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“Draco.”
Hermione had meant for her voice to sound firm and scolding, but her tone was punctuated by a laugh that she was unable to stifle.
“Mmm,” he hummed against her neck. “Yes, baby?”
She rolled her eyes, fighting his close proximity as she tried to fasten her earring in place. His lips moving against her skin had made the simple task infinitely harder than it should have been, both because of his refusal to stop kissing the side of her throat and because of the shivers that ensued from the feeling of his mouth on her body.
“We’re going to be late. I promised your mother that we would be on time this year. Technically, you are the Lord of the estate now, you know.”
Draco ran his tongue teasingly along her jaw, and she had to fight not to melt under his ministrations.
“Will that make you Lady Malfoy in five month’s time?” he rasped against her ear. “How enticing. I’ll have to replace those monogrammed knickers I gave you for your birthday last year. You’ll look divine with your new last name embroidered in the silk covering your cunt.”
The thought of her future husband branding her knickers with his family’s crest sent a delicious heat through her, but Hermione knew that they didn’t have time to consider such salacious thoughts. Instead, she shoved him away, though she knew he would most likely make her pay for it later. She stopped her mind before it could race with images of him bending her over his knee and turning her arse a festive shade of red.
With a shake of her head, she walked over to their shared closet, grabbing a pair of heels before settling herself on the bench that ran along the foot of their bed. One shoe dangled by the strap from her finger, and she raised a brow at him. As if on command, he dropped to his knees, grabbed her ankle, and began to wiggle the heel onto her foot. She didn’t let herself relish in his obedience; she knew it would be her falling to her knees at his command later on in the night, Christmas Eve or not.
Hermione had always loved the holidays. Her childhood had been full of various Christmastime memories, from hot cocoa-fueled shopping with her mum to gaping at the decorations that lined the Great Hall at Hogwarts. She’d loved every single moment.
In adulthood, however, the season looked a little different. She and her friends were grown now, married, some with children of their own. Her parents were gone, and the traditions she once held close had to shift as her life changed alongside the rest of the world.
It had been years since the violence and darkness of the war had plagued them. She was different now; they all were, in a way. Still, the harrowing experiences of their youth had only brought them all closer despite their differences.
Nearly half a decade after the final beat of Voldemort’s blackened heart, the world had healed. Enemies laid down their hatred and turned to friendship, adversaries put aside their disdain and found common ground, and rivalries had been put to rest.
And now, on Christmas Eve of 2002, Hermione and Draco were engaged to be married the following spring. Perhaps their betrothal would have been the greatest shock of all at some point in their twisted pasts, but when the announcement came, everyone was hardly surprised.
Hermione’s nostalgic thoughts came to an abrupt halt when she felt Draco’s wandering hands. Her heels had been securely fastened, but her fiancé seemed a little too preoccupied with the view of her exposed leg through the high-legged slit in her dress.
“Enough,” she scolded, pulling her foot from where it had rested on his knee and standing before he could hold her down and ravish her to his heart’s content. “Come on, we’re already dismally behind.”
Draco groaned, a rather pitiful noise if she was being honest, and dragged himself up to stand. He sent her a heated glare—one that meant she would definitely be punished later for denying him. Regardless of his threat, she bit her lip to hide her smile, and took the crook of his elbow when he offered it to her. Within moments, they were stepping out into the Manor’s floo parlor.
Hermione had always thought that Narcissa had an eye for decorating. The mansion was always festive and bright, no matter what holiday they were celebrating. For the annual Christmas Eve Gala, however, she always seemed to go all-out.
The walls had been charmed a deep shade of burgundy while emerald green candlesticks flickered within the golden sconces that lined the halls. From the ceiling hung sprigs of evergreen branches and mistletoe, the ribbons and ornaments that adorned them sparkling in the low light of the Manor. Cheery music sounded from the ballroom, which was accented with floating candles, enchanted falling snow, and twinkling silver bells. The main attraction, however, was the fully decorated twenty-foot tree that sat proudly in the middle of the room.
“Finally!” Hermione heard a voice call. She turned to see Narcissa approaching them. The witch nearly floated in her floor length velvet robes. The fabric was lined with silver trim and studded with emeralds that glimmered under the candlelight.
“I did my best, Narcissa,” Hermione said, pulling her future mother-in-law in for a hug. “He was being rather petulant today.”
