"Your throat..." she protested weakly, but Draco was already pushing her back onto the bed and her thighs were parting eagerly of their own accord as he pulled at her pyjama shorts. She kept her eyes on Draco's face, his hair falling across it and half obscuring it; but there were flashes of compressed lips and furious eyes, as though Draco was boiling over with the memories of his degradation and wanted to take them out on her. Her pyjama shorts slid down Hermione's legs and her hands found themselves lost in his hair, on his shoulders, sweeping over his jaw, fingertips dragging hard down his sides as Draco shoved her tee shirt up and laved briefly at her nipples, nipped at her throat.