had never considered herself a weak person, and had certainly done her share of heavy lifting at home and at Hogwarts, but whatever strength she thought she had, it was nothing compared to Malfoy's.
The tension that pulsed and radiated between them was more than just their emotions, it was also the age old tension between the sexes.
"What are you doing?" she asked, more calmly now. It was an inane question. Like asking the postman what his job was.
"Guess," he whispered against her lips. He was looking at her as if he meant to memorise every inch of her face.
She opened her mouth to say something smart, and he picked that moment to attack. He wouldn't let her kiss him on her own terms, she realised. He didn't want her compliance.
He kissed her and kissed her. His mouth slanted over hers. It was a kiss worthy of the pent up frustration they had been enduring for so long. He ate at her lips, swept his tongue over and around hers, explored every inch of her he could reach, and if he couldn't get deeper enough, he tilted her head or forced her chin downwards and started all over again. She gasped and he caught her breath only to return it to her, hotter.
It seemed impossible that he could hold both her wrists so effectively in the one hand, but he managed this. He used the weight of his body to pin her and his free hand to pull her singlet up and over her head.
He couldn't remove her top altogether because that would mean releasing her hands, so he left it there, bunched up somewhere over her head, around her elbows.
He had more trouble with her bra, seeing as the clasp was at the back, so he merely pushed it up out of the way as well.
And then, he did nothing.
He pulled away from her mouth, his lips ruddy and wet, and just looked at her in a way which made her want to run for the hills and join a nunnery. His gaze was so quiet and heavy that she started to squirm from the intensity of it. Her breasts seemed to be enjoying the attention, however. Her nipples had become tiny pebbles.
He took pity on her. "If you've been reading my thoughts this week, you'll know I've wanted to do this for a very long time."
She watched, in a trance, as he used his tongue to trace a wet circle around one nipple before drawing it into his mouth to suckle. He took his time doing this, rubbing his face between her breasts, breathing her in, giving the other breast the same, slow attention, cupping and gently squeezing.
Hermione's toes curled. She tossed her head from side to side and begged him to release her hands. She wanted to wrap them around him, but she wasn't that far gone that she would tell him that.
"You sit there, at breakfast. Fresh and showered and smelling so very nice," he leaned up and kissed her each temple. "The things I think about doing to you." His voice was low, so low it seemed to reverberate in her spine.
"I think about walking over, sitting you in my lap, unbuttoning your blouse and playing with these while you cut up my breakfast and feed it to me. What do you think about that?" he asked rhetorically, bending his head to delicately bite at the underside of one breast.
"I've been thinking that since last year, and do you know I get so hard that I'm sometimes late for Transfiguration because I'm sitting at breakfast like an idiot, after almost everyone has gone, pretending to drink pumpkin juice until I settle down?"
She moaned, ducked her head so that he couldn't see her face.
"Granger," he prodded, catching her lips and luring her to look at him with a brief kiss. Her eyes were full of tears when she opened them. "Do you know how I can tell when you're ready for me?" he asked, his tone was both gentle and mocking. It was a deadly combination.
She shook her head and was rewarded with his scorching smile.
"I can tell because you get all hot and wet and you make these wonderful little noises. I can't remember all that much from our first time together, but I'd be three quarters dead if I didn't remember how you feel."
His hand moved down over her torso.
"Don't," she frowned at him. "Draco. We can't do it like this."