This story was one of two entries I made to the DRAMIONE COUPLES REMIX FEST (September-October, 2011). I went with this prompted couple:
- Marc Antony & Cleopatra
THANK YOU to my fabulous, amazing beta (Unseenlibrarian), who is a goddess for helping out when she also had her own entry (check it out here: http:/ / www . fanfiction . net / s / 7472101 / 1 /)! Also, thank you to the mods of the Dramione Couples Remix Fest on Livejournal for putting on this fantastic challenge – what a great idea!
Hope you all enjoy! Please review and let me know, yeah?
Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. I do not own any of its characters, nor do I profit in any way from the use of said characters and situations in this writing.
Story Details: Post-Hogwarts-EWE (Epilogue? What Epilogue?). Characters are OOC (out-of-character) because of the plot.
Main Characters (by alphabetical order, last name): Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy
Secondary Characters (by alphabetical order, last name): Millicent Bulstrode, Hestia & Flora Carrow, Tracey Davis, Gregory Goyle, Astoria Greengrass, Daphne Greengrass, Terrence Higgs, Narcissa Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Adrian Pucey, Cris Warrington, Blaise Zabini
Summary: When Hermione agreed to be one of Pansy's bridesmaids, she'd assumed the hen party would be something relatively rowdy. However, when Pansy announced that she wanted her special farewell to singlehood to be in Las Vegas - Party Town U.S.A. - Hermione knew this holiday was going to be trouble. Unfortunately, the groom-to-be, Blaise Zabini, isn't taking the news of his fiancée's trip lying down. And did anyone expect him to? After all, the man is as notoriously untamed and passionate as his witch! Worse, he's dragged his groomsmen along with him for the fun – including the enigmatic Draco Malfoy, the one wizard in the world guaranteed to get Hermione to give in to temptation. In the city of sin and vice, how can one possibly say no?
Extra: The Forum Tower's 'Marc Antony and Cleopatra Suite' at Caesar's Palace Hotel and Resort in Las Vegas and Cleopatra's Barge Lounge inside said hotel do exist in real life. The 'Cleopatra' is a real drink and it's really served at the Lounge, too, in the glass that I indicated in this story.
Rating: MA+/NC-17 (very explicit consensual heterosexual sex; alcohol consumption; pregnancy)
Images to go along with this fic (banners & characters, outfits, places, misc. mentioned in the story - remove all spaces to load the URL properly): http:/ / s905 . photobucket . com / albums / ac260 / RZZMG / Viva%20Las%20Vegas
VIVA LAS VEGAS!
I was resigned: this hen party was going to be the doom of my hard-earned savings. Pansy was not a cheap date, much less a frugal bride-to-be. The woman came from old money, and it showed in her extravagant tastes – from shoes to holidays, Parkinson always did it chic.
At least the Cleopatra cocktails in this lounge-slash-nightclub were something to write home about and, since they were the specialty drink of the house, they were relatively inexpensive. After three sips, I was sold on them. I'd never have considered Rum and Amaretto going well together, but with the Angostura Bitters and lemon, mixed with crushed ice… yum! Absolutely delish, my mother might exclaim. Forget the watermelon and strawberry margaritas the other women, Pansy's fellow bridesmaids, were sipping - that was kid's stuff. This was a sophisticated drink, and it made me feel refined and sensuous just sipping from the glass with the sexy black serpent twining up the stem.
I beckoned one of the "handmaidens" – the waitresses here at Cleopatra's Barge Lounge inside Caesar's Palace Hotel and Resort in Las Vegas – to bring me another. The woman, dressed in glitzy, theatrical Egyptian make-up and costume, complete with a fake bob wig and gaudy serpent bangles about her wrists, nodded and headed for the bar to put in the order.
Turning back to my six companions, I caught the tail-end of Daphne Greengrass' suggestion. "Let's all go dance on the barge!" the leggy blonde shouted to be heard over the loud music, pointing in the direction of the dance floor in the middle of the room.
