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He told her to come to him when she was ready.
He waited there, she knew he did. He told her he would be there and though many regarded him with distrust and suspicion… he had never not kept his word. For good or for ill, he had followed through on his promises.
Or threats. As the case may be...
As she walked down the foreboding lane, evergreens towering above her casting their shadows in the foggy dusk of evening, she wondered again if she had made the right decision. What am I doing? She thought breathlessly. The estate loomed ahead and she stopped at the ornate gate. He gave her the chance to run. To leave. Told her it was up to her alone. But like an otherworldly beckoning she couldn’t refuse, she felt him drawing her back to him.
“State your business.” The enchanted gate ordered.
“I am Ms. Hermione Granger. I’ve come to see Lord Lucius Malfoy... I’ve been invited.”
There was the barest of pauses and then with a creak of metal scratching against the hanging tree branches that framed the archway, it swung open. She clutched her bag tightly and started down the path.
Every step brought her closer to him and her heart pounded at it. How could she feel so much desire for someone she had barely spoken to? Someone she had only shared looks with across a ballroom? Someone with whom she had only exchanged a few words at social functions? Only touched casually, accidentally, by happenstance - the brush of fingertips from a passed champagne glass, a subtle kiss of fabric walking by?
But somehow she had captured his attention and he hers. A glass of wine delivered across a dining room. Flowers at her home without a name. A ticket with no note to a concert or play where she arrived alone to a box only to look across the theater and see him, also alone, pinning her with a smoldering look and a subtle nod of acknowledgement… Indeed, his intent gaze followed her whenever they were in the same place. Some would call her an ingenue. And though she had never known the touch of a man, she knew the ways of the world. She knew what he was thinking when he looked at her. She knew what thoughts heated his blood… Because they were the same thoughts that heated hers...
Still he had held himself off. And she convinced herself it was for the best.
She paused as the crunch of gravel beneath her heels ceased and she went up the steps to the large door. Her breath heaved, her heart raced, to think of the catalyst that had broken it all.
She’d rounded the corner in a dark hallway, fleeing to find a breath of air in a crowded house party when she collided with something, pitching backwards only to be caught by a man.
How her breath had ceased entirely to look up into the burning gray eyes of the man she now sought.
A smirk had lifted his lips before fading as he looked at her, searching her face. His hands were firm around her arms, her breasts pressed slightly against the hard wall of his chest as she looked up at him, the column of her throat exposed and showcasing every breath, pulse and swallow. His eyes drifted down to her neck and foolishly she could have sworn his eyes flashed red.
Then he moved forward… his lips were against hers. Her head spun, and a delicious, wondrous heat burned in her stomach, spiraling out in tendrils of fire and pleasure into her breastbone and downward to her core. She gasped, and he took full advantage of the slight opening of her lips, his tongue invaded, and explored and a curious but thoroughly enjoyable heat flooded between her legs.
But with a sudden jerk it was over and he drew back, chest heaving, his cool gray eyes on fire… A whimper broke her lips, and his arms came around her body, crushing her to him as he stole a last kiss. Harder, brief but less invasive. He looked into her eyes and spoke the most directly he had thus far.
“Come to me.”
Her body quivered at his plea. “I… I couldn’t possibly.”
She couldn’t. But oh gods how she longed to!
He cupped her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. “This week’s end. Tell them you’re going on holiday for Samhain. But come to me.” He looked adoringly into her face. “You know what I am. You’ve known for weeks. And you’re not afraid.”
She felt positively dizzy at his touch. “Yes… I’ve known.”
So overcome with passion was he, that he looked ill. He swallowed, expression pained. He pressed his forehead to hers and breathed. “I long for you.” But he released her and took a step back. “I will wait for you. Whatever you decide. If you don’t come, I will not ask again. If you do… I will give you all I have. And take all of you.”
And with that he’d vanished and though sense, propriety and shock kept her rooted to the spot, a part of her had craved to follow him then.
