He was gasping aloud and twisting his head away, tense under her touch but Hermione didn’t mind because his blood was flowing into her mouth and down her throat—more, when she sucked—and it was good.  Hot. Splashing down her front, soaking into her gown. She didn’t care, kept drinking. There was something hypnotic about the act that compelled her not to stop, to keep going, and she suddenly understood why Draco enjoyed it so much, why he wanted it so often. Theo’s cock was throbbing in her palm and his come had stained his own clothes—she doubted he’d even noticed.