She never hears him enter the room, for he moves on silent feet. But she has become accustomed to the feel of his hands suddenly wrapping around her waist; she’s used to the feel of hot tongue, mouth, and teeth on her shoulder until she might as well have been stamped with the signature that she is his.
The way he must demonstrate his possessiveness takes her breath away.
True to his kind, he is always ready for motion. Even in bed, asleep, he is only resting. It is wise to never forget this.
She huddled in front of the fireplace, swathed in his robes, knotted tightly to block out the wind. The cold numbed her. She didn’t feel his eyes open lazily, grey eyes darting around the room until they found her, kneeling before the fireplace, looking lost in his robe.
Harry’s head popped up into the fireplace at exactly five past eight. “Eugh,” he said, looking past her to the bed, and he made a face. “We need to conduct our conversations someplace else from now on.”
She grinned wryly and whispered, “So, what’s up?”
Harry still looked disturbed, but he kept his voice low and inaudible. “Well, there’s going to be a play in the new theater on Friday evening. You know, the one Hermione’s been dying to see. I’ve got tickets,” he said temptingly.
“How many?” she asked. “Doesn’t Ron want to go?”
“Three,” he said uncomfortably. “And no, Ron doesn’t want to go, so technically there’s four. But we were going to drag him along anyway, and you know there’s no way he’s going to not go if Hermione is, he’s just looking for the right opportunity, he just needs to be pushed a little…” She saw the wistful expression on his face. “Gin, come on, it’ll be fun. It’s only for three hours after work and dinner.”
“Okay,” she agreed hastily.
Harry beamed at her. “Good, I’ll send the tickets over with Hedwig later.”
After the fire died down, she remained still for a long time before shedding the robe and sliding back into bed, breathing slow, deep and even breaths.
His voice was muffled when he spoke. “I suppose you won’t be free on Friday.”
She nearly jumped. “Yeah. The theater – ”
“I was trying to be quiet.”
He propped himself up on one muscled arm to stare down at her, something akin to amusement in his eyes, before bending his fair head and nipping at her collarbone.
“You know,” he murmured against her rapidly warming skin, “if you wanted to go to the theater, you only had to ask. Why with Potter?”
“You’re busy – ” she gasped and her back arched under his ministrations, “ – all the time.”
“That’s no excuse.” His tongue flicked.
To live with a killer, you must stop letting your words slip. It’s hazardous to one’s health.
“He hasn’t offered you marriage. You don’t live together. It’s almost as though he goes to you only when he needs to. I don’t know why you’re still with him, frankly,” sniped Daphne. “Us girls are wondering why. Something must be in it for you.” Her eyes darted over Ginny’s winter coat, which she had outgrown but kept around for sentimentality’s sake.
“He’s spectacular in bed, frankly,” she snapped bluntly before she could stop herself. Afterwards, she gave herself a pat on the back.
Later at night, as she was curled up on the bed reading, he glanced over at her in mid motion of stripping off his tie, and said casually, “So, you’re using me for sex, are you?”
She abruptly turned a shade of red and sputtered. “How the hell do you know about that!”
He smirked, striding over to the bed. “While I admit it’s very flattering, I thought you were with me for my intellect, my devastating charm, my money even…”
“You’re an arrogant prat, that’s what you are,” she muttered.
“Arrogant? No, I believe the word used was ‘spectacular.’” He tilted his head to the side and gave her a cocky smile. He tugged at a strand of her hair lightly. “Actually, I’m quite sure it was.”
The darkening of his eyes made her inhale sharply. “Oh, shut up.”
“‘Spectacular’ is quite a high bar,” he said, arching an eyebrow in response. He brought her hand up to his lips and pressed his tongue against her palm, and she was assaulted by sensations – the feel of his broom-roughened hand clasping hers, the smell of him, lemony cologne and something else, something unique. His voice was rougher and a few notes deeper when he spoke. “But I like a challenge. Let’s see if I can raise the standard…”
Assassins, the best ones, have money to spend, for there is never a shortage of lives to be ended.
