For tarotemp
Title: Mingled Blood
For: tarotemp
Pairing: Draco/Ginny
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: c.3,000
Summary: A chance meeting, an exotic location, and a bed quarter the size of a Quidditch pitch, what more could you ask for (not to give too much away ;))
Notes: Thank you to my wonderful anonymous betas for all your encouragement and support!
The sky was a clear, bright blue, the sea a reflection of it, lapping gently onto the imported near-white sand of the Riviera beach. He wandered casually along the promenade, past the millionaires’ yachts bobbing up and down on their moorings, Muggle ‘designer’ jacket slung over his shoulder (whatever ‘designer’ meant - he admitted the cloth quality was good, and that the light colour did go rather well with his blond hair and dark sunglasses, but he still preferred the familiar comfort and looseness of his usual robes).
Just outside the resort centre he paused, as a couple of skimpily-clad girls glanced in his direction, giggled, whispered to each other behind their hands, then tossed their long, raven black locks and carried on down the street. He waited until they turned a corner, enjoying the view while it lasted, and then sauntered across to a grotty, overflowing bin on the edge of the beach. He looked around once more to check no one was watching and pressed the coat of arms motif on the side of the bin three times with his left thumb. He stepped forward and, to anyone who might have been looking on, vanished into thin air.
He’d stepped through the glamour onto the most exclusive and well-hidden beach in Wizardom. Unlike the crowded Muggle beaches all along that area of the French coast it was always clean, and he could enjoy the view of the sand and sea without either being cluttered with bodies. Mother had bought him the week at this resort as part of his 21st birthday present, and he intended to enjoy every minute of it away from the confines of the family mansion, which seemed so dark and run-down since Father’s liquid assets had been seized by the Ministry. At least here he could get away from the sideward glances and innuendo he got from his fellows if he walked down Diagon Alley. At least here he was anonymous.
To his right, set back so that it didn’t spoil the view, was a beach café: a colourful bar staffed by two large, dark-skinned witches in bright flowery robes, surrounded by tables with umbrellas to provide some shade from the Mediterranean heat. Two of the tables were occupied by similarly exotically dressed wizards sipping at brightly coloured drinks through straws. He settled himself at the nearest vacant table and signalled to the barmaid. She ambled across with a menu, smiling profusely.
“Good morning, young man, what can I get you to drink?” she asked, her toothy smile widening still further. “Today’s special cocktails are the Smoking Fireball and the Venus Delight. Personally I’d recommend that one, sir - it has a couple of drops of unicorn tears in it: very good for the libido.” With that she gave him a sly wink, and he turned away in mock disdain to hide his embarrassment.
It was then that he saw her in the distance, striding out of the sea, wet white bikini clinging to every curve, her long, red hair curled down over one shoulder. Impossible, he thought, how can she be here? How can she even afford to get into this place? His head reeled at the unlikelihood of someone he used to know so well just happening to be there at that exact moment.
“Sir, would you like me to come back later when you’ve made your selection?” the barmaid’s voice came from beside him.
“No, no, I’ll have one of those Venus things - that’ll do fine, thank you,” he replied, somewhat flustered.
He quickly turned back towards the shoreline, searching for her, to be sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. No, it was definitely her. She had settled down on a sun lounger a hundred yards away, on the other side of the bar. She didn’t seem to have noticed him, and he preferred it that way.
The barwoman brought his drink, which was bright red in colour, served over ice. It was very pleasant, he had to admit: light and fruity, with a curious smooth, almost pearl-like finish on the tongue - he assumed that must be the effect of the unicorn tears, totally inaccurate though the woman’s assessment of their properties was. Ginny had got her wand out of her bag and was administering a drying charm. He looked and noticed every curve, every joint, every supple muscle as her wand passed over them. He looked and took in the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, the vibrant colour of her hair glistening in the sun. He looked and remembered how they used to be, how her cheeks used to flush just before she came, the surprised look and the sharp intake of breath before she surrendered to the sensation. He looked and wondered if it was just the effect of memories that he was feeling.