Narcissa eyed her son and gave him two pats on the cheek. “One day, you’ll grow up, yes?” she asked. “Maybe Hermione can whip you into shape, my dragon.”
Draco shot his lover a mischievous look, and heat flared up her spine at the notion of his expression. He turned before she could blush and gave his mother a hug. “Happy Christmas, mother,” he said with a warm smile, though Hermione wondered if it was in greeting or if it was in gratitude for the new spanking idea she had just given him.
🎄🎄🎄
Hermione was warm from the endless flutes of champagne she’d taken from the floating trays that glided through the ballroom. Judging by the state of the bulge in Draco’s pants as she sat atop his lap near the crackling fire, he was feeling equally as… heated.
She shifted a bit, in the mood to play into the randy state her fiancé had been in since earlier that day. She smirked when she heard the soft groan of torture he emitted from beneath her.
“Eager, are we, darling?” he whispered, grabbing her hips and pulling her flush against his lap. “You wouldn’t let me fuck you at home before we came, so now you have to wait. Pity, isn’t it?”
Her lips pursed as she felt him press himself firmly against her core from below, but she quickly righted herself as she was looped into the conversation she’d only been half-paying attention to.
“What was that, the seventh time Hermione had saved your sorry arses?” Ginny giggled. She was seated on the small settee, sandwiched between Blaise and Harry and engrossed in a heated debate with Ron about who had destroyed the most Horcruxes. The redheaded witch had been arguing that, without Hermione, they wouldn’t have found half of them in the first place.
Hermione looked at Ron and wiggled her brows in a silent, teasing challenge. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this light-hearted quarrel. Ron always insisted that his luck with the Sword of Gryffindor counted for at least two Horcruxes in the end, having destroyed both the locket and the snake, but the others loved to oppose his claims for the sake of riling him up.
“You’ve got to find something else to boast about, mate,” Blaise said. “Your war tales are getting a bit stale.”
“I disagree,” Pansy said from her spot on the arm of Ron’s chair. She mused his hair lovingly as she leaned in closer to him. “I quite like hearing them.”
“Of course you do, Pansy,” Theo replied from his perch on one of the side tables. “Probably gets your lady cock just as hard as his. A bit opportunistic of you, isn’t it? Get him all hot and bothered so you ride him like a horse-girl.”
“What in Godric’s name is a ‘horse-girl’?” Harry asked with a laugh.
“Oh, you know! In those American westerns!” Theo moved to straddle the table, his hands grasping at invisible reigns as he bounced rhythmically on the varnished wood. The empty champagne flutes rattled and jostled as he rode the piece of furniture like a horse.
“Cowgirl,” they all corrected in unison.
Theo gave one more harsh bounce atop the table before he gestured down between his parted legs. “It’s a horse, not a cow,” he argued.
With a firm snap of his fingers, Blaise Vanished the table, causing Theo to fall gracelessly to the tiled floor below.
“Merlin, Nott. Never do that again,” Ginny grimaced.
Hermione laughed, but was quickly overcome with a sense of fondness as she looked at the friends that surrounded her. Under the twinkling lights and by the warmth of the fire, she was content, she was happy, she was—
Draco’s fingers dug possessively into her hips, and her train of thought derailed as his hardened length nudged along her slit. She could feel the way her knickers clung to her soaked cunt. Even though her mind had been preoccupied with the conversation around them, her body had been reacting to her fiancé's insistent touching all the while.
“I can practically taste you from here,” Draco drawled against the shell of her ear, his tongue darting out to dance along her cartilage. “Are you ready to stop denying yourself? Are you ready to beg for my cock yet?”
She wanted to melt into him, to slink back against his chest and grind her hips against his until they were both delirious with pleasure.
But perhaps the middle of her future-mother-in-law’s Christmas party was not the place to take such proclivities.
She stood suddenly, her face burning a shade of scarlet to match the festively-Transfigured wallpaper of the ballroom. Her friends’ gazes shot to her, confusion evident in their eyes.
“Alright there, Hermione?” Neville asked.
She mashed her lips between her teeth, worried that she would let out a desperate moan instead of a real answer. She spun to face Draco and cast a silent Notice-Me-Not charm on the placket of his trousers.
“Draco,” she said sweetly, her back to her friends but her voice loud enough for them to hear. “Your mother wanted us to make a few rounds to meet her friends, remember?”