Terrible things were rumored about this dark, elegant man whose attention she had caught. Some said he could freeze your blood with a glance. Some said he fought in the Great War for the long dead Lord Voldemort. Some said he was a serial murderer of muggleborns. Some claimed a Vampire. Still others said he was a necromancer, or a dark worshiper of satanic forces, sacrificing virgins to the darker ancient gods. A demon…
Yes she knew precisely who - and what - he was. Knowing what she knew she shouldn’t feel this desire.
But she did.
Hermione moved through the heavy door that swung open of its own accord. No one was on the other side of it. No servant, human or elf, appeared. The man himself, missing. But a tall candelabra rose to life as she moved into the dark entryway and one by one, sconces along the wall up a flight of stairs flickered on. It may have seemed ominous, if it weren’t for the trail of dark, blood red rose petals strewn over the steps following the same path as the candlelight.
Silently struggling for breath, fingers tightening on the handle of her bag, she followed the path. The setting beyond was dark, and difficult to see in the dimly lit evening light but she couldn’t pretend to be all that interested in the house beyond. She followed the path of light and rose petals up the stairs, through a dark and unused drawing room, up another winding staircase and eventually into a more warmly outfitted hallway. Dozens of doors lined each side, alternating with large, high windows.
She came to the end of the rose petal path, the door to a room stood open. A lusciously decorated and feminine room of creams, whites and golds lay beyond. Fresh pale roses in vases and candles spilling their warm glow over the carpet adorned the space. He’d had the suite prepared, waiting for her. He knew I’d come… she thought with a mixture of a thrill and fear.
The fear intensified and knifed through her as another door opened when she moved inward. It was obvious her room adjoined his and he stepped forward out of his much darker room. His pale hair tied back, wearing a crisp black dressing robe, he was the picture of masculine elegance. She swallowed down the bite of fear as he stepped closer, quickly evaporating the distance between them and she could smell his cologne. Hermione Granger does not back down.
Those frightful eyes that had plagued her dreams turned to liquid mercury. The hands that were legend to have brought so much pain and destruction to their world turned soothing and gentle as he slid them over her shoulders…
He finally spoke, his rich baritone ripping unwilling shudders from her flesh. “You want this.”
It wasn’t a question so she didn't answer. She looked up at him, lips parted in breathless anticipation and something flashed in his pale eyes. Something dangerous and predatory. It thrilled her. She’d be ruined. Ruined for anyone but him, she knew this. No other man would ever be enough once she’d had him. And few wizards would ever want her anyway, not when she’d been “tainted” by his touch. And she couldn’t bring herself to care. Oh god yes, she wanted this…
She swayed as his hands moved from her shoulders across her back, over her hips. Her eyes drifted closed as he pulled her closer to him and she felt a hard swell of flesh against her belly, and he leaned inward to ghost feather light kisses across her temple and down her throat, over the wildly pulsing point in her neck.
She had read penny dreadfuls, heard the girls at school giggling about it in the dormitories, seen the act in the farmland, and stables. But nothing could prepare her for the all encompassing need that was coursing through her, making her long for something she didn’t understand. Craving something she wasn’t fully aware of.
Her body trembled. Her very core lurched with want and hunger. Heat, and wetness flooded her center as he continued to stroke her body, palms over her breasts. She squeezed her thighs together, desperately hoping it would relieve this ache slicing through her. Even as she tried, she knew it was futile. Nothing would relieve it, save for him. He notices the movement. That cruel, sensual mouth curved into a knowing smirk as he drew back. He knew. He’d always known from the moment her eyes had met his.
“Lean against the bed.”
He commanded it and it didn't occur to her to disobey. How docile she had become at the mere hope of his touch… Her breasts heaving silently with each wanting breath, she leaned forward, her palms spread on the silken sheets, one hand sliding upward to curl around the bed post for support.
“What an obedient witch you are.” He said quietly, walking slowly behind her out of sight.
She shivered at his praise. So this was how it would be? She felt him stand close behind her, and presumed it would be. That she would be taken hard and fast, facing away from him… She should protest. She should feel humiliated. She should insist on something less primal, more intimate. But she didn’t. She was ready. Willing. For whatever he wished to give or to take. Anything for the feel of him in that place that ached at his mere glance.
