SMUT COOKIE!!!! FIC POST!!!!
Wow, I am having a bit of a posting frenzy aren't I? Anyhow, I've been torturing you all for, oh, let me think, oh yes, a couple of days, LOL, so here it is, Chapter 1 of the Oh Dear God Smut cookie.
I'm probably going to hell because of this, but never mind. Needless to say its NC-17 rated, and in the story, Ginny is 15 and Draco is 16, which in the UK is a bit of a contentious debate, because the age of consent is 16 in the UK but a man cannot be prosecuted for sexual abuse until he is 18. It's all very complicated, but suffice it to say that in situations like this it is up to the girl to press charges if she feels that abuse has taken place and as you will read, that is not the case. There is a very big difference between a boy of 16 having sex with a girl of 15 (it happens all the time here), and a man of 47 having sex with a girl of 13 (which is paedophilia). So really, this story isn't all that offensive or illegal, but if you don't like the ages, don't read the story.
I wanted to make Ginny just-turned-16, but JKR went and put the kybosh on that by making Ginny's birthday early August which makes her one of the youngest in her school year because of the UK age restrictions on primary school pupils. I can't really explain it, but suffice it to say that as long as a child is 5 on the 1st of September of their first school year, it doesn't matter when their birthday is, but if a child is born after september, they have to wait for the next school year. For example, if a child is born on december the 2nd, they will be one of the oldest in their school year (Hermione is one of the oldest in her year), but if a child is born on the 22nd of July (so NOT pimping my birthday!LOL) they will be one of the youngest in the school year. Am I making sense? Ah well, the point I am trying to make is that JKR has buggered up my plans for a legal story! LOL
Oh well, enjoy anyway.
Oh Dear God: The Smut Cookie
He remembered the day their odd relationship began; Gryffindor had trounced Slytherin at Quidditch for the fourth match in a row, despite the Slytherin team using the dirtiest tactics they could get away with. The game had been close but damnable Potter had beaten him to the snitch yet again and one of the Gryffindor chasers had 'accidently' hit him in the head with the quaffle. His day had been going from bad to worse, and by the time he had showered, dressed and was stomping his way to the castle, he was in a towering temper. As he stormed through the north gate of the Quidditch stadium, he collided with another person, and the force of their collision knocked the pair of them to the ground in a tangled heap of limbs and broomsticks. Picking himself up and preparing a spiteful verbal lambasting for whoever was stupid enough to get in his way, he was unprepared for the vicious kick that assaulted his right shin, and he fell to the ground clutching his throbbing leg. Before he had time to recover, he received another kick, this time to the guts. When he could breathe again, he looked up, squinting in the sunshine to see an absolutely livid girl standing over him wearing a dangerous scowl and not as much clothing as he would have expected from the oh-so-innocent Weasley daughter. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, he swallowed the acidic retort that sprung to his lips and settled for a scowl of his own as he got painfully to his feet and hobbled back to the castle, not giving her a backward glance.
After that he had found himself unable to keep his eyes off of her. He told himself initially that it was because he was watching out for another unprovoked assault, but when he started taking longer routes to class in the hopes of seeing her, he had to admit to himself that he was intregued, and so, at the first opportunity, he insulted her magnificently in front of a hallway full of people. She'd then returned with something equally venomous and their association was born.
The first time they kissed had been a battle of wills, a silent fight to see who would cave in and back away first. When neither did, the only option left was to follow through on their unspoken challenge and his lips had met hers with the intensity of burning octane. They had fought with their lips and tongues and neither emerged victorious, however they both found their hearts racing and their loins aching and quickly parted company with a spiteful barb.
It took several more kisses before they mutually agreed that perhaps they didn't hate each other after all, and that their kisses were rather enjoyable. It was after several more kisses that they began to meet secretly. At first it was to kiss and maybe talk a little. Their first conversations were uncomfortable and stilted, but gradually he discovered her wicked sense of humour and she his razor wit and intelligence. They grew to know each other as friends, of a sort, however their public spats were fast becoming legendary among the students for their ferocity and frequence. Their kissing sessions naturally led to things being taken past new boundaries, his hands would find her breasts, or would slide up the inside of her thighs, whilst her hands would creep down towards his belt and further down to cup the inevitable turgid protrusion through his clothes. Later, when they overcame the barriers of actual fabric, they would touch and explore each other with passionate fervour which overspilled to the occasional grope in the corridor - her hand would briefly brush over his crotch as she shimmied past him on the way out of a class, or his hand would find her breast, his fingers seemingly magnetically drawn to her nipples.
