
He doesn't force her movements this time. He's half-hard now, but he stiffens as she starts to work them both up with the kind of single-minded focus she usually devotes to this task, nuzzling his shaft and taking his sac into her mouth, running her tongue over the tightening flesh with a hum of pleasure.
She doesn't touch herself at first, and she's still tense, but there's adoration and trust in her eyes.
"That's a good girl," he murmurs. "Always so good, so devoted, aren't you?"
A little shiver ripples through her at the praise, and she runs her tongue up the length of him, taking the head into her mouth. As she devours him, he keeps playing with her wild dark curls. When they're together this way, both enjoying the languid pleasure of it, he likes to catalog the variegated hues. From a distance all you can see is the black, but up close - her head bobbing on his shaft, taking him deep and painting him with her tongue, then letting him go again - the rare, glimmering strands of chestnut and auburn and gold catch his eye.
Another orgasm washes over her, this one less intense than the others, but she sucks more strongly, wrapping one hand around him while the other sneaks between her thighs. The hum of her moans and soft cries make him impossibly harder, twitching against her lips, pleasure coiling at the base of his spine. He holds off though, wants to watch her for a while longer.
"My beautiful girl. That's it, baby, you need it, don't you? You like making a mess on the floor while you suck Daddy's cock?"
She might still be dealing with the effects of the curse, but that nod, that little whimper, that's all theirs. The way she lets go of some of the tension she's been carrying, the way she takes him deeper into her throat with abandon as she rocks her hips to her own touch - no one else gets to see her like this, so delicate and strong and giving and his. Gods, he doesn't deserve her, but he won't question the grace of a universe that lets him have this, because it's the most precious gift.
That's his last conscious thought before he's losing himself, spending in her mouth, and she shudders through a more powerful orgasm between his thighs.
He murmurs praise when he surfaces, fingertips trailing down her cheek as she nuzzles his thigh, resting her head there. She tips her head up, smiling at him, and though it's not as carefree as the infectious smiles and giggles he’s used to, the sweetness of it warms him from the inside out.
"C'mere, lamb."
She's almost boneless as he picks her up and settles her on his knee, bouncing her to see her smile widen. He buries his face in her hair, breathes in her scent - sex and sweat and coconut and hibiscus - and tightens his arms around her. She likes when he holds her this way, says it makes her feel safe.
She cuddles into him and rests her head on his chest. "Daddy?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Love you."
She's the only one who gets to see him. With everyone else he's still hard sometimes, a cipher to his mother, a sarcastic ass to his friends. Ruthless in handling his family's business dealings. With her he smiles and says, "I love you, too," and means it.
He drops a kiss in her hair. "Going to keep being such a good girl for me, aren't you?"
She sighs, but it's the good kind. Gives him a slight nod.
"You're going to take all of me?"
"Y - yes, Daddy." Her breath stutters, but she doesn't balk.
He's filled her up with his cock plenty of times, even trained her to take him in her ass. With the aid of toys, he's double- and triple-penetrated her, and she fucking loves it. But this makes her nervous - when he finger-fucks her and stretches her, makes her take three or four thick digits, presses into her until she can't help but soak his hand.
He's never given her more than that. He wonders how much she can take, how much she'll need to take.
She squirms, and he knows the small reprieve is coming to an end. He makes her drink more water first. "Lie back, lamb. Let Daddy take care of you."
As she settles herself back on the couch, sinking into it, he takes the chance to sort his trousers as well as he can. He turns and she's so damn pretty, a vision - his very own debauched little pixie, all dusky skin against cream suede and patient whiskey eyes. He swallows hard and thinks of the eternity collar he's got tucked away in a drawer at home, sturdier and more suitable than the stylized gold carrick bend knot she wears now. He's delayed talking with her about it, worried she won't feel ready, but regardless of the outcome of today, it belongs around her neck.
"Daddy," she whines, rubbing her slick thighs together and reaching for him. "Want you to kiss me, please."
It's his turn to worship her. He braces himself above her, capturing her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip and giving her his tongue. She suckles, curls her own around it, tangles her small hand in his hair. When he moves lower, she makes a noise of protest, but he gives her the pressure of his thigh between hers and she rubs against him, mollified. A gasp and an arch of her back as he sucks her nipple into his mouth, runs his teeth along it.
"Feel good, baby?"
"Mm."
She's hot through his trousers, quivering as he maps her with his mouth and his hands, giving every random freckle a kiss. She's going to come no matter what, but he wants to make her come for him. He doesn't have much time to mutter sanitizing and protection charms for her tender flesh - it'd be easier to use a glove to protect her from his Quidditch-roughened hand, but he's selfish, wants to feel every goddamn pulse of her. He's barely settled between her thighs, trailed his finger over the trimmed hair there and slid it inside of her, before she grips his hair.
