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The arcade felt easy that afternoon. Sunlight spilled from the high glass ceilings; the light glinted off the polished stone floors and the dark storefront windows. The air felt lazy. They weren’t looking for anything in particular. Just wandering. It was a rare lapse in the relentless schedule of the Ministry.
That was when Hermione saw it, a flash of yellow hanging on a clearance rack. It was a sun dress made of cotton voile. A sheer weave with thin straps and a hem that would dance around her knees. It looked like something meant for a woman who knew how to take up space without apology. She wasn't sure what made her reach for it. Maybe the way Draco's hand brushed the small of her back, or maybe the way the light caught the folds of fabric.
"Should I try it on?" she asked, her voice small.
Draco’s mouth quirked into a smirk. He didn't look at the dress. He looked at the curve of her neck. "I’d love to see it on you. Especially since you decided a bra was too much effort this morning."
Hermione felt the heat rise to her face. "I didn't think we were going shopping."
"I'm not complaining, Hermione," he replied, his eyes darkening with a loyal hunger. "The sun is going to hit that voile and make you a public hazard. Go on. I’ll wait right here."
Heart thudding, Hermione slipped the sun dress off the rack and walked to the fitting rooms tucked in the back. The curtains there were flimsy. They hung from a rod with no lock. They didn't even reach the floor; anyone walking by could see her shoes. The air in the corridor smelled of old dust.
She peeled off her professional trousers and knit top, folding them onto the bench next to the bag where her wand lay hidden. As she removed her linen slip, the lack of layers made her feel exposed. Every brush of air felt like a touch. She slid the yellow voile over her head. It was weightless. The fabric was translucent; the sheer friction of the weave made her nipples stiff, pressing against the yellow voile. She could see the soft pink circles of her nipples through the soft fabric.
When she turned toward the mirror, the girl looking back was different. She looked bright. Bare. Through the thin fabric of the curtain, she could sense Draco waiting.
She peeled the curtain back an inch. Draco was leaning against the opposite wall.
"Step out, Hermione. Let me see what I’m buying."
She slipped out, the thin voile floating around her. She stood in the narrow aisle, her fingers twisting in the fabric. Draco's gaze moved slowly. It wasn't the look of a stranger. It was the look of a man who knew every inch of her and still wanted more. His gaze moved from the thin straps to the short hem, then back up to her face.
"You look amazing," he murmured, stepping into her space. "And incredibly visible."
He guided her back into the stall; his body a wall of heat behind her. The curtain settled; a flimsy shield against the shoppers outside. The dressing room was tiny, but with Draco filling the space, it felt like the walls had disappeared.
"Need any help with your dress?" he asked, his mouth grazing the shell of her ear. His voice was a melodic rasp.
"The voile is too thin," she gasped, her hands flattening against the mirror as she felt the hard pressure of him against her ass. She caught his eyes in the reflection. They were grey. Focused.
"Good," he replied, his hand sliding up her thigh to find her lace panties. "I’ve been thinking about nothing else since we left the flat. The voile is just a bonus."
He moved with a steady, unhurried pace; his fingers gliding over her shoulders to slide the straps down her arms. He moved like he was unwrapping something delicate. Hermione shivered as the dress pooled at her feet in a yellow puddle. She stood there in just her underwear; the still air brushing her bare back. She could hear the murmur of the arcade outside; distant footsteps; the hum of the lights.
His hands slid up her thighs, ghosting higher until his fingers found the lace. His thumb pressed against her through the damp fabric. He smirked when he found how ready she was.
"Now... grab the sides of your lace, Hermione." The words were a weighted vibration against her skin. She held her breath, her pulse a frantic drum in her ears as she hung on the sound. "And slide them... slowly... down your legs."
She swallowed, her fingers trembling as she obeyed. She dragged the lace down her thighs, over her knees, down her calves. The motion made the blood rush hot and dizzy in her ears. She let the lace pool at her ankles, stepping out of it with a soft shudder.
