It was languorous and so, so sexy, and Hermione’s fingers tightened in Draco’s hair, her clit starting to throb, little whimpers escaping from her mouth into his. There was nothing quite as good as kissing Draco. Hermione would almost – maybe – give up books if she had to choose between them and kissing Draco. Torturous delight. He slowly began to lose patience with the slow, gentle touches, and his kiss became harder, the lazy enjoyment slipping away and replaced by increasing, rough need. Hermione could feel it wash over him; the change from just luxuriating in the maddening pleasure of their kisses, to wanting more and more.