* * * * *
Ginny lay on the sun lounger soaking up the sun and very conscious of his eyes on her. She had seen him from the sea the moment he’d set foot through the beach portal, of course - she could scarcely mistake him, even at that distance, with his innate sense of style and hair that matched the sand. He’d grown up nicely, she’d thought: fuller, less skinny, but toned, not gone to seed at all. She’d approved of that and smiled to herself.
She’d purposely not acknowledged his presence to see what he would do, walking up the beach and staking her claim to the sunbed as far away from him as possible. He hadn’t walked across to her, but then, she would have been a bit surprised if he had. She couldn’t look round in his direction without catching his eye, so after drying herself she lay back and sunbathed, her eyes closed. Even so, she could almost feel the heat of his gaze boring into her, and she realised that she was actually quite enjoying being stared at in this way. It made her feel somehow more feminine, more desirable, and she almost laughed out loud at the thought of what Hermione would say to her reaction: ”Ginny, you could know better than that - women aren’t objects. I’d much rather a man desired me for my mind than for my body.” There’s a place for both, Ginny said to herself, and right now the body’s just fine…
She wanted to see what he was doing, so she turned on her side, her back towards him, reached into her bag and pulled out a small make-up mirror. Under the pretext of checking if there was something in her eye, she angled the mirror so that she could see him. He was sitting staring fixedly, almost hungrily at her, so she decided to push things a little further and see what reaction she got. Still with her back to him, she brushed some sand off her thigh, then after a small pause started caressing her thigh, moving her hand up and down slowly and finally bringing it round to the front as if about to start touching herself. In the mirror she saw his mouth drop open, saw him hurriedly gulp down the remains of his drink, toss a few coins on the table and walk towards the portal as fast as he could without breaking into a run.
She settled herself onto her back once more and smiled smugly. Perfect. Not only would this make the job she had to do easier, it’d make it fun as well.
* * * * *
L’Hotel Sangpur was the only wizarding establishment in the region, and it could therefore afford to be more than a little elitist about its clientele and rules. It was also a foregone conclusion that Draco would be staying there. So as much as she hated having to wear dress robes to every meal, Ginny figured she would at least manage one night of luxury there.
The chance meeting as she came out of the cloakroom had gone exactly according to plan. Draco turned when she bumped into him, and his eyes had almost popped out of his head when he saw the low-cut green dress robes she was wearing. He’d very quickly recovered his composure, apologised for bumping into her and invited her to join him for dinner, which she of course accepted. They did a lot of catching up over the meal. Ginny updated him on the public face of the snake research work she’d been doing since school, just enough not to arouse his suspicion. Draco, for his part, bemoaned the state of Wizarding society in Britain and the lack of respect good blood and breeding had these days, at which Ginny rolled her eyes and tutted loudly at him. Some things never changed.
The meal finished, and she wondered if he’d take things any further without some provocation. As they left the dining room, she slipped her arm through his.
“Thank you for dinner, Draco,” she said, inclining her head and smiling up at him. “It’s been really good to see you again and catch up on old times.”
“Likewise,” he replied.
They paused at the foot of the stairs.
“Speaking of old times,” he added with a feigned air of nonchalance, “why don’t you come up to my room for a pumpkin juice so we can continue this conversation? Or a Firewhisky, if you’d prefer - it’s far better than those gaudy cocktails they serve up at the beach.”
“It certainly is,” she laughed. “Yes, something stronger would definitely be welcome - and you know very well what I prefer!”
His room, on the top floor of the hotel, overlooking the sea, was large and sumptuous compared to hers. The bed looked like it was quarter the size of a Quidditch pitch, and even so, it didn’t exactly dominate the room.
“Wow, how on earth can you afford this?” she breathed, looking round at the ornate decoration and gilt-edged lanterns.
He scowled. “And how can you afford to stay here at all, Weaselette?” he retorted hotly.
Her face darkened, but she held her tongue. She shouldn’t have provoked him - she might lose this chance altogether - but there was no way she could let him get away with that entirely.
“The Ourobos Institute pays me very well for what I do, thank you very much,” she replied with a sniff. “And a girl’s entitled to a day or two of luxury after crawling around grubby Greek caves for the last two months solid. At least I work for a living.”
