The sound of a truck pulling up outside her house had her ears pricking in interest, her attention flickering from the book in her hands to the window through which the sound filters. In an instant her mind started churning over the possible reasons for the presence of a truck on her quiet suburban street but it was the screech of a fence opening that had her scrambling to remove the sheets from their tangle around her legs and jumping over to her window.

Conscious enough to slow herself down before she yanked the curtains open with too much force and draw attention to herself, Hermione stopped and took a deep breath before raising her hand to hook a finger around the edge of the fabric. Inching it open, she peered through to survey the action.

And cursed the truck for obstructing her view.

One foot rubbed the other, her weight shifted as she returned it to the floor and took off out of her room, headed for the front room and a better viewing position for her insatiable curiosity.

Still miffed that the house she had so coveted had been snapped up by her childhood nemesis, Hermione still couldn't help but be curious to know what he was doing to a backyard that was already so well landscaped. Having been overbid on the house, Hermione had been forced to take second best: the house on the opposite side of the street, one that looked into the backyard of her dream house. His house.

Stretching, Hermione craned her neck in an attempt to peer over the top of the truck and into the backyard. Over the passed few days, the sounds of jack hammering had echoed from the yard and had Hermione's interest piqued. Why would he be using a muggle method when a simple swish and flick would solve things.

Instead she watched the proceedings with vague interest, the slow procession of unloading the massive bin onto the tiny patch of grass in the backyard an incredible job of patience and logic. Briefly, she pondered whether she would be quick enough to dart to the toilet and make it back in time, but dismissed that thought post haste when she recognised the truck driver had finished his business and was getting back into the cabin.

A tap to the horn, a wave out the window and finally the machine pulled away, leaving Hermione with an unobstructed view of the backyard.

Only, that wasn't what had her attention.

It was the well toned, well hardened physique of the shirtless man closing the gates.

Her mouth went dry, her throat swallowing down everything in one go as her curiosity fled her mind in an instant. Heart taking off like a hound to a fox, she no longer cared about the backyard, all that became her world was maintaining visual contact with this…these…that body.

She wanted it in an instant. Desired the chance to touch, to be free to roam and feel what was undoubtedly hard muscle under smooth, hairless skin. She imagined herself running her fingers over that chest, of studying every line and dip of the muscles. She wanted its weight against her, heavy against her own chest, crushing her as strong arms banded around her, lithe steady hips pumping against and into her own. Her body shuddered as the images exploded in her mind, tingles shooting along every nerve channel, into every nerve ending bringing to life long faded desires in her career focused world.

Standing precariously close to the edge, Hermione forced her mind onto a different path of thought. Instead, it flooded with all the words she could think of to describe the sight: toned, defined, chiseled, lick-able, tasty, scrumptious. But it was the single word which followed, that had her mind pausing, her eyes widening and her heart thumping loud and clear.

Pale.

So far her eyes had managed to stay attached to the torso, where the lines and muscles twisted and turned in such a sinuous dance that one could remain enraptured for the rest of their life. The word 'pale' managed to break through, sparking to life the question and the impossible answer to who indeed had this god-like physique.

Beating the desire to let her eyes linger on the body, Hermione forced them to dart up and identify the individual.

Oh dear, oh merlin. Why him? Why now?

She knew, of course, that the body belonged to him. It was the only logical choice in the situation. Who else would oversee the arrival and placement of a skip bin into his own backyard?

Even as the man, him, he, Malfoy turned one last time to face her, pulling the fence closed and removing himself from sight, Hermione fell back against the couch she'd positioned in the corner of the room, her body pulsing as her mind raced with scorn for her terribly female response. Yet all that she could focus on, standing tall before her voice of sense, the voice of a stern outspoken feminist who found shameless girly acts of staring abhorrent, was the incredibly fantasy worthy chest of her nemesis.

Life wasn't fair.

Tossing sense for sensation, body stuck on the scene she had just witnessed, Hermione scrambled to rid herself of her pants. Her hand shot down to cover herself, finger dipping in amongst the skin to find fresh warm wetness seeping readily from her core. A swipe, a drag and she only had to graze her bud, her clit to have her back arching in anticipation. Her breath hitched as she saw him come towards her, eyes hungry and held to ransom by the pounding lust he felt for her, for the scene his eyes feasted upon. Groaning, she let him collapse on her, naked chest pressed heavily against her singlet cover breasts, nipples puckered for the taking. Scrambling, desperate for skin on skin, she rid herself of her top, hands grasping her breasts, pulling, tugging, rolling.

His mouth fell upon hers, harsh and unforgiving as he took his fill, demanding more and taking it. His hands, so rough and strong grasped her hips without preamble dragging her in one swift move to align himself directly beneath her. One glance, one final take and he pierced her.

He was thick, so hard, so terribly hard and she so full. Burdened by his body, her own had no way out, no way to fight the pleasure that screamed throughout a body being quickly reduced to jelly. With her hands she clasped his shoulder's tightly in agony, breathless pants echoing the sharp slap of skin. His groan, her groan, melded as she sought out his mouth, his power. She laid back and allowed him to take his fill, to take her, to please her. It was fast, it was chaotic, erratic and…over before it began.

The edge came too quick, too fast and without warning. One thrust and she was smouldering in a fiery pit of pleasure and the next she was screaming in joyous rapture.

And then, when she finally brought herself around and opened her eyes, it was shame she felt.

Removing her hand from her dripping feminine core, Hermione stared blankly at her moistened fingers.

No. Life wasn't fair.

A/N: So...anyone still there?

This is just a quick update, something that sorta came to me through real life experience of finding myself staring at the drool worthy chest of my childhood crush and going completely blank...(so freaking typical!)... But its there, its up. If there are errors of any kind, sorry, but this has become my escape from UNI assignments that have due dates only a few days apart (and even two on one day!) So forgive me and the mental loss...or maybe that was to blame for that moment...anyway, hope you enjoyed!