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Draco had never been a begging man; but when Granger re-entered his life, shagged him against every surface of her office and then cast him aside, he knew it was only a matter of time before he fell to his knees for the witch.
After years of snide (yet playful) remarks and tight (yet flirty) smiles in the Ministry halls, they drunkenly fell into a broom cupboard one night, fell into bed the next, and if not for Granger’s promotion to Deputy Head of the DMLE, Draco might have confessed how he'd fallen in a different manner. Following weeks of ignored missives, owls, and one particularly uncomfortable arrival in a closed Floo, Draco was done with the distance. She hadn't said as much, but he knew Granger feared he’d get in the way of her dreams.
But Draco's every dream was Granger.
His work was meaningless, his friends forgotten, and an oath to singledom a thing of the past. Truthfully, what had he expected? He knew her aspirations well. She was driven and commanding, whether speaking to an audience of two hundred or riding Draco’s tongue. He refused the imposed end to this arrangement, and now, tonight's Ministry ball meant more to him than he liked to admit.
Appearing in the Atrium, Draco’s eyes pricked wide, darting between the droves of guests, the tall cocktail tables, and the hors d'œuvre ferried around by bow-tied waiters.
As he loitered beside the Fountain of Magical Brethren, McLaggen sidled up to him. “What a bloody dirty tactic.”
At following his eye-line, Draco’s breath caught. His body prickled with anticipation and thrill and longing all in one.
Granger walked from the Floo in a black silk dress hugging every godsdamn inch of her, slit up to her right thigh with black heels slotting through as she walked, and the most miraculous sight of—
“If she thinks pushing her tits up that high is going to get her more votes—”
“Stop talking about Granger’s tits,” sneered Draco.
“I'll talk about my opponent in any way I like.” His face furled. “And last I heard, boobs don't buy votes.”
“Maybe not from the public, but she'll get the Wizengamot on side. Look at Winterbourne, he's practically drooling.”
McLaggen flung his sight over to the blatantly ogling boob-man. “Fuck,” he muttered, then trailed away.
Riling up McWanker was always a treat, but now Draco gritted his own jaw. Weedy little old Winterbourne had begun to quite literally drool.
Draco stalked towards Granger as the people at her side peeled away.
This was his chance.
Pulse doubling in time, he showed a dashing smirk and offered a smooth, “Granger.”
Lips shaped into a sweet smile, she cocked her head and narrowed her honey-coloured eyes in a sultry show. Draco flexed his fingers, stifling the urge to pull her flush and kiss her with the urgency he felt for weeks spent without her lips.
“You look beau—” Draco’s voice caught as he glanced down at her chest. His mouth fell shut.
Was that what he thought it was?
Pink-brown; familiar; looking wholly delicious and with no right to be on public show, particularly in the middle of the Ministry.
Perhaps it was intentional?
Perhaps it was for him?
Draco crowded in close, shielded Granger from view and clamped his grip around her wrist. “Come with me.”
“Malfoy.” Her tone was a sharp warning. “We’re not doing this—”
But he'd pulled her off towards the nearest hallway before she could finish her sentence.
*
Hermione whirled around after Malfoy had deposited them in the smallest Ministry broom cupboard yet. The dim space smelled sterile atop the odour of what could only be described as old, and at her every side were lines of shelves with unmarked boxes, buckets, and too many bottles of cleaning potions to count. She abandoned her handbag beside one and crossed her arms.
“What is wrong with you?” she hissed.
Malfoy closed in, concern in his eyes yet deviousness on his lips.
Perhaps it was the familiar environment, a place where more than a few of their rendezvous had occurred; or perhaps it was just the sight of Malfoy after weeks of strategically avoiding the wizard, but Merlin, Hermione was suddenly in a state. Heat bloomed below her navel, ready to be wound tighter by Malfoy’s slender fingers and perfect tongue. He was gorgeous, as always; but tonight even more so. In an immaculate black suit, strands of hair fell over the side of his forehead in that perfectly imperfect way, and he held a look in his eyes as though he wanted to devour her whole.
And perhaps she would let him.
No.
Hermione internally scolded herself.
She couldn’t have any distractions. She couldn’t let anyone or anything impede her success now that it was finally within reach after all these years.
Malfoy gestured towards her chest. “What’s happening here? Is this for me?”
“Are you asking if my breasts are for you?”
“Just this slippery nipple.” His finger honed in on her right breast. “I can see areola.”
