Author's Note: This story is now completed. Thank you for your readership and your wonderful comments. I really appreciate the response I've gotten. Additional author's note will follow at the end.
He realized a few days later that he'd completely stopped meeting Blaise and Spencer to smoke outside the castle, ever since she'd left him and he woke alone. In fact, he'd almost quit smoking altogether. Once in a while, on the days between her lessons, he'd had a few, but he'd just finished the pack he'd had when she first propositioned him.
The annoying part of it was that she'd never told him outright she disapproved of the habit. Innately sensing her ideas, he'd automatically tapered off. Now he was brushing his teeth four times a day, which was more than excessive, and had ordered the house elves to bring him some sort of cedar-scented sachet for his drawers and closet.
It was enough to remind him he was only teaching her, not making her his own. Though it was unbecoming for a Malfoy to brood, he took mental potshots at the ridiculous prig. He'd once considered Pierce as more than just an acquaintance, but now, he saw only how the boy was none-too-subtle about flirting with other girls, or how he was infuriatingly Granger-like when answering questions in class. His eyes always narrowed when he pictured Ginny trying to woo Spencer.
Draco hadn't called her for another lesson because he knew she had a rather nasty Potions midterm this week on the proper preparation of Ministry-restricted herbs, fungi and plants. But she'd be done with it on Friday, and he stomped back to his room and put a napping Siren to work.
***
The note Siren brought her was two lines consisting of date and time to meet him. Ginny swore that demon bird snapped at her while delivering the missive…bitter thing was probably recalling the owl treat episode.
Friday night she found herself dressing carefully, and recognition struck her squarely in the face. She was truly getting ready to see Draco, not just to learn something from him. He'd complimented her before on her clothing, before it came off. Pains were taken to make sure her hair looked just right, even though it would be beyond rumpled in a matter of minutes. He seemed to like it loose over her shoulders and back and she'd taken to wearing it that way most of the time.
Sometimes she caught him smiling at her, as if he were trying to put it under cover of a smirk and not quite succeeding. She knew she always blushed and looked away, but the tiny bit of moisture that seeped through her panties belied her composure.
It was hard to reconcile in her head that the first time in a while she even bothered to think about Spencer was when she caught a glimpse of him when she'd once turned to watch Draco's retreating form and Spencer crossed his path.
***
Unnerving, that's what it was. Unnerving how naturally they had moved into one another's embrace, how easily their clothing came off and they ended up snuggling and kissing in the middle of his bed.
Vaguely aware that this was becoming too routine, she let it slip her mind when his hand and later his mouth slid below her waist and touched her softly and fiercely in turns, making her orgasm a living, breathing, ever-changing experience.
He was being lazy and she didn't mind, as it gave her time to explore his body. Considering he seemed to know hers well, she deemed it imperative to become just as familiar with his.
Her hushed and thorough investigation aroused him and soon he was atop her, her legs wrapped around his middle as he plundered her mouth and shaped her breasts with eager hands.
They both started moving, and bodies shifted just so that his cock brushed over the silk glaze of her sex and she made a strangled sound between a moan and a yelp. It nearly drowned out his own grunt as he tried to control his raging erection.
"Ginny," he rasped, trying to adopt a didactic tone and failing miserably. "You realize that birth control is a part of sex."
"Yes, of course!" she snapped back, her body trying to connect with his again in the same tantalizing way.
"And are you taking the precautions?" he questioned, groaning as he tried to still her hips.
"Not yet, git," she replied breathlessly, her voice getting higher in displeasure. "I'm not exactly having sex."
"Doesn't matter," he breathed. "It only takes one seed to grow a tree."
Turning to the side and still managing to stay in contact with her, he snatched his wand from his bedside table. Grasping it firmly in hand, he said an incantation she didn't even know. He tapped her forehead once with the tip of his wand and discarded it to the floor.
"What was that spell?" she demanded as he started planting hot kisses on her collarbones.
"An old one my mother used to keep my father from getting her pregnant again after I was born," he said, his face buried in the crook of her neck. "Malfoy men are lusty, you see, and she taught me the day my voice finally changed for good."
Her laugh was punctuated by breathy gasps as he hit sensitive spots.
"This will protect you for two more nights," he said unevenly as he allowed her to move her lower body into contact with his again. "But I want you to brew the potion tomorrow. What you don't have I'll get for you."
"But we haven't, you know, and aren't…" she said, trailing off as she felt her slickness spread on his smooth penile skin.
