Ron and Harry in his sordid insults, did she snap. The time came when it was no longer prudent, feasible, possible or healthy to listen to such slander without reacting. It was almost heartening to know that she had a line too, and that he had crossed it.
It was damned third year all over again.
She wrenched her right arm free, knowing she'd have bruises for a bracelet the next day, and slapped him across the face with all the strength she possessed. The resulting 'smack' sound was gratifyingly loud in the tiny room. Her palm stung, but it was worth it.
"How dare you!" she hissed.
His head whipped to the side, but he maintained perfect balance. She shuddered to think of the kind of force Lucius had put into his swing to knock Draco clean off his feet.
Draco pushed his hair off his cheek and tucked it behind his ear. The tip of his tongue darted out to catch the thin line of blood that had welted up across his top lip. His eyes took on a dark, gunmetal look as he sucked at the injury.
"You really shouldn't have done that," he whispered.
Ok, time to run now!, the tiny, warning voice screamed in her head. She didn't listen to it. The voice didn't always know everything. The voice was her brain speaking, not her heart.
He pulled her up against his chest. It didn't hurt this time because he was being gentle..
"I dare. That's all you need to bloody know," he retorted. "You recall what I said at the motel, about what I would do if you hit me again?" he asked her, his thumb stroking down the bridge of her nose. His voice was gruff.
"You're going to break my hand, are you?" she challenged.
He took her hand, the right one, the one that had slapped him twice since they had know each other, and kissed her palm. His chin was scratchy. He needed a shave, she thought.
"Not your hand, Hermione," he clarified, "I'm going to break you if you don't stay away from me."
She barely had time to register what he said when her other hand was suddenly captive as well. Frowning, she tugged, but his grip was tight, binding. He brought his foot around behind her, and in one neat sweep, toppled her backwards and onto the bed.
Should we be panicking yet? the brain-voice asked.
No. Not yet. Because he seemed to be giving her an option to turn tail and run. Draco continued to stare down at her, an undefinable expression on his face.
She stayed put.
He crawled over her on the bed, his breath hot and moist, inching upwards along her throat. She felt short of breath, dizzy. Goosebumps broke out everywhere he touched. The material of his pants was a rough caress against her bare legs. Or perhaps that was just all her nerve endings suddenly screaming their existence. He ground the rigid delta of his jeans against her soft, lower belly while he nibbled at her neck and sucked at a particularly tender spot under her ear.
"If I could bottle how good you smell to me right now, I'd make a fortune." His voice sounded drugged and distant. She didn't think he was aware of it.
Dimly, she realised her hands were free. She settled them on his shoulders and gave an experimental shove. He laughed (or growled, she couldn't tell) into her neck and then bit her. She turned her face, wanting to kiss him, wanting to taste him and be close to him in a way she knew he did not like to encourage.
But he was clever and pulled away. Either his control was extraordinary or he was just plain evil in his seduction.
Or possible he was just scared.
Draco supported himself on his elbows as stared down at her almost leisurely. His erection, which she could feel very clearly through his clothes, was a firebrand against her belly. The metal button-studs of his pants were cool in contrast.
"I don't think I've impressed my true nature upon you yet," said Draco. He kissed the corner of her mouth and Hermione knew that if she licked that spot, she would taste his blood on her.
That was a bit too real for her liking and she was scared. Hermione scrambled back against the headboard, but he caught her ankles and dragged her back down to him. Miserably, she realised her skirt was now bunched around her waist. He shoes had come off and her hands were once again prisoner.