“I work for a living too, you know,” he said sulkily, handing her a large glass of Firewhisky. “Things have been a lot harder for us recently, as I’m sure you’ve heard, but Mother has her own money to fall back on that the Ministry couldn’t confiscate. - and if you must know, she paid for this holiday, not me.”
“Oh, what sort of work are you doing, then, Draco? - I can’t imagine you stuck in an office all day.”
“God forbid!” he half-laughed, half-snorted. “No, I work freelance. In procurement, you might say. I still have contacts, and if someone wants something, I find it for them and broker the best deal. For a fee, of course.”
“Sounds like an interesting job, actually,” she said, trying to bring the conversation back round to a friendly footing. “It must involve quite a bit of travel.”
“Mm, it does - I’m off to West Africa on business as soon as this holiday is over actually - plus I can dictate when I do or don’t work.”
“I can imagine you preferring that.”
She moved over to the window and watched the starlight twinkling off the ocean below her.
Draco stopped close behind her and took the glass of Firewhisky for her, placing it on a nearby table. “I can remember you preferring this,” he murmured, sliding the thin dress strap off her shoulder and running the tip of his tongue along and up the side of her neck. She hissed and shivered. He had remembered well.
She leaned against him as he nuzzled and nipped her ear and neck, and then turned round and kissed him hungrily, drawing on his bottom lip with her teeth as they parted, so hard that she drew blood. He cursed under his breath and sucked it, as she giggled and licked her lips.
“You still like to play rough, I see, Ginevra,” he said with mock menace and a glint in his eye. With that he picked her up and, whirling her round, threw her forcefully onto the bed.
Their sex play had always been a bit on the rough side before, half passion, half fight, and it seemed this evening was no exception. They wrestled and kissed and sucked and bit, each item of clothing removed a battle won, constantly twisting and turning to gain supremacy, to be in control. Draco on top, still mostly dressed, thrust his erection against her until she writhed and moaned with anticipation and frustration. Ginny on top succeeded in binding one of his hands to the headboard, until he managed to de-wand her and free himself. Draco on top had Ginny face down on the bed, arm twisted behind her back while he disrobed her. Ginny on top pinned him to the bed and teased him with her taut nipples just out of reach of his mouth. As he unbalanced her and turned her over once more, her hand hit the wrought iron headboard.
“Ow!” she exclaimed. “I’ve cut myself on something there!” Sure enough, blood was trickling from a gash in her index finger.
“Let me kiss it better for you, honey.” He took the wounded finger into his mouth, sucking it clean.
“Thank you, darling, that was sweet of you,” she smiled.
She too sucked on the finger, which was still bleeding, while Draco diverted his oral ministrations progressively further down. Phase one complete.
“Mingled blood the two shall bind…”
“Hmm? Did you say something?” he asked, looking up at her.
“God, don’t stop, Draco! That was just getting interesting!”
He grinned wickedly and flicked her clit rapidly with the tip of his tongue, causing her to yelp and gasp.
“You’re so going to pay for that, Malfoy!”
Ginny lunged forward and pushed him onto his back again. She ran her tongue slowly, tantalisingly, up the full length of his hard-on, then teased the tip with the edges of her teeth. He swore under his breath and bucked against her, pushing his cock further into her mouth.
“Mmm, I think you’re ready,” she murmured, licking the salty tang of him from her lips. She squatted astride him and kissed up his well-toned stomach, across his smooth, pale chest, pausing to run rings around his nipples, which made him hiss as his cock twitched beneath her. As she moved higher up, he slid his hand down and began to rub her clit rhythmically, and she felt the tension in her heighten still further. Their lips met and they kissed passionately. He slid a finger easily inside her, causing her to break the kiss and moan.
“I think you’re ready too,” he breathed. Hands on her hips, he guided her gently down and entered her with a ragged sigh, as she squeezed the injured finger with her thumb, starting the blood flow once more.
“Lifeblood ply as ink in kind,” she muttered under her breath. Now began the hardest part.
He thrust up into her as they moved in unison, slowly at first and gradually building, Ginny controlling the pace. She spread her hands across his chest as she rocked up and down, careful to keep the bleeding finger off him until needed.
