Draco reached under her thighs to the thin triangle of fabric covering her. "You’re fucking soaked," he groaned, leaning forward to lathe his tongue over the top curve of her breasts. Hermione moaned, closing her eyes and dropping her head back against the jamb. She didn’t want gentle. But how much was she willing to take? Did she crave the sting and ache and burn of her body bending to his? Did she need the punishment for what she’d put them through as much as he needed to give it to her?