“Right,” Draco played along. He stood from the chair and grabbed onto her shoulders, spinning her before he steered her away from the cluster of chairs they had occupied near the fireplace. “We’ll catch up with you all later.”
Once he had guided her a safe distance away, Hermione burst into a fit of giggles. “I don’t think they bought it,” she said.
“Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, I’d say. Let’s get you somewhere a little more private, my love, so you can be as naughty as you wish.”
She eyed the large, bustling room. While the ballroom was the main place of the party, guests were not limited to its four grand walls. The rest of the Manor was open for partygoers to peruse as they pleased.
“Where could we possibly be going, Draco?” she asked, digging her feet into the floor to stop him. “There are people everywhere.”
“My father’s rooms,” Draco he told her surely. He hoisted her up to get them moving again, his arms wrapping tightly around her midsection and lifting her body until her feet dangled above the floor. “No one ever goes up there anymore. My mother had it magically sealed after his death, but luckily for us, I know how to get past the wards. We won’t be bothered up there, which means, you can scream as loud as you want, baby.”
Hermione couldn’t see his face with the way he carried her, but she knew that he would have sent a devilish wink her way. They ascended multiple staircases that were hidden in the back halls, some behind false bookcases and others tucked away in secluded corners. With each step, Draco led them further and further away from the bustle of the festivities.
He set her down after a few minutes, and she worked to readjust her now-rumpled dress while he unsheathed his wand from his sleeve. His face was set into a fierce look of concentration as he aimed at a set of unassuming doors, the ones that Hermione guessed led to Lucius’ sealed quarters.
Draco drew a set of complex runes against the doors. He whispered an unfamiliar incantation that sounded like a form of blood magic Hermione knew better than to try to dissect. The runes glowed a bright and brilliant red for a moment before they seeped into the grains of the wood and disappeared into smoke against the doors.
They waited in silence. Ten seconds passed, then twenty, then thirty. Hermione was about to roll her eyes and find a nearby broom cupboard—though she doubted that the Manor even held rooms so small—to pull her fiancé into instead, when a faint click echoed in the quietness of the deserted hall.
“Thanks for the Malfoy blood, father,” Draco said aloud. There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice that had Hermione sighing.
Lucius and Draco hadn’t gotten along during their final years together. Though, to be fair, his father hadn’t made Draco’s life particularly easy. They had still been far from friendly by the time Lucius passed away, and Hermione couldn’t blame Draco for refusing to carry on the Pureblooded ideals that had stained the Malfoy line for centuries. The jest she had witnessed between them, while usually thinly-veiled with lighthearted teasing, always carried undertones of mistrust and animosity. By the time Lucius took his final breath, Draco was more than ready to move on.
Draco pulled her through the open doors and swept her into his arms the second they were past the threshold. All thought of the history between her fiancé and her would-have-been father-in-law left Hermione’s mind the moment his lips began to kiss and suck on her neck. She was reminded of the lingering dampness between her thighs, and her arousal immediately returned tenfold as his teeth grazed over her pulsepoint.
“Did you have fun down there, baby? Driving me mad with those sweet little hips and your beautiful fuck me eyes?” He held her jaw as he spoke, forcing her head up so that her gaze was left with nowhere else to look but straight into his own.
Hermione whimpered, wiggling her body against him in desperation. “Please, Draco,” she moaned. “I’ve waited long enough.”
“You would have had me a lot sooner if you’d just let me have my way with you before we arrived,” he chastised, leaning down to flick his tongue against the lobe of her ear. “You’re a bloody tease, and you’re lucky I’m feeling generous this holiday.”
Hermione all but melted to the floor in a pathetic puddle of need. She found her mind to be blissfully quiet as her fiancé toyed with the straps of her dress. He tugged gently—once, twice—before letting the stitched silk fall from the tops of her shoulders. Sparkling, silver eyes gazed up at her while he dipped his mouth lower, moving from the juncture of her neck and shoulders to the dip in her clavicle and down towards the tops of her breasts. His tongue swirled tantalizingly against her skin as he tasted every exposed inch of her.
She moaned his name and her hands flew up to clutch at his hair. His teeth grazed against the upper swell of her breast, and she clutched him tighter in response.
“Ready to be good for me?” he asked. “Ready to stop denying me of what I’ve so rightfully earned?” He squeezed the sides of her ribcage for emphasis, his thumbs brushing against the fabric that concealed the entirety of her tits from view.