"I know!" he said, exasperated even as he made her close her eyes in bliss. "The potion is better than a spell, Gin," he said, leaning down to lick her ear. "My mother told me it protects for a week at a time and helps make sure your period is the same time each month."
"If we were actually seeing one another," she said icily, "you're effectively killing the mood."
"If we were actually seeing one another," he parroted, "we'd have discussed it before now."
"Well, you've never had your, your, erm…" she said, trailing off, looking away from him.
"My what, Ginny?" he asked saucily, his demeanor changing instantly. He could positively feel the blush that suffused her features and chest as he prodded her to say the words.
"Don't, Draco," she said warningly. His smile gleamed in the dim candlelight, his full lips drawing back into a long, slow grin.
He rolled off her, moving her body into a position that pleased him as she squawked all the while.
"Be quiet," he said firmly. "You're going to love this."
Suddenly she felt his hardness insinuated between her thighs, lying against her nether lips. Draco's desire to run his cock over her folds as they accidentally had before was blistering.
And when he did, they both gasped from the sheer heat of it. It was crazy, he thought, that he was even playing with this fire, but he had to, was compelled to.
He began rocking his hips, holding her leg up and away from her body so he could have the most room in which to maneuver, wishing he'd had the presence of mind to summon the mirror so he could see his slick erection slide over her folds and up to her clit on every stroke.
If it was this sinful just to touch her this way, he couldn't fathom being the first sheathed by her. He could feel sweat and pressure pooling in the base of his spine, signaling his impending orgasm. Instantly his mind switched to something other than concentrating on the feel of her and the sounds she was making as his free arm slipped around her and teased her nipples in time with his strokes.
"You never did answer my question, Ginny," he said. "I've never had my what where?"
"No, Draco," she moaned on an unhappy whine. "I don't want to talk about it."
"I see," he said, his breath tickling the downy hairs on the back of her neck. "I've always heard that if you're not mature enough to talk about sex you're not mature enough to have it."
She bristled, but it was tempered by the exquisite feelings shooting like sparks though her every time her clit was grazed.
"I am mature enough," she grated out, squeezing her hands over his on her breasts.
"Then why can't you say it?" he returned. "You don't have to be precise…any slang term will do."
Purposely his hips slowed, and he took more time sliding his cock just inside her lips, barely touching her now. She groaned and tried to move toward him, but he eluded her.
"Come on, Ginny," he said, a warning note in his voice, and he stilled.
Her words came out on a sob.
"You never had your cock near my pussy before," she said harshly, as if the effort burned her soul.
"Oh," Draco moaned, the words sweet music in his ears.
In a flash he'd pulled away from her and pushed her flagging leg down, rolling her to her back and hauling her knees up. His erection thrust steadily against her, going through the motions of sex but only penetrating her outermost skin.
"Realize how good this feels now and know it's only a mockery," he stated through grit teeth. "I'm only touching the outside of you and ohgodsI'mgoingtocome!"
Rearing up on his knees, he grabbed his throbbing erection and directed thick spurts of semen onto her lithe belly.
Seeing him lose his famed control brought Ginny's climax. Her walls contracted and he drove two long fingers into her and she whimpered with delight as her body clenched around his thrusting fingers. Tremors coursed her body as he fell to her side once more and coaxed aftershocks out of her, dipping his head to taste her.
"You're going to love sex with m…" he said, and stopped abruptly, his gaffe jarring. "You're going to love sex."
In her post-orgasmic haze, he didn't think she heard his first try at the sentence. She turned her head, pupils dilated, expression blissful.
"You think so?" she questioned, and he nodded tightly.
"I hope so," she yawned, stretching like a cat and moving toward him sleepily. "Or else I'd feel bad for making you go to all this trouble."
"No trouble at all."
***
It galled him that he decided after the fact he'd looked forward to his lessons with Ginny. Hell, so would any healthy man. But he absolutely hated the niggling feeling his excitement was something more than the solid knowledge he was about to get some arse.
These and other unsettling emotions ran through his head like firsties from Snape. His dour mood matched the cold, dank air of the dungeons and didn't leave as he made his way through the other floors of the castle.
It was his week to patrol the hallways after the last of the prefects went to bed. Primarily his duty was to check the main classrooms to be sure no one was hiding in them, plotting to steal a rare tome or, worse yet, some of the Potions stores.