This particular lounge had caught Pansy's attention immediately because of the kitschy, huge faux barge that floated in an actual pool of water and was part stage, part club. It was a garish and movie-worthy prop that had made Parkinson literally squeal with delight the moment she'd seen it. We'd gone in and found a table, having arrived right as the place opened at half-past ten that night.
Currently, a live Muggle band was stationed at the bow of the boat and was rocking the house by covering hits from the eighties. None of my companions recognized the music, but I had flashbacks to my very earliest childhood: "The Reflex" by Duran Duran, "Sweet Dreams" by The Eurythmics, "West End Boys" by the Pet Shop Boys, and even "Walk Like An Egyptian" by The Bangles. The crowd that had filled-in over the last half-hour sure loved them, though, as the tiny dance floor in the middle of the barge was packed and it pitched very slightly back and forth as the weight of the dancers swayed. I grew nauseated just looking at it.
"No thanks," I shouted back. "I get sea-sick. You go. I'll hold the table."
The bride-to-be stood up and smoothed down her dress. "Let's go!" she exclaimed, grabbing Daphne's hand and gesturing to the others. "Come on, Granger! Live a little!"
I smiled and shook my head, shooing them away to their fun. Without further argument, the six young ladies abandoned me for the party. Truthfully, I didn't mind a bit as I'd always been somewhat of a wallflower when it came to social gatherings. I was the staid and responsible one who was in charge of assuring everyone Apparated safely home, or at least had a place to go if they were too into their cups to attempt magical teleportation. It was a comfortable and familiar role for me.
So, rather than get all sweaty and grind up against some man I didn't know and wouldn't be comfortable touching, I sat back and enjoyed my Cleopatra's fresh refill, which arrived just then. The waitress and I traded off glasses, I paid the tab with the American money I'd exchanged at Gringotts for this trip, and after thanking her, I turned to watch my friends make fools of themselves amongst the crowd.
Post-war Pansy was really quite something. The witch was untamed and outrageous by nature, and sometimes I wondered how Parkinson and I had ever become such close friends given how different we were and the negative history we'd shared growing up. That dissimilarity, however, was the major reason we'd made such a formidable business partnership. Parkinson made up for my lack of fashionable taste, and I kept Pansy grounded and gave her direction. Our small boutique in Diagon Alley had taken off this last year as a result.
The witch's fiancé, Blaise Zabini, was her perfect match: rich, old money, and just as fun-seeking as his woman. The two got along like peas in a pod. They'd been on-again, off-again since eighth-year Hogwarts, when the Slytherins had all been ordered by the Wizengamot to return to complete their seventh-year in a do-over as part of their probation for their participation in the prior year's activities at school. It was, frankly, about time Pans and Blaise tied the knot, now almost ten years later.
From the dance floor, Pansy was gathered in a circle with her friends, Daphne, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulstrode, and Hestia and Flora Carrow. She looked up and waved at me, and I waved back and gave them all a brilliant smile.
I wished I'd thought to bring a camera.
It was odd to think that just a decade ago these six women would have turned their noses up at me, but now, they were accepting of me, friendly even, despite the prejudice they'd been raised to believe. It seemed that with the shocking revelation that Zabini was a half-blood, not pureblood as he and everyone else had been falsely led to believe by his mother (his Muggle-born father had crawled out of the woodwork the year after the war, wanting a relationship with his only son), everyone in the Slytherin social circle had had to change their ideas and thoughts about blood purity. The war had indelibly left its mark on that issue, for certain, but it had been their friend's new, unexpected status that had really cemented the change in attitude for their generation.
Of course, that odd acceptance could all be laid firmly at the feet of one unexpected source: Draco Malfoy. Slytherin's fallen Prince had been the first to sit next to Zabini and treat the guy as if nothing had changed after the ruinous rumours had spread, and the furtive looks and buzzing whispers began. That acceptance, coupled with Malfoy's slow climb back to the top of the pile, had paved the way for others to begin considering the issue, deciding in the end that Blaise was too likeable to shun for something that wasn't even his fault.
