the girl who lost it all [d.m]

fifteen: implexus

implexus: entwined, enfolded, bound

———

DRACO hated himself.

It was nothing new, of course—but it still made him burn from the inside out, sinking its fangs into his throat and suffocating him.

Elara was going to be the death of him. Her gasps and whimpers still echoed in his ears, much like the ones leaving Astoria's lips right now, but Elara's had pulled such desire and need out of him, he thought he would combust.

For a few minutes, he'd had her—he'd been weak and succumbed to her, to the look in her eyes and the feeling of her skin against his. He had had his head in her neck, inhaling lavender and if he'd darted out his tongue, he would've been able to taste her skin.

Draco groaned and sank his teeth into the back of Astoria's shoulder, a strangled cry leaving her lips as he picked up his pace.

"Touch me."

It had been a pleading request, one that had made fire erupt across his skin and blood rush in his veins. She had looked so feverish with desire, long dark hair spilling down her back as she let her head fall back when he touched her, biting down on her lip to keep the sounds in. And Draco could never deny Elara—not back then and not now.

So he'd given in and nearly fucked her there and then on that desk. His thoughts had been so frenzied, so driven with lust and raw need that he hadn't even tried to employ Occlumency. He would've failed anyway and in the midst of the moment, when she'd had her hands on his belt, he'd begged her to do it herself. So that one of them could use rationality and stop this—because it certainly couldn't be him.

But she hadn't. Too whipped up in the electricity fanning between them. She'd wanted him. She would've let him take her there and then.

The thought did wonders to his pride.

"Draco—" Astoria was gasping underneath him and he fisted her hair in his hand, arching her back the slightest bit. "Ah—gentle—"

Clenching his jaw, he loosened his hold and slowed his pace, giving her time to catch her breath, even though he needed nothing more in the world right now than to come. He wished Elara could be the one to make him and shut his eyes as all the times she had flashed through his head.

He'd had her in very much the same position he was taking Astoria in now—pressed down into the bed, arse raised slightly into the air—but where Astoria was petite and lithe, Elara had been soft and beautiful.

She'd been teasing him all day—brushing her knee against his in Potions, unbuttoning the first button of her shirt and leaning over him to grab the knife from him. In the Great Hall, during dinner, she'd walked in and he'd nearly thrown all caution to the wind when he saw her laugh at something her friend had said, long hair pulled into a braid that he so desperately wanted to undo so he could tangle his fingers in it.