The third floor housed the main classrooms for Charms, Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies. He always rolled his eyes in the Muggle Studies room, as it never failed to have something ridiculous lying about. Today it appeared to be dolls with mean, masculine features and some sort of weapon. The blackboard proclaimed tomorrow's lesson as "Action Figures and the Muggle Psyche."
The Ancient Runes classroom was always dusty and he did no more than take an obligatory peek into the sneeze-inducing room. Shutting the door, he walked a few meters to the Charms classroom, hoping he wouldn't find Flitwick asleep at his desk as he had once before.
Of course, Flitwick charmed the door so it opened silently. Draco swung it open on noiseless hinges and saw a writhing, naked Pansy Parkinson lying on the table Flitwick used as a stage, being rutted so hard by Spencer Pierce that her body kept creeping toward the end of the wood.
"You're such a hot bitch, aren't you?" Spencer growled, pinching Pansy's nipples so roughly she cried out. "You have such a hot cunt you like to use to tease me."
"Harder, you fucking ponce. You fuck like a Hufflepuff!" Pansy taunted, gripping his flanks with her short legs.
Draco decided he'd seen enough.
***
As he stormed back to the dungeons, blind with rage, he didn't know who he wanted to kill more, Spencer, or Pansy. It was bad enough that Pansy was the Slytherin slag, but couldn't she just keep her legs crossed once in a while?
But Spencer. That stupid, randy fucking boy that Ginny was going to trust with her virginity. As he'd stood there, his mind cruelly inserted Ginny in the tableau. And Spencer's harsh words, his hurting hands…in Draco's mind, Ginny was crying. She couldn't - and wouldn't - come back with an insult. She couldn't fight Spencer off if he decided to get too physical with her.
She'd idolized this boy who obviously had the morals of a tomcat and had no problem poking a girl who was rumored to have picked up a Muggle sexual disease while completely pissed in a pub over the last summer's break. She'd come to him asking for help in seducing this bloke that she thought she could take home to Mum and Dad Weasley.
With the intense, precise calm of the livid, he cast a silencing spell on his chamber and screamed.
***
She was crying. Why was she walking down the corridors nude? And what was trailing on the floor behind her?
Sobbing. "Draco! Draco, please help me. He hurt me. I'm bleeding, and it won't stop. I'm bleeding. I'm bleeding."
His hands shot out to catch her before she fainted, but she slipped through his fingers. His fingers, now slick with red, obscenely red blood, rushed to help her.
Scratches and welts decorated her breasts and abdomen. Her thighs were streaked with blood, and he instinctively knew she'd been ripped apart there. Her back was a mass of huge splinters, dug deeper into her skin by each thrust on the ancient table.
There was everywhere and nowhere to begin helping her.
He woke with a start, cotton sheets stuck to his body and soaked through with sweat. His rational mind decided he'd been dreaming, but the vivid images in his mind kept him awake and pacing his chamber.
***
Siren woke her with an infernal pecking on the frosty glass window. It was still dark out, and a Saturday morning, no less, and what in Merlin's freezing hell did Draco want with her this early?
Grumbling, she took the parchment from the hated bird and shooed her off the casement.
Come back tonight for your last lesson.
It was odd, she thought, that there was something she hadn't learned with Draco. And damn it, he was spoiling her plans. She had wanted to ask Spencer to accompany her to dinner that evening and then perhaps to a dark, cozy corner where she could try and assert herself.
But if there was something left to learn, perhaps she'd better know it. There was Sunday, after all.
***
He'd given her the password to his chambers ages ago. And when she entered, dressed simply in a faded pair of dungarees and a jumper, his heart thumped against his ribs despite the tension radiating from his pores.
"Hello," she said softly, and walked to where he sat on the edge of his bed. He merely extended a hand to her, and when she took it he swept her up and sat her across his lap. He hugged her to him, but didn't release his tight grip on her. His face was buried in her hair and he breathed in the clean scent of it, knowing it was the last time he would do so.
Under the guise of a last lesson he brought her here because he couldn't stand letting her out and into the world of love and sex knowing nothing about the one she wanted to hold most dear.
She sat silently across his thighs, and waited for him to speak, to act, anything. When he didn't, she felt compelled to speak.
"Draco?" she asked questioningly. "What is going on? You're scaring me a little. I know there's something wrong because I can feel it in the air."
He sighed heavily, stirring the thick skein of hair that had fallen over his cheek.
"There is no lesson," he managed in a tone she'd never heard before.
