Chapter Text
Mondays, at the Ministry, are always far too busy for Hermione’s liking.
It’s no help, either, that she has been distracted all day.
It’s definitely of no help that Draco has chosen now to come and bother her, wandering into her office as if it’s his own, sliding behind her as she stands behind her desk, searching for the last file of documents she needs to bring to her upcoming meeting.
Draco’s hand trails up the back of her thigh, fingers brushing the hem of her dress.
“Not – not now,” Hermione says, collecting the last of her papers. Her eyes flicker to the clock next to her door. 15:17. She has barely enough time before she’s supposed to meet with Percy.
Draco chuckles, the soft huff of air against her neck causing goosebumps to break across her skin, a shiver trailing down her spine and to her cunt. Hermione tries to inch away from him, although her heart kicks up its pace behind her ribs. “I don’t have time.”
Draco hums. “I thought you knew the meaning of free use, love.”
Hermione sucks in a sharp breath when Draco’s teeth scratch against her throat, his hands working to slowly push her skirt up her thighs. “I have a -”
“Meeting. I know.” Draco’s hands travel to the topmost part of her thighs, thumbs grazing the swell of her ass. “Too bad this is my week.”
The documents she had worked so hard on crinkle in her hand as Draco lifts her dress past her arse and to her hips. His lips brush over her pulse, his teeth teasing her with another biting kiss before disappearing as he leans away.
Hermione doesn’t have to turn her head to know that he’s looking down at her. The twitch of her hips then is instinctual – an unapproved backwards motion, the pressing of her arse against his crotch, just enough to brush, just enough to feel the hardness of him against her.
Hermione has to bite her tongue to keep the whimper that rises up her throat inside.
Draco scrunches the skirt of her dress in one hand, the weight of it against the small of her back doing something funny to her head, her mind turning soft around the edges. He hums again, but this time the sound is disappointed, followed swiftly by a click of his tongue that makes a sweet kind of dread rise in her stomach. His fingers trace the edge of the purple lace knickers she’s wearing, the back of his fingers brushing against her skin as they slip just beneath the fabric, moving down from her hip towards the gusset. “Why are you wearing these?”
“I’m at work.”
Draco hums. “And so?”
“So -”
“So nothing, Hermione.” His finger curls into the lace, wrapping around the gusset. The back of his hand brushes against her crease, and Hermione has to bite her tongue again. “No knickers this week, love.” His fingers pull downwards, excruciatingly slow, and the lace drags against her hips. “I thought I told you last night.”
The knickers slide down her thighs, and the hand at the small of her back pushes her forward. Hermione lets the movement guide her, lets Draco bend her over her desk until the edge digs into her hip bones, her documents forgotten beneath her elbows. Draco’s hand lets go of her knickers, letting them fall around her ankles, before brushing teasingly against the inside of her thigh. For a second, his nails scratch at her skin, and her cunt clenches, wetness slicking her. Hermione can’t help but shift, can’t help but press her thighs together, clenching, trapping Draco’s hand between her legs.
He tsks again, his hand now on her shoulder blades pressing, pushing her further down until her elbows slip, her arms stretching towards the other edge of her desk, fingers curling over it. Hermione swallows when Draco drags her legs apart, her mouth dry, her knickers digging into the skin above her ankles as he settles her like he wants.
Hermione’s gaze catches on the clock. 15:22.
She presses her cheek to her desk.
The slap is stinging when it comes, precise and swift, searing like fire as it falls not on her arse cheek but right over that soft bit of skin below the curve of her arse, where her thighs meet. Hermione jolts forward, electricity shooting down her legs when a second slap comes, then a third, in quick succession. She can’t help the whimper that escapes her when Draco’s hand comes down again, a soft strangled sound against the desk.
He rests his hand over the over-heated skin, thumb pressed into the flesh of her cheek, his middle finger teasing her core, so close to where Hermione is slick and wet, but still too far away.
Draco pushes closer, his cock pressing against her left hip, and she feels him throbbing against her arse. Slowly, as if they have all the time in the world, Draco grinds against her, the feeling of the thick length of his cock digging into her causing her eyes to flutter, the fabric of his trousers just rough enough for a shiver to zing up her spine, uncontrollable. Hermione whimpers when Draco does it again, pushing back against him, trying to get his fingers where she wants them. Draco chuckles, the deep rumble of his voice making her stomach clench.
