Chapter Forty-Three: Tuesday Afternoon

The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

Beta credit: bunnyhops and CoquetteKitten

 

Lucius watched as his thumb brushed back and forth against Hermione’s bottom lip. Rub, rub, rub. “There was the softest of glows to your face when you entered this place with Draco, and your eyes spoke of a certain kind of contentment. So tell me, pet – whatever have you been up to this afternoon?”

 

Hermione blushed. Does he want me to talk about what I did with Draco? “I’ve been in the courtyard with Draco.”

 

“Have you been enjoying yourself while I was away?” Her wizard picked up the cane lying beside her, using it to push her curls behind her ear. The tender pull against her hair caused goose bumps to break out along her skin. “Hmmm?”

 

Her blush deepened. She whispered, “Yes.”

 

“What did you do with him?” When she opened her mouth in protest, he added, “He will tell me everything later, in any case. However, I would like to hear it from your own lips.” As he said that last word, he ran the sun-warmed silver across them.

 

He does want me to tell him. Her heart began pounding. “We . . . oh, for Circe’s sake, Lucius!”

 

Lucius murmured, “This is the way of a pureblood marriage, pet. We three are bound together.”

 

He pushed the open-mouthed snakehead of his cane against her lips gently until the upper jaw of the snake slid between them. “He and I will speak of you, and you will speak of us until there are no secrets, no boundaries. Our pleasure will be tripled.” He drew the snakehead from her mouth slowly. Hermione’s tongue darted out at the last minute to run against the warm metal. Lucius’ eyes darkened, and he repeated the gesture. This time he pushed the entire snakehead into her mouth, watching intently as her jaw opened to receive it fully. “Such a perfect mouth.”

 

Hermione’s mouth was so full of sculpted silver that she was unable to close it fully, and her tongue slid into the serpent’s own open mouth. I know what he’s thinking, and I want to learn to please him that way . . . Arousal coursed through her system at the thought. Lucius used his free hand to tug her head back by a handful of hair and looked down on her lustfully. He slowly withdrew the mouthful, wiping the gathered drool from her lower lip as she swallowed. She felt him dry the silver snakehead on the front of her cardigan in slow strokes between her breasts. “Soon you will take your rightful place as wife to the House of Malfoy, and we will fulfill our binding vows to you. What do you think of that, my lovely?”

 

“Nnnngh.” He kissed her yet again, slowly and sensuously until her hands were gripping handfuls of his hair and her legs were trying to separate enough to wrap around his hips. Lucius’ large hands prevented her from doing so, however, much to her frustration.

 

He ended the kiss, pulling away just enough so that his lips still moved lightly against her as he spoke. “Tell me.”

 

The senior Malfoy ran the smooth back of the snakehead along the line of her jaw. “We . . . Luciuuuuus!” Hermione halfheartedly protested, knowing she would eventually cave to his demand. The metal was tracing down her neck, then along the neckline of her cardigan, but now he had turned it so that the snake’s fangs dragged lightly against her skin in the slightest of tickling sensations. Her hands were full of the fabric of his robes now, trying with all of her might to draw him closer as she arched her chest toward him.

 

He raised an imperious eyebrow and dragged the head of the cane down to the swell of her breast, tracing its small curve. Her breath caught in her throat, anticipating his next movement. Yes, please. “You will learn to let go of your inhibitions.” Slowly, so slowly, the snakehead trailed down to the tip of her breast, commencing the pattern to which she had been conditioned, and her nipple knotted immediately in response. In fact, her entire body responded. Hermione felt a hot flush spread under her skin and an ache begin in her core. She groaned through clenched teeth and pushed into his touch. He tutted disapprovingly, drawing down his expressive eyebrows, and the cane stopped its pleasurable assault. “Words, my prize.”

 

“I’ll give you words, but only in exchange for something of value.” Two can play this game.

 

Lucius’ impassive face barely moved, but Hermione recognized the heat and subtle satisfaction in his gaze. “Ah. You’d like incentive.”

