The lean line of Draco’s body pressed against Hermione's back as she braced herself against the wall, his hands wrapped around her wrists and his lips hot upon her neck as he bit and kissed down to the crook of her neck and across the line of her shoulder; she tilted her head back onto his shoulder, unable to stifle the gasp he drew from her as he bit hard enough to leave a mark, then laved it with his tongue.

Draco's hands slid up her arms, then fell to the buttons of her shirt, undoing them deftly, and slipped beneath the fabric, stroking her stomach and brushing beneath the curves of her breasts in slow, agonizing sweeps that made the heat building within her reach an aching fervor as he whispered into her ear, “Can anyone else undo you like this?”

“No,” Hermione gasped as his palms cupped her breasts and his thumbs skimmed over her sensitive, burning skin, tracing circles until he pinched, the movement sending a sharp spike of desire racing through her as she shuddered against him and said, breathless and trembling in his arms, “No, no one can.”