He'd corrupted her. Although, to be fair, Hermione thought with her forehead pressed into the bed, little shameless wails jerked from her lips with each thrust, her body from bellybutton to mid-thigh a sea of delicious, exquisite pleasure, that she had rather corrupted him too. Infected him with her Gryffindor nobility – not, Hermione thought as Draco pulled away, flipping her over and wrapping her legs around him, that he didn't already have nobility in him. He buried his face against one breast eagerly, teeth nipping, mouth sucking and she knew it was going to mark her, and she loved that. Her hand automatically reached down between them and took hold of Draco's erection, guided it back into her, wanting him like nothing else in the world, and he groaned happily against her breast as he sank home.