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Her walls flutter around his pulsing cock. Beads of sweat roll down her neck, and her curls cling across her skin. The unmistakable feeling of her trembling thighs as they bracket his own sets him on edge.
“Don’t move,” Draco growls, teeth gritting at the all-consuming sensation of her dripping cunt.
The response his warning earns him isn’t a word at all. Instead, it’s a low keen. A garbled noise tucked into his shoulder, and the sound of it makes him twitch inside her.
She’s recently decided to rest her head on his shoulder, facing him, and he allows it. He doesn’t understand why it took him this long to suggest it this way— with her chest pressing against his, the natural way her legs feel around his. From this position, he takes in every little gasp from her lips, even the slightest whimper. He’ll get a mouthful of her ridiculous hair either way, so he might as well enjoy the rest of it.
The clock ticks on as he glances up every so often, mind floating as the minutes pass, while she shudders against him impaled on his cock. Every time, he silently sets a new goal for her— always a bit longer than the last.
Benchmarks are essential for overachievers like Miss Granger.
And she has twenty minutes left to go.
Nearly a decade after entering seminary school, Draco thought he’s paid it— whatever price the Devil himself named for him to finally move on from his sins. The years of greed, the wrath he felt, the envy and pride. It was almost easy to enroll in seminary school, an act that might save him from eternal damnation after living and working under his brute of a father.
‘Reformed’ is the word people use to describe him.
“Repent, and you too shall become as blessed and righteous,” he tells his congregation.
Quite honestly, it takes years for him to truly notice her. Her family attends Sunday Mass regularly, and she volunteers to lead Bible study on Wednesday nights, in addition to her rigorous studies. Miss Granger is not afraid to regularly challenge him on scripture.
Draco’s never been intimately involved with anyone since his sinful university years, and certainly not with anyone in his congregation.
He realises too late how heavy the Devil’s price is.
That it’s always been there. Temptation to Father Malfoy takes the form of a girl, hardly yet a woman. A young Hermione Granger, who wields her copy of the Bible like a shield, not knowing it will be her incessant mouth that strikes him down.
Her fingers curl into his shirt, clinging to him. Glancing down, her knuckles are white from the strain. Her entire body trembles against him.
There’s no question of her arousal. It spreads all over his lap, his trousers soaking with it. It’s the same every time, a physical reminder of how badly she needs this. Needs to learn patience— to be taught restraint.
No one has ever walked into his office without a knock or warning first. There’s never been anyone who wants to see him on such late nights, not anyone he’s allowed in his office this late. He doesn’t even bother locking the door.
“You’re doing so well, little dove,” he coos. She rewards him with a delightful clench of her walls.
In his ear, she continues to pant, a sound so delicious he can’t help, but hum in delight.
Draco knows the effect he has on women. It’s not pride, only a simple fact to him that stares back at him when he looks in the mirror. A perfect middle ground for both school girls and lonely housewives alike, but he cares for none of them.
Most other girls in the congregation are docile things, giving him saccharine smiles as they exit Mass with their families, not having opened the Bible. Some women whose husbands he only ever sees on major holidays, Christmas, Easter, what have you, come up to thank Father Malfoy for the ‘lovely service’. They place their hands on his arm and their freshly done bubblegum pink nails and designer bags betray the fact they leave nothing in the collection basket.
Miss Granger has never and will never be one of them. Mostly because she approaches Catholicism like admission to Heaven is guaranteed with a course syllabus, coming up to him after Mass to question his every word. So much so, that he begins to plan his sermons with the same amount of research as he did defending his Master’s thesis.
It’s maddening. She’s maddening.
One Sunday morning, he catches her eye as she looks up from under her lashes, on her knees in the pew. Her conservative dress inches up her thighs, temptation alluring him further. Mouthing the words of the prayer, he’s drawn to her lusciously nude lips. Words forming over her teeth like a symphony of harps in the clouds. Heat rises up his neck, and Draco pulls at his clerical collar, searching for the air that sucks his lungs dry.
The want for her grabs him by his lungs, his heart, and his mind, pulling him toward the edge more than anything ever has.