“You’re always my favourite when you’re bent over like this for me, love.” He pushes her skirt further up her back, until the entirety of her lower back is exposed to the chilly air. His fingers caress the dimples at the bottom of her spine, the ones she knows he loves pressing his lips to, tongue dipping inside them when he kisses his way across her body. She arches her back, chasing his fingers, and Draco presses his hips against her again, slow and grinding. Her breaths turn into pants.
“I would keep you like this all day, if I could.” The hand near her cunt inches a little closer, fingertips teasing gently at the edge of her entrance, sliding through her slickness. “Keep you like this while I do my work, your cunt waiting there for me whenever I want.”
The tip of his middle finger pushes inside her, and Hermione clenches greedily around it, her hands gripping tight over the edge of the desk, nails scratching the wood. Draco laughs, a sound that turns into a breathy moan when he pushes hard against her.
“Fuck, love,” his finger slips out of her cunt, and Hermione immediately mourns the loss of it, but she gasps when his hand reaches further between her legs. Draco cups her cunt, fingers brushing against her clit, his palm pressed to her sopping entrance. Hermione’s hips rolls, undecided between pushing back against his cock or rubbing against his hand. She whimpers, head spinning, her body feeling light and electric as it always does when Draco touches her. Her clit throbs, body warm with need. The wood of her desk is cool against her blush, and when her eyes flicker to the clock again, Hermione doesn’t register the time. Draco’s fingers swirl through her wetness, wetness which had been pooling since that morning, when she stepped out of the Ministry Floo and made her way to her office, the sweet thrill of not knowing when Draco would come for her turning her body overly sensitive.
“Please,” she whimpers, when Draco’s nail scratches lightly over her clit. The metal of his ring presses against her folds when he tightens his grip on her cunt, and the image of his hand, rings gleaming, her wetness coating his palm, pushes another strangled noise up her throat. “Please, love – I -”
Draco pulls her back against him, and Hermione feels his cock twitch. A groan escapes him. “You, what, Hermione? You know you don’t get to ask for things this week. You’ll be a good little wife and take whatever I give you, won’t you?”
Draco slides two fingers inside her cunt, filling her roughly. Hermione gasps as the feeling of being stretched out turns the heat in her belly into liquid want. She can hear Draco breathing heavily, pulling his fingers out just to push them back inside her, decadently slow, in a way that threatens to drive Hermione down to her knees.
“Merlin, you’re so greedy. Always so fucking wet for me.”
Draco releases a shaky breath, and the heat of his body leaves her as he takes a step back. The hand on her hip moves lower, grabbing a handful of her arse cheek and digging, spreading her open until she knows she’s fully on display for him. His fingers slip out of her cunt just to press against her folds, caressing her, swirling her wetness up to her clit and then dragging it back down to her entrance. Playing with her. Toying with her. Hermione shifts, pressing herself closer to him.
His hand disappears from her cunt, leaving her cold, only for his wet fingers to dig into the flesh of her arse. Hermione whimpers, imagining what she must look like, so bare and exposed for him. The blush on her cheeks ignites again, burningly hot, and the flutter of embarrassment she feels makes her twitch against the desk, searching for friction against her breasts, anything to relieve some of the tension that grows in her, to quell the throbbing between her legs as she feels another wave of wetness turn her even slicker.
“Look at you, love. So fucking pretty. The prettiest toy I own.” Humiliation zings through her at his words, setting her on fire as needy shivers wreck her spine. Hermione squeezes her eyes shut, gasping softly as she pushes back into Draco’s hands, spreading her legs as far apart as she can, her knickers pulling taut at her ankles. Draco laughs again and Hermione keens when she hears the rustle of clothing, when she hears him dropping down to his knees right behind her. His thumbs dig into the curve of her arse as he spreads her open. The fingers of his right hand leave smears of wetness on her skin.
Draco hums, pulling her hips closer to his face, and Hermione’s pulse thunders in her veins. “What am I in the mood for? Your cunt or your arse?”
Hermione’s whole body clenches, her muscles seizing in a wave of need. She makes another strangled noise, and Draco laughs again, the utter bastard, knowing exactly what she’s doing to her. His breath caresses her skin, leaving her tingling, and he nips at her cheek before saying, “Your arse, I think.”
Hermione doesn’t have time to suck in a breath before Draco’s tongue swipes along her crease, hot and wet against her skin.