“O’er heart the fiery runesign draw,” she breathed as inaudibly as she could, as she traced the first line of the much practiced sign on his chest in blood. Thankfully Draco had his eyes closed, concentrating on the sex itself more than on her reaction to it. The second and third strokes of the rune were quickly added. Only two more to go. He paused for a moment to readjust his position slightly, and she moved her hand away to avoid ruining the runesign with accidental droplets of blood. He began to thrust into her again, forceful and deliberate, and she moaned despite herself, her breathing more laboured now as she neared her climax. God, he still knew how to hit the right spot, she thought, as she tried to muster enough concentration to finish the job in hand. She applied the next fingerstroke perfectly between gasps and groans. Just one more. She squeezed the finger again to elicit a little more blood.
“Obedient… loyalty…” She paused, barely holding herself together. “to… ensure.” With that she quickly made the last marking. She threw back her head and let herself go, orgasm engulfing her whole body and exploding in her head like stars. Below her, Draco’s eyes flew open wide with the last fingerstroke, and he too came hard, driving into her again and again until he was completely spent.
“Ginny,” he said weakly as they lay side by side, panting, “what have you done? My chest feels really weird, like it’s glowing.” He rubbed his hand across, smearing the blood, looked at his hand and then down at his chest again. Where the blood had been wiped away, the runesign now appeared in shining gold, indelibly marked on his skin.
“I’ve ensured your loyalty to me,” she replied simply, leaning over and kissing him gently on the cheek.
She sat up and handed him his glass of Firewhisky.
“So when you go to Burkino Faso next week and make your deal for those rare Bolivian-Green Runespoor eggs with Sayed Al Ndao, you won’t take them to Frederick Hare, who commissioned you, you’ll bring them to me instead. I guarantee the Institute will pay you the same commission you’d have got from him. And now you can’t refuse me, at least not until the next full moon, which is, what, twenty-one days away.”
“Weasley,” he sighed, shaking his head, “you didn’t need to go to such lengths. For the same fee I’d favour you over Fred any day.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” she replied, grinning, as she flopped back down onto the bed beside him, sated and relaxed, “but this way I can be sure, Sweetie. And you have to admit, my methodology was more fun!”
For: tarotemp
Pairing: Draco/Ginny
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: c.3,000
Summary: A chance meeting, an exotic location, and a bed quarter the size of a Quidditch pitch, what more could you ask for (not to give too much away ;))
Notes: Thank you to my wonderful anonymous betas for all your encouragement and support!
The sky was a clear, bright blue, the sea a reflection of it, lapping gently onto the imported near-white sand of the Riviera beach. He wandered casually along the promenade, past the millionaires’ yachts bobbing up and down on their moorings, Muggle ‘designer’ jacket slung over his shoulder (whatever ‘designer’ meant - he admitted the cloth quality was good, and that the light colour did go rather well with his blond hair and dark sunglasses, but he still preferred the familiar comfort and looseness of his usual robes).
Just outside the resort centre he paused, as a couple of skimpily-clad girls glanced in his direction, giggled, whispered to each other behind their hands, then tossed their long, raven black locks and carried on down the street. He waited until they turned a corner, enjoying the view while it lasted, and then sauntered across to a grotty, overflowing bin on the edge of the beach. He looked around once more to check no one was watching and pressed the coat of arms motif on the side of the bin three times with his left thumb. He stepped forward and, to anyone who might have been looking on, vanished into thin air.
He’d stepped through the glamour onto the most exclusive and well-hidden beach in Wizardom. Unlike the crowded Muggle beaches all along that area of the French coast it was always clean, and he could enjoy the view of the sand and sea without either being cluttered with bodies. Mother had bought him the week at this resort as part of his 21st birthday present, and he intended to enjoy every minute of it away from the confines of the family mansion, which seemed so dark and run-down since Father’s liquid assets had been seized by the Ministry. At least here he could get away from the sideward glances and innuendo he got from his fellows if he walked down Diagon Alley. At least here he was anonymous.
To his right, set back so that it didn’t spoil the view, was a beach café: a colourful bar staffed by two large, dark-skinned witches in bright flowery robes, surrounded by tables with umbrellas to provide some shade from the Mediterranean heat. Two of the tables were occupied by similarly exotically dressed wizards sipping at brightly coloured drinks through straws. He settled himself at the nearest vacant table and signalled to the barmaid. She ambled across with a menu, smiling profusely.
