“Sorry isn’t good enough. No one touches my wife.” “I’m not your wife yet,” Hermione called out. “Stupefy!” A loud thump told her that the man was no longer awake. Draco released her from the wing cocoon, dark eyes fixed on her. “You’re more than my wife, mate. You’re my soul.” (1/2)

"Put my date's drinks on the Malfoy tab," drawled a familiar voice. He dropped into the seat beside her. Hermione shook her head, but a warm, glowing feeling lit her insides. "We aren't on a date, you flirt." He leaned closer and bumped her shoulder, flashing a saucy grin her way. "Not yet, love."

"You're our last spy," Hermione pled. "If you walk—" Draco pressed close, body hard and unyielding, and covered her lips with his palm. Her stomach swooped. "Maybe I'm sick of being told what to do. Who to be. Who to fuck." She was pinned under his steely gaze. "Maybe I can't walk away from you."

“Stay," Draco murmured. "They don’t deserve your attention." Hermione shrugged on her coat, already late. "But they need—" A muscular arm snaked around her waist, and she tumbled close. "But what about me?" His breath tickled her ear. "What if I need you more...? I'm a selfish man, Auror Granger."