It was as he was waiting for her in their usual meeting place, that he suddenly remembered that she'd been the only girl he'd touched or kissed in months, and that the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he anticipated their meetings and savoured the delicious little jolt in the pit of his stomach whenever she entered his hemisphere of vision.
Broken from his musings by the creak of the hinges, he watched her as she entered the room. When she finally turned to face him, she gave him a wicked little smirk that sent a flutter of anticipation to his cock. Sashaying towards him, she unhooked her robes and let them drop onto the rug, the Gryffindor trim clashing paradoxically with the multiple shades of green in the carpet. Underneath she was wearing very little. He knew without looking (or feeling), that she was wearing no underwear of any sort, since she'd taken to leaving it off after he accidently threw one of her best pairs of knickers into the fire. The skirt was a prim knee-length, but part of the excitement was pushing it up incrementally until she was exposed in all her naked glory. On top she was wearing a simple blouse with mercifully few buttons, the top three of which were undone, exposing her cleavage, and inviting him to kiss his way down her neck.
There was no prelude conversation, no awkward shuffling, she simply kicked her shoes off and straddled him, planting her lips on his and removing any vestages of sense and reason from his mind. As they kissed, his hands roamed over the exposed skin of her thighs, pushing her skirt up and cupping her buttocks, kneading them gently. She sighed wantonly into his mouth and reached a hand down to unzip his fly. This was the way it was, the way it went. She would bring him off into her hand, then, when he was sated and satisfied, he would return the favour with languorous ease. With an irrational burst of rebellion, he pushed her hand away. He couldn't say why, but he felt an inexplicable urge to change the established pattern, to prove to himself perhaps, that she did not exert complete control over him. With an almost aggressive zeal, he insinuated his hand between her legs. He was so familiar with her body that within seconds the moans were pouring from her lips and her head was thrown back, the muscles in her neck flexing and straining. He couldn't stop himself from fastening his lips to her throat and her gutteral gasp wrought an animalistic growl from him.
Usually he was in a state of post-orgasmic languor when he pleasured her, meaning that as excited as he usually was by her moaning and writhing, it was nothing compared to the unquenchable fire roaring through his body as she squirmed in his lap. His cock was straining against its enforced bondage, and he felt sure he was harder than he'd ever been in his life. Primal lust dealt with their clothing, and in short order she was sitting next to him wearing nothing but a pair of earrings, her hand wrapped around his eagerly twitching member. He knew with absolute certainty that he would have to have her, the need was raw and powerful and clearly she felt in no way inclined to stop him as he pushed her gradually backwards, laying her out under him in time-honoured fashion. He looked down at her to see that her face was flushed, her chest heaving and her pupils dilated.
"Oh god," she whispered reverently as his hands moved to cup her naked breasts, his fingers tweaking her nipples and sending tingling shivers of excitement down her spine. As he kissed his way down her neck and replaced his fingers with his mouth, her own kiss-swollen lips parted in a half-hiss, half-gasp and she entwined her fingers in his hair, holding his head at breast level. With his right hand on her left breast and his mouth busily occupied by the right one, he slipped his other hand down between them once more, finding her slick and throbbing centre with his dexterous fingers. As he found the small nub that made her squeak deliciously, he watched her face as it contorted beautifully in tortured ecstacy.
His cock was throbbing and twitching, and without concious volition he moved between her legs, desperate to be inside her. Everything was happening as though in a dream, so overwhelmed was he by the primal surging of uncontrollable hormones, that instinct drove him more determinedly than reasoned thought could overcome. She clearly didn't object, since she'd made no move or sound to indicate disapproval. Abandoning her breasts, he slid himself upwards to capture her lips in a heady kiss. Her lips were hot and swollen, her mouth wet and her tongue bold, and she seemed to either not notice or not care that the head of his penis was pressing between her legs, demanding entrance.