“Good morning, young man, what can I get you to drink?” she asked, her toothy smile widening still further. “Today’s special cocktails are the Smoking Fireball and the Venus Delight. Personally I’d recommend that one, sir - it has a couple of drops of unicorn tears in it: very good for the libido.” With that she gave him a sly wink, and he turned away in mock disdain to hide his embarrassment.
It was then that he saw her in the distance, striding out of the sea, wet white bikini clinging to every curve, her long, red hair curled down over one shoulder. Impossible, he thought, how can she be here? How can she even afford to get into this place? His head reeled at the unlikelihood of someone he used to know so well just happening to be there at that exact moment.
“Sir, would you like me to come back later when you’ve made your selection?” the barmaid’s voice came from beside him.
“No, no, I’ll have one of those Venus things - that’ll do fine, thank you,” he replied, somewhat flustered.
He quickly turned back towards the shoreline, searching for her, to be sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. No, it was definitely her. She had settled down on a sun lounger a hundred yards away, on the other side of the bar. She didn’t seem to have noticed him, and he preferred it that way.
The barwoman brought his drink, which was bright red in colour, served over ice. It was very pleasant, he had to admit: light and fruity, with a curious smooth, almost pearl-like finish on the tongue - he assumed that must be the effect of the unicorn tears, totally inaccurate though the woman’s assessment of their properties was. Ginny had got her wand out of her bag and was administering a drying charm. He looked and noticed every curve, every joint, every supple muscle as her wand passed over them. He looked and took in the gentle rise and fall of her breasts, the vibrant colour of her hair glistening in the sun. He looked and remembered how they used to be, how her cheeks used to flush just before she came, the surprised look and the sharp intake of breath before she surrendered to the sensation. He looked and wondered if it was just the effect of memories that he was feeling.
* * * * *
Ginny lay on the sun lounger soaking up the sun and very conscious of his eyes on her. She had seen him from the sea the moment he’d set foot through the beach portal, of course - she could scarcely mistake him, even at that distance, with his innate sense of style and hair that matched the sand. He’d grown up nicely, she’d thought: fuller, less skinny, but toned, not gone to seed at all. She’d approved of that and smiled to herself.
She’d purposely not acknowledged his presence to see what he would do, walking up the beach and staking her claim to the sunbed as far away from him as possible. He hadn’t walked across to her, but then, she would have been a bit surprised if he had. She couldn’t look round in his direction without catching his eye, so after drying herself she lay back and sunbathed, her eyes closed. Even so, she could almost feel the heat of his gaze boring into her, and she realised that she was actually quite enjoying being stared at in this way. It made her feel somehow more feminine, more desirable, and she almost laughed out loud at the thought of what Hermione would say to her reaction: ”Ginny, you could know better than that - women aren’t objects. I’d much rather a man desired me for my mind than for my body.” There’s a place for both, Ginny said to herself, and right now the body’s just fine…
She wanted to see what he was doing, so she turned on her side, her back towards him, reached into her bag and pulled out a small make-up mirror. Under the pretext of checking if there was something in her eye, she angled the mirror so that she could see him. He was sitting staring fixedly, almost hungrily at her, so she decided to push things a little further and see what reaction she got. Still with her back to him, she brushed some sand off her thigh, then after a small pause started caressing her thigh, moving her hand up and down slowly and finally bringing it round to the front as if about to start touching herself. In the mirror she saw his mouth drop open, saw him hurriedly gulp down the remains of his drink, toss a few coins on the table and walk towards the portal as fast as he could without breaking into a run.
She settled herself onto her back once more and smiled smugly. Perfect. Not only would this make the job she had to do easier, it’d make it fun as well.
* * * * *
L’Hotel Sangpur was the only wizarding establishment in the region, and it could therefore afford to be more than a little elitist about its clientele and rules. It was also a foregone conclusion that Draco would be staying there. So as much as she hated having to wear dress robes to every meal, Ginny figured she would at least manage one night of luxury there.
