"Down," he grated out, and Hermione whimpered as the order sent a jolt of arousal through her every inch of her throbbing and aching with need. He really had corrupted her, she thought again vaguely as she obediently dropped to her knees in front of him, Draco's hand resting on her head, a little smirk shaping his lips as she raised her eyes to his, and the sight of that superior, smug smirk made her flesh thrill and quiver, wanting him so badly. Wanting him buried in her, using her, thrusting and pounding until it almost hurt, making her arch beneath him and beg for more, and moan and scream in gasping breaths when he gave it to her.