His hand dropped to the floor beside the sofa and grabbed his wand, he whispered the incantation for the almost infallible contraceptive charm his mother had insisted he learn, and her eyes widened briefly, as though some modicum of sense had attempted to break through the lust-riddled fog of her mind. Discarding his wand carelessly, he returned his attentions to her breasts. Once again, his lips met the skin of her neck and she shivered under him, arching her back and wrapping her arms around his neck as she spread her legs.
He could feel himself slipping and sliding at her entrance, made slick by their combined arousal. Her moans as she felt his bluntness caress her hypersensitive flesh were his undoing. Positioning himself just so, he began to enter her. Her body was surprisingly resistive, and he compensated by pushing harder. He could not have stopped even if he had wanted to, and when the resistance finally gave, he sank into her tight, unbearably hot sheath with a groan, completely oblivious to her muffled cry of pain.
There was something not-quite-right, but he was in no shape to work out what exactly it was. The fire that was wrapped so tightly around his member was almost painful in the most delicious way possible, and he knew that if he didn't move soon, he would die. He pulled out of her with some effort - she was hot and tight and held onto him tenaciously. She whimpered and moaned, her eyes squeezed shut as she gripped the sofa with a white-knuckle grip, her fingernails embedded in the cushion. What was left of his rational mind was screaming something at him, but for the life of him he couldn't concentrate on it. With a half-moan, half-sigh he thrust slowly into her, reaching back to position her thighs more comfortably around him. Her anguished moan was warped by his passion-fevered brain into pleasured assent, and he rolled his hips quickly, seating himself firmly and deeply inside her. His thrusts were dischordant and jerky, the product of little experience and even less practice, but he managed to control himself enough to establish a rhythm of slow withdrawals followed by quick, deep penetrations that made her entire body convulse in his arms.
He was so consummed by her that he couldn't restrain himself, even if he had had any inclination to try, and before long he could feel his climax approaching the point of no return, and with one last deep thrust that wrought a strangled, sobbing cry from her throat, he came, spilling his essence inside her with a shuddering groan. Every muscle in his body was twitching, and his arms could no longer hold him up. Collapsing on top of her, he gasped for breath, the occasional twitching, quivering aftershock pushing the air from his lungs in a hiss of satisfaction.
As post-orgasmic serenity allowed rational thoughts to be processed by his brain, he became aware of an uncomfortable wetness on his neck. Dredging up the energy to lift his head, he saw that she was crying silently, tears pouring down her face and her chest heaving in shaky breaths that he hadn't noticed through his own exhaustion. A cold, clenching sensation took hold of the pit of his stomach and sent a creeping prickle down his spine. With a sudden, lurching rush of clarity and understanding, he realised the significance of her earlier resistance. His jaw dropped and he didn't know quite what to say.
He'd never really conciously thought about whether she was a virgin or not, but some part of his mind had always assumed that she wasn't, based on her apparent skill and dexterity when it came to other forms of sexual intimacy. In his mind, virgins were innocent and unknowledgable, entering into a sexual relationship completely unaware of anything. He had never considered that a woman, who was well aware of how to please her own body, as well as his, could be pure. Sure he'd had better blow jobs, but what she lacked in grace she made up for in enthusiasm and inventiveness, and she was never coy or shy about touching him, and handled him like someone with a level of experience that he simply didn't associate with virgins. Not to mention the first time that he'd touched her intimately, she'd huffed impatiently when he failed to hit the right spots, and then given him a hands on demonstration of what she liked that had made him take matters into his own fist, so to speak.
"That was your first time, wasn't it?" he asked gently, keeping his voice low and soothing.
She nodded mutely, biting her quivering bottom lip and turning her head away from his gaze.
They were still linked, flesh-to-flesh, and with the sofa being so small, there was nowhere to go, so he slipped his arms under her shoulders and held her to his chest.
"I'm so sorry Gin, I didn't know; you never said. I hurt you didn't I?"
She nodded again, swallowing hard against the tears leaking from her eyes. He'd never seen her cry before and the sight was both heartrending and vaguely embarrassing at the same time.