I had to give it up to the Ferret: he'd been beaten down by the post-war trials, and the media circus that had accompanied his and his mother's acquittal, and his father's ten-year sentence, but he'd transformed for the better as a result of that harrowing experience. He'd gone from the arrogant cock-head he'd been to being the thoughtful voice of reason during eighth-year. Rather than run his mouth off as he'd used to, the new Malfoy was subdued, introspective, and did not engage in trading insults. He was still perfectly fashionable in dress, but he had adopted a quiet, disciplined manner after the war that was in complete opposition to the boisterous, rude attitude he'd flaunted before. He'd focused on excelling in his school work and on helping his fellow housemates out in their studies when requested as tutor. He'd reluctantly retaken his position as Quidditch Captain for Slytherin when there was no other qualified candidate and Slughorn had asked it of him, and that year, his team had taken the Cup home. And, he'd agreed to return as a Prefect to represent his House when McGonagall had had need. His shame and regret had matured him in a way that was nothing short of a miracle, turning him into a man almost overnight.
Honestly, I'd found the change rather… alluring. By the end of that year, and to my utmost surprise, I'd developed a serious, secret crush on the wizard who had once been my childhood tormentor.
Those feelings, unspoken and clearly unreciprocated, had been the deciding factor in my breaking things off with Ron. After all, if I could have such emotions for another man, it meant that what I'd felt for my ginger boyfriend wasn't meant to last. We'd already been growing apart because of our time away from each other that year – he first at George's shop, later in Auror training, me at Hogwarts – so when the break-up happened, neither of us had been too particularly shaken-up over it. I'd made some good memories with Ron – he'd been my first lover (though I hadn't been his, as Lavender had won that prize back in sixth year) – but really, we'd been better off as friends, and we both knew it. We'd remained close all these years, thankfully, just as I had remained close to Harry. The three of us were still the inseparable 'Golden Trio,' as the papers had rightly dubbed, and nothing – not inter-personal relationships, not the birth of children, and not business partnerships – would change that.
Unfortunately, my girlhood fancy for Draco had returned full-force once Pansy and I began working together three years ago. Zabini had continually showed up at the shop with his best friend at his side to, at first, woo Parkinson, and later just to find excuses to hang around his girlfriend-cum-fiancée. Adult Malfoy was… I shivered at the thought of his direct, enigmatic stare – fathomless storm clouds filled with slivers of arctic ice. The brooding, mysterious wizard made my knickers damp and my heart race out of control every time he was near. He was the proverbial 'bad boy'… and boy, did I have it bad for him!
It's too bad I knew him to be engaged to Daphne's little sister, Astoria. If he were free, I'd hunt him down like a lioness…
"You're thinking too hard," a man's rich, amused voice murmured against my ear as a slower song began tapering off. His lips were pressed right up against the sensitive whorl, buzzing, breathing warmth down my neck.
I jumped out of my skin.
Okay, maybe nothing quite so dramatic – I'd jerked.
Thank goodness I hadn't been holding my beverage just at that moment, though, or I'd have spilled it into my lap. As I'd just purchased this one-hundred percent Ahimsa silk dress for the Vegas trip, any stain upon it would have been irreversible, even by magical means. I'd have had to take the loss out on the hide of the stranger.
The man came around the table and took the empty seat next to me. Crossing his legs, he sat back in the seat, long, pale fingers folded over his lap oh-so-casual, giving me a familiar, melting stare that had my belly quivering.
Irony of ironies. The old saying was true: think of the Devil and he appears.
It took my brain two stalls before I realized he wasn't some apparition brought on by the alcohol. I'd only had one and a half Cleopatra's – not enough to get tipsy after the huge dinner I'd consumed just an hour before.
"Wha-? How? Why?" I stammered, loud enough to be heard.
He stared at me through enigmatic storm-grey eyes. "Boys just wanna have fun," he stated, very deadpan, mimicking the song that the band was currently playing as the song turned over, twisting the chorus around.