But he surprised her. She could hear no tell tale untying of his robe. Felt no flesh at her backside, and he didn't push the skirt of her gown up over her hips. Instead she felt his hands, firm but gentle at her back and he began to untie the laces at the dress and then the corset. She gasped at the feel of his fingers on her skin. She was free of it and he slid his palm over the previously constricted flesh, parting the fabric so that the garments fell away…
She heard the breath he took sharply inward, his actions revealing naked flesh beneath the gown. She hadn’t bothered with extra layers and he clearly appreciated the unfettered view of her body.
“Gods, how tempting it is to take you like this.” he whispered.
But then she felt his hands on her now bare hips as he tugged at her and she turned to him. He met her half way and lifted her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers. It was a kiss so much like the one they had already shared. But somehow sharper. More intimate. Perhaps it was the act she knew they were about to engage in, but the fire and heat that licked across her lips at the contact left her breathless.
“I’m going to claim you, Hermione.” he promised quietly, laying her on the bed. “I’m going to make you mine. Do you want to be mine? Do you want to belong to me?”
“Yes.” she answered with her voice shaking as badly as her body was.
He tasted of fire whiskey , and he smelled of patchouli and worn leather, and expensive tobacco. She moaned at the feel of him sliding inside of her. But it was her turn to surprise him. She had been so forward, so obvious that his attentions wouldn’t be refused, he likely thought her an experienced woman… yet he paused at her maidenhead. He looked down, surprise evident and she tightened her fingers around his. “I wanted you.” she emphasized. “I think… I've always wanted you.”
He hesitated, a soft look entering his face and then he pressed forward gently. Her body jerked in surprise at the sharp pain and she gasped. He surged deeper and she was claimed. The pain faded as he paused again and he waited for her to acclimate to his body inside hers. She felt her inexperienced flesh stretching around his width, could feel him pulsing with need, answering the humming in her own body. And then he began to move. And it was as if despite her limitations in knowledge, her body had been so long burning and wanting, that it now had quite the mind of its own. Her back arched off the mattress without her say, her legs circled his waist of their own accord, her hands thrust into his hair quite against her will…
His muscles shifted and flexed beneath her hands as she explored him… She watched the moonlight and firelight dancing across his flesh, reflecting in his hungry eyes, kissing the bed and the parted canopy with their glow. She could feel something rising in her… She needed more. So much more.
But she did not have to ask for what she yearned for and his taut flesh plunged deeper at the silent plea in her eyes. No part of her was hidden, no inch of her body untouched and he was somehow everywhere, on and in every part of her, in every one of her dizzied senses. She could hear him groaning over the sound of blood rushing in her ears, and she relished in the sound, in the knowledge he wanted and desired her as much as she did him. It loomed closer, this unseen force that felt like death and hell, and heaven and life…
He was a generous lover. But then his control broke, and he was a man possessed, gripping her harder, driving between her parted thighs with renewed strength and fervor, his head bowed against her throat. She shattered in his grasp, and pulled him along with her. He came with a strangled growl, she with a cry of his name, his release tearing through him, his shaft pressed deeper, and she arched against his thrust and she felt a rush of heat burst into her quivering body.
He fell beside her, his strength momentarily fleeing him. She lay beneath him, shaking and shivering, her legs still parted around his body as he rested, still buried within her. She could feel his chest heaving, his heart pounding against her torso as she took deep ragged breaths in the moon dusted afterglow of their union.
“You know you can never leave.” He said gruffly as he with some difficulty raised his head to look at her, his smirking lips trailing hot, lazy kisses across her breasts and down her belly. “I can’t let you go.”
Somehow, she did. She had made her choice, for whatever it would mean. She had been claimed by him, her blood and his seed between her thighs giving a tangible reminder of what they had done.
“I know.” she answered softly, her heart pounding.
“Then you accept me?” he asked, all traces of amusement fleeing his face.
The answer rose up in my throat. “Yes. I accept you.”
He smiled softly, his eyes brightening in adoration and no small measure of triumph. “Then let us speak no more of it until morning. For now…”
He said no more, only moved, and bent low, his teeth trailing down in softly nipping kisses down between her parted thighs and he set out to claim her once more.