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Summary
When Hermione's stuck in boring Ministry meetings, she lets her mind wander. It's not like anyone can hear her thoughts, right?
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She watched as Malfoy's fingers wrapped around his fancy feathered quill, flexing with each stroke as he meticulously penned line after line of notes. His fingers were long and elegant, the kind her mum would’ve deemed “fingers made for playing the piano.”
But Hermione thought his fingers were made for far more exciting things.
Fingers nimble enough to easily undo the back buttons of her knee-length pinstripe dress. Fingers gentle enough to skate across her jaw, leaving a fiery path behind, fingers firm enough to find home in her unruly curls, to fist at the root and pull, just enough to feel just right.
Fingers made to be buried in a woman’s cunt.
She was jolted from her thoughts by the sharp crack of Malfoy’s snapping quill.
“Excuse me, so sorry,” he muttered as all eyes turned toward him.
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Bookmark Notes:
ch 3
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Bookmark Notes:
Chapter 3