It wasn't until he felt her hands deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt that he broke away, sucking in great lungfuls of air as he once again tried to get his thoughts in line. Granger, eyes focused intently on the buttons of his shirt, was leaning backwards, legs still wrapped around his waist, upper body braced against the wall behind her. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, her lips were reddened, her cheeks flushed. He tried, really, honestly he did, to not appreciate her breasts pressing up deliciously against the indecently low neckline of her top. But he was a man. And currently all of his blood, and brainpower, was pulsing between his legs, and her breasts were fucking beautiful. Blaise's mouth watered as he felt her blunt nails scrape lightly down his bare chest. Somehow, through the haze and the fog and the fucking smell of her, he brought his hands up, catching hers before they reached his belt, and pinned them to her sides.