“You’re so entitled,” she teased, though as soon as the words left her lips, she knew the reaction he would have. Draco had made it clear from the moment they first tumbled in bed together that he was, indeed, very entitled. To her.
“Because you’re mine, Hermione.” His voice was nearly a growl. “Do I need to remind you of that, baby? Right here, right now?”
Draco’s hands grasped roughly at the neckline of her dress as he spun her around, her back now pressing against his front. He exposed her chest with one tug on the silk, and her breasts spilled over the dip in the fabric. He squeezed and kneaded her tits with both hands, his touch rough and possessive, silently telling her with his hands alone that she belonged to him.
As if she would ever deny it.
Hermione arched her back to press her arse firmly against the straining placket of his trousers, tented by his hardened cock. Her mouth watered at the promise of tasting him, of taking him deeper and deeper until he hit the back of her throat and she was gagging around his length. Her mind swam with the possibilities of all that he would do to her—devour her cunt until she screamed, fuck her throat until she was drooling onto her own chest, thrust himself inside of her until—
“Beautiful tits, darling,” an unfamiliar voice said.
She was so startled by the voice, which very much did not belong to her fiancé, that she nearly leapt out of her skin. She quickly moved to cover her chest, her hands now lying atop Draco’s own as he froze. Her eyes moved around the room frantically in search of who had stumbled upon them in such a scandalized position.
Finally, her gaze landed on a tall marble statue. It loomed in the center of the longest wall of the room, and Hermione wasn’t quite sure how she hadn’t noticed it when they entered. She dropped her hands from her chest and took a step away from Draco to inspect the sculpture further.
“Is that…” So taken aback, she couldn’t even bring herself to name the man whom the statue resembled.
“Honestly, Miss Granger. Are you really so out of touch that you cannot recognize the Lord of the Manor of which you attempt to defile?”
She screamed, realizing that the voice had come from the statue itself, a statue that was nearly a spitting-image of Draco’s very dead father.
“Lucius Malfoy, in the flesh. Or… marble, if you’d like to get technical about it.” He waved his hands in a noncommittal gesture before flicking his long blond hair off of his sculpted shoulder.
Draco groaned from behind her, his head falling into his hands. “You’ve got to be fucking joking,” he whined. “Of course the man would be so self-centered as to have an entire bloody statue commissioned.” He walked closer to where Hermione stood, a mere handful of paces away from the animated carved stone. “Let me guess, he insisted you were enchanted the same as the portraits in the house?”
“Ah, correct you are, son. Glad to know some of your sense is still there after seeing you fumble your way through whatever that was. Is that truly what you call foreplay?” the Lucius statue taunted. “I, for one, found it to be a rather dull performance on your part. Miss Granger, however… Stunning, darling. Positively stunning.”
He winked at her, and Hermione thought she would faint. Her gaze averted from the statue’s face as she found herself desperate to avoid whatever in Godric’s name was happening. Unfortunately for her, her eyes landed directly onto the largest—or maybe second largest; it was a terrifyingly close resemblance between the statue and the inspiration’s son—cock she’d ever seen.
“Salazar, father. You are loathsome,” Draco said as he followed his fiancée's line of sight.
Hermione giggled. “How did you go most of your life living with the man and never know about… that?”
“I was a bit preoccupied with trying to survive Voldemort.”
Hermione couldn’t help but continue to stare. The cock protruded from statue-Lucius’ hips, hard as marble and carved with an impressive amount of detail. “Well, I can see where you get it from,” she mused after a moment.
She turned to Draco, who paled at her brazen comment, but she could only manage to shrug at him. Hermione Granger was many things, but a liar was never one of them.
Her hands came to rest on Draco’s shoulders, pulling him closer. The interruption was a bit unexpected, but the fire of her arousal still burned hotly in her core. She wasn’t in a state to let the small, and rather funny, hiccup stop them from getting what they wanted.
But, much to her dismay, Draco pushed her off, grabbing her hand and leading her towards the double doors from which they had entered only minutes ago. In protest, Hermione dug her heels into the floor to stop him. For one, her tits (which were beautiful, and she was grateful for Lucius’ very accurate assessment) were still exposed. Secondly, she would be hard pressed to return to the party with her arousal all but dripping down her thighs or wait while they ran around the Manor trying to find a suitable location for their romp.