I couldn't help it. Draco was rather funny, with a dry wit that mocked without his previous, childhood penchant for viciousness. He frequently made me chortle, chuckle, and even once, giggle. "I've heard Cyndi Lauper is a very good hex witch," I warned, an unstoppable smirk crawling up my cheek with amusement. "And a feminist. Mocking her – bad idea."
He looked at the drink on the table, seeming intrigued. Picking it up without permission – he still had that bad habit of thinking the world was his oyster and he could pearl dive any time he pleased, regardless of personal space or property rights – he held it to the light and look up at it. One dark gold eyebrow cranked up with interest. Then, he took a sip from my straw, seeming to savour the flavour a moment, measuring it across his palette. When his curiosity was satisfied, he put the drink back down in front of me.
"Interesting," was all he said.
This was all very typical Draco, yes, but it didn't explain what he was doing there, or why he'd crossed half the world to show up at this particular place, at this particular time. "Why are you here? And don't give me any half-baked answers like the last one," I demanded, taking up my Cleopatra and sucking down a mouthful.
He shrugged and nudged his chin towards the barge. "Vegas is the city of vice and sin, Granger. Did you really think Zabini would stay away, especially knowing his witch was here – having fun without him?"
Ah. So they were gatecrashing the girls' weekend out, then. "And you were dragged along kicking and screaming, I suppose?"
Malfoy shrugged and looked around at the garish design around him. "Not so much when I knew you'd be here, too."
My heart thumped into my throat. I took another sip for courage. "R-really? And why's that?"
His gaze moved back to mine, locked on and held hard. A simmering heat warmed up those icy orbs that stared into my soul and a small confident smile graced those luscious lips. "You know why."
I now knew what a deer in the headlights felt like. A nervous energy radiated out of my tummy and flowed across my limbs, making my hands shake. I put the drink down and refused to look away.
"What are you saying?" I required full disclosure. No games. I wasn't built for innuendo, like Pansy. With me, direct was always better. "What do you want with me?"
With slow, purposeful movement, Draco uncrossed his legs and leaned into me. His knee wedged between mine, and his hands leaned on the arms of the lounge chair I sat in, caging me. His mouth moved with clear intent towards mine, stopping as he pillowed very softly right over them. It was an almost-kiss. His half-lidded eyes looked directly into mine without flinching.
"I want to fuck you."
I'd never been more scared of sex in my life than I was in that moment. Even my first time with Ron had been comfortable. We'd planned that night out in detail, and I'd been fully prepared. Since then, I'd only been with two other men – short summer flings, both. After they'd failed, I'd sworn no more until Mister Right came along.
He was staring at me in the face right now, telling me he wanted to shag me, and the heat in his eyes said it would be to within an inch of my life. I knew his reputation from Pans' own mouth, knew he was skilled and hung and… oh my God, it didn't matter that he had a witless fiancée back at home waiting - I wanted him! I felt like I'd been waiting all my adult life for this moment. It was terrifying.
I gathered my courage. Could I do this? It was crossing some serious moral lines that I'd once upon a time, when I'd been younger and more naïve, believed in maintaining at all costs.
Yet, it hadn't been me who'd made the proposition. Draco was the engaged one.
"What about Astoria?" I challenged.
He frowned a bit. "What about her?"
I shoved on his shoulder and tsk'd. "You're engaged."
"We're taking a break from each other – at her request."
It was my turn to frown. "What does that even mean?"
Malfoy shrugged. "She's obviously met someone she wants to shag, but didn't want the guilt of being attached to me to get in the way. I've been put on hold until she scratches this particular itch."
Now I was getting angry. "So, you thought you'd just go on out and get a piece of your own while the cat is away? Any port in the storm - that it?"
That infuriating smirk crawled up his cheek. "Not any port, no. A particular one, yes."
My jaw fell open. "You're unbelievable! You have the audacity to just…"
I didn't get any more out as he leaned forward the rest of the way and kissed me. My toes curled. I thought my head was going to explode from the pleasure. Seriously. Bloody hell, but Draco Malfoy could kiss! I wanted to curl up in his lap right then and there and let him kiss me until the end of the world rained down upon our heads.