 

She nodded firmly and steeled her resolve. There’s no reason to feel self-conscious about something I enjoyed so much. He’s right – I need to let go of these silly inhibitions. Especially with him. Lucius leaned down to her ear, switching the snakehead to the other nipple at the same time. Rub, rub, rub. “I will make you come by my hand right here, and I will swallow the sound of you crying my name. Do you consider that to be of sufficient value?”

 

She felt a rush of wetness between her legs and suddenly wished she were wearing knickers. The moisture trickled over her skin, causing her to try to squeeze her slender thighs together to stop it. Lucius seemed to know exactly what had happened. He moved his cane at an agonizing pace down over each of her ribs, across her stomach, and eventually traced it over the top of her mound. The smooth back of the snakehead pushing gently against her pubic bone hinted at a more pleasing pressure point, teasing every nerve until her hips tried to wriggle in response. His hand still restrained her thighs, and she felt his erection pressing against her hip. “Would you like that, pet?”

 

She nodded furiously, realizing she had just lost any power with such a display of eagerness, and sensed her other mistake when he withdrew his cane. Words. “Yes, of course I would!”

 

He stood to his full height, looming over her. “Tell me what I wish to know.”

 

“We— ah!” The cane resumed its former maddening action, now back and forth between her nipples. “Took a walk in the courtyard. Oh, do that again! Lucius!” The last part came out as a yelp of protest.

 

He had withdrawn the cane and its sensory input, narrowing his eyes at her. “Surely you can do better than that.”

 

“”I can, and will – just don’t stop,” Hermione breathed. She closed her eyes, remembering how she and Draco had moved together and the fire that had spread through every nerve. Lucius began teasing her body again. “We were so far away from the crowd and the portico felt so private. Draco . . . he pushed me up against a column and—“ the rest of the sentence temporarily dissolved into thin air as Lucius began unbuttoning her sweater. His mouth traced over the newly bared skin of her upper chest, and when the cardigan fell open he returned his attention to her breasts.

 

The fabric of her dress was lightweight, giving her wizard visible proof of his effect on her. This was especially true now that the silver, no longer drawing the heat of the sun, had cooled to the touch. “Look how your body responds to my touch, Hermione. Look.” At his command she glanced down and was shocked to find that watching him touch her aroused her yet further. He tipped the cane’s head backward, lightly running the serrated teeth of the serpent’s mouth lightly against one taut nipple and Hermione gave a small gasp of pure pleasure. As she continued to watch, Lucius murmured against her temple. “Tell me, witch.” He pressed a tender kiss to her hairline.

 

Unexpectedly, Hermione found that she wanted to explain to Lucius how she had felt earlier. Her voice didn’t sound like it belonged to her; it was throaty and sensual. “He touched me the way you do. He rubbed his thumb— oh! Right there!” Lucius acted out her words as she continued, “He lifted one of my knees and I wrapped my leg around his hip. I couldn’t get close enough to him. Mmmmmmmm, Lucius . . . I want to . . .” Her voice trailed off as he laid his cane on the windowsill beside her, pushed her legs apart with one large hand, and pulled her against him in the manner she’d described. Gathering her courage, she finished in a rush, “We ground against each other, kissing and touching until we both found our release.”

 

Lucius’ next action was eerily similar to Draco’s earlier one. He groaned in her ear and curled his fingers around her thighs, which she had quickly wrapped around his hips, as he made one brief pass over her fabric-covered seam with his hard shaft. Almost immediately, though, he seemed to come to his senses and stepped away as if he’d been burned. The young witch growled in protest. He looked at her in chagrin and sighed, leaning one hand against the windowpane near her head. “That was not part of my plan. I am not nineteen years old, nor am I a slave to my body.”

 

To Hermione it sounded as though he was arguing with himself. She understood his plight all too well. At least I’m not the only one who talks to myself. “This is usually the part where Draco has me talk about Arithmancy,” she ventured, noticing the way his hand was clenched in a white-knuckled fist and his nostrils were flared. I did that to him – I made him lose control. The thought was heady, and she felt a sense of satisfaction in reducing him to such impetuous behavior. The young witch added impishly, “What was your plan, exactly?”