His fall from Grace is swift, and it catches him off guard.
Standing at the front of the room leading the sermon, he wants nothing more than to be alone with her, for the pews between them to disappear. For her to be on her knees in front of him, looking up at him, praying to him instead of whatever God they believe in.
He wants, and he wants, and he wants.
Their eyes remain locked together until Draco finally spares himself, ripping his gaze away to continue on with his planned sermon.
At the conclusion of Mass, he locks himself in his office, finding salvation in his rigid cock.
It begins with a simple admission.
A click of the confessional door, a body sliding into the seat.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” The sound of Miss Granger’s voice is unmistakable. “My last confession was four weeks ago.”
Draco hums, thinking about the last time she came to confess. “Quite a long time for you, isn’t it?”
From what her mother Mrs. Granger has told him, young Miss Granger is both a fantastic student and daughter. An only child, and devout catholic.
“Yes. I’m currently finishing up my last year of school before University.”
There have been confessions where Miss Granger proclaims her prideful nature; how well she’s scored on her A levels, her admission to Oxford for the coming year, all expected moral failings of a schoolgirl swot. She can’t help, but feel this way, she says. Older than most students in her year, Miss Granger feels she’s born to excel.
It is not Draco’s place to judge, only to listen. The wood on the other side continuously creaks, as if she’s adjusting in her chair, restless.
“I’ve been having a difficult time recently.“ Her normal pitch changes, now featherlight and faint— like she’s breathless. “But I’ve come to repent.”
The silence between them drags on. The seat continues to creak. Now, it’s his job to guide those who might be nervous through a confession, but Miss Granger is never timid. Not like this. He stays silent, waiting for her to continue.
“I’ve committed sins of the flesh,” Miss Granger whispers, hot shame evident in her words.
A white hot fury grows inside of him. Thankful for the divider between the, he reigns in his anger and asks, “Ah. With another?”
“No, by myself. I—” A hint of hesitation, before she whispers again, “Touch myself. But I imagine it with someone else.”
“Hm,” Giving pause, he steadies his breath. “It’s quite normal, at your age to have—“ Draco hesitates for the right words, like some timid schoolboy, “urges, when it comes to your peers—”
“He’s not a peer, Father,” she interrupts. It frustrates him, sets his teeth on edge when she interrupts like this, and she interrupts often. “I can’t stop.”
The image of her laying naked in her twin-sized bed, fingers digging into her own, empty cunt, trying desperately not to make a noise burns into the wood in front of him.
“Regardless.” Draco tries to remember why this beautiful thought should be discouraged, “Such acts we cannot condone, even in marriage. It is good that you understand your sins. Is this all you’ve come to confess?”
“This is all I can remember,” Miss Granger mutters, the rehearsed line said in a rush. “I-am-sorry-for-these-and-all-my-sins.”
What sort of penance is appropriate for this situation? Resisting temptation is difficult for anyone, let alone a teenager in the throes of hormonal changes. Schooling himself, the words come tumbling out, “If you have questions, you can always find me in my office. Again, there are ways to learn control.”
The rest of the procedure blurs together, and only through repeated practice does he work through the rest of it without losing his mind.
Even after she leaves, Draco feels no respite. He lingers in the confessional, hoping his raging erection will go down with time.
It doesn’t.
Most times when she sits silently on his cock, he passes the time by reading a book. Some nights, he’s busied himself with notes from upcoming sermons or reading mail that’s stacked up on his desk.
Today, he’s indulging himself.
Paying attention to all the little noises she makes, the response her body is giving off. The hard peaks of her nipples are impossible to ignore now against his chest, even through several layers of clothing between them. Has she forgone a bra entirely?
Now that his hands aren’t occupied elsewhere, they find themselves touching her, picking her apart. Studying her response to the slightest touch.
A gentle press against her lower back. Brushing away a curl sticking to her sweat soaked neck, he feels her erratic pulse beneath his fingertips. There’s an overwhelming urge to place his mouth on her neck and taste it. He runs a comforting hand along her inner thigh. The unmistakable twitch of her hips makes him grip her thighs tightly, desperate to keep her still.
