Martin’s free hand trailed along her inner thigh, tracing patterns onto her flushed skin, moving over to squeeze her hip or caress her stomach. He had such a firm, satisfying grip--as deliberate as the way he held his brush. Hermione panted, felt her legs twitch as he flicked his tongue over her clit repeatedly, audibly. Desire spiked sharply again inside her. Her hands burrowed into his shoulders.