She tugged him away from the doors by the arm, hoping her oh-so-useful fuck me eyes would aid her in getting what she wanted for the second time that evening. “The Manor is practically bursting at the seams, Draco. This is our best option. At least here we’ll be seen by… less people.”
“I’m not fucking you in front of my father. Statue or not. His bloody cock is out for Merlin’s sake!”
Hermione moved her hand from his arm, trailing her fingers lightly over his sleeve until she grasped at his tie. “Maybe this is an opportunity, love. I’ve always found myself inclined to a bit of exhibitionism, and you… Well, you love to stake your claim on me. Show him how good you fuck me. Show him that I belong to you, Draco.”
“I can hear you, you know,” the statue said from behind them.
Draco shut his eyes in irritation. She knew he was rolling his pupils back in his head from behind his eyelids, but she decided to play her final, most desperate card in order to get what she wanted.
Slowly, with her fiancé's eyes still shut, she sank to her knees before him. She worked to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his trousers before he could stop her. Within seconds, his erection sprang free and she was licking a long stripe up the underside of his shaft.
“Fuck, Hermione!” Draco hissed. His hands flew to her hair almost automatically.
She smirked, her tongue flicking rhythmically over the leaking head at the tip of his length. She hummed as she licked him, satiated by the taste of him.
“Baby…”
It came out as a stained whimper, and truthfully, she’d thought she’d won. But Draco then cleared his throat and tightened his grip in her hair, pulling until her head was forced back and his cock fell from between her swollen lips.
She pouted up at him and used her arms to squeeze her breasts together—another desperate play on her part. Beneath the skirt of her silk dress, her thighs rubbed impatiently in an effort to alleviate the ache between them.
Draco kept his eyes hard and unyielding as he stared back at her. A small voice in the back of her head told her that she was playing with fire, that she would most likely get punished for pushing him later, but she didn’t have the mind to care. She was nearly delirious with desire. If it came to it, she might use the marble cock behind her as a glorified dildo. Only if it came to it, of course.
After a moment of strained silence and a staring contest that Draco was seemingly refusing to back down from, Hermione stood with a huff. She turned away from him and walked towards the velvet chaise that sat near the fireplace to the left of them, peeling her dress from her body as she did. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the silk flying towards the statue, charming it to cover Lucius’ eyes. The gesture was futile, however; his marble hands tore the garment from his face, unaffected by her magic.
“Spoiled little thing, aren’t you?” Lucius said. “I’ll be damned if I don’t get to see the rest of you.”
“I’m sure you’re already damned,” she mumbled.
Gracelessly, she slumped onto the chaise. Her legs spread themselves wide, giving both Malfoys an unobstructed view of her glistening slit.
“I’m getting off,” she announced loudly enough to echo through the room. She dipped her fingers to her entrance to gather her arousal. “And I’m doing it with or without you, Draco. I have a feeling your father is going to watch either way.”
Her fiancé sauntered towards her as if mesmerized by the sight of her cunt. If he hadn’t been so obviously the dominant one between them, Hermione wondered if he would have crawled to her if she ordered him to. He settled between her widely parted thighs and sank to his knees, licking his lips as his mouth was leveled with her slippery center.
Hermione’s fingers continued to peruse the entirety of her cunt as if he wasn’t there. She wouldn’t stop until he made her, or until he took over. Shamelessly, she hoped it would be the latter.
“So wet, baby…” Draco rasped. His breath fanned against her core and had her clenching desperately around nothing but the air of his words. “I’d ask if this is all for me, but I don’t particularly want to hear you lie, and I’ve not the patience to take you across my lap on Christmas Eve.” He shot a sideways glance at the statue before returning his gaze to Hermione.
She squirmed atop the chaise as her fingers dipped shamelessly inside of herself. She whimpered at the inadequate feeling of her own digits, wishing instead for them to be the long, slender fingers of her soon-to-be husband.
“Draco, please touch me,” Hermione whined. She thrust her hips up towards his mouth in a silent plea for him.
“Oh, I did hope that I would get to hear her beg,” Lucius said from beside them. “Your pathetic little whining is almost as beautiful as your cunt, darling. I just wish I could smell you. I know the scent of your excitement must be divine.”
The twisted form of praise stirred low in her belly, and she closed her eyes as she ground against her hand. She assumed that Draco rolled his eyes at the stone-encased spirit of his father again, but she was far too wrapped up in her own need to care. He was on his knees before her, whispering dirty words between her legs; she knew she had him either way.