“Almost there, little dove,” he soothes, thumb rubbing just above her stockings. The softness of her skin startles him every time. Glancing at the clock, there are only a few minutes left. “You’re not going to move, are you?”
A quick shake of her head later, he slowly returns to his exploration. His hands ghost over her arse, resting across his thighs, and takes a deep sigh.
This is all for her own good.
When Miss Granger slips into his office after Bible study the following week, Draco’s not even sure why he’s still there.
“Miss Granger.” Draco removes his glasses and gestures to the open seat across from him.
She ignores it.
“I had a question,” she says, standing rigidly by the door, drowning in her horribly modest school uniform. “If you have time, Father.”
“Always.”
“Is there sin in touching, but not reaching a peak?”
The frankness of the question catches him off-guard. Draco sputters, “What?”
“‘Let marriage be honored among all and the marriage bed be kept undefiled, for God will judge the immoral and adulterers.’” Miss Granger recites the line from memory, not breaking eye contact. Taking a step forward, “What does that have to do with touching myself?”
Whether the Serpent takes his form or hers, Draco’s not sure.
“God wants you to give yourself fully to your husband, to give yourself fully to him when the time comes.”
“But I’m not about giving ones self,” she struggles to clarify. The twitch of her pink mouth reveals her internal frustration. “It’s just— I can’t stop once I start. I’m chasing the end, and I keep giving into the temptation.”
She’s closer now, her fingers running along his wooden desk as she approaches. Draco grips the arms of his chair. “I realise how hard this must be for you, but you must resist the temptation to begin with. To do that is a selfish act. That is meant to be shared with someone you trust—.”
“But I trust you.“ His jaw snaps shut, teeth clicking together at the interruption. Ignorant to his ire, Miss Granger continues, her eyes wide with doe-like innocence. “I trust you more than anyone else.”
The words of Matthew flee from his mind, and Draco becomes lost.
It’s Miss Granger’s idea, of how she might learn to resist. Says she read it on a forum full of other devout souls.
Neither of them moves to leave, or say no.
After rattling off his requirements, Miss Granger quickly agrees. There are only a few; that she remains quiet, that she doesn’t move, and she doesn’t climax.
It’s should be no different than placing a briefcase of money before a greedy man. How else will she learn to overcome temptation?
That’s what he tells himself.
“Come here,” Draco orders. The last thing he’s going to do is hurt her, so they’ll have to work up to it. Miss Granger approaches like he’s put her under a spell, spotting only when her knees hit his as he’s seated.
Gently, his fingers slide up her thighs, thinking soon he will hit the resistance of her practical knickers. Maybe once she feels him brushing so close to her entrance, she’ll run out the door, her tail between her legs.
The tights are thigh high, satin turning to soft skin. When the climb of his fingers ends, Draco expects the touch of scratchy cotton, but he’s met with only skin.
Miss Granger’s wearing nothing under her modest knee-length school skirt.
At the realisation, he shuts his eyes, rests his forehead against her waist and groans.
“I thought it would be more efficient this way,” Granger explains, in the same tone one would explain owning an umbrella for a rainy day. “Didn’t think I needed them.”
Draco buries his protests in the back of his mind for future confession and resumes his exploration. If his hands are cold, she doesn’t complain. Resting his other hand around her knees, he pulls her in closer. “Has anyone else touched you this way before, Miss Granger?”
Her breath hitches. His eyes slowly drag up her body, brow raised, waiting for her answer.
“No, Father,” she whispers. “Only me.”
His tongue runs along the edge of his canine, fighting a smile. “Good girl.”
There’s no denying how wet she is, the evidence is strewn across her thighs already. One quick brush against her clit to get her gasping, then slips his finger into her without warning.
She clutches tightly to his shoulders and whines.
Draco pinches the outside of her thigh as a light reprimand. “Quiet.”
One becomes two, becomes three. He doesn’t touch her clit outright again, though she’s clearly hoping for the passing brush against the bundle of nerves with every slow stroke he takes. Her optimism is so obvious, it irks him. Does she think he’ll give into such a thing so easily?
