He didn't touch her anywhere. He kept his firm grip on her wrists and his firm pace and just watched as she was held taught beneath him. Unhurried, he kept up the relentless momentum, and Hermione was already at his mercy. She refused to beg. He could read it in her eyes, though. She wanted to move; she wanted it faster; she wanted his fingers. His eyes travelled everywhere his hands would usually go, but he didn't move, didn't let her move. The lack of burning touch made the sensation of him sliding in and out of her so much more intense, and though it took longer than if he had been caressing her in other places, eventually, the pleasure began building. She started to squirm in earnest and couldn't stop herself. She begged.