Telling him to keep talking was a stroke of genius, she'll take all the points to Gryffindor for that one. She has worked with him long enough, and - hell - even been in school with him long enough to have gotten the impression that all those old families values shoved a stick up his arse and made him incapable of not being prim. Sure, she's seen him be petty, childish, seen him be confrontational, but his choice of words have always been sharp.

These are sharp too, in a different way. They send shiver after shiver up her spine, they put her imagination to work. She pictures exactly that, them in that broom closet, knocking things down with the intensity of each kiss.

It's the idea of him sinking to his knees for her that makes her squeeze, hips bucking frantically for a moment, the hand not in his hair coming up to grab his chin and draw him back into another kiss.

"Next time," she whispers in between kisses, and breathless laughter, breathy moans. Like there could be a next time, if they don't muck it up in between. Like this could be not just now. Could be often.

She won't pretend that she's in love with him, or that she's been pining after him for years, but she wants him. That should be enough for right now.

"Gods, Draco, you feel so - mmh..." She does finally pull back from his mouth, bringing her hands to his shoulders to grab onto something, and really applies herself to riding him fast, hard, skin slapping skin with every move.