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Is this what surrender feels like?

Draco’s grip on my thighs tightens, his fingers digging into my flesh like brands. His tongue is relentless, drawing out every last shiver and spasm until I’m a trembling wreck, barely able to hold myself upright.

I look down at him, and instantly, I groan.

That was a mistake.

Those damn eyes watch my every movement, drink in my every reaction.

Why do I like it so much when he looks at me like that?

I can feel every line and angle of his tongue. I can feel the scorch of hellflame rising within me, racing down every limb and congregating behind my pelvic bone.

I’m on fire.

I’m burning.

I’m gonna go to hell.

“Draco! Draco, I’m gonna—”

He pulls away from me, and I whine at the loss of contact.

“Good girl,” he growls, and I feel the vibration right in my core. “Good girl, Mercy. Get loud for me. Come on.”

I feel the probe of his fingers spreading me, and then plunging inside, and there’s so much pressure.

He latches onto me again, and his tongue is a whirlwind, a tornado, and I’m spiraling.

“Draco! No! No, I’m gonna—”

My scream obliterates the rest of what I was about to say. My voice tears from my throat, ricochets around the room, and then comes back to slap me in the face. Every muscle is tight, and something inside me is exploding. Something inside me has let go, and I feel like maybe I’m breaking. I’m on a roller coaster, and my car is perched right on the top of the hill, and when I finally come back down, it’s a free fall. As the last of the tremors subside, I’m panting, my body slick with sweat.

I’m shaking.

My thighs are vibrating.

Draco slides out from under me like a fluid shadow. I’m left straddling empty air, my body suddenly cold and my mind confused. I shiver, my skin peppered with goosebumps, my body aching with a need that’s far from sated. Draco stands beside the couch, and I look up at him, and I can see my sin dripping down his chin.

I blush and look away.

That’s so… bad.

When I look back, he lifts a hand and wipes it away, and he just keeps… staring at me.

He’s not doing anything.

I want him to touch me more.

To make love to me.

He’s not moving.

Maybe he wants me to…

“Draco,” I whisper. “Please?”

He stands there, silent and still, his eyes never leaving mine. His chest rises and falls steadily, his breaths calm and measured, so different from the way I pant and gasp. He doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t pull me into his arms like I so desperately want him to. He just stands there, staring at me with that dark, unreadable gaze.