Why the fuck did he do this to himself, he asked silently. It was torture; kissing her, touching her wherever she would allow it, and then getting so fucking frustrated that he imagined even an hour in a cold shower wouldn’t slake his lust. But he didn’t want to stop. Draco loved the taste of her, the way she nipped at his lip and then soothed the bite with her tongue, how she made those soft little whimpers. His hand slid down over her side, splaying flat on her back as he kissed from her mouth down her throat, nibbling at the hollow there where her blood pulsed. And then she drew away and Draco groaned with the inevitable frustration. Fuck.