"But what…" she began, and his index finger rose to shush her.
"Last night I was patrolling the third floor, in the Charms classroom. And…" he said, breaking off, trying to regain his confidence. "And Spencer was there."
She stiffened in his arms at the mention of Spencer's name.
"What about him?" she asked, voice steely.
Another pause. "He was there with Pansy."
"You mean they were patrolling there. I heard Blaise say he was switching with Pansy. I overheard them talking about it in the hallway before dinner."
"No, sweetheart. It's not what I mean," he noted sadly.
The endearment was out of the blue and she whipped around, smacking his face with her hair and looking at him squarely.
"What in Merlin's name are you trying to say?" she demanded, her eyes narrowed.
His eyes closed, and he leaned his head back, as if what he had to say was painful and he couldn't bear to look at her as he voiced it.
"Say it, Draco! Come on!"
"They were fucking, all right? They were having sex, Ginny."
He opened her eyes to watch her mouth drop open and wished he hadn't. She paled so quickly he clutched her harder for fear she'd slip out of his hands like his dream. And just as quickly, her face reddened in abject anger. Her fingers curled into fists and she landed them solidly on his shoulders.
"Take that back!" she raged. "This isn't very fucking funny, Malfoy. You bring me here to tell me a joke? Is this your idea of fun? Because it's not bloody funny, you pig. It's not funny!" she screamed.
Notrealnotreallyinglyinglyinggitwhyisn'thelaughing?
His face was drawn as he spoke.
"It's not a joke. It's the truth."
He wasn't prepared for her to dissolve into tears as his words hit their mark.
He could feel the heat from her tears radiating off her face in the small space between them. Clutching her to his chest, he began the instinctive rocking motion that all of humanity used to calm a crying being.
A steady, plaintive mantra of no came from her lips.
"I didn't know," he said, stroking her back in circles. "I didn't know, Gin, and I would have told you sooner if I had."
It brought a fresh rain of despair.
"He was being so rough with her, Ginny," he whispered, still having trouble comprehending the whole thing.
"And I stood there and I saw them and Pansy turned into you and he was hurting you. I dreamed he hurt you and I
couldn't do anything about it."
She could barely process the strain in his voice, let alone piece together her own thoughts. Suddenly she was cold,
chilled through and through. So cold. So empty.
His hands were cupping her cheeks then, and they were like hot irons as he brushed away some of the tears with his thumbs. Resting his forehead on her shoulder, he made his final confession.
"I couldn't let you go to him without knowing. I couldn't stand the possibility he would hurt you and I couldn't do a damn thing about it because nobody knows about this."
His words begat more tears and when he couldn't brush them off her fast enough he started to kiss them away. And when the tears he missed reached her lips, he followed them there.
***
Apologetic kisses kept her from being numb, and somewhere in the back of her mind she welcomed them. Her hands burrowed under his untucked shirt, gripping the small of his back with her fingernails.
He in turn welcomed the pain, hoping she could somehow release her anguish on him so he could in whatever inadequate way try to make it better.
When she finally kissed him back it was a blind response.
***
Hands under clothing. Hot kisses, gentle touches, no words. Shedding clothing. Rustle of sheets. Closed eyes. A moth to flame, the fire killing the pain. He was holding her and she was kissing him and she was still crying and was he crying or were they her tears?
His body's worship of hers was automatic and her response was mindless, taking what he gave her and unconsciously demanding more. He'd remember later they'd rolled all over his bed, never breaking grip on the other, the constant nearness the only peace of mind they had. She recalled the sweet weight of him bearing down on her as he covered her for their thousandth kiss, each one better than the last.
But the moment when he bore down on her and she tilted her hips just so, he slid into her and pushed through to the hilt, pain and surprise registered starkly on both their faces. She arched her back through the searing tear and he scrabbled desperately to get off her, to apologize again, for something he'd done unintentionally.
"No," she moaned, clamping her hands over his forearms. Instantly he started to withdraw, his actions hampered only by her unmercifully tight sheath. His erection seemed ten times harder and bigger when he moved within her.
"I didn't," he began, but she pried one shaky hand off his arm and laid a finger to his lips, stilling him.
"You told me once that if my man was any good, he'd see to it that I was treated like a queen," she whispered unevenly, a fresh trail of tears rolling over her cheeks, her lips, her chin.
His eyes closed reflexively as he discerned her meaning.
"Potion?" he croaked.
Her hips rose to meet his, answering his question and negating his retreat.
