It was exactly how Hermione had always imagined he would kiss – not that she had imagined...well, maybe once or twice a long time ago – and then she stopped thinking coherently. Draco’s lips were insistent and his mouth so hot and wet, his tongue flicking teasingly at hers and making her moan and quiver. He kissed like ice so cold it burnt, and when you touched it with your tongue you couldn’t pull away without your skin tearing. Hermione never wanted to stop kissing him – she couldn’t. He kissed like he wanted to crawl inside her skin, not satisfied with fleeting touches but wanting to clash together until they both bled from the pleasure of it. Her head spun wildly.