 

Lucius looked at her from the corner of his eye, trailing his eyes over her face. “It is still very much in action. Allow me one moment, please.” He turned back to peer out the window for a long minute. Finally he nodded his head and picked up his cane, running it along the neckline of her dress. “Now, we begin again.”

 

Hermione decided to take matters into her own hand. Regardless of whether Lucius had a plan to follow, she wanted to be as close to him as possible. She dragged him down to her level by the lapels of his robes and engaged his handsome mouth in a playful kiss. “I don’t want to begin again – I want to continue from where we left off, Lucius.” When she saw from the look on his face that he was set in his decision, she amended, “Tell me your plan, at least.”

 

Lucius pursed his lips, drawing her attention to his mouth. She pulled at his robes again, tipping up her chin to touch her lips to his. “Tell me your plan, sir,” she whispered coyly.

 

He smirked, pulling back slightly. “You are a minx. I wanted to demonstrate to you one advantage of age and experience. Would you like that?”

 

“Does it involve you touching me?” She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

 

He chuckled. “Very much so. Now hush.” With a trace of amusement still evident on his face, he kissed her briefly and traced the head of his cane over her stomach. He murmured, “The best kind of pleasure is that which builds from anticipation.” The cool round back of the snake’s head traveled over her stomach in curving lines.

 

“More,” she demanded softly, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. This is going to be extremely enjoyable.

 

Lucius raised his hand, and now the snakehead brushed softly against the bottoms of her breasts in his favored rhythm. He continued in his silky voice, “And anticipation is built when one is conditioned to a certain experience. For example, a particular touch.”

 

“Yes. More.” Her hands came up to rest over his, attempting to direct the cane’s path.

 

Much to her frustration, Lucius pulled it away from her body. “Ah, ah, ah, pet. Pleasure given is always better than pleasure taken. Can you control yourself?”

 

Yes, Lucius,” she practically growled.

 

He kissed her pouting lips as he brought the cane head against one neglected nipple at long last, where it flicked over the peaked flesh in a way that caused her to gasp into his mouth. “I’m going to bring you to orgasm with my cane, and whenever you see it after this, the cycle of anticipation and pleasure will begin again. This kind of pleasure, pet, is every bit as enjoyable as being rutted against like a young buck.”

 

The images evoked by his words caused a thrill to run along her spine, but she asked him curiously, “How will you do that?”

 

“Age has its advantages, pet. I cannot wait to fill you with my knowledge.” His smiling lips were eating her mouth, her jaw, her neck, and his hands were pulling her hips closer to the edge of the windowsill. “However, for the remainder of our time together, I require you to remain quiet unless you are giving voice to your pleasure or saying my name.”

“Got it – now please start. The anticipation is already killing me.” It really was. Lucius chuckled against the sensitive spot beneath her ear and she squirmed at the delightful, tickling sensation. He pulled back with a sternly raised eyebrow, and she mimed locking her lips and tucking the key down the front of her dress. Lucius followed her motions with his eyes, and the atmosphere thickened tangibly.

 

First, though, he raised his cane in his hands and directed some silent, wandless spell toward it. At least, that’s what Hermione deduced when the silver head seemed to change somewhat before her eyes. She reached out a hand and stroked it tentatively while Lucius watched with dark eyes. Where it had been cool and hard before, it was now warm and firm yet yielding to her touch. Her wizard drew it away from her curious fingers and set it down on the windowsill again.

 

“You have lovely breasts,” he murmured, tracing their shape and then measuring their slight weight in his palms. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the window, exhaling shakily when she felt him begin teasing her nipples with his fingers and mouth through the fabric of her dress.

 

“Nnnngh.” She arched into the pleasurable sensation and squeezed her knees to his hips, trying to draw him close to her. His tongue stroked, his teeth scraped, and his lips rhythmically closed around one tight bud while his fingers pinched and tugged the other. Hermione raised her hands and threaded them through his thick hair.

 

Lucius must have picked up his cane at some point, because suddenly she felt the firm rounded back of the cane head running lightly along her seam. She jumped and felt a cool puff of air against the now wet fabric covering her breast as he breathed a laugh. Her next breath came out as a strangled, “O-o-o-o-h.”