“Are you going to make yourself come?” Draco asked with a low voice.
Hermione thrashed on the smooth velvet of the chaise. Her legs shook, her fingers desperately worked at her cunt, she felt pleasure begin to bloom in her core.
But it wasn’t enough. Certainly not when she was being carefully watched by the two wizards. Well, one wizard and one… essence of a wizard? She couldn’t let herself think too much about the logistics, especially when said essence was about to watch her fuck his son. She whimpered again, the pathetic sound reverberating off of the high ceilings.
“No?” Draco cooed in mock surprise. “Oh, baby, you can do it, can’t you?”
She shook her head, holding back a sob. She needed to come, and she needed him to make her. Her fingers weren’t enough. The want that coursed violently through her body was edging on madness.
“See, Hermione?” he said, leaning closer to her dripping slit. “You need me, and I am the one who gets to make you come. The only one.”
Her eyes opened to stare into his endless, icy gray irises. In an instant, her breathing slowed, her fingers stopped their thrusting, and her hips settled.
She was never sure how exactly he did it. In the early days, she suspected some sort of self-invention—a spell or potion, perhaps—but she had come to learn in the years they had been together that it was just him. His voice was like a drug to her, and the need to please him was like a prophecy she felt compelled to fulfill.
Hermione’s gaze flickered quickly over to the statue of Lucius, who was watching them with rapt attention. Her eyes darted between the two Malfoy men, and before she could ask Draco if he was really going to fuck her now, in front of the presence of his father’s sculpted legacy, he hauled her naked form off of the chaise and spun her around.
She gasped as he maneuvered her. The room swirled in her vision until she was standing on two shaking legs, her back pressed against Draco’s front, and her body poised just a few feet from the life-like statue.
“Eyes on him, baby,” Draco rasped into her ear. “I’ll let him watch, and I’ll even let you show off for him, but it’s my name I want on your lips when you come.”
Without waiting for an answer, he grasped her hip with one hand while the other snaked down the front of her torso, dancing across her skin until he was parting her slit and thrusting two fingers inside of her.
Hermione let out a startled, broken moan, her knees buckling at the feeling of him finally pleasuring her. He pressed her more firmly against him with his forearm, and she could feel the muscles there flexing with each thrust of his hand. He let go of her hip, instead moving to grasp tightly at her jaw and force her face up to his father’s statue.
Lucius’ carved eyes swept over her naked figure appreciatively, lingering on the space between her legs before trailing back up to her face. She fought the urge to squeeze her eyes shut at the onslaught of delicious satisfaction that pulsed within her. Something told her that he would prefer she stared straight at him as she came, and he soon confirmed it with his words.
“Just like that, Miss Granger,” Lucius encouraged. “Let me see your face as you shatter.”
The barreling of her orgasm was quick; she felt the telltale trickle between her thighs after less than a minute of her fiancé's ministrations. She was close, and she knew that Draco sensed it, too.
“There she is,” he said loud enough for the statue to hear. “Go ahead, baby. Show him what I do to you.”
She came with a cry of her lover’s name, the noise feral and unhinged against the stillness of the room around them. Her cunt clenched rhythmically around Draco’s fingers as she ground herself against his knuckles. She didn’t dare shut her eyes, but kept them locked onto Lucius for the entire duration of her release.
“Sweet Salazar,” the statue breathed. “What a good little girl you are.”
“Need I remind you of whose name she screamed, father?” Draco said sternly. “You may be conscious and mobile in your limbs, but you remain rooted in the marble hell in which you reside.”
“I can’t possibly participate in such talk while saying your name, Draco,” Lucius said, his sculpted face twisting into displeasure. “I have my limits, you know.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Draco replied under his breath.
Through the fog of her post-orgasmic haze, Hermione let out a small noise of amusement. Their dramatics were seemingly hereditary, and, at the sight of Lucius in front of her and the feeling of Draco behind her, she wondered if Abraxas had been as equally as theatrical as his successors. Perhaps he had a similar statue hidden away in some room of the Manor as well.
Regardless of her fiancé's lamenting about the spiritually statuesque presence of his father, Hermione could feel the growing tent of his erection in his trousers. She arched her spine, rubbing her arse against him experimentally. Sure enough, he groaned into her wild curls and thrust himself against her low back.
