"Don't stop," she demanded in a low voice, and unceremoniously shoved Draco's face back to her chest, her fingers running along his faintly stubbled jaw, which grated and prickled on the sensitive skin of her breasts as his tongue laved over one nipple. Hermione kept her hands moving, grazing over his ears and running her fingers through his hair, tugging gently at bunches of it, her right knee coming up, foot flat on the floor, hips tilting up needily as two of Draco's fingers eased inside her, curling and thrusting torturously slow. The floor was hard on her spine, and Draco's fingers were cool inside her, his thumb firm on her clit, his hair soft and fine in her fingers, and Hermione felt like she was melting around him.