And even as he thrust upwards a half-dozen times, she knew she wanted this again, knew she wanted this to happen under better circumstances. She wanted to take her time, watch him come apart, feel him take his pleasure from her; but this was somehow better, the fact that he  needed  her. The idea of Severus burying himself to the hilt in her mouth was such a vivid image she had to squeeze her thighs together, squirming. She was making soppy little noises, wet and choked in the back of her throat, and this, she found, would be the end of him.