"You're using me," I trembled against him as he pulled back a bit.
"I'm not," he vowed, very assured.
I shook my head as he dipped over my lips with peppering kisses. "What is this if not using, Draco?"
His tongue slipped past my open mouth and twined with mine. He growled, and I heard it over the music in the background. I felt it in my ribs. "You're thinking too hard – again," he contested. "Stop. Just feel."
"This is madness," I whimpered. "You'll hurt me."
"I won't. Come with me," he took my hand, and backed up to give me room to stand with him. He tugged, and I flowed up into his arms, which held me tight to his muscular frame. He smelled incredible – a spicy, musky cologne that tantalized my senses. His lips hovered over my ear again. "Be mine, Hermione. Let me love you."
Oh Helena, Circe, and Morgana, I was doomed, wasn't I?
Gathering my purse, I threw a last look over at the dance floor as he led me away. Pansy and Zabini – who'd apparently come in with Draco, although I hadn't seen him – were twined around each other, rubbing bodies to "White Wedding" by Billy Idol. I spied Theodore Nott chatting up Daphne, and Greg Goyle moving with Millicent. Cris Warrington and Adrian Pucey were sandwiching the two Carrow twins between them in a sexy hip grind. Terrence Higgs and Tracey were full-on kissing; they were seeing each other already, after all. The gang was all there, and everyone was having fun.
I was determined not to be left out.
He took my hand and started to tug me towards whatever suite he and the boys were staying in, but I pulled in a different direction - towards the Forum Tower elevator where my room was. Using my special key, I was able to take us to the top of said tower, to our suite – the largest room in Vegas, the "Marc Anthony and Cleopatra Suite". Twenty-two thousand square feet, eight bedrooms with individual bathrooms – each fully stocked, with a tub and shower, two kitchens with an on-call chef, an Atrium, two baby grand pianos, a conference room, an office, a patio with an outdoor Jacuzzi spa and a chimenea, marble and antiques everywhere, and even a private security guard, butler and maid service. Pansy's high-roller father – who preferred the wizarding poker rooms to Muggle – made a single Floo call when he'd heard we wanted to come to Vegas for the hen party, and we were given unrestricted access to this tower. Sometimes, it helped to know people in high places.
Once we'd crossed the door, and entered the hallway from the foyer, Draco's hand gripped mine tighter, as if he were anxious for what was about to happen between us. Or perhaps he was trying to calm me. My palm was a bit slick with nervousness.
I found the bedroom I'd claimed earlier that afternoon after check-in and led him in, letting his hand go. Crossing the room, I threw my purse onto a table and began taking my large, hoop earrings and necklace off, not wanting those to get caught in my hair. Behind me, I heard the lock click into place.
He was leaning against the door, watching me, silent as I turned to face him. The shadow play in the room, as the full moon outside came in through the open windows to bathe everything in silver, allowed half his face to remain hidden from me. It was almost as if he were a stranger.
And he was, in a way. We'd danced around each other for seventeen years, first as enemies, then as acquaintances, finally as semi-friends by virtue of circumstance and situation. It seemed strange now to think I was going to have sex with Draco Malfoy.
"How long?" I asked, needing to know the depth of his feelings for me. Was this a casual one-off for him – something to do while Astoria got her kicks? Or was there a deeper feeling hidden here that had been waiting for an opportunity like this to be set free?
There was a significant pause, but I didn't fidget or look away. This, I wanted to know, so I could determine what would happen come tomorrow. I wanted my heart prepared either way.
"Forever," he admitted in a sharp exhale of breath. "Gods, fucking forever, Granger."
The pulse under my skin began thrumming with speed. I felt a little dizzy at his admission.
We were simpatico in our desires for each other, it seemed. Maybe I wouldn't end up quite so devastated from this in the morning. I hoped, anyway.
"Take it off," he bid, still clinging to the door handle and watching me. "Move slowly."
He wanted a private show… in Vegas. I wanted to give it to him. This would be a memory for us both.