“Draco -” Hermione’s words get jumbled up into a moan as Draco’s tongue swipes over her hole, swirling around the puckered skin. Hermione presses her forehead to the desk, the blush now reaching down to her chest, mortified, but incapable of doing anything else but pushing her hips back against Draco’s face, against his tongue as it laps at her skin, getting her hole wet. Draco’s grip on her arse is vicious, so hard Hermione knows she’ll be sore afterwards, knows she’ll find bruises in the shape of his fingertips by night.
Draco’s tongue flicks over her hole lazily; slow, teasing licks that make her belly swoop in pleasure. His tongue circles her as his hands knead her arse, and Hermione can’t help but moan when the tip of his tongue presses just past the tight ring of muscles. She clenches instinctively against the intrusion, still unfamiliar with it even after all this time, even when Draco has never hidden just how much he’s always loved her arse.
Draco takes his time, lavishing her, pressing his lips over her in teasing, little kisses before his tongue flicks out, swiping along her crease, then dipping inside her, just enough to leave her wanting more, squirming against the desk and against his hands; as if that could convince him to just tongue her a little harder, push a little deeper.
Instead, Draco presses a kiss to her hole before moving away, leaving her shivering. Hermione doesn’t even get to complain about his absence before Draco spits on her, right over her hole. She gasps, the edge of the desk digging into her palms as her hips twitch. Draco’s mouth is back on her in a heartbeat, his tongue smearing his spit around, pushing it inside her as he finally, finally breaches her. She moans as he uses his grip on her arse to bring her closer, reaching deep inside her. Hermione flushes again in embarrassment, but can’t help how it all makes her feel so hot, how the absolutely filthy way Draco pushes his tongue far inside her arse makes her cunt pulse with desire, making her involuntarily bear down around his tongue.
Draco groans, sliding his tongue out of her, leaving a trail of biting kisses over the curve of her arse. His right hand leaves her cheek, following the path of his mouth, until his fingers reach her dripping entrance again. Hermione moans as his fingertips play with the wetness at her centre, moving slowly up and down, then trailing down the inside of her thigh.
Draco hums. “You’re a mess, love. It’s dripping everywhere.”
Hermione breathes heavily through her nose. She shifts her weight, trying to relieve some of the tension in her legs. “I know,” she mumbles, distracted by the way Draco is making even more of a mess out of her, dipping his fingers into her cunt just to smear the wetness around her clit, between her folds, along the soft skin of her inner thighs. “You could always clean it up.”
“You’re such a little minx,” Draco chuckles again, before his mouth is back over her hole, his tongue pressing inside at the same time as he rolls her swollen clit between two fingers. Hermione moans loudly, shocks of pleasure travelling up her spine as Draco begins toying with her clit, circling slowly, every press of his fingertips leaving her breathless. The pressure is just enough for her pleasure to mount, coiling low in her belly; and the way his tongue traces around her hole before he pushes inside has her eyes rolling to the back of her head. The documents on the desk rustle beneath her body as she grinds back against Draco, fucking herself on his tongue as his fingers keep pulling her closer to the edge.
“Draco – please, ” she whines, unsure of what even she’s asking for – of his fingers in her cunt or his tongue deeper in her arse or god, to be stretched on his cock as he -
Draco’s fingers stop their circling, leaving her on the precipice, and Hermione whines desperately, the pathetic sound that escapes her making the flush on her cheeks burn hotter. Draco leans away from her, the absence of his mouth leaving her cold. The hand that had been playing with her cunt disappears and Hermione is left there shaking, bent over her desk, body trembling with the loss of her orgasm.
A moment later, Hermione hears Draco groan loudly as his forehead presses against her hip. “Fuck,” Draco whispers, strangled – and Hermione can just imagine him, on his knees behind her, the palm of his hand pressing against his straining cock inside his trousers, fingers still slick with her, leaving stains on the charcoal fabric. Hermione whimpers at the image, her head spinning. She can imagine it, the way she must look, dress hiked up to her middle back, fully on display, Draco kneeling behind her, chin wet with spit, lips rosy, that flush on his cheeks that Hermione always wants to lick and -
Her thighs clench as more wetness drips out her cunt, her clit throbbing so furiously she knows just a brush of Draco’s fingers will send her over.
Draco groans again, and then the weight of him disappears. He stands, hissing as he undoes the buckle of his belt. The sound of his zipper opening makes Hermione arch against her desk, her pulse galloping in her ears, burning her up from the inside.