“What?!”
Hermione dipped her sight down and there it was. A slip of nipple.
This was exactly what she was afraid of when Ginny convinced her to wear a bloody push-up bra for the first time. How was she supposed to know there would be overflow?
Hermione firmly tucked in her nipple, then palmed at her forehead. “Oh gods, I was speaking with Kingsley before I arrived! Do you think he saw?”
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “So it's not an attempt to woo me back?”
Hermione firmed her scowl. “Malfoy, we've discussed this.”
“Your eight word missive is not a discussion, Granger.”
“I finally have my opportunity. I can't have any distractions.”
“Distractions?” he scoffed. “I’m a distraction?”
Somewhere along the way, he had invaded her space. There was no more than a foot between them, and she was now enfolded in his sharp fresh scent, subjected to only the view of persuasion in the greys of his eyes.
“Yes.” It was barely a whisper.
Malfoy’s touch trailed along her jaw until he cupped her cheek, his fingertips ending at the delicate space beneath her ear and inciting a frisson at every inch of her traitorous body.
“Is this distracting?” he asked softly.
Hermione gave a small, hurried nod. Her posture faltered a little and shoulders met the edge of the sharp shelf. She glanced at his mouth. His beautiful, beautiful mouth. She had missed everything about him, but she particularly mourned the feel of his lips on hers and how she felt like she was his whole world when he kissed her. Perhaps the thought had frightened her. She wanted Malfoy to be her world too; however, she needed her every waking hour spent forging her path to the top of the Ministry.
But why couldn’t she have both?
Malfoy’s lips met hers with a tender, testing kiss. His tongue teased the seam, then as Hermione whimpered, he infiltrated.
“And is this distracting?” he whispered, then took her earlobe between his teeth.
Hermione let slip a gentle hum.
As Malfoy moved to the column of her throat, dotting kisses and then nipping, his knee rode up between her thighs. His fingers delved into the cups of her bra, and suddenly his mouth was around the offending nipple, swirling tongue causing it to harden.
With a trembled exhale, Hermione ground down against his thigh, seeking friction against her dampened knickers and instead finding a flash of clarity.
She'd promised herself she wouldn’t let Malfoy shatter her self-control.
Hermione nudged him away and he straightened, a mildly wounded look on his face.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “It’s all distracting; we can’t do this.”
He took in a great inhale, curtly exhaled. Swiped a palm down his mouth, then his throat worked with a hard swallow. “Hermione—” he dropped to his knees— “I need you to understand.”
If he thought finally using her name was enough to sway her, then he needed to find another trick.
“I promise you, I will not be a distraction.” The heat of his palms at her hips bled through the silk. “I will serve you.”
Serve her? The wizard who expected all others to submit to him? To assist and revere and surrender? What was she to believe? All Hermione knew was the devotion in his eyes sent a maddening spark straight to her centre.
“I'll clear the path for you to rise.” Malfoy’s hands were beneath her dress, fingers trailing up her thighs, skin tingling as he went.
He kissed her stomach and there was a flutter beneath, protesting her obstinance and arguing for more of his mouth.
“I know every important person in this building.” His fingers hooked into the sides of her knickers and yanked so hard that they fell to the floor.
Something about him on his knees like this was making her hopelessly wet. She ached with anticipation. She knew what he was capable of.
“I'll line pockets.” He swept the high slit of her dress to one side, revealing her through the gap in the material, and Hermione felt a pulse of excitement.
As Malfoy’s exhale ghosted her clit, her breaths came fast and shallow. She let her weight fall back against the shelves.
“I'll wield threats; and—” His hot tongue slipped in between her folds and Hermione gasped.
With one hand on a shelf keeping her steady, the other flew to Malfoy’s hair. She scrunched her fingers, just as Malfoy’s dipped into her warmth.
“Merlin,” she breathed.
He groaned into her cunt. “Fuck, I’ve missed the taste of you.”
Malfoy’s forceful tongue rolled over her clit, flicking back and forth and causing Hermione to second guess whether she could remain standing. He’d perfected how to pleasure her in only their short time together. The way he massaged her inner wall with the most heavenly pressure and mercilessly snapped his tongue over her sensitive bud drove her wild.
The heat at her centre was already unfurling.
Malfoy resigned from his position of worship, drew her lips to his, and Hermione twisted her fingers into his shirt, yanking him deeper into their kiss.