I was feeling as bold and sexy as I had while drinking that Cleopatra downstairs, and although I had little experience, I'd done enough reading on the subject, and seen plenty of sexy moves at Gin's bachelorette party years back, when we'd gone to a bar that catered to dual-gendered stripping on stage. I had an idea of what might work, and I rolled with it, allowing the buzz from the alcohol to chase away my inhibitions.
I started by spreading my legs a little wider, and running my hands up and down the soft fabric of my dress, outlining my rounded breasts, my indented waist, the flare of my hips, and the supple curves of my thighs. I teased by swaying a bit as I inched the fabric up to show off my pretty satin and lace knickers that matched the dress in color and style. I ran my fingers over my covered mons, slipping a bit under the band at my hips only to let go and glide my hands back up my body. I writhed a bit, undulating back and forth like a serpent as I ran my fingers through my hair and tossed my head back.
I felt as powerful as the Egyptian Queen whose name haunted these rooms. Her wanton spirit overtook me as I moved to the zip in the back and took it down. I was seducing my Roman lover, my… "Draco," I whispered, slipping the tiny fabric sleeves from my shoulders, sliding my hands over my arms as I shimmied the dress off my top, revealing the matching bra.
Across the room, Malfoy was so still, but I could feel his predatory gaze fixed on me as the dress sinuously wound down my body, passing my belly, over the hill of my hips and down. Gravity took it to the floor at my feet.
"Turn around and lean forward on the table."
I did as he asked, stepping out of the circle of the dress. My shoes sunk into the plush carpet at my feet, cushioning my toes. Pressing my palms to the vintage parlour table and leaning forward a bit, I felt exposed, even still dressed as I was. I'd given him my back, to touch, to mount and take as he wished, trusting him not to hurt me.
His fingers were smooth as they stroked down my spine and nimble as they unclasped my bra. He stepped in and the weight of his hot, panting breath across my shoulder was sticky and humid, like the morning's air on the Nile. The straps of my lingerie were tugged off and down, freeing my breasts. He didn't touch them, though, skimming back down my body to my panties. He ran a hand smoothly over the globes of my bum before hooking his thumbs into the waist band and gently tugging it down. His knees cracked as he knelt to slip them over my ankles and off.
I knew he was looking at my most exposed, sacred place by the puffs of warm wind that blew through the lips of my labia. It was a jolt to my senses when he lips landed a small kiss there. I moaned behind my teeth.
He licked me once, twice, very lightly, experimentally, as he had with the drink downstairs, even as his hands danced over my calves and up the backs of my knees and thighs. Obviously he liked what he tasted, because he dipped in for more.
His tongue was a cunning, slick animal meandering through my pussy. In the course of its devious wandering through my folds, I found my body arching forward more and more, until I voluntarily lay my chest flat on the table so he could have the best angle at which to coil around my clit and latch on. He didn't disappoint, suckling upon my little nub of sensitive flesh, bringing me ever closer to my bliss.
Draco touched everywhere - fondling the peachy, denuded flesh of my vagina, thrusting into my cunt in a slow rhythm with two fingers, circling the rosette of my back opening, and gripping my hips with bruising pressure. He explored me with ruthless efficiency, until I was an incoherent bundle of need.
Before I could come, he pulled away, and stood up. I didn't move, unsure of what was next as I heard him removing his clothing behind me. Would he take me just like this, for our first time? Did I want him to? I should say or do something… but my knees were quaking and my mouth was dry, and my head spun with ideas that I couldn't give voice to.
His arms encircled my abdomen and helped me to regain my height. He pulled me into him and rested his mouth over my ear, placing small kisses. "You're thinking too hard – yet again," he teased once more.
"I can't help it," I heard the words slip from my mouth before I could stop them.
His chuckle was all dark sin against my throat. "I know." He found my pulse and bit down gently, causing all of the thoughts in my head to fly into atoms. He suckled hard enough to leave a love bruise. He was marking me as his property – at least for the night. I liked it.