The chance meeting as she came out of the cloakroom had gone exactly according to plan. Draco turned when she bumped into him, and his eyes had almost popped out of his head when he saw the low-cut green dress robes she was wearing. He’d very quickly recovered his composure, apologised for bumping into her and invited her to join him for dinner, which she of course accepted. They did a lot of catching up over the meal. Ginny updated him on the public face of the snake research work she’d been doing since school, just enough not to arouse his suspicion. Draco, for his part, bemoaned the state of Wizarding society in Britain and the lack of respect good blood and breeding had these days, at which Ginny rolled her eyes and tutted loudly at him. Some things never changed.
The meal finished, and she wondered if he’d take things any further without some provocation. As they left the dining room, she slipped her arm through his.
“Thank you for dinner, Draco,” she said, inclining her head and smiling up at him. “It’s been really good to see you again and catch up on old times.”
“Likewise,” he replied.
They paused at the foot of the stairs.
“Speaking of old times,” he added with a feigned air of nonchalance, “why don’t you come up to my room for a pumpkin juice so we can continue this conversation? Or a Firewhisky, if you’d prefer - it’s far better than those gaudy cocktails they serve up at the beach.”
“It certainly is,” she laughed. “Yes, something stronger would definitely be welcome - and you know very well what I prefer!”
His room, on the top floor of the hotel, overlooking the sea, was large and sumptuous compared to hers. The bed looked like it was quarter the size of a Quidditch pitch, and even so, it didn’t exactly dominate the room.
“Wow, how on earth can you afford this?” she breathed, looking round at the ornate decoration and gilt-edged lanterns.
He scowled. “And how can you afford to stay here at all, Weaselette?” he retorted hotly.
Her face darkened, but she held her tongue. She shouldn’t have provoked him - she might lose this chance altogether - but there was no way she could let him get away with that entirely.
“The Ourobos Institute pays me very well for what I do, thank you very much,” she replied with a sniff. “And a girl’s entitled to a day or two of luxury after crawling around grubby Greek caves for the last two months solid. At least I work for a living.”
“I work for a living too, you know,” he said sulkily, handing her a large glass of Firewhisky. “Things have been a lot harder for us recently, as I’m sure you’ve heard, but Mother has her own money to fall back on that the Ministry couldn’t confiscate. - and if you must know, she paid for this holiday, not me.”
“Oh, what sort of work are you doing, then, Draco? - I can’t imagine you stuck in an office all day.”
“God forbid!” he half-laughed, half-snorted. “No, I work freelance. In procurement, you might say. I still have contacts, and if someone wants something, I find it for them and broker the best deal. For a fee, of course.”
“Sounds like an interesting job, actually,” she said, trying to bring the conversation back round to a friendly footing. “It must involve quite a bit of travel.”
“Mm, it does - I’m off to West Africa on business as soon as this holiday is over actually - plus I can dictate when I do or don’t work.”
“I can imagine you preferring that.”
She moved over to the window and watched the starlight twinkling off the ocean below her.
Draco stopped close behind her and took the glass of Firewhisky for her, placing it on a nearby table. “I can remember you preferring this,” he murmured, sliding the thin dress strap off her shoulder and running the tip of his tongue along and up the side of her neck. She hissed and shivered. He had remembered well.
She leaned against him as he nuzzled and nipped her ear and neck, and then turned round and kissed him hungrily, drawing on his bottom lip with her teeth as they parted, so hard that she drew blood. He cursed under his breath and sucked it, as she giggled and licked her lips.
“You still like to play rough, I see, Ginevra,” he said with mock menace and a glint in his eye. With that he picked her up and, whirling her round, threw her forcefully onto the bed.
Their sex play had always been a bit on the rough side before, half passion, half fight, and it seemed this evening was no exception. They wrestled and kissed and sucked and bit, each item of clothing removed a battle won, constantly twisting and turning to gain supremacy, to be in control. Draco on top, still mostly dressed, thrust his erection against her until she writhed and moaned with anticipation and frustration. Ginny on top succeeded in binding one of his hands to the headboard, until he managed to de-wand her and free himself. Draco on top had Ginny face down on the bed, arm twisted behind her back while he disrobed her. Ginny on top pinned him to the bed and teased him with her taut nipples just out of reach of his mouth. As he unbalanced her and turned her over once more, her hand hit the wrought iron headboard.
