Time and Tide

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Seven years later...

The cold woke Hermione first.

That the chilly air had penetrated the flannel sheets didn't bode well for what was awaiting her beyond the confines of her bed. She snuggled down deeper into the pillow, tucking her nose under the blanket and trying for a return to unconsciousness.

But her rustling had woken her bedfellow. Or perhaps he'd already been awake. Draco was a poor sleeper on the best of days, turning in late, resting fitfully, and rising early. He only lingered when he wanted something. And as his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her close, she knew immediately what that something was: his erection pressed firmly against her bum.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she murmured.

His breath puffed against her bare neck, followed by the press of his lips. Hermione kept her hair short now, her once wild curls smoothed into waves by a pixie cut, which she diligently trimmed whenever she started to recognize herself.

"Fire burned out last night," Draco said. "My fault. Didn't feed it enough."

"So this is selfish," she teased. "You were cold and wanted to get warm."

"No, this is noble. You were shivering, and I wanted to warm you." His hand drifted from her stomach to her breast, his fingers finding her left nipple and teasing it to a peak. "How am I doing?"

She shifted her rear against him. "I've had better."

He tweaked her nipple, then trailed his hand back down her body. He loosened the drawstring tie of her cotton pajama pants with a single pull and worked his hand beneath the elastic. Hermione rolled half onto her back to open her legs and let him explore her. She closed her eyes and drifted, losing herself in the sensation. His fingers were slick and nimble against her clit, flicking and rubbing at a pace he knew she liked.

He brought her to climax slowly that first time. The release rolled through her like fog over a heath, patient and heavy.

Draco withdrew his hand and tugged at the waist of her pajamas. She arched her hips, lazy in the early hour, letting him do the work. When she opened her eyes, she found their bedroom bathed in the soft light of an overcast October morning. Draco knelt between her tented knees, his cock erect.

He made a fine fisherman. His hair had grown out, hanging about his shoulders on the rare occasion he left it loose from its typical bun-and-cap. His beard had come in thick: a blond two shades darker than his signature platinum, disguising the point of his chin and the jut of his cheekbones. It was a face she knew as well as her own by now.

A face she'd grown to love.

Hermione reached a hand toward his cock, and he shuddered as she stroked him, eyes closed, head tipped back. But even his patience had limits. Draco pressed his hips into her hand, leaning himself forward as she relaxed against her pillow. His body dwarfed hers, and she let her fingers dance over the corded muscles in his arms and shoulders. He rocked against her, teasing, rubbing his warm length against the cleft of her sex. She shifted the angle of her hips, catching his head, and he took the invitation.

Draco entered her slowly, and though she was ready for him, she breathed through the adjustment. The size of him was not something she ever wanted to get used to, his girth spreading her wide, his length fitting her perfectly. She moaned as their hips finally met, and his breath shuddered over her lips as he began to move, filling the hollow spaces within her.