"Long, slow and deep. That's how she needs to be treated," he said.
He suited action to words, sinking down the rest of the way into her, letting her adjust to his size and girth, reaching over her head for a pillow to prop her hips on. Once he adjusted her, the angle and her comfort increased exponentially.
"Long," he said, pulling almost completely out and pausing. "Slow." His length began to creep back in, inch by inch. "Deep." His pubic bone met her clit, its intended destination.
Her body accommodated him then, and every slow plunge he took was like the first time without the pain. His musculature flexed and released as he poured every ounce of concentration into his movements. She punctuated the air with moans that were his name, sighs of affirmation and whispers that told him she'd let him know if she was ever unhappy.
Every stroke was a revelation, every retreat a test in beautiful torture. Her mind was shuttered, her field of vision a narrow swath between them. All her blood had pooled hotly in her center, and she was sure the feeling of every throb, every pulse, every thrust would overload her senses.
Perhaps in a different time, a different place and with a different man she would have been mortified to vocalize her pleasure and wantonly follow his hips with hers. But now, she found herself pushing him away so she could see his flesh sinking into hers, watch the glint of candlelight in the reflection on his moisture-slicked erection.
"Don't get too comfortable," he groaned in her ear, his neck bowed and hair tickling her cheek. He ground himself down and circled his hips. "I don't like to be so far away."
He was relieved to hear her breathy giggle. Energy surged though him and he longed to speed up, to show her what he was made of. He'd been trying to control his impulses, but with the tight hold her body had on him, he didn't think she could handle it without experiencing pain.
Causing the pain that had led to this was bad enough. Distracting himself by kissing her neck, he tried to banish the thoughts of taking her with hard, sure thrusts. It was useless. He barely heard himself moan as he gave in and bit none too gently the skin where her shoulder merged with her neck, simultaneously plunging deep.
Her shocked wheeze broke his reverie and he jerked up, face a mask of horror. Her hand flew up and covered his mouth, and her eyes were wild.
"More of that," she whimpered. "Harder."
With that said, she turned her head to the side and arched underneath him, aching to let him pound into her as long as he kept hitting all the spots that made her feverish.
"Something else," she managed, voice quavering. "Bite me there. Again."
His resolve shattered into a million tiny shards as he scooped her into his arms, only his elbows supporting his weight. She screamed in pleasure as his balls slapped against her now, his hips pistoning mercilessly into her as his teeth found countless spots to imprint with his brand.
Her ragged breaths puffed hotly into his ear, as stimulating as if she'd actually licked it. The tingle reached his cock and he could only helplessly drive harder into her, all chance of rational thought gone as he concentrated solely on making her come.
"I'm going to make you scream," he promised, voice both strained and predatory. "You're never going to come again without thinking of me first."
The possessive words were as effective as stroking her clit. Invisible strings drew tight across her body and she curled into herself, her sex closing down and over Draco's cock so quickly she thought she was going to faint.
Animal growls filled the air as he began to fuck her in earnest now, her body clenching him like a velvet fist. Her climax rolled over him in waves and she sobbed in prolonged completion as he thrust through each and every one, letting her body milk his own release out of him in long, satisfying pulses.
He collapsed atop her and she didn't mind his weight. It forced her to take deep breaths instead of shallow gasps like those of an athlete. As her body calmed, so did her mind. It was blessedly free of most thought, really, and she never knew that sex could provide this sort of whole body expurgation, this cleansing of her soul.
She thought Draco was two breaths away from falling asleep on top of her when he groaned and abruptly began to pull out of her. The withdrawal made her moan as the relatively cool air caressed her soaked and aching sex. He rolled off her with a muttered string of irate curses and immediately turned his back to her, hauling himself up and sitting tensely on the other side of the bed.
He had wrapped his arms around himself and she could see him moving his hands up and down his arms in a nervous, restive motion. Though she honestly had no idea what to expect after one was completed with sex, she didn't think this was a good reaction.
"Draco?" she questioned softly, touching languid fingertips to his back. He jumped as if she'd branded him, and she gathered her strength and propped herself on her elbows.
"What is wrong?" she asked, exasperation coloring her tone.
"This. This is all wrong!" he burst out, and she clearly heard his hand broadside his own forehead.
"This wasn't supposed to happen. You said we weren't having sex, I said we weren't having sex, and here I practically fucking maul you because I can't keep my cock in my pants."
"Excuse me?" she queried incredulously. "What are you on about?"