With gentle kisses, he followed the trail of tears down the side of her face to her neck, whispering 'I'm sorry' against her skin with every kiss. Her silent tears became quiet sobs in which the words 'hurt so much' were just about discernable, and the wrenching pull of guilt twisted his insides.
"I'm so sorry Ginny," he murmered again, "I had no idea ... I never thought ... you didn't say anything ... I just assumed..."
"Assumed what?" Her voice was ragged, but the sharp tone was clear. "Did you assume that I'm some sort of cheap whore who spreads her legs for any boy that shows a passing interest? I'm fifteen for crying out loud, what on earth made you think I'd be anything else?"
"I ... well ... that is to say ... you seem so ... eager when we're together, you seem to know so much that I just..." he trailed off at the dangerous look on her face.
"I only know what I've read and heard from my friends. It's amazing what a bit of confidence and some bluffing can do isn't it?" she snapped. "Get off me Draco, I want to leave," she said, pushing hard against his chest.
"Please Gin, don't do this, let me explain..."
"There's nothing to explain Draco, now let me up." Her voice was soft but her conviction rock hard and he chose not to push the issue lest the situation turn ugly. He couldn't bear it if she accused him of forcing her.
Withdrawing from her carefully, he winced at her groan of pain, then she pushed him again and he lost his already-tenuous balance and crashed to the floor inelegantly. Sitting there stark naked, he watched her rise gingerly to her feet, trying not to look at the bloodstains on her thighs. She gathered her clothing and dressed haphazardly, covering herself with the shapeless swathe of her robes.
"You weren't exactly protesting wildly you know," he replied, his anger and frustration at his weakness manifesting itself in a defensive and argumentative attitude.
"I know," she replied, her voice cracking as fresh tears rolled down her face.
Wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, she glanced in the mirror to check her appearance. He could see her watching him through the mirror's reflection, and he met her reflected gaze, feeling wretched at the hurt and disappointment he saw there. They looked at each other in this indirect way for some moments before she turned away, slid her feet into her discarded shoes, and then slipped out of the room without any more words passing between them.
With a weary sigh he collected his own discarded clothing and dressed, mulling over why he felt so utterly miserable at her departure, and wondering how he could make it all go back to the way it was before.
Lex.
I'm probably going to hell because of this, but never mind. Needless to say its NC-17 rated, and in the story, Ginny is 15 and Draco is 16, which in the UK is a bit of a contentious debate, because the age of consent is 16 in the UK but a man cannot be prosecuted for sexual abuse until he is 18. It's all very complicated, but suffice it to say that in situations like this it is up to the girl to press charges if she feels that abuse has taken place and as you will read, that is not the case. There is a very big difference between a boy of 16 having sex with a girl of 15 (it happens all the time here), and a man of 47 having sex with a girl of 13 (which is paedophilia). So really, this story isn't all that offensive or illegal, but if you don't like the ages, don't read the story.
I wanted to make Ginny just-turned-16, but JKR went and put the kybosh on that by making Ginny's birthday early August which makes her one of the youngest in her school year because of the UK age restrictions on primary school pupils. I can't really explain it, but suffice it to say that as long as a child is 5 on the 1st of September of their first school year, it doesn't matter when their birthday is, but if a child is born after september, they have to wait for the next school year. For example, if a child is born on december the 2nd, they will be one of the oldest in their school year (Hermione is one of the oldest in her year), but if a child is born on the 22nd of July (so NOT pimping my birthday!LOL) they will be one of the youngest in the school year. Am I making sense? Ah well, the point I am trying to make is that JKR has buggered up my plans for a legal story! LOL
Oh well, enjoy anyway.