 

Up and down, up and down, the smooth warm back of the snakehead moved. Hermione gave a quiet, approving moan as the pliant head pushed and rubbed against the hood of her clitoris. It was obvious now that the object moving against her was the same density and hardness as a male phallus, and its effect was the same as well. Arousal turned to want, want changed to need, and a coil began to twist in her gut. Through the haze of lust, though, her mind still managed to whir, and a solitary thought emerged: There are a lot of spells I still don’t know. “Lucius, pleeeaaase . . .”

 

Lucius pulled back to watch his other hand at work, and the young witch gave a snarl of disapproval at the sudden diminished attention being given to her breasts. He glanced up at her and watched her face as he rolled her nipple between his fingers and then gave it a flick. “As much as I enjoy sucking at your pretty nipples, I wish to watch your face.” His eyes dropped to where he moved the snakehead between her legs, and he groaned. “Your frock is soaked through.” The cane moved relentlessly against her, and Hermione used her leverage around Lucius’ hips to push herself harder into its touch.

 

“Oh, mmmmmmmmm, uuh.” Her hips bucked and she filled her restless hands with the fabric of his robes, willing him closer. I want him between my legs. The coil had wound itself into a solid mass of tension, and now the cane head was almost torturous in its teasing movements. The flesh between her legs ached for relief, and Lucius watched her torment with dark eyes. “Nnnngh!”

 

Rub, rub, rub.   His hand continued its rhythm with the cane head. Twist, pinch, flick. His hand had begun alternating between her breasts at some point, and the random pattern was driving her mad. I’m going to die of need. All the desire in her body was racing back toward her gut, pressing down on the already tight-wound coil. A fluttering feeling began to spread within her. Now his ragged voice was in her ear. “When you come, Hermione, I want you to cry my name. Do you understand?”

 

The flesh between her legs pulsed in agony, and she nodded against his cheek. “No more teasing!” She felt her muscles tense in preparation for the impending orgasm.

 

“No more teasing.” Lucius lowered his head back down to her breast and latched on to her nipple, tugging gently with his lips. At the same time, he made several firm passes over her clitoris with the back of the snakehead. Suddenly, in a drawn-out series of blinding sensations, the tension of the coil was released explosively. Hermione cried out his name repeatedly as her body was inundated with wave after wave of intense pleasure, and true to his original promise, he swallowed her cries in a hungry kiss.

 

Time passed, and eventually awareness returned to the young witch. She was still sitting on the windowsill, pressed back against the glass, and Lucius was holding her in his arms. Her head flopped down on his shoulder. “Hmmmmm.” He kissed the top of her head, and Hermione rubbed her face into his neck. His hand rubbed up and down her arm in a soothing pattern, lulling her further into contentment. Eventually, though, a niggling thought worked its way through her blissful state: This is the second time Lucius has denied himself. She glanced up at him, bravely reaching one hand down to brush against his erection.

 

Lucius froze. Then, in a move uncharacteristic of the wizard she had come to know, he pushed against her hand, squeezing shut his eyes and exhaling sharply. Emboldened by his reaction, Hermione wrapped her fingers around his shaft as best she could through the fabric of his trousers. Lucius groaned and thrust into her grip once before he seemed to come to his senses. He stepped back from her with a wry smile on his handsome face. “You have a way of making me feel nineteen years old again, and I cannot decide if I like it.”

 

She sighed. “It hardly seems fair that you make me feel so good while you deny yourself what you obviously want.”

 

“What I want is to have you in my bed, warm and wanting beneath me. I will settle for nothing less.” Lucius closed his eyes, muttering something under his breath.

 

“Was that a spell?” She asked curiously.

 

“No, I am merely reciting a list of particularly disturbing images. It helps me to regain my composure.”

 

“What sort of images?”

 

He regarded her with amusement. “Things so horrid that the merest mention of them could quell anyone’s desire.” At her encouraging expression, he continued, “Minerva McGonagall and Cornelius Fudge skinny-dipping in the lake, for example.”

 

Hermione saw his logic. She held out her arms to him and when he returned to them, she said into his neck, “I like your experience, Lucius, but I also like when you lose control.” His nook was every bit as perfect as she’d remembered it, and she snuggled in yet closer. “How much time do we have left?”

