Why are we doing this, Malfoy?” She whispered, her hands going to tangle in the white blonde locks of hair that resided on top of her lover’s head, swallowing heavily. The Malfoy Heir smirked at her in return, chuckling slightly.
“Because we want to.”
Hermione didn’t have time to respond to him; he was much too eager to be inside of her, and she wasn’t willing to protest. Hell, she needed him as much as he did her, though neither of them would admit to it. Hermione exhaled sharply as Draco moved and bucked into her, and her legs spread farther apart of their own free will. A low and throaty moan escaped her throat and she arched her back, meeting his rough and frantic thrusts with her own. Her breasts bounced as he hammered into her, and she tightened her hold on his hair, whimpering slightly.
“Faster, Malfoy, harder,” She managed, and she felt her thighs tremble as her cunt contracted around his stiff length. Oh, Merlin, damn it all to Hell—Draco might’ve been a git, that much was absolutely true; he was rude and conceited and didn’t understand how to handle relationships. But he made her feel wonderful; desired, even. He satisfied her in a way that no one ever had before, and as she crushed her lips against his own and mewled with desire, her hips thrashing against his own, she realized she had already fallen too deep.
Fortunately, the grunting, pale-faced Wizard above her didn’t seem to give a damn, either.