“All this bickering and you still find yourself distracted,” she teased, turning to leave a love bite on the side of his throat.
“All of that talk of spanking and you still think it’s a good idea to push me,” Draco quipped, tearing her lips from his neck and forcing her stare forward again. “You find yourself on thin ice with me, love. Be grateful I let you come already. I might not be as courteous when I’m buried inside of that weeping cunt.”
Hermione exhaled, a traitorous thrill shooting through her veins at the idea of his torture. Part of her loved when he drove her mad with need, sending her hurtling towards the edge of bliss and then denying her at the last moment. It was twisted, perhaps, but it always made the eventual reward all the better.
“Stay still for me,” he ordered. “One inch of movement, and you’ll find yourself without permission to come until the new year.”
Her spine automatically straightened. Her eyes were level with the marble erection before her, and she knew that Lucius was looking down at her with hunger. From behind, she felt Draco step back, and she instantly missed the feeling of him against her. Her ears strained to hear any sort of sound that would hint at his actions, but she was met with complete silence, save for her own ragged breathing.
She closed her eyes in an effort to calm herself. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, her body buzzing in anticipation of whatever Draco had in store for her next. She fought the urge to rub her thighs together or turn her head in search of her lover, knowing both would end with more punishment from him.
The sound of his voice startled her eyes open, and within a moment, he was pressed against her once more, his words rasping against her cheek and rough with his own desire.
“Let’s get you nice and worked up, baby. Are you ready to give me what I want?”
Hermione nodded, knees growing weaker with each second that passed with nothing but his promises of him inside of her.
He pulled her towards the chaise, which had been repositioned to face the statue. He settled onto the velvet cushion, still damp with her arousal from when she had fingered herself to near-madness. His eyes glittered up at her from where she stood between his parted thighs.
Draco turned her around so that her arse was level with his face. He leaned forward, his hands grabbing at her flesh while he continued to speak. “You’re going to face him and let him watch you ride me like the dirty little girl you are. Tell me when you’re close, and we’ll see if you’ve earned another orgasm. Understood?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
His hands traveled to her hips and he helped her get positioned above him. Her knees parted over his lap, resting on the seat of the chaise on either side of him as she folded her calves beneath her thighs. She hovered for a moment, waiting with baited breath.
Wordlessly and without warning, Draco slammed her down onto his cock. She cried out, the feeling overwhelming each of her senses. Pleasure sparked violently through her veins, and she couldn’t help but to let her fiance bounce her body against his hips as soon as he was inside of her.
“Look at him,” he commanded. “You wanted to show off so badly, love. Now’s your chance.”
Hermione let her eyes flicker to the statue before them. Lucius watched her with awe, his carved lip trapped between pearly white teeth in barely-concealed restraint, though he could not move from the spot he was cemented to.
“Sit up, darling. Let me see those tits you so proudly bore for me,” the statue said.
She arched her back and felt her breasts bounce from the force of her efforts. She tangled her hands in her hair, pushing the curls back from her flushed face before she trailed her fingers down to twist and pluck at her nipples.
“Very good,” Lucius praised.
She began to roll her hips faster, fueled by the feeling of her fiancé and the attention of their voyeur. The wet, obscene sounds of her slick cunt gliding over Draco’s length echoed between the three of them, and the atmosphere of it all only made her wetter.
With half-lidded eyes, she kept her focus on Lucius, whose own cock seemed to jump with excitement. Sweat began to bead across her brow, but the warmth that began to pool in her core grew into a steady, unignorable heat that she wanted to let free.
“Fuck,” she swore, closing her eyes as Draco wrapped a hand around her to swipe at her clit. She began to clench around him as her insides coiled tightly with pleasure. “Please, Draco.”
“No, baby,” he taunted. Though he denied her release, his fingers circled faster against her.
Hermione cried out at his refusal of her orgasm and clenched her teeth to stop herself from tumbling over the edge. Her limbs shook with exertion, and she nearly thanked Merlin himself when Draco seemed to take pity on her and finally slowed his pace.
Her vision was blurred when he helped her to stand from his lap. Her stomach twisted at the loss of his cock, but her core still clenched with relentless desperation. There was a ringing in her ears, no doubt an effect of how hard she had worked not to come a screaming and moaning mess in her lover’s lap.
