Two fingers now, pushing into her, filling her, long and curving inside her, towards her belly, and a fire lit in her, exquisite and overwhelming and the soles of her feet felt like they were burning deliciously and her neck arched and her head drove back into the pillow, and Draco’s tongue stopped moving and her muddled brain heard him say, "Hair, Hermione," and Hermione released her death-grip, grabbing the corners of her pillow instead and mewling at the ceiling. He – he was...it was...so...so... Her brain had fallen apart and all she could think was what she could feel, and all she could feel was what he made her feel. So good. So good. Oh so good. Draco’s tongue laving figure eights over her clit and his fingers slowly thrusting and curling inside her and her abdomen quivering, muscles spasming and her eyes slammed shut, mouth open as she gasped for jagged, wrenching breath.