DYLAN
I wake up to the warmth of Hermione's body curled into mine. The early morning sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over her bare shoulder. She looks peaceful, her breathing steady, her dark lashes fanned against her golden skin. I don't move. I watch her, committing every detail to memory—the way her hair spills over the pillow, the faint crease between her brows, the way she shifts slightly, as if she can feel my gaze even in sleep.
I should wake her up. But I don't. Not yet.
Instead, I lightly brush my fingers down her arm, and she stirs, sighing softly. Her lips part slightly, and I suppress the urge to kiss her awake. Eventually, she blinks her eyes open, and the moment she sees me, a slow, sleepy smile spreads across her lips.
"Morning," she murmurs, voice husky with sleep.
"Morning," I reply, letting my hand trail over her hip before I force myself to move away. "We have a long day ahead."
She stretches, and I pull myself out of bed before I forget that we do, in fact, have plans beyond staying tangled in these sheets all day.
By the time evening rolls around, I'm waiting for her at her apartment. She steps out, and I forget how to breathe.
She's wearing a deep emerald-green dress, silky and smooth, hugging every curve before it stops mid-thigh. The color brings out the warmth in her skin, and her heels make her legs look endless. Her curls cascade over one shoulder, and when she meets my gaze, a teasing smile plays on her lips.
"You're staring," she says.
"Damn right, I am."
She laughs, stepping closer. "You don't look so bad yourself."
I know I don't. The black button-down and tailored slacks fit me perfectly, and I see the way her gaze lingers before she drags her eyes back up to mine.
"You ready?" I ask, offering my arm.
She takes it, and we head out for the night.
Dinner is at an intimate rooftop restaurant overlooking the city skyline. The atmosphere is perfect—soft candlelight, a gentle breeze, and a bottle of wine between us. Hermione is animated as she talks about the past cases she worked on, her hands moving as she explains a complicated legal point. I don't give a damn about the case, but I could listen to her talk all night.
"Are you even listening?" she asks, tilting her head.
I smirk. "Every word."
She narrows her eyes, unconvinced but amused. "What did I just say, then?"
"The client is an idiot who should have listened to you from the beginning."
She huffs out a laugh. "That was a lucky guess."
I take her hand across the table, running my thumb over her knuckles. "It wasn't."
She swallows, eyes flickering to our joined hands before she looks up at me again. There's something in her expression—something vulnerable. But before I can say anything, the waiter interrupts with our dessert, and the moment passes.
After dinner, we hit one of the more exclusive clubs in the city. It's not my usual scene, but I want to see her let loose. And she does. The bass thrums through the air, and she moves to the music, her body fluid, her smile radiant. I keep her close, my hands never leaving her, a silent warning to anyone who might be watching.
When she finally laughs and leans into me, breathless, I know I made the right call bringing her here.
"You're full of surprises, Mr. Voss," she says over the music.
I smirk, leaning in so my lips are right by her ear. "Stick around, and you'll see just how many."
It's late by the time I drop her off at her apartment. She lingers by the car, and for a moment, I consider following her inside. But I don't. Not tonight.
Instead, I lift her chin with my fingers and press a slow, lingering kiss to her lips. "Go inside, Hermione."
She exhales softly, eyes searching mine before she finally nods and steps back. "Goodnight, Dylan."
"Goodnight."
I watch her until she disappears inside, then drive off, already counting down the hours until I see her again.
That night, as I settle into my own bed, my phone vibrates on my nightstand. I grab it, smirking when I see her name.
Hermione: Couldn't sleep. Blame you.
I chuckle, typing back.
Dylan: Should I apologize or take that as a compliment?
Hermione: Neither. Just… talk to me.
So I do. I stay up, texting her about nothing and everything, listening as she talks about her thoughts, her dreams, the little things that made her smile today. And by the time she finally drifts off to sleep, I know one thing for sure.
I am completely, utterly, and irrevocably obsessed with her.