"That's it, open up for me like a good girl." Her inner walls spasm around him as he pushes another finger into her, making her take it, and she cries out as she peaks.
She settles eventually, still running her hand through his hair. His continued thrusts, slow and sure, make her breath unsteady.
"Keep your eyes on me." Draco trusts her to as he dips his head to lap at her dark cherry of a clit. The sensation earns him a hiss, a jerk of her hips. He gives her light flutters of his tongue, fucking her at a leisurely pace, but she takes it beautifully. This will be a drawn-out process, but a worthwhile one.
When he finally, finally starts to press a third finger inside, she trembles.
"Pull your knees up and hold them, baby." He lifts his head when she does as she's told to see her staring at him with an intensity she reserves for particularly complex Arithmancy probabilities. "Take a deep breath and let it out."
The position leaves her wide open, vulnerable to his invasion. Her muscles unclench some and a lubrication charm eases the way, allowing him to twist and press deeper inside of her. He finds that spot that makes her come undone; she tightens again, but he smacks her inner thigh with his free hand, hard enough to sting.
"You know better. Give it up for me, Min. Now."
His voice is sharp, stern, and she responds to that, she always does. He suckles firmly on her clit and forces it from her, liquid fire gushing over his hand and soaking his thousand-Galleon sofa.
"So fucking hot, baby. That's it."
She’s shaking, and he presses a firm hand on her lower belly, working a fourth digit inside in the aftermath of her orgasm.
"Please - " It's a strangled sound, and her eyes are wet again.
He pauses, studies her face. "Hurting, lamb?"
She shakes her head. He knows all the flavors of her tears, knows what she looks like when she's crying from pain she doesn't want and from pain she's asked for, when she's sobbing with grief or shaking with anger.
This is different. Release.
"Burns a little but it - it's good," she manages. "Want more, Daddy."
"Do you?" he murmurs, voice lifting in surprise. "You need it harder?"
A shy nod, her fingers twisting in the strands of his hair.
He wants to keep some of it - a Malfoy going bald? Perish the thought - so he tells her, "Arms above your head, okay? You can hold onto the couch."
She likes being able to touch him when she's not bound, but she doesn't protest, reaching up and gripping the cushioned arm of the sofa.
Somewhere in the next minutes - while he's pumping into her with enough force to make her breasts bounce and her breath emerge in broken gasps - he feels it, hears it.
Silence.
Oh, there's the sweet sounds she's making, the sopping mess of her around his hand, but not the tension he's felt this whole time. Not his thoughts, going over everything he knows about sex curses again and again, deep down terrified he might fail her. Not her own fear, harsh like sandpaper, a wall between them.
Just her welcoming four of his fingers, then five up to the knuckle when he curls his thumb behind his palm. Fucking gorgeous.
"Draco - " She's looking at him like the answer to a prayer.
He doesn't want to stop, but he leans up to place a kiss below her navel, slowing his thrusts. "It's over. We don't have to keep going, lamb."
It's so hard for her to speak, the overwhelming pressure inside of her seeming to crowd out everything else. She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth, her tears spilling over. "What if - what if I want to?"
"Then I'll give you what you need." He reaches up to touch her damp cheek, and she presses it to his palm, and he knows she believes him. Believes in him. "I'll always give you what you need, Hermione."
It doesn't take much longer for him to work himself wrist-deep - gently, as gently as he can, no matter how desperately she begs for more, faster. She squirts over his wrist, more violently than before, a shudder working its way through her. One orgasm tumbles into the next as he curls his fingers around his thumb and sucks her clit into his mouth again.
When she lets go it's exquisite - better than Firewhisky, better than catching a Snitch, better than spilling in her mouth. Like nothing he's ever felt.
After, once he's worked himself free of her and pulled her shaking body into his arms, she buries her face in his chest.
"I - I'm sorry - " she says as she tries to stifle her tears.
"Shh. You don’t have anything to be sorry for." He kisses her forehead. "It's okay, lamb, sometimes crying is a good thing. You've been the best girl today." He keeps whispering praise and encouragement, soothing her with his touch, and the raw storm of tangled emotion in her subsides.
"I know you're tired, baby girl. Let's get you home, I'll carry you." He reaches for his robes, wraps her in softness, and she nuzzles into him when he cradles her, sleepy but sated. He needs to get them both cleaned up, needs to get something more substantial than chocolate into her before she passes out. Not to mention a potion for the soreness she's sure to feel in the morning. And then - as much for his own aftercare as for hers - he needs to cuddle the hell out of her.
"No orgasms for a year," she mumbles into his shirt.
"Uh-huh." He can't help smiling as he stands and reaches for the Floo powder, glad he sprung for the private work connection. "I give it two days max before you're climbing me like a tree, you little nympho."
She breathes a watery giggle. "Mm. Probably."