 

“If Draco finishes on time, ten minutes.”

 

Her usual thought processes were returning now. “I have so many questions, but before I start would you mind . . .” She waved her hand over the front of her dress. Draco’s earlier pride in her rumpled state gave her context for the similar look on Lucius’ face. He likes knowing he did that to me. Lucius finished his slow perusal and performed a wandless cleaning spell, followed by one to dry the fabric. “Thank you, Lucius.”

 

They settled into the wingback chair in their usual fashion. Hermione began shooting questions at him rapid-fire, much to Lucius’ amusement. “Will you tell me happened with Professor Vector?”

 

His expression quickly shifted to one of annoyance. “She is the most disagreeable woman I have ever met, and has been that way since our youth.” Lucius glanced down at her, explaining, “She was in Slytherin House, but several years older. Even then she was impossible.”

 

“Tell me more.”

 

He sighed. “Septima is one of the most skilled Arithmancers in the wizarding world, and was offered employment by several Malfoy companies when Abraxas was still alive. She turned them down though, because she hated the idea of a career in research. Also,” Lucius added, “There was the matter of her pride. Being a self-starting witch from a less-than-affluent family, she earned her tuition as a tutor. Abraxas hired her to help me for several summers, and it galled her no end that she was dependent on me for money.”

 

“Why would she be embarrassed about earning her way through school? That’s a very proud Muggle tradition!”

 

“I may have reminded her of her perceived servitude when she got uppity during the school year,” he murmured with an elegant shrug.

 

A bubble of laughter escaped Hermione before she could contain it. “Lucius!”

 

He raised an eyebrow, but his eyes were twinkling. “I was just a boy. Eventually I learned that the best revenge for her attitude was simply to ignore her. I’d been doing it successfully for over twenty years until you upset things.”

 

“You’re saying that her refusal to help me stemmed from an old school grudge! So then, what was this punishment the two of you were arguing about?”

 

“She will be working for Malfoy Industries for the next few months, once again in my employ. There is an old axiom, ‘never cut off your nose to spite your face’. Septima Vector, for all her skill in predicting the future, can be very shortsighted. It seems she will be re-growing her nose over the summer.” His smug air was infectious, and Hermione grinned at him even as she shook her head. Never cross Lucius Malfoy.

 

It would have been nice to just cuddle with Lucius, but their time was limited, so she continued with her questions even as she curled against his strong torso. “Please tell me about the new chaperone. Is she really that awful?” Hermione imagined her as a horribly ferocious, ancient dragon of a witch, but Lucius’ next words implied otherwise.

 

“My first impression of Mademoiselle Delacour was that her lack of personality was due to a lifelong reliance on her physical appearance. The coldness she exuded seemed to indicate a distinct lack of humanity. However, I have since come to recognize that she possesses two traits that speak to a certain depth of character: an extreme sense of practicality, and the unwillingness to deviate from her goal. She is unbending. In fact, Fleur Delacour is the very antithesis of Mr. Potter.”
Lucius’ description of her companion for the next few days was abysmal, but Hermione tried to remain as positive as possible. “So, she’s just unfriendly?”

 

“She is . . . very competent.” Lucius ran a hand over her hair, pushing it way from her face. He added, “And she will most certainly keep you from breaking any of your courtship rules.”

 

She looked up at him, scowling. This doesn’t bode well for the rest of the week. “I hope you’re happy when we don’t get any time together.”

 

His hand, which had been caressing her back through the fabric of her dress, dipped down to her bottom and continued the motion. Suddenly he stopped, pulling her head up by a handful of hair so that she was looking up at him. “Is there something you wish to tell me, pet?”

 

Oops. I may have forgotten to tell him about giving Draco my knickers . . . She decided to take a direct approach. “I’m not wearing any knickers because I gave them to Draco earlier. I was so flustered that I forgot to mention it before.”

 

His hand closed around the curve of her backside in a squeezing grip, and he opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out, and he stared at her blankly. I’ve discombobulated Lucius. For some reason this pleased her immensely, and she quipped, “Shall I talk about Arithmancy now?”

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