It was a beautiful racing broom. Gleaming, smooth, polished, the broom itself was a statement of wealth.
He nuzzled her, grey eyes shining with pride and pleasure at her obvious delight for his well-chosen gift. “Happy birthday, Gin. Fly well.”
Remember. Pillage, then burn. The best assassins do so. Learn from them.
She couldn’t read anything in his ironic, self-possessed gaze. She tried pouting, but that only made him smirk at the papers he didn’t look up from.
“Draco, I want you.”
“You should have thought of that before you spoke for me,” he said mildly, scrawling his signature languidly before shoving the paper aside and leaning back in his chair, stretching his long legs out.
“Why are you so bothered by this?” she asked, irritated. “Don’t you want to go someplace with me?”
“Not to a Hogwarts renunion, I don’t. Sorry, love,” he said, not sounding very sorry at all. She didn’t know how he could look and sound so bland and still exude the impression that he was smirking at the world.
“Fine then,” she exclaimed irately. “Just don’t go! Now will you come over here?”
“No,” he said, smiling now, “because you already said I would go. You can’t have and eat the cake as well, love, and no changing your mind.”
He might have gone on, but he stopped speaking as she began to unbutton her shirt. He said nothing, only had that maddening smile playing about his lips, and he didn’t seem to be reacting at all, except that he was watching her intently and looked like he had no intention of looking away.
She swung her legs gracefully off the luxurious couch and stalked towards him.
“I haven’t seen you for a week,” she said, her voice husky.
He blinked at her.
“Dammit, I’ve been lonely.”
His mercury eyes danced at her.
She was becoming a mixture of exasperated desperation. It wasn’t until she was standing nearly on top of him in her knickers and, letting her hand brush against him, her other hand braced against his shoulder as she whispered hotly, “I’ll make it up to you. Anything,” lick, “you,” teeth, “want,” and punctuated her final word by grasping him firmly did he finally react.
Nimble hands snaked out and tugged lightly, yanking her down onto his lap, his mouth immediately becoming fused to hers and his hands busily doing very pleasurable things.
“Merlin, Gin, if you wanted me you should have held off telling me about the reunion until after you got properly ravished.”
“Mm.” She snuggled closer to him.
Never give a killer the advantage. Keep everything you value within your own power. These are simple rules, but you will not follow them because sometimes the best killer is a seducer.
“I love you,” he sighed against her throat.
She nuzzled him as his hands flowed down her body, tracing the smooth and curving lines. Reluctantly, she caught his hands with hers and stilled his movements.
“Stop, Draco,” she said, but ended up gasping aloud because in a very quick movement, he had pinned her against the wall, holding her there with his weight, kissing her cheekbone as their bodies were pressed flush against each other. The rough stone was cold behind her back and his body was so warm and she wondered why she was protesting.
He lifted his head. “Why?”
“You know why.”
“They can’t do anything to us now.”
“Just because House points doesn’t matter to us anymore, it’ll still be embarrassing.”
He was unrepentant, moving in to steal another kiss. “The hell it will be.”
Voices came from around the corridor: “Did you see Cho Chang?”
“She’s married to Blaise Zabini, and she’s pregnant!” Jealously, “She still looks fantastic, though.”
Stifling her cry of surprise with his mouth, Draco smiled against her lips before stepping away from her.
The two Hogwarts graduates came around the corner: “Hello!”
“Hello,” Draco greeted them, looking completely unruffled. “Have you seen Ron Weasley?”
“Yes, he’s in the Great Hall,” said one of the woman, eyeing Draco.
He smiled politely at her. “Thank you.”
Taking Ginny’s arm, he swept away.
“I told you we would get caught!” She pulled her arm out of his grasp.
He stopped and grinned at her. “We didn’t get caught.”
He kissed her swiftly again. “I love you,” he sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “I don’t care a whit about everyone else. Let’s leave. Let’s go home. Let’s go to Italy tomorrow. You always wanted to go to Venice.”
She sighed with him. “Okay,” she whispered back. “I love you more.”
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