“You'll distract and divert McLaggen?” she asked breathlessly.
“I won't just divert, Granger. I'll leave him in the Antarctic without a wand.” He jerked down the cups of her bra, revealing her hiked breasts.
His every word stoked the heat at her core.
Hermione made quick work of his trousers, fingers worming behind the waistband of his pants. “You'd kill for me?”
“And hide the bodies.” Malfoy slotted two fingers into Hermione’s cunt. He dragged out her arousal and glided up to circle her clit. “So wet for me, Granger. Do you like what you hear?”
Nodding, Hermione revealed his perfect cock from his pants. Gods, she had missed everything about this wizard.
“Good,” he bit out as he gripped his length. “Because I'll raze this entire building if you need.”
Hermione propped a foot on a low shelf and Malfoy swept his cockhead along the wet curve of her, lining up at her entrance.
“Tell me you want this.” His voice was husky with need.
She nodded with entirely no hesitation. How had she thought she could do this without Malfoy? “I want all of it.”
Malfoy thrust deep with a low growl, earning a gasp from Hermione.
She felt so deliciously full. He felt so fucking perfect.
As he delved, Hermione arched into his even strokes, her freed breasts shuddering with every thrust.
“Fuck,” she muttered. "I hated denying this. Denying you."
Malfoy kissed her hungrily, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth. He worked at her throat, biting between his murmurs of praise for Hermione and his threats for everyone in her path, while Hermione danced her fingers beneath his shirt, feeling how the rigid muscle in his abdomen tensed with each thrust.
“I’ll make sure you win, Granger,” he panted. “There’s no other way.”
With a moan, Hermione pushed harshly enough that Malfoy’s touch slid away. “Down—now.”
He knelt, then fell back obediently.
She needed to feel him deeper. Wanted to spread herself wider as she rode him.
Leant back on his palms, Malfoy hissed through his teeth as he watched her slide down his length.
“You in this dress—” His breaths evaded as Hermione took to riding up and down. “In these heels, doing that—” He ground out a pleasurable noise.
Heat was coiling at Hermione’s core. “Tell me again.”
He snaked his fingers into her curls, reeling her closer to his lips. “Yes, Minister,” he whispered.
Hermione gave a stifled cry. Her orgasm was cresting. She needed this divine distraction forever.
“You’re going to the top, Granger.”
As Malfoy coaxed her orgasm closer, fingers working against her clit and his tongue around her nipple, her breaths became slippery. Heat radiated.
Hermione flung her head backwards, tightening and pulsing around Malfoy as she came. He slammed into her from below, groaning with his own release as she continued to ride and clench, milking his cock for everything he had.
Their panting filled the room as Hermione fell against Malfoy and he laid back, arms folded around her. But having been away for a suspicious amount of time meant there was no room to savour.
They righted to their feet, magicking away clothing wrinkles and suspect stains, and glamouring blooming bruises.
Malfoy pocketed Hermione’s knickers, left a kiss on her cheek, then whispered next to her ear. “Don’t clean up. I like to know I’m running down the leg of the future Minister for Magic.”
*
Granger left the broom cupboard first. Their arrangement had never been secret, but rather, private. Now that she acknowledged his value, they would reveal their relationship at the most opportune time. Draco was wholly ready to be a pawn in Granger’s game.
In the Atrium, he discovered her beside a throng of tipsy Obliviators. “First day of servitude begins now. What do you need?”
Her cheeks were florid, her beauty heightened. “After that, a drink.”
A baby-faced wizard with a tray of champagne approached from behind Granger. “Excuse me,” began Draco, “do you serve Slippery Nipples?”
The waiter blinked. “Pardon?”
Draco winked at Granger and she gave a lazy eye-roll.
“Not to worry, these will do.” Draco took two champagne flutes and handed one to Granger. “You go work on Winterbourne—he was already drooling over you at a distance.”
“Good.” She smoothed down the silk at her stomach. “I was hoping this dress might sway someone.”
“Sway? You have the room in a chokehold, Granger. Have your way with them.”
She showed a cunning smirk that lit Draco’s soul.
“I'll be over there—” he nudged his head towards the prudes of the Muggle Relations department, “—beginning an unfortunate rumour about McLaggen.”
Granger’s smirk flourished into a smile. “To distractions.” She lifted her champagne.
“To distractions,” he echoed, and with a shared look of mad ambition and, dare he say love, they clinked their glasses.