Behind her; Draco's breath thickened. The mirror caught everything, the fall of the fabric, the way her body shook. Footsteps scraped nearby. Someone stopped just outside the curtain. Her breath hitched. Draco's hand clamped on her hip; steady and grounding.
She whimpered. His touch shifted, a slow caress over her bare skin. His hand drifted lower, between her thighs, finding the aching heat there. She gasped, and his other hand slid up to cup the side of her throat, steadying her.
His fingers found her, slow at first, gathering the wetness. He moved with a practiced ease; his touch light but deliberate. Hermione pressed her forehead to the mirror, biting her lip.
"Quiet," he whispered, his mouth at her ear. "You don’t want the Muggles to hear, do you?"
She shook her head, clenching the sides of the mirror. His fingers slid deeper, circling her with deliberate slowness. Her legs shook. Every slow circle of Draco's fingers sent another sharp wave crashing through her. Her hips rolled without permission, desperate for more friction.
She heard the shift of footsteps beyond the curtain. Her heart stuttered. She whimpered at the loss of his touch until she felt him crouched behind her. The brush of fabric against her lips was sudden. Her lace panties. Still damp. Still warm from her skin.
She opened her mouth. She let him push the sodden lace between her lips. The heat was instant. The moment the lace filled her mouth, she moaned, a muffled sound that no one outside could hear.
Draco rose behind her; his body a wall of heat; his hand sliding right back between her thighs. He circled and stroked with patience; keeping her balanced on the edge. She saw herself in the glass, flushed, panting around the lace he had fed her.
She sobbed into the sodden lace when he found the right rhythm. Her thighs shook. Her breath came in frantic sobs around the wet lace. She felt the pressure coiling low in her belly; ready to snap.
Suddenly, a voice spoke from beyond the curtain. “Yeah; head to the back,” the clerk called. Hermione froze; every muscle locking tight.
Draco’s hand never stopped. He only pressed closer against her back; his mouth grazing her ear.
"Come for me. Right now." he whispered. "Stay silent, for me. Just keep your fucking little mouth shut, like a good girl."
The words shattered her resistance. She broke, silently, her body convulsing against his hand in helpless waves. The release ripped through her thighs; her knees buckling. She screamed into the lace in her mouth, muffled. Draco’s hand slid from between her thighs to steady her, wrapping strong arms around her waist.
From beyond the curtain, the clerk’s voice came again: “Cute dress. You should get it.”
Hermione would have laughed if she could breathe. She melted into Draco’s body. He held her through it, his thumb stroking circles over her bare hip.
His mouth found the back of her neck, a firm kiss. Then his hand slid around, fingers slick, and he pulled the lace gently from her mouth. She whimpered as the air hit her wet, swollen lips. He didn’t toss the panties away. She watched through dazed eyes as he tucked them into his pocket like something precious.
Draco turned her, maneuvering her backward until the backs of her thighs bumped the little bench. She sank onto it.
As he stood before her, she reached out, fingers brushing the fabric stretched over him. He was so hard. She looked up, meeting his eyes. His nod was small. She let her fingers trail higher, up over the zipper, the thick ridge beneath. Shaking with aftershocks, she tugged at the button of his trousers.
She finally got him undone, dragging the zipper down. When he freed himself, her breath caught. Heavy. Glistening at the tip. Draco gave a slow, commanding nod.
She leaned forward, lips parting. She served him with her mouth, obedient and trembling. But just as she got close, his hand caught her hair. Firm and unyielding. She froze, blinking up at him.
He shifted his hand, stroking her hair. "Good girl." Then, slowly, he fisted the base of his length. She gasped, watching as he stroked his thick shaft right in front of her with a heavy, rhythmic focus. She sat there, bare, flushed, and let him use her as his audience.
The arcade noise faded into a dull hum. Somewhere, faint, she caught the hum of voices: The clerk answering a phone call. Footsteps passing the shop.
