Hermione watched as the reflection of his palm skated over her stomach to cup her breast, toying with the bead of her nipple and rolling it expertly between his thumb and his forefinger. She, completely entranced like the trapped planet she was, could not tear her gaze away. The heat of his touch burned, as hot and searing and detrimental as it usually was, but now it felt like the fire was only just beginning; it would only get hotter and burn brighter and she yearned for it. She wanted to burn with him, her sun.