"Fuck, I want to see you," he said urgently, and his hand went to the buttons on Hermione’s shirt and her heart started lub-dubbing so hard, goosebumps springing up where his fumbling fingers made the material of her shirt scrape against her skin. Every sense felt like it was intensified, and she was exquisitely aware of how shamelessly wet she was, how much she ached and throbbed for him. Hermione had never realised it was possible to be this aroused; this mindlessly, desperately wanting. Her fingers trailed down his cock inside the confines of his jockeys, up and down, light and teasing, distracting him from his efforts with her shirt.