She let Draco guide her forward without protest, hoping that her obedience would earn her the reward she so desperately craved. He maneuvered her until she stood close to his father’s statue. Hermione’s eyes were level with the sculpted cock she had taken note of earlier, and she failed to stifle as gasp as she was given a close-up view of the detail with which his erection had been carved.
“Brace yourself against him,” Draco told her. Then, to Lucius, “You can hold her up while I fuck her.”
He pushed her forward until she was forced to steady herself by grabbing onto the statue just above its knees. The stone was cool beneath the heated skin of her palms, though she swore she felt the muscles of Lucius’ thighs flex at her touch. She dug her nails into the stone, wondering if he could feel the bite of them. The answer came in the sound of a sharp inhale from above.
She felt the tip of Draco’s cock notch at her entrance once more, and soon, he was sheathed inside of her again. Her back arched as she met his rhythm, her fingers digging into his father’s thighs until her knuckles ached from the unyielding firmness of the rock.
Her moans were punctuated by each snap of Draco’s hips from behind her, and she knew it would not be long until she was begging for him to let her come. Her hands turned to fists atop the surface of the statue’s legs in an attempt to keep herself in control. With each thrust, she found herself inching closer to Lucius’ carved body, a physical parallel to her insides being driven nearer to the edge of release..
She stared up at him, tall and looming above her, though he was only a good foot or so taller than he had been in his actual body. Her hands began to wander experimentally, and she smirked at the groan of torturous satisfaction he released when her fingertips brushed along the underside of his marble shaft.
Still, her denied release from the chaise returned with an impossible speed, and within seconds, she was clenching around Draco with the need to come. With one hand holding herself up against the jutting hipbone of the statue, she reached behind to feel the warm, living flesh of her fiancé. She grabbed at his hip, feeling his arse flex each time he bottomed out within her cunt.
“Close, aren’t you, baby?” he said.
All Hermione could manage in reply was a strangled moan. There was a dribble of excitement between her thighs that ran down from her center, dripping onto the polished floor at their feet. It was as if her cunt was warning them with its persistent slickness that she could not hold off much longer.
“Who do you belong to?” Draco rasped, pulling her flush against his chest and breaking her contact with his father’s statue.
“You, Draco,” Hermione replied breathlessly.
“Who do you come for?"
Her voice grew in volume, laced with desperation. “You.”
“And whose name will you soon take to show it?” Draco asked.
The question sent a delicious fire straight to Hermione’s core. “Yours!” she cried, nearing the edge of insanity.
“Say it,” he ordered. “Say my name when you come for me.”
The two syllables came out as a scream as she let go. Her orgasm washed over her violently, and she could focus on nothing but the sensation of her body coming undone for him. She felt him spill inside of her as he followed her into bliss, the evidence of his release coating her inner walls with his greed and possession.
Hermione slumped forward until her forehead rested against the cool marble of the statue. She registered a hand carding gently through her wild curls, but she could not bring herself to question which Malfoy wizard it belonged to. The warmth of it alone told her the answer even if her mind could not.
After a while, Draco and Hermione recognized that their absence from the party was likely not to go unnoticed for much longer. Between the dismantling of the wards, the bickering, and the fucking, it had been over an hour since they’d left everyone downstairs.
Draco helped her to gather her dress and readjust her sex-frizzed hair before he refastened his trousers. Hermione chuckled as he did so, realizing that she had been so caught up in her desires that she’d hardly noticed that he’d opted to remain fully clothed for the duration of their coupling.
Once they were ready to return to the masses that awaited them in the ballroom, Hermione gave one final look to the statue of Lucius Malfoy. The marble seemed to be a bit warmer in color than before, and she wondered how long the spirit of her father-in-law had been isolated in the warded rooms, alone with no one to keep him company.
She smiled at him, her eyes darting once more to the nakedness below his navel that had stunned her to silence just an hour before.
“I’ll be here next year,” he said teasingly when he caught her line of sight. He sent her a sneaky wink, the shimmer of the precious stone glittering in the evening light. “I do hope to see you then, darling.”
Draco groaned and grabbed onto Hermione’s elbow, moving her along towards the large double doors from which they had entered.
“Happy Christmas, Lucius,” she called over her shoulder.
Hermione could just barely hear the sound of stone rubbing against stone as they exited the room, and she smirked, wondering if there would be tiny pebbles strewn across the floor once Lucius brought his marble-self to completion at last.