It was the heat of it, the intensity with which he’d slammed into Pansy Parkinson, that made her wonder how it’d feel inside of her. The way he’d pumped into her relentlessly while watching Hermione. He clearly knew his way around sex, and she was ashamed to admit how many times she’d laid in bed, that awful feeling of deep, naked craving gnawing at her insides, desperate to find out how it would feel to be in Parkinson’s place. She gasped as she felt him at her entrance, slowly stretching her. Malfoy grunted, fingers squeezing her hips, but letting her set the pace.