She considered the question seriously.  Her sense of distrust and caution slowly drained away, and, the longer they lay there, the more content she felt.  She didn't, however, have any urge to lick him and she decided this was good. She still had her wits about her, and if she had an almost unreasonable urge to trust Malfoy, well, he hadn't behaved in any way to suggest she shouldn't since this whole ordeal had begun.   Maybe she should listen to the imaginary psychology mirror in her head and just have a little faith that he meant if not well then at least well enough.  She felt suffused with relaxed pleasure, the way one might on the first morning of a summer holiday.  She had no cares, nothing important to do, and she stretched rather lazily against him.  If this was the whole of his effect on her, she could handle this.   She could love this.  "I think so," she said.