Roughly pulling away his slick soaked fingers earns him a yelp. “What—?”
Draco leans back in his chair when all he really wants to do is taste his fingers. “This is your penance, little dove, not mine.”
If she wants this that badly, she’ll take what she wants. The last thing he’s going to do is make her. Those same lithe fingers he spends hours daydreaming about fumble with the fastenings of his trousers. Her confident yet inexperienced touch to his erection makes him bite back a hiss.
Miss Granger takes one look up at him, waiting for him to say no. And in all honesty, he probably should.
There are expectations he follows in his priesthood. Requirements to abide by, but right now, the lines of those obligations were blurring. Saying no would keep his moral character, showing his maturity and emotional balance. Draco didn’t want to say no, he wants to give in to this pure, unadultered lust whispering sweet nothings into the ear.
But Miss Granger is a smart girl. Smarter than he is, in many ways.
“Turn around,” he rasps instead. Holding her by the hips, Draco eases her onto his cock slowly.
If he hadn’t spilled earlier in the morning at the thought of her on her knees before him, they would be in trouble.
Thankful she’s facing away from him, Draco can hide his blissful expression into her shoulders at the sensation. She feels the way forbidden fruit tastes. He leans his head against his chair and takes a deep breath. She’s so fucking tight and warm, and her walls constantly squeeze him with no mercy. Her nails dig into her thighs as she tries desperately not to move or make a sound.
This is a practice of restraint for him as well— all he wants to do is wrap his arms around her middle, and begin rutting into her like an animal.
Instead, he glances up at the clock overhead and starts a countdown.
And when Miss Granger returns the next week, swearing up and down that she didn’t touch herself, Draco pulls her onto his lap once again and adds an extra few minutes to the clock.
Time’s up. Winding his hands into the knots of her hair, Draco gently pulls her back to see her face. Another indulgence.
The beautiful flush on her neck continues across her wet cheeks, her pretty mouth bitten red and panting. Under his stare, her lips quiver. He’s overcome with the urge to taste her, to put his mouth on her neck and mark her. What noise might she make then?
There’s no Angel on his shoulder, arguing for her innocence in her marital bed. There’s only the Devil, whispering sweetly in the back of his mind, and he’s making good points.
“Take her,” the horned creature whispers. “Claim her.”
In only a few months, she’ll be off to university, where some fucking idiot boy will try his hand at wooing her. Tell her how bright she is when all he really wants to do is get laid. And if he’s any good, which Draco knows he won’t be, he might know what it’s like to feel her clench around his tiny prick. He might listen to her moans in his ear, and he’ll brag about it to his mates the next day.
The thought of her walking out of his office like nothing’s different, like nothing’s changed, makes his decision easy. She’s going to walk out of his office later, his seed dripping down her thighs, nipples sore from his fingers.
Crashing his lips onto her open mouth, Draco can’t bring himself to feel guilty. The taste of her is tart, a sinful apple, and she pulls him closer even through the shock of it. He can’t help, but dream this is her first kiss, already tightening around his cock.
The light brush of his tongue against hers sends his hands moving down to the bottom of her thighs, and she’s on her back across his desk in the blink of an eye, prayer list and sermon notes flying from the surface. A gasp tears from her mouth from the shock, and she loses her grip of his shoulders.
Pausing to give her an opportunity to protest, Draco grips her hips so tightly he’s sure to leave bruises, crumpling the white shirt of her uniform under his hands. Keeping her still as she continues to clench around him. “Say ‘no’, and I’ll stop. But if you don’t, I’ll—“
The words lodge themselves in his throat, and he swallows them down. Take you right here, on this desk. Ruin you for anyone else. Make you mine.
This will surely damn him, but he’s certain to find God elsewhere. Preferably between Miss Granger’s thighs where the sweet taste of Heaven lies.
Left hanging on her word, Draco waits for anything close to hesitation or denial, but he doesn’t remove himself.
He’s a priest, not a saint.
