Chapter 44: The Morning After
The pale grey light of dawn filtered through the heavy drapes, painting the room in shades of slate and charcoal. Hermione woke to the silence, a profound quiet broken only by the slow, deep rhythm of Draco’s breathing against her back. Her body hummed, a live wire still buzzing with the aftershocks of the previous night—the searing stretch of his knot, the shocking heat of his release, the deep, settled feeling in her womb.
But now, she felt empty.
A hollow, aching need throbbed between her legs, a fresh pulse of want that had her clenching around nothing. A needy, pathetic whine escaped her lips before she could stop it, echoing in the quiet room.
Behind her, Draco stirred. His arm, already a heavy band around her waist, tightened, pulling her flush against the hard, hot line of his body. She felt it then, the insistent press of his morning erection against the swell of her thigh.
“Yes, love?” he murmured, his voice rough and thick with sleep, his lips moving against the tender skin of her shoulder.
She pressed back against him, a deliberate, grinding motion that made him suck in a sharp breath. The word felt foreign on her tongue, a surrender she’d fought for years. It trembled out, soft and true. “Alpha.”
He went utterly still. The hand on her stomach splayed wide, pressing possessively over the place he’d filled her.
She continued, the instinct a tidal wave washing away the last shreds of her pride. “I need you,” she whispered, turning her head into the pillow. “I need your knot again. Please.”
A low, visceral growl rumbled through his chest, vibrating into her spine. It was a sound of pure, unfettered triumph. In one fluid, powerful motion, he rolled her onto her stomach, his weight settling over her hips. He hooked his hands beneath her, pulling her up onto her knees, her back arched, her face pressed into the pillows that still smelled of their sweat and sex.
His instincts, finally given the verbal key, roared to the surface, no longer restrained by her defiance.
“That’s it,” he breathed, his voice dark with promise. He smoothed a hand down the curve of her spine, over the dip of her waist, to grip the fleshy swell of her arse. “My perfect, greedy omega. Coming apart for me so beautifully. Asking so nicely for what you need.” His thumb traced the crease where her thigh met her body, then dipped lower, through her slick folds. She cried out, pushing back against his hand. “So wet already. All for me. Just for my cock.”
He positioned himself, the broad head of his erection nudging against her, slippery with her arousal. He didn’t ask. He just pushed, a single, slick, deep thrust that buried him to the root in one stroke.
The sound she made was one of pure relief, a choked sob that was swallowed by the pillows. He filled the emptiness, stretching her gloriously, the mild ache a sweet counterpoint to the blinding pleasure.
“Fuck,” he groaned, holding himself deep, letting her adjust to the sudden, complete invasion. He leaned over her, his chest a hot press against her back, his mouth at her ear. “Listen to you. Taking me like you were made for it. You were, you know. This cunt was shaped for my knot. Say it.”
She was beyond words, beyond thought. She mewled, pushing back against him, urging him to move.
He chuckled, a dark, pleased sound. He pulled back almost all the way, then slammed home. The impact jolted her forward. “Say it, Hermione.”
“Y-yours,” she gasped. “Made for you.”
“Damn right.”
He set a punishing, relentless pace. Each thrust was a claiming, hard and deep, drilling into that sensitive spot inside her that made her vision blur. The room filled with the raw, wet sounds of their fucking—skin slapping against skin, his ragged grunts, her broken whimpers.
His hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back, arching her spine further. The slight sting only heightened the delirium. “Look at you,” he panted, his rhythm never faltering. “My brilliant, Deputy Head Granger. Reduced to a begging, dripping omega on her knees. And you love it. I can feel how much you love it.” He punctuated his words with a particularly vicious thrust. “Your tight little cunt is squeezing me like a vise. Trying to milk my knot already, aren’t you?”
She was. Her muscles were fluttering around him, climbing frantically towards another peak. The filth from his mouth, the degradation woven with the praise, was a potent aphrodisiac. It stripped her bare, leaving only the animal truth.
“Please, Alpha,” she begged, the title coming easier now, fueled by desperation. “Please, I need it, need to come—”
“You’ll come when I give you my knot,” he growled, but his pace stuttered, his control fraying. “Not a second before. You take what I give you.”
He drove into her, over and over, the angle hitting a perfect, devastating rhythm. The pressure began to build at his base, that familiar, incredible swell. She felt it, the stretch becoming something more, something irrevocable.
“Here it comes,” he warned, his voice strained. He released her hair, wrapping both arms around her waist, locking her against him as he pistoned his hips in short, brutal strokes. “Take it. Take my knot. Claim what’s yours.”
It popped past her entrance, swelling rapidly, locking them together in a searing, perfect join. He shouted, his body bowing over hers as he came, his release pumping into her in hot, endless pulses. The feeling of being utterly filled, plugged, claimed, triggered her own orgasm. It shattered her, a silent, rapturous convulsion that clenched around his throbbing knot, milking him dry.
He collapsed over her, his weight a welcome anchor. They were a tangled, sweaty, joined mess. His breath was a hot gust against her neck. He nuzzled the bonding mark, laving it with his tongue, a soft, possessive gesture that belied the ferocity of their coupling.
“Good?” he mumbled into her skin.
“Mm.” It was all she could manage.
He shifted them carefully to their sides, his front to her back, still locked. He draped an arm over her, his hand coming to rest, palm flat, on her lower abdomen. “My come’s deep in you now,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Where it belongs.”
She placed her hand over his. The hum of the bond was a steady, contented thrum in her veins. For a long time, there was only the sound of their breathing settling, the light growing stronger in the room.
Then, the world, with all its complications, began to seep back in. The Department. The reports. The life she had outside this room, outside his arms. Her brain, dormant for days, flickered reluctantly to life, presenting a ledger of logistical problems. Apparition coordinates. Fresh robes. An explanation for her absence that didn’t involve the scent of alpha and sex that was now woven into her very skin.
She felt Draco’s mouth curve into a smile against her shoulder, as if he could sense the shift in her thoughts.
“One crisis at a time, Granger,” he murmured, his fingers splaying possessively over her stomach. “The world can wait.”