Oh Dear God: The Smut Cookie
He remembered the day their odd relationship began; Gryffindor had trounced Slytherin at Quidditch for the fourth match in a row, despite the Slytherin team using the dirtiest tactics they could get away with. The game had been close but damnable Potter had beaten him to the snitch yet again and one of the Gryffindor chasers had 'accidently' hit him in the head with the quaffle. His day had been going from bad to worse, and by the time he had showered, dressed and was stomping his way to the castle, he was in a towering temper. As he stormed through the north gate of the Quidditch stadium, he collided with another person, and the force of their collision knocked the pair of them to the ground in a tangled heap of limbs and broomsticks. Picking himself up and preparing a spiteful verbal lambasting for whoever was stupid enough to get in his way, he was unprepared for the vicious kick that assaulted his right shin, and he fell to the ground clutching his throbbing leg. Before he had time to recover, he received another kick, this time to the guts. When he could breathe again, he looked up, squinting in the sunshine to see an absolutely livid girl standing over him wearing a dangerous scowl and not as much clothing as he would have expected from the oh-so-innocent Weasley daughter. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, he swallowed the acidic retort that sprung to his lips and settled for a scowl of his own as he got painfully to his feet and hobbled back to the castle, not giving her a backward glance.
After that he had found himself unable to keep his eyes off of her. He told himself initially that it was because he was watching out for another unprovoked assault, but when he started taking longer routes to class in the hopes of seeing her, he had to admit to himself that he was intregued, and so, at the first opportunity, he insulted her magnificently in front of a hallway full of people. She'd then returned with something equally venomous and their association was born.
The first time they kissed had been a battle of wills, a silent fight to see who would cave in and back away first. When neither did, the only option left was to follow through on their unspoken challenge and his lips had met hers with the intensity of burning octane. They had fought with their lips and tongues and neither emerged victorious, however they both found their hearts racing and their loins aching and quickly parted company with a spiteful barb.
It took several more kisses before they mutually agreed that perhaps they didn't hate each other after all, and that their kisses were rather enjoyable. It was after several more kisses that they began to meet secretly. At first it was to kiss and maybe talk a little. Their first conversations were uncomfortable and stilted, but gradually he discovered her wicked sense of humour and she his razor wit and intelligence. They grew to know each other as friends, of a sort, however their public spats were fast becoming legendary among the students for their ferocity and frequence. Their kissing sessions naturally led to things being taken past new boundaries, his hands would find her breasts, or would slide up the inside of her thighs, whilst her hands would creep down towards his belt and further down to cup the inevitable turgid protrusion through his clothes. Later, when they overcame the barriers of actual fabric, they would touch and explore each other with passionate fervour which overspilled to the occasional grope in the corridor - her hand would briefly brush over his crotch as she shimmied past him on the way out of a class, or his hand would find her breast, his fingers seemingly magnetically drawn to her nipples.
It was as he was waiting for her in their usual meeting place, that he suddenly remembered that she'd been the only girl he'd touched or kissed in months, and that the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he anticipated their meetings and savoured the delicious little jolt in the pit of his stomach whenever she entered his hemisphere of vision.
Broken from his musings by the creak of the hinges, he watched her as she entered the room. When she finally turned to face him, she gave him a wicked little smirk that sent a flutter of anticipation to his cock. Sashaying towards him, she unhooked her robes and let them drop onto the rug, the Gryffindor trim clashing paradoxically with the multiple shades of green in the carpet. Underneath she was wearing very little. He knew without looking (or feeling), that she was wearing no underwear of any sort, since she'd taken to leaving it off after he accidently threw one of her best pairs of knickers into the fire. The skirt was a prim knee-length, but part of the excitement was pushing it up incrementally until she was exposed in all her naked glory. On top she was wearing a simple blouse with mercifully few buttons, the top three of which were undone, exposing her cleavage, and inviting him to kiss his way down her neck.
There was no prelude conversation, no awkward shuffling, she simply kicked her shoes off and straddled him, planting her lips on his and removing any vestages of sense and reason from his mind. As they kissed, his hands roamed over the exposed skin of her thighs, pushing her skirt up and cupping her buttocks, kneading them gently. She sighed wantonly into his mouth and reached a hand down to unzip his fly. This was the way it was, the way it went. She would bring him off into her hand, then, when he was sated and satisfied, he would return the favour with languorous ease. With an irrational burst of rebellion, he pushed her hand away. He couldn't say why, but he felt an inexplicable urge to change the established pattern, to prove to himself perhaps, that she did not exert complete control over him. With an almost aggressive zeal, he insinuated his hand between her legs. He was so familiar with her body that within seconds the moans were pouring from her lips and her head was thrown back, the muscles in her neck flexing and straining. He couldn't stop himself from fastening his lips to her throat and her gutteral gasp wrought an animalistic growl from him.