Hermione moaned, pressing her thighs together as Draco worked over himself. The sound of skin on skin was the only thing filling the small stall. Then he gripped the base of his length, feeding it to her slowly. She opened without hesitation. She sucked gently, moaning as she cradled him.
Draco’s hand flexed at the back of her head, urging her to stay steady. Another shadow passed the curtain. A laugh. She flushed crimson but obeyed. He shuddered, a low sound escaping him, but he pulled back before she could grow greedy.
He resumed stroking himself, faster now, the muscles of his thighs flexing. She watched, wide-eyed and hungry. His breathing sharpened, ragged, and she knew. He stood before her, one hand braced on the wall. She tilted her chin up. The heat hit her skin.
She moaned low in her throat. She didn't flinch. She sat back on the bench, her hands folded in her lap. The mess cooled quickly on her flushed skin.
He exhaled sharply; zipping himself away with practiced control. His hand found her chin, tilting her face up. His eyes were grey and certain.
"You’re going to put the dress back on," he murmured. "And you're going to fold up your other clothes."
"And you're going to wear the new dress out of here," he continued, his thumb brushing once over the mess on her cheek. "No underwear. No slip. Just the voile and me."
Hermione slipped the yellow sun dress back into place. The voile was so thin it clung everywhere. Without a bra, the friction of the fabric made her nipples stiffen into peaks and through the soft yellow, she could see the rosey flush of them.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, cheeks flushed; a smear of him glistening along her jaw. She folded her professional trousers and top, feeling the slickness between her thighs as she shifted. Her wand was a heavy weight at the bottom of her bag.
He took her hand as they slipped from the fitting room. Then, unhurried, his hand slid low, fondling her bare ass through the thin voile of the sun dress. She gasped. Then; lower. His fingers brushed over the cleft of her ass. She shuddered; a sharp jolt.
"Time to go," he murmured against her ear, voice rich with amusement.
“I think we’re being watched.” Her heart stuttered. She risked a glance through the gap in the curtain. Near the racks of scarves, a woman in her thirties was pretending to browse but sneaking glances toward them. She wasn't frowning. She was smiling, her expression knowing and conspiratorial.
Heat flooded Hermione; mortification and reckless pride tangled so tightly she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. But the way the woman smiled, like she understood, made Hermione stand straighter.
Draco’s hand slid down to the small of her back, guiding her forward. “Go talk to the clerk,” he said, low and firm. “Tell her you’re wearing it out.”
She walked across the floor, bare beneath the fluttering sun dress; thighs still damp; cheeks still carrying the mark of him.
Claire glanced up from her phone. Her gaze swept over Draco first, a flicker of appreciation in her eyes, then to Hermione. When Hermione reached the counter, the clerk’s smile widened. Claire’s gaze snagged briefly at the stiffened peaks pressing against the fabric.
"Found everything you need?" Claire asked, her tone chirpy but layered with a subtext that made Hermione’s skin prickle.
"I’d like to buy this one," Hermione said, her voice a whisper.
"Good choice," Claire replied. She leaned over the counter, her eyes moving over the fit of the voile. "That yellow is definitely your color, hon. It highlights everything."
Draco slid the tag from Hermione’s neckline and handed it to the clerk. Claire’s fingers brushed his when she took it; the contact was a fraction too long. Draco didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on Hermione.
"Want me to ring you up and cut the tags off so you can wear it out?" Claire asked. She reached for a pair of snips, her gaze flicking between them. "It seems like a shame to put the old clothes back on when you look like that."
Draco gave a slow, affirming nod. Claire sniped the plastic cord with a sharp click.
"All set, hon," Claire said, handing the receipt to Hermione. She gave Draco one last lingering look before sliding her phone back into her hand. "Have a lovely afternoon. Try not to cause a scene."
Draco's fingers tightened around hers, pulling her into the rush of the arcade crowd.