Against the small of my back, I felt his erection. It rested heavily, thickly against the sway of my hind, already dampening the spot with wetness. We didn't speak again as he took me to the bed, scooted me into the center, and removed my shoes. Tossing them to the floor, he crawled up the length of my body and leaned over me. I felt small and feminine compared to him, especially when I glanced between us and caught sight of his erection.
"Look at me," Draco gently commanded, and I met his shadowed gaze again. "Tell me you want this as much as I do, Hermione."
I swallowed away my trepidation. "I do. I have for a long time."
He lowered his mouth to mine and claimed it without further hesitation. I tasted my residual salt on his lips and tongue, and the eroticism of sharing that was my undoing. Twining my arms about his neck, I kissed him with my heart in my mouth and my soul open to his.
I love you, I whispered with every touch, every taste. Do you love me? Could you?
As if he understood my unspoken declarations, he groaned into my open mouth as he lowered his cock into the seam of my femininity and slid back and forth through my silken fluids. Releasing all inhibition, I spread my thighs wide and arched my hips into his. The unspoken signal was his permission, and he lowered the head of his cock and slowly pressed it into me. By smooth, gentle inches, he utterly stole my heart.
When he was buried fully within my clasping, greedy body, he paused to break the kiss and look at me. "You feel good," he murmured, smoothing my hair from my forehead. "A perfect fit. I knew it."
I nodded and hummed in agreement, wanting him to move more than I wanted air right then. I dug my nails into his upper arms and arched my bottom in another silent plea for more. He did that wicked chuckling thing again, pressing a kiss to my lips. "Always so impatient." He dropped his mouth to mine and began establishing a healthy rhythm, and that was the last coherent sentence between us. After that, it was a lot of groaning, gasping, and little emitted cries as he fucked me strong. The bed moved, creaked, and the headboard hit the wall as we went at it with reckless, desperate need.
I have no idea how many times I came that first time, as he brought me, stilled to feel my reaction, and then resumed shagging me when the last tremors eased off. We switched positions a few times – legs on shoulders, me on my knees, me riding his cock. The strength in his lower body was incredible, his will indomitable as he came to the brink several times and stopped to reset, not wanting it to be over. He was in control, owning my pleasure, bringing me to heights I'd never dreamed. We had to have been at it for at least half an hour straight before I finally gave him the permission he'd been waiting on.
"Come," I begged between wet kisses. "Draco, come for me. Let go, too."
His teeth clamped down on my shoulder around a curse, and his speed and strength remarkably intensified. He slammed into me, his whimpering cries into my flesh telling me he'd gone fully feral and had given himself over to the pleasure. When he came, he drove me with him over the edge one final time. He shouted something into the pillow at the same time as I tensed up and screamed his name to the ceiling. The explosion was the most magnificent I'd ever experienced. It destroyed me and remade me in a cosmic second.
It took us both a long time to recover. We lay together, sweaty and sated, trying to catch our breaths and slow our hearts and regain our sanities. I knew, staring up at the ceiling, that I'd never be the same after this. Everything had changed for me.
I fell asleep in his arms, wondering in that moment just before sleep overtakes a person and wild thoughts are given freedom to run rampant if this was how Cleopatra felt in the arms of Marc Antony. For this, I'd have been tempted to dare Rome, too.
… … … … …
I awoke to Draco making love to me again. I had no idea what time it was, but the sun was up and the room was filled with its rosy glow.
"I want you again, Hermione," he whispered the confession against my lips as he thrust into me, seating to the hilt. "I need you." He held still, just like that, embedded deep inside my body. His lazy, feline gaze held mine. "I've always needed you."
"Prove it," I challenged him, wrapping my arms and legs about him and holding tight. "Love me."
He did, and it was beautiful and sweaty, and afterwards, he told me he was going to end things with Astoria permanently. No games - he wanted to be with me.
We had our first shower together not an hour later, and we took our time touching, watching – learning each other. We kissed, he pressed me into the marble wall with his large, erect body, and in murmur against my ear, he told me he was going to book this suite for our honeymoon so we could do this again. I nearly melted into a girly-happy death at his feet.
