Hermione could barely breathe, but she wouldn't dream of telling Harry to stop, not when he was stirring that dirty, sex kitten side of Hermione that he'd roused earlier, a side she had always hoped to indulge one day. So she found a way to just about survive, by inventing new gutter obscenities to scream to the heavens, and by biting into Harry's flesh to offset another blast of orgasmic pleasure, and by digging her fingernails into his arse to drive him deeper and deeper insider her with every relentless thrust.