Usually he was in a state of post-orgasmic languor when he pleasured her, meaning that as excited as he usually was by her moaning and writhing, it was nothing compared to the unquenchable fire roaring through his body as she squirmed in his lap. His cock was straining against its enforced bondage, and he felt sure he was harder than he'd ever been in his life. Primal lust dealt with their clothing, and in short order she was sitting next to him wearing nothing but a pair of earrings, her hand wrapped around his eagerly twitching member. He knew with absolute certainty that he would have to have her, the need was raw and powerful and clearly she felt in no way inclined to stop him as he pushed her gradually backwards, laying her out under him in time-honoured fashion. He looked down at her to see that her face was flushed, her chest heaving and her pupils dilated.
"Oh god," she whispered reverently as his hands moved to cup her naked breasts, his fingers tweaking her nipples and sending tingling shivers of excitement down her spine. As he kissed his way down her neck and replaced his fingers with his mouth, her own kiss-swollen lips parted in a half-hiss, half-gasp and she entwined her fingers in his hair, holding his head at breast level. With his right hand on her left breast and his mouth busily occupied by the right one, he slipped his other hand down between them once more, finding her slick and throbbing centre with his dexterous fingers. As he found the small nub that made her squeak deliciously, he watched her face as it contorted beautifully in tortured ecstacy.
His cock was throbbing and twitching, and without concious volition he moved between her legs, desperate to be inside her. Everything was happening as though in a dream, so overwhelmed was he by the primal surging of uncontrollable hormones, that instinct drove him more determinedly than reasoned thought could overcome. She clearly didn't object, since she'd made no move or sound to indicate disapproval. Abandoning her breasts, he slid himself upwards to capture her lips in a heady kiss. Her lips were hot and swollen, her mouth wet and her tongue bold, and she seemed to either not notice or not care that the head of his penis was pressing between her legs, demanding entrance.
His hand dropped to the floor beside the sofa and grabbed his wand, he whispered the incantation for the almost infallible contraceptive charm his mother had insisted he learn, and her eyes widened briefly, as though some modicum of sense had attempted to break through the lust-riddled fog of her mind. Discarding his wand carelessly, he returned his attentions to her breasts. Once again, his lips met the skin of her neck and she shivered under him, arching her back and wrapping her arms around his neck as she spread her legs.
He could feel himself slipping and sliding at her entrance, made slick by their combined arousal. Her moans as she felt his bluntness caress her hypersensitive flesh were his undoing. Positioning himself just so, he began to enter her. Her body was surprisingly resistive, and he compensated by pushing harder. He could not have stopped even if he had wanted to, and when the resistance finally gave, he sank into her tight, unbearably hot sheath with a groan, completely oblivious to her muffled cry of pain.
There was something not-quite-right, but he was in no shape to work out what exactly it was. The fire that was wrapped so tightly around his member was almost painful in the most delicious way possible, and he knew that if he didn't move soon, he would die. He pulled out of her with some effort - she was hot and tight and held onto him tenaciously. She whimpered and moaned, her eyes squeezed shut as she gripped the sofa with a white-knuckle grip, her fingernails embedded in the cushion. What was left of his rational mind was screaming something at him, but for the life of him he couldn't concentrate on it. With a half-moan, half-sigh he thrust slowly into her, reaching back to position her thighs more comfortably around him. Her anguished moan was warped by his passion-fevered brain into pleasured assent, and he rolled his hips quickly, seating himself firmly and deeply inside her. His thrusts were dischordant and jerky, the product of little experience and even less practice, but he managed to control himself enough to establish a rhythm of slow withdrawals followed by quick, deep penetrations that made her entire body convulse in his arms.
He was so consummed by her that he couldn't restrain himself, even if he had had any inclination to try, and before long he could feel his climax approaching the point of no return, and with one last deep thrust that wrought a strangled, sobbing cry from her throat, he came, spilling his essence inside her with a shuddering groan. Every muscle in his body was twitching, and his arms could no longer hold him up. Collapsing on top of her, he gasped for breath, the occasional twitching, quivering aftershock pushing the air from his lungs in a hiss of satisfaction.