“You always make such a fucking mess.” His hands reach for her hips, pulling her back and causing her upper body to slide against the wood. Hermione loses her grip on the edge of the desk as Draco brings her flush to him, his cock hard against her arse. “I want you to make a mess of me.” He moves, gripping his cock and sliding it against her cunt, through her folds, the tip brushing against her clit. Then his hands slide down her hips and to her thighs. Draco pats her legs twice.
“Close your legs for me, love.”
Hermione whimpers, doing as she’s asked, closing her legs and trapping his cock between her thighs. Draco pushes her legs further together, urging her to squeeze more, and Hermione clenches her thighs, feeling him fit snugly against her sex.
“Christ,” Draco whispers, hands sliding up to her hips and the small of her back. Hermione shivers. It’s been years since she’s taught him to curse like this, and still it never fails to do things to her.
Draco’s hands continue upwards, trailing up her shoulders until he curls his fingers over her arms. “Come here,” he whispers, pulling her arms back. Hermione presses her cheek to the desk again, feeling parchment tickle her jaw as her shoulder blades flex. Draco’s hands are soft as they reach her wrists. His fingers brush over hers as he presses her hands against her bum, curling them until Hermione is grasping handfuls of herself. “Spread this lovely arse of yours like this, will you?”
Hermione nods, a curl sliding down her face as she keeps herself open, arching her back just enough that Draco’s pelvis is flush to the back of her thighs. Anticipation and desire swirl through her, leaving her breathing heavily against the desk.
Draco grips her hips tightly, slowly dragging his cock along her cunt. Hermione’s grip on her arse tightens and her heart skips a beat when Draco thrusts his hips forward, sliding hard into the tight space her thighs make. He’s so hard Hermione gasps when she feels him against her sex, sliding over her entrance and folds, feeling her wetness coat his cock until everything feels hot and slippery.
Draco groans, hips moving in short, hard thrusts. Hermione clenches her legs tightly, feeling him drag along her inner thighs. The crown of his cock brushes against her clit on every other thrust, just enough to leave her chasing after the teasing pressure, panting at just how dirty this all makes her feel - her hands keeping her arse out of Draco’s way, his fingers digging into her hips and pulling her back against him, fucking her thighs as he fucks any other bit of her – as if it’s his to do with as he pleases.
“You’re fucking soaking me, Christ .” Draco presses his hips hard against hers, pulling almost all the way out from between her thighs before pushing forward, hot against her sensitive cunt as his balls hit the back of her legs. Hermione can feel every inch of him, and her eyes roll into the back of her head when he presses even closer, one hand leaving her hip to tangle roughly in her hair. “Let me make even more of a mess out of you.”
Hermione nods, her words evading her as Draco’s pace picks up. He grunts, pulling at her hair, and she whimpers. Each slide feels sinful, his motions quick and dirty. He slides past the swell of her arse, smearing her wetness all over her skin. The head of his cock teases her entrance with each thrust, catching against her before he slides past, up to her clit, bumping against it and sending shocks of electricity down her legs each time. Her orgasm crests again, setting her afire, and even if he isn’t even really touching her, it all feels like so much, her every sense on edge, that Hermione can’t catch her breath, Draco’s groans of pleasure turning her molten. His cock just feels so good sliding against the soft skin of her inner thighs, wet from her slickness and what she hopes is his pre-come. Hermione spreads herself open just a bit more, shivering at how it creates just enough space between her legs for Draco to slide perfectly between her folds, the whole of her cunt pressed to his cock. Draco hisses a breath, the hold he has on her hip turning painful, and when he brushes against her clit again it’s enough for her orgasm to crash through her. Hermione chokes on her moan, lightning searing up her spine as her legs clamp down around Draco’s cock, her thighs seizing with tension as her clit throbs and wetness trickles out her cunt, her walls clenching around nothing.
“Fucking hell, Hermione,” Draco groans, his rhythm faltering, pushing in and out of the tight, tight space of her trembling legs until he stills, the head of his cock right between her thighs. He moans deep in his throat when he comes, and Hermione feels him pulsing against her, the mess between her legs turning even wetter as his come paints her, warm against her thighs and cunt. Draco’s hips twitch in short little motions, enough to coat all of her as he comes, his release mixing with hers and dripping down the inside of her thighs. He stills afterwards, the hand in her hair softening, and Hermione clenches her thighs again, pulling a hiss out of her husband as his cock twitches valiantly one last time. Hermione loosens her grip on the edge of the desk, her muscles going lax as she releases a low, satisfied moan.