He turned toward her then, and she wished he hadn't. His pale skin was tinged with dull red, and his face was misery and fury twisted into one.
"My sole purpose in asking you to come back tonight was to warn you off that rotter before you got in over your head. It wasn't to fuck you, that much is too true. And then I let myself get carried away and take away the one thing you could have saved from Spencer bloody fucking Pierce and given to someone who deserved it!"
She was stunned into silence, mouth hanging open.
"You know, I get enough guilt from my father on every thing you could imagine. This is just as bad, just as fucking bad," he lamented, gesticulating tersely. "Because this was supposed to be like a business arrangement, you see, and you're not supposed to be involved because that's how it sneaks up on you, slugs you in the gut," he rambled, turning away from her again.
"Draco," she said, comprehension dawning. In her head, a swirl of voices standing outside the castle in the cold became very clear to her now, and she could easily pick out the voice that had run the gamut from whispering in her ear to explicit requests.
He ignored her and picked up his tirade again.
"And I'm bloody sorry, Ginny. I'm sorry for letting things go this far and not stopping. I've ruined it and ruined you."
He grunted savagely, and it was obvious he was disgusted with himself.
"Draco," she said again, louder this time, touching him again.
"What?" he grated irritably.
"May I have a cigarette?" she asked calmly. His eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"I said, may I have a fag?" she repeated.
Regarding her strangely, he then turned and opened a drawer on his bedside table. She sighed a little, glad at least that her odd request had both thrown him off and afforded her a lovely view of the muscles moving underneath the skin of his smooth back. He rummaged for a moment and then turned back to her, putting it first in his own mouth and lighting up, inhaling deeply before handing it to her.
His eyes were intent on her now, peering at her as she took an experimental puff and admirably managed only a tiny cough. She leaned back and he was amazed at how languorously she moved, not even bothering to cover herself as she propped her upper body on one elbow, facing him.
"Everything just clicked," she said slowly. "It should have before, but now everything is making sense."
"What is making sense?" he asked warily. He didn't like her tone, and it rankled. He was sure she was about to suggest he had tricked her into this whole ordeal.
"The things you said, what you actually said to Spencer and Blaise the night I approached you to help me with this. It was hard for me to make out who was saying what, but now I'm matching actions to words."
"Telling me to find someone who liked my taste tells me you wouldn't have cast some silly flavoring spell on a girl. And then you got me to taste myself on you, and outside you said if a girl would do that, she'd do things that were wilder."
"The night you lay behind me and pretended to have sex with me. I remember that position now because I thought it sounded so romantic when I thought it was coming from Spencer."
Draco grimaced, and she took another drag, watching as the ash from the cigarette retreated instead of grew, and she surmised they had been charmed that way.
"And the candles…always low but never out, just enough light to be flattering," she said.
"So what?" he defended hotly, trying not to let the curl of her lips around the fag tug at his cock. "You told me up front what you thought I said, and you were wrong about nearly everything."
"I didn't say I was angry with you, Draco," she said. "Oh, make no mistake, I'd gladly make balloon animals out of Spencer's bits, given half the chance, but I'm not one bit sorry about this."
He couldn't hold back a laugh at the horrifyingly funny image, and his strained mood was broken.
"In fact," she admitted, "I suppose I was just as guilty when I realized I'd only noticed Spencer one time in several weeks and it was when I was watching you walk down a hall and he crossed in front of you."
Her admission had him reaching across the bed and plucking the cigarette from her slim fingers and taking another long, calming drag before tucking it back in her still-outstretched hand.
"What are you trying to say, Weasley?" he asked, refusing to reveal anything until she showed her hand.
Staring intently at her, he watched in unabashed wonder as she smiled mysteriously and her nipples hardened under his gaze.
"You said you liked to educate virgins, didn't you?" she asked, stubbing out the filter on his wrought iron headboard and discarding it.
"Yes," he said through gritted teeth, his mind calling him ten kinds of fool for ever saying those things, for ever getting caught up in this, for getting caught up in her.
"You've ruined me, all right. Ruined me for any other man. I mean, as long as that's okay with you, of course."
~finis~
Author's Note: Portions of this chapter were inspired by Jade Okelani's Our Winter. Specifically, I reference the portions where the words are italicized and run together and also the small paragraph where it is unclear whose tears are whose. Please read her fic as it's a beautiful story and also inspired by Sarea Okelani. Shh, brat.
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