As post-orgasmic serenity allowed rational thoughts to be processed by his brain, he became aware of an uncomfortable wetness on his neck. Dredging up the energy to lift his head, he saw that she was crying silently, tears pouring down her face and her chest heaving in shaky breaths that he hadn't noticed through his own exhaustion. A cold, clenching sensation took hold of the pit of his stomach and sent a creeping prickle down his spine. With a sudden, lurching rush of clarity and understanding, he realised the significance of her earlier resistance. His jaw dropped and he didn't know quite what to say.
He'd never really conciously thought about whether she was a virgin or not, but some part of his mind had always assumed that she wasn't, based on her apparent skill and dexterity when it came to other forms of sexual intimacy. In his mind, virgins were innocent and unknowledgable, entering into a sexual relationship completely unaware of anything. He had never considered that a woman, who was well aware of how to please her own body, as well as his, could be pure. Sure he'd had better blow jobs, but what she lacked in grace she made up for in enthusiasm and inventiveness, and she was never coy or shy about touching him, and handled him like someone with a level of experience that he simply didn't associate with virgins. Not to mention the first time that he'd touched her intimately, she'd huffed impatiently when he failed to hit the right spots, and then given him a hands on demonstration of what she liked that had made him take matters into his own fist, so to speak.
"That was your first time, wasn't it?" he asked gently, keeping his voice low and soothing.
She nodded mutely, biting her quivering bottom lip and turning her head away from his gaze.
They were still linked, flesh-to-flesh, and with the sofa being so small, there was nowhere to go, so he slipped his arms under her shoulders and held her to his chest.
"I'm so sorry Gin, I didn't know; you never said. I hurt you didn't I?"
She nodded again, swallowing hard against the tears leaking from her eyes. He'd never seen her cry before and the sight was both heartrending and vaguely embarrassing at the same time.
With gentle kisses, he followed the trail of tears down the side of her face to her neck, whispering 'I'm sorry' against her skin with every kiss. Her silent tears became quiet sobs in which the words 'hurt so much' were just about discernable, and the wrenching pull of guilt twisted his insides.
"I'm so sorry Ginny," he murmered again, "I had no idea ... I never thought ... you didn't say anything ... I just assumed..."
"Assumed what?" Her voice was ragged, but the sharp tone was clear. "Did you assume that I'm some sort of cheap whore who spreads her legs for any boy that shows a passing interest? I'm fifteen for crying out loud, what on earth made you think I'd be anything else?"
"I ... well ... that is to say ... you seem so ... eager when we're together, you seem to know so much that I just..." he trailed off at the dangerous look on her face.
"I only know what I've read and heard from my friends. It's amazing what a bit of confidence and some bluffing can do isn't it?" she snapped. "Get off me Draco, I want to leave," she said, pushing hard against his chest.
"Please Gin, don't do this, let me explain..."
"There's nothing to explain Draco, now let me up." Her voice was soft but her conviction rock hard and he chose not to push the issue lest the situation turn ugly. He couldn't bear it if she accused him of forcing her.
Withdrawing from her carefully, he winced at her groan of pain, then she pushed him again and he lost his already-tenuous balance and crashed to the floor inelegantly. Sitting there stark naked, he watched her rise gingerly to her feet, trying not to look at the bloodstains on her thighs. She gathered her clothing and dressed haphazardly, covering herself with the shapeless swathe of her robes.
"You weren't exactly protesting wildly you know," he replied, his anger and frustration at his weakness manifesting itself in a defensive and argumentative attitude.
"I know," she replied, her voice cracking as fresh tears rolled down her face.
Wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, she glanced in the mirror to check her appearance. He could see her watching him through the mirror's reflection, and he met her reflected gaze, feeling wretched at the hurt and disappointment he saw there. They looked at each other in this indirect way for some moments before she turned away, slid her feet into her discarded shoes, and then slipped out of the room without any more words passing between them.
With a weary sigh he collected his own discarded clothing and dressed, mulling over why he felt so utterly miserable at her departure, and wondering how he could make it all go back to the way it was before.
Lex.