Often, she says, and she can't miss the way his face breaks into a surprised, delighted smile. It isn't the answer he expected, but it's one he wanted.

Hermione clambers into his lap, her weight settling tantalisingly over him, and Draco kisses her back with a desperate groan in the back of his throat, just as planned. One hand rises to brace against her lower back and clutch her against him, while the other palms a breast again, just eager to be touching her, to have his hands on her skin.

He's already a mess of wanting when she grasps him through the fabric; he'd be bucking up into her hand if he had enough room to move. He kisses her back hungrily, messily — Hermione nips his lip and he bites back, leaning forward into her. Mirroring her, his hand slides down between them, fingers running along the arch of her ribs, lower, and then dips into her underwear, fingers slipping between her legs and starting to circle, already finding her drenched where she straddles him.

"Merlin, you're wet," he says against her mouth, between kisses, his breath hitching.