The Duality of Touch

At first, she was shocked. Surprised at her own reactions, and how she found her knickers growing wet after their one-on-one meetings. Then came shame, flaming her cheeks and carving a hollow in her stomach that panged like an empty cauldron.

Why else did she find herself staring at them during meetings, watching his fingers stroke the soft tip of his quill with a burning tightness in her lungs and tension building in her abdomen? Or how, when he used his thumb to spin one of his rings