Draco hums again, his fingers caressing her hip. The hand in her hair slides to her waist, and he gently pulls her up from the desk. Hermione lets him move her, shifting her feet as she stands up straight again. She whines when his cock slips out from between her thighs, softening against her. Hermione sets her head on Draco’s shoulder when he brings her back flush to his chest, her eyes fluttering shut and her lips curling into a small smile as her cunt pulses with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Hermione feels Draco’s chest expand behind her as his lips press to her temple, and she tilts her head up towards him, opening her eyes and blinking the blurry fog of pleasure from them, her whole body tingling in satisfied release.
Draco’s fingers cup her jaw, tilting her face towards him before his lips press to hers, slow and filthy, his tongue pushing past her lips and brushing against hers. Hermione moans softly, pressing her thighs together and feeling the mess coating her sex, raising her hand to tangle it in Draco’s soft hair.
Hermione pulls away when her lungs start burning with the need for air, and her eyes immediately fall on Draco’s mouth, his lips rosy and gleaming with spit. She stares as they curl upwards at a corner, and only when his tongue pokes at the corner of his mouth does she raise her eyes to his silver ones, his lashes low, pupils eating up the grey.
His left hand distracts her, trailing up her thigh, and Hermione looks away from him to follow its path upwards as it disappears beneath the hem of her skirt. Hermione hisses when his fingers reach her cunt, overly sensitive, and her hold in his hair tightens when he swipes two fingers through their combined releases. “So dirty, love,” Draco hums, his fingers pressing his release into her skin, over her cunt and around her entrance. “I think this needs cleaning up.”
Draco pulls his fingers out from beneath her skirt. Hermione’s eyes immediately lock on his hand, on his middle and ring fingers covered in him and her, in them, dripping down to his last knuckle. A shiver wrecks her when she sees that his wedding band is dirty, smears of pale wetness obscuring the shining golden metal. The fingers around her jaw squeeze.
“Open up,” Draco whispers, and Hermione obliges, sticking her tongue out for him. Draco groans, pressing his fingers against her tongue, and Hermione closes her eyes again, the world around her blurring until nothing exists but Draco’s fingers in her mouth, her lips closing around them as the tangy, sharp taste of their releases explodes on her tongue.
Draco pushes his fingers deep into her mouth as Hermione hollows her cheeks. She flicks her tongue against his skin, cleaning him up, quivering when she feels the metal of his ring against her lips. Draco pulls his fingers out from her mouth, breathing heavily. He slides his hand back under her skirt, gathering the wetness on her thighs, pushing the tips of his fingers inside her cunt just for a moment, causing Hermione to arch against him before his hand disappears.
Hermione feels his fingers against her lips a heartbeat later, and she opens her mouth again, letting him press hard against her tongue as she sucks them inside. “Good girl, love. Clean it all up.” Hermione hears the strain in his voice and she sucks harder, sliding her tongue between his fingers. “Perfect,” he whispers, pressing his hips against her, his cock swelling again, half-hard against her arse. Hermione moans around his fingers, pressing back against him, visions of him bending her over again and fucking her flashing through her mind, only for her moan to turn into a whine when Draco pulls his fingers away.
His hands drop from her face to her hips again, and he squeezes them tightly. Draco releases a slow, controlled breath that brushes the hair at her temple before he pushes her away, stepping back.
Hermione opens her eyes, trying to regain her breathing. Her hand slips away from his hair, hanging loosely by her side as she hears him re-buckle his pants. She turns to look at him over her shoulder, taking in the flush on his cheeks; the glazed, still hungry look in his eyes. His eyes drag up the length of her, from her legs to her hips, and Hermione bites her lip, pressing her legs together. He mutters a scourgify, the mess on his hand disappearing, while the one between her legs remains.
Draco runs his fingers through his hair, at last looking up at her, before he slides his hands inside his pockets.
He takes another step back, smirking at her. “You should go, love. Wouldn’t want you to be too late for your meeting.”
Hermione twists around, eyes snapping to the clock. 15.47
She curses, but Draco is already sauntering out of her office, leaving her dishevelled and dirty, frantically trying to collect her documents and pull her knickers up at the same time, her thighs a trembling, sticky mess.
Hermione curses under her breath. And it’s only Monday.