Of course, I realized this was all rose-coloured glasses talking, but still… wow! What woman wouldn't want a sexy wizard to tell her such a thing in such a romantic way?
If only it would come true!
… … … … …
On Monday, after a weekend of shagging to exhaustion, partying down with Slytherins, and sipping Cleopatras by the poolside, we all returned to England and our real lives. My new lover broke it off with his gold-digging fiancée, who put up some fight, but eventually gave in when he told her she could keep the ring as a memento. The fact that it was a nearly flawless six karats worth of diamond laid out in gold, and hailed from one of the Malfoy long-ago ancestors made Astoria's day, I was sure. Draco called it the best trade-off he'd ever made.
Pansy and Blaise got married that next weekend. It was one hell of a party, and somehow, I'd ended up losing my knickers when Draco dragged me into a private room at Zabini's Villa and shagged me on a pool table, a sofa and against a wall. I never found them again, which was a shame, as I rather liked that pair.
Three weeks later, my pregnancy test came back positive. I flipped out. Draco was completely unconcerned. He merely gave me that fathomless smile of his and took me to bed. If I hadn't been pregnant before then, I most certainly would have been after that night.
Four weeks later, I was walking down an aisle I'd never had guessed was coming for me just three months ago. I still had my figure for a little while longer, so I was a radiant goddess in ivory, wearing a haute couture version of an Egyptian-styled wedding dress – A-line, 'vee' neck, halter-style with an empress waist and beading around the middle to accentuate my heavier breasts. It was a very simple dress, which appealed to me, and it allowed me to play with the theme that had brought my fiancé and me together. I paired the outfit with jewelry I found in his family's centuries-old collection (Narcissa highly approved of the request, in fact, which is what solidified our relationship): a gem-encrusted, gold serpent bangle, serpent earrings, and an ancient Egyptian-styled tiara. The picture was complete with a pair of gold sandals that had a tiny heel. Of course, my man approved as soon as I mentioned the serpents.
The Malfoy Manor, where we decided to hold the reception, was bedecked to the max: there were palm and papyrus fronds and lilies everywhere, we burned Kyphi incense throughout the house, and had authentic ancient Egyptian artifacts on loan (I'd begged Bill Weasley to help me with that and he'd come through for me and then some). The Cleopatra was the bride's specialty drink of the night, and it was served in those same serpent glasses that had been available in Caesar's Palace. An alcohol connoisseur (read: Blaise) invented the groom's specialty drink: the Marc Antony (hard rum, cranberry juice, and orange juice served over ice and garnished with an orange slice). There was even an Egyptian-themed cake, complete with authentic cartouches done in edible gold.
The whole affair was fun, and Narcissa had an absolute hoot planning it all with me. We showed off a lighter, more fun side to her family, which did wonders for their reputation (and was good timing, since Lucius was due to come out of lockup within the next six months). Draco laughed and was more social than I'd ever remember seeing him, and we danced and ate until dawn.
As soon as the guests were secured in either guest rooms on the premises or had gone to their own beds, Draco whisked me to the Floo. Our packed suitcases were waiting for us.
"A little anxious for the honeymoon, are you?" I asked, grinning like the Sphinx.
My new husband gripped me tight, kicking our bags into the hearth and grabbing some Floo powder from a box on the mantle. "Hold tight, my wife."
I did, and in a dizzying blur we ended up…
"Wow. You weren't kidding about coming here for our honeymoon."
… … … … …
There's nothing like swaying with your new husband on the dance floor at Cleopatra's Barge, I'm convinced. You hardly notice the way the deck moves under your feet when your head is in the clouds and your eyes see nothing but brilliant stars. And if you want a Cleopatra, you simply need to snap your fingers, and one of the costumed waitron's runs to fill your order. She'll even bring you the virgin version of the drink, should you find yourself happily pregnant and needing to whet your whistle on something stronger than water.
Oh, and a word to the wise: just make sure your bank account is nicely padded and you've packed the wellies before taking a holiday here. The City of Sin and Vice definitely has a way of loosening all of your inhibitions.
Author's Final Notes:
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