like he wanted to have A Conversation. She thought she might very well go crazy from being denied.
"Last time we did this. I said that you would belong to me? Do you remember?"
She tried to move so that his fingers were back where they were before.
But he held firm. "Oh please..."
"Do you remember?" he asked again.
"Yes. Yes, I remember."
"You don't belong to me, Granger. Or anyone else. I've seen enough in this world of what happens when people think they have the right to own anyone else. You belong with me, but I don't claim any ownership over you. Alright? I just needed to make that clear."
It was a wonder her tongue could even work. This was important to him so she made an effort. "I understand."
He nodded. With a guttural noise, he slid two digits inside her and that was all it took. Hermione came so hard she cried out into his shoulder and shook. Her delicate internal muscles clutched at his fingers.
"God," he said, now sounding like he was the one being tortured.
And that marked the end of his control. She was boneless and trembling when he gently opened her legs wider to make room for him and then thrust up into her as she was still coming, so forcefully that the soles of her feet left the ground.
She really was impaled for a moment. He kept perfectly still with his eyes closed, allowing the remnants of her orgasm to wash over the length of him.
And then he started moving; hard, decisive thrusts that jolted her upwards. He was completely silent as he took her. The water drowned out her small, sharp gasps at each deep thrust. It was delicious. The push and drag of it, the way the blunt tip of him seemed to strike that craving, keening part deep inside her.
After a while of this she didn't have the strength left to hold herself up. He took over the task, lifting her bodily.
Now face to face, she sought out his mouth and kissed him with all the love and passion that was in her.
She felt his breathing become uneven. He tensed, pulling her more tightly against him as he climaxed heavily, their mouths still sealed together, sharing heated breath. Hermione closed her eyes, savouring the feel of him as he spent himself.
After catching her breath, she looked up at him with widely dilated eyes. She had planned on some loving words, but all that came out was. "Malfoy, I think I'm going to pass out from the heat."
He immediately set her down and turned the water off. She rested against each other for a moment, in a cloud of steam.
"I'm very glad you trespassed this evening, even if I almost took your gorgeous head off in the process," she said into his chest.
Hermione couldn't see his face but she guessed he looked languid. She recalled how it had been between them after making love. She got chatty. He got reflective.
"I didn't plan this," Draco said, rubbing his face into her neck. "If I had planned it, there would have at least been dinner."
He sounded so apologetic that she started laughing."
"Are you hungry?" she asked. "I'll make us something."
"You're going to cook?"
The smell of the burnt lasagne had been quite evident from the loungeroom.
Hermione didn't care for the scepticism in his voice, but she forgave him because he was courteous enough to wrap her up in a towel and carry her into her bedroom.
Chapter Sixty
It was some time before dawn. The sky was still mostly black, but there were red and orange, marble-like swirls snaking through the clouds. The glass on the windows was frosted over with condensation.
It was warm in Hermione's bedroom. Not the dry warmth that came with a climate-control spell. This was a slow, pervasive warmth that went all the way inside you, into your bones, into all the parts of you that you thought were destined to feel permanently chilled. It was about as good as a winter's morning was likely to get.
"Brrrow."
Crookshanks was a furry, orange donut at the foot of the bed. He' d been slightly clingy since Hermione retrieved him from the hiding spot under the lounge room floorboards. She had added a hot water bottle to an already mountainous collection of bunny rugs in his basket, but he never failed to make it back to the bed.
If Draco had to guess, he'd say the cat was feeling a touch possessive.
"You can have your mistress all to yourself after