But instead of the repudiation he so rightly deserves, she looks up at him with widened eyes and slightly parted mouth. Then, he feels it— the press of her perfectly practical shoes as they hook around his thighs, pushing herself harder onto his cock.
“Is that a yes?”
She nods rapidly, not making a sound.
So good at following the rules.
Her lithe fingers find purchase at the edge of his desk, and he begins to slowly rock into her for the first time. He’s been buried to the hilt inside her many times now, but adding friction already threatens to send him over the edge. Skating his hands up her shirt, his earlier suspicions are confirmed.
“No bra either, little dove?” Draco tuts, grinding his hips into hers as punishment, giving himself pause as she cries out. “In the Lord’s sanctuary of all places?”
Gripping the end of her shirt and rucking it up, he leans back to take in the view of her, burning it into his memory. There’s never been a more beautiful sight.
Little Miss Granger, the lips of her swollen cunt stretched tightly around his aching cock, her legs wrapping around his hips and her perfect tits on display for him. The school uniform does an impeccable job of hiding her figure.
Her hands fly to her mouth, smothering the involuntary noises she makes as his hands skirt over her breasts. Normally, he welcomes silence. One of the simplest rules of this exchange, and he wants them all thrown out the window.
He wants her to move against him. Wants to listen to her beg for it, wants to know what it feels like for her to come around his cock.
“Want to hear you, little dove,” he mumbles. A light pinch of her nipple has her whimpering, and he reaches to pull her hands away from her mouth. “Tell me what you want.”
If Miss Granger here has been telling the truth, she hasn’t climaxed in weeks at this point, waiting so patiently for absolution.
She didn’t even break into temptation first. It was him.
“Father,” she whispers like a prayer— he’s familiar with her prayers at this point. “Father, please—“
It’s so close to what he wants her to say instead, but he bites his tongue instead demanding to hear it. He doesn’t know why he bothers at restraint anymore, especially when he rolls his hips roughly into hers and watches her back arch off the wooden surface.
Perhaps another time.
“Not going to let you go,“ Draco rasps out all the dark thoughts possessing him for months now, his slow thrusts steadily becoming desperate. “You’ll have to imagine me every time someone touches you—“
“I always do,” she sobs, clutching onto his wrists now. “I always think of you.”
There’s nothing more he wants than to ruin her slowly, but he doesn’t think he’s capable of patience anymore.
“But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.” Romans 8:25
Draco had done his time. Years have passed since he’s felt the familiar clench of a woman around his cock, and he’s earned this one. Maybe another time, he’ll let her set the pace, make her ride him on that very same chair behind him and earn her orgasm herself.
He drives into her with no mercy, and watches her expression open up in shock below him. If it hurts, she doesn’t say. Her cunt tightens around him,
“Can’t wait,” she whines. “I can’t stop—“
“It’s okay.” He holds her legs open with one hand, and searches for her neglected clit with the other. Slick between them, his thumb rubs sharply against it. And then, an order— “Come.”
Another circle of his thumb, and her back arches with a deep moan, squeezing him so tight his own climax closely follows. Pleas to their God fall from her lips, riding the waves of pleasure through to the end. His hips snap forward one last time and he pulses inside her, clenching his eyes shut at the overwhelming sensation of bliss he hasn’t experienced in years.
If he worries she’d suddenly start keeping her distance, there’s no need. Like a moth to a flame, she finds him following Sunday Mass, after everyone’s left. Her parents didn’t come with her. Emergency at the dental practice, she tells him.
“You haven’t been to confession in a while, Miss Granger.” Draco tilts his head, studying her. His little dove looks exactly the same as she does every Sunday, wearing her modest dress and stockings, donning the exact pair of practical heels that he ruined her in. But he knows what she looks like spread wide and bare to him, her cunt stretched open so nicely on his cock, and will never forget it. “Nothing to repent?”
“No, Father.” The delicious flush across her cheeks sends blood straight to his cock. “Though, if you have time today, I have a few more questions about the scripture?”
He smiles with all his teeth. “I’ll always have time for your questions, Miss Granger.”