It was a sickening that she wanted to wrap her arms him and hold on until everything that was bad in the world melted away. Particularly because she was convinced that much of that 'badness' resided inside him
. "You should have stayed in the Infirmary," she concluded. God knows what was showing in her eyes. Too much, probably. She didn't care.
"Yes, I should have," he replied, looking serious now. Draco was actually looking rather worried. He looked like he wanted to kiss her. He looked exactly like he did in the forest before he had kissed her the previous week.
"Please don't touch me," she said, shivering despite the heat.
"Believe me. I'm trying not to," he replied, hoarsely. They were whispering.
Oh God oh God oh God.... He was boy. Just a boy. She could handle him.
"Damn it, just let it go Granger. I promise I won't hurt you."
Liar, she thought, sadly. And then she kissed him.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was like a dam breaking, as if someone had flicked a finger at a straining, crumbling, old levie and what had been a trickle of water, suddenly became a torrent with no warning in between
Granger's legs were wrapped around him under the water and his hands took hold of her bottom to support her. The feeling of skin on skin was phenomenal. He was surprised that the combined heat coming off their tattoos hadn't set the water in the bath to boiling. It wasn't heat per se, but a kind of warm friction that was concentrated in the areas where fingers and palms met skin. The whorls of his fingertips felt sensitized, as if he'd suddenly sprouted additional nerve endings. Draco's last coherent thought was that he had an overdue library book to return to Madam Pince, who was going to murder when she found out he'd accidentally dropped it in a muddy puddle on his way to Hogsmeade a month earlier.
I'm going mental, he realised, and found that he didn't much care.
Her kisses were very much like her. There was a quiet concentration to it. It was almost studious. Her attention to detail was remarkable. It felt like she was absorbing as much as she could of his touch, taste and texture.
Perhaps there would be a test later. He smiled into her mouth at that thought, feeling a curious mixture of contentment and white hot, lust.
There was none of the overly exuberant, sloppy attentions of some girls who thought that aggressively smothering his face counted for good technique. He was quite content to passively hold on to Hermione and let her subtly burn him the way she was at that moment.
She was still being ridiculously gentle. It might have been because of his shoulder. He wanted to tell her that he was tougher than that, that she could hurt him if she wanted. He might have, too, if he could make himself pull away from her mouth.
The tension, the pain, the half-thought out plans to slip Donald Bligh some Purging Powder in the man's morning danish fizzled away. He dragged one hand over her breasts, aware of the fact that he wasn't employing much technique apart from simply trying to touch her everywhere. The contrast between her amazingly soft skin and the scrapes and Quidditch-earned calluses on his hands was delightful.
When her gentle attentions were no longer enough, he caught her chin in his hand and tilted her head to the side to take control of their kissing. His reward for his increased participation was a sigh from Hermione. She placed her hands on his shoulders, then moved them up around his neck, and then further up still to thread through his hair. Her breasts were flush against his chest. He wanted to put his mouth on them, but that would involve letting her go for a moment, and he didn't think he could manage that.
Eventually it was Granger who pulled back, probably feeling the need to get better situated. As it was, she had managed to climb up against his much taller frame and kept sliding down every time she got distracted enough to let go off his neck. This gave him a chance to briefly look at her. If only to make sure someone hadn't swapped her for a dark-haired, know-it-all, succubus when he wasn't looking.
No. It was Hermione. She was the girl from the motel again; with all that familiar affection and desire for him radiating from her. The constricted feeling in his chest