“Ow!” she exclaimed. “I’ve cut myself on something there!” Sure enough, blood was trickling from a gash in her index finger.
“Let me kiss it better for you, honey.” He took the wounded finger into his mouth, sucking it clean.
“Thank you, darling, that was sweet of you,” she smiled.
She too sucked on the finger, which was still bleeding, while Draco diverted his oral ministrations progressively further down. Phase one complete.
“Mingled blood the two shall bind…”
“Hmm? Did you say something?” he asked, looking up at her.
“God, don’t stop, Draco! That was just getting interesting!”
He grinned wickedly and flicked her clit rapidly with the tip of his tongue, causing her to yelp and gasp.
“You’re so going to pay for that, Malfoy!”
Ginny lunged forward and pushed him onto his back again. She ran her tongue slowly, tantalisingly, up the full length of his hard-on, then teased the tip with the edges of her teeth. He swore under his breath and bucked against her, pushing his cock further into her mouth.
“Mmm, I think you’re ready,” she murmured, licking the salty tang of him from her lips. She squatted astride him and kissed up his well-toned stomach, across his smooth, pale chest, pausing to run rings around his nipples, which made him hiss as his cock twitched beneath her. As she moved higher up, he slid his hand down and began to rub her clit rhythmically, and she felt the tension in her heighten still further. Their lips met and they kissed passionately. He slid a finger easily inside her, causing her to break the kiss and moan.
“I think you’re ready too,” he breathed. Hands on her hips, he guided her gently down and entered her with a ragged sigh, as she squeezed the injured finger with her thumb, starting the blood flow once more.
“Lifeblood ply as ink in kind,” she muttered under her breath. Now began the hardest part.
He thrust up into her as they moved in unison, slowly at first and gradually building, Ginny controlling the pace. She spread her hands across his chest as she rocked up and down, careful to keep the bleeding finger off him until needed.
“O’er heart the fiery runesign draw,” she breathed as inaudibly as she could, as she traced the first line of the much practiced sign on his chest in blood. Thankfully Draco had his eyes closed, concentrating on the sex itself more than on her reaction to it. The second and third strokes of the rune were quickly added. Only two more to go. He paused for a moment to readjust his position slightly, and she moved her hand away to avoid ruining the runesign with accidental droplets of blood. He began to thrust into her again, forceful and deliberate, and she moaned despite herself, her breathing more laboured now as she neared her climax. God, he still knew how to hit the right spot, she thought, as she tried to muster enough concentration to finish the job in hand. She applied the next fingerstroke perfectly between gasps and groans. Just one more. She squeezed the finger again to elicit a little more blood.
“Obedient… loyalty…” She paused, barely holding herself together. “to… ensure.” With that she quickly made the last marking. She threw back her head and let herself go, orgasm engulfing her whole body and exploding in her head like stars. Below her, Draco’s eyes flew open wide with the last fingerstroke, and he too came hard, driving into her again and again until he was completely spent.
“Ginny,” he said weakly as they lay side by side, panting, “what have you done? My chest feels really weird, like it’s glowing.” He rubbed his hand across, smearing the blood, looked at his hand and then down at his chest again. Where the blood had been wiped away, the runesign now appeared in shining gold, indelibly marked on his skin.
“I’ve ensured your loyalty to me,” she replied simply, leaning over and kissing him gently on the cheek.
She sat up and handed him his glass of Firewhisky.
“So when you go to Burkino Faso next week and make your deal for those rare Bolivian-Green Runespoor eggs with Sayed Al Ndao, you won’t take them to Frederick Hare, who commissioned you, you’ll bring them to me instead. I guarantee the Institute will pay you the same commission you’d have got from him. And now you can’t refuse me, at least not until the next full moon, which is, what, twenty-one days away.”
“Weasley,” he sighed, shaking his head, “you didn’t need to go to such lengths. For the same fee I’d favour you over Fred any day.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” she replied, grinning, as she flopped back down onto the bed beside him, sated and relaxed, “but this way I can be sure, Sweetie. And you have to admit, my methodology was more fun!”