The Charms classroom was empty of students, but the desk in the centre of the room held the weight of his presence. Draconia stood by the tall windows, watching the afternoon light hit the floorboards, though she was not looking at the light. She was thinking of the way his fingers felt against her skin and the way his weight had crushed her into the mattress only hours ago. The memory of his cock sliding inside her was a constant, pulsing thing in her mind. She needed to move, to act as if she had not spent the last three hours tracing the shape of her own desire in her head.
Harry approached her with a stride that was far too casual for a man who had just seen her unraited and breathless. He looked entirely composed, which was an insult to the way her skin still felt sensitive where he had bitten her. He held a stack of parchment in his hand, and she knew it was the essay she had spent the last three nights dissecting.
"You are late, Potter," Draconia said, her voice steady despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs.
"I didn't know we had an appointment," he replied, stepping closer to the desk.
"You had a deadline," she corrected him, her eyes narrowing.
"And you have the corrections?" he asked, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"I do."
"Is it good?"
"It is..." she paused, searching for the word that would not betray how much she had actually enjoyed reading his thoughts. "It is adequate."
He laughed, a short, sharp sound that made her stomach flip. "Adequate. That is the highest praise a Malfoy can give, isn't it?"
"Do not be vain," she snapped, though her hands were trembling as she reached for the parchment. "The syntax was clumsy in the third paragraph, and your argument regarding the redirection of charms was structurally weak. But the core logic was sound."
"The core logic was sound," he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. He moved around the desk, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Is that why you look so flushed, Draconia?"
"It is the temperature of the room," she lied, refusing to move back.
"It is not the room," he said, his hand reaching out to rest on the edge of the desk, trapping her. "You look like you have been burning up all morning."
"You are becoming as arrogant as your reputation suggests," she whispered, her breath hitching as he leaned in.
"You're a terrible liar," he murmured, and then he was kissing her.
His mouth was warm and tasted of peppermint and something uniquely him. Draconia reached up, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer until the desk was the only thing separating their bodies. He lifted her easily, seating her on the hard wood of the desk, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. His hands moved to the fastenings of her robes, pulling the fabric aside to expose her skin to the cool air of the classroom.
"The desk is cold," she gasped, but she was already unbuttoning her knickers, pushing them down past her thighs.
"Then let me warm you up," Harry said, his voice a low growl.
He moved with a frantic sort of precision, unfastening his trousers and freeing his cock. It was thick and heavy, a dark, pulsing length of heat that she watched with hungry eyes. She reached out, her palms cupping the shaft, feeling the vein that ran along the underside. He groaned, his head falling back as she squeezed him, her thumb rubbing over the sensitive head of his cock.
"Do you want it?" he asked, his breathing ragged.
"I want you to fuck me until I cannot think," she said, her voice stripped of all its usual Malfoy polish.
He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, and shoved his cock against her slit. She was already wet, her pussy slick and aching for him. He guided the head of his cock to her opening and pushed. He slid into her in one long, heavy motion, the girth of him stretching her wide. Draconia cried out, her head tossing back as he buried himself deep inside her.
"Fuck," he breathed, his eyes dark with lust. "You are so tight."
"Don't stop," she commanded, her hips bucking to meet him. "Fuck me, Harry. Harder."
He began to drive into her, his movements rhythmic and brutal. He pulled out until only the tip of his cock remained in her cunt, then slammed back in, bottoming out against her cervix. Each stroke was a blunt, heavy sensation that sent jolts of electricity through her nerves. She watched him, mesmerant by the way his muscles bunched in his arms and how his skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat.
He reached down, his fingers finding her clitoris, rubbing the swollen nub of flesh as he fucked her. The sensation was too much; she felt the tension building in her lower belly, a coil of pressure that demanded release. He increased the pace, his thrusts becoming faster and more shallow, driving into her with a desperate energy.
"Tell me," he grunted, his face contorted with effort. "Tell me how it feels."
"It feels like you are tearing me apart," she gasped, her hands clutching at his shoulders. "It feels perfect."
He leaned forward, his chest pressing against her breasts, and he began to fuck her with a singular focus. The sound of their bodies meeting was a wet, slapping noise in the quiet room. He was hitting her deep, his cock sliding through her cream, the friction of it making her vision blur. She felt the orgasm building, a frantic, desperate thing that she could no longer control.
"I'm going to..." she started, her voice breaking.
"Go," he commanded, his voice a rough command. "Come for me, Draconia."
She buckled under him, her pussy clenching around his cock in violent, rhythmic waves. She felt the heat of her orgasm explode, a white-hot rush of pleasure that made her scream his name. As she peaked, he gave one final, devastating thrust, burying himself to the hilt. He let out a low, guttural sound and began to cum, the thick jets of his seed hitting the back of her throat as he pulsed inside her. She felt the warmth of his cum filling her, a heavy, viscous sensation that made her feel completely full.
He stayed inside her for a long moment, his forehead resting against hers as they both fought for breath. The silence of the room returned, save for the sound of their ragged breathing.
"Better than adequate?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper, a teasing lilt returning to his tone.
"Shut up," she breathed, her eyes closed.
She smoothed her robes, her fingers still shaking as she regained some semblance of her composure. She picked up the essay, the parchment slightly wrinkled from where his hands had gripped it. She looked at him, wanting to say something more, to tell him that the way he had moved inside her was the only thing that felt real anymore. But the moment passed, and she straightened her spine, the mask of the Malfoy heiress sliding back into place.
She handed back his corrected essay in person and said the only compliment she owned.
"It is adequate," she said, her voice clear and unapologetic.
He smiled, a soft, tired thing that reached his eyes, and he did not try to argue with her.
"Thank you," he said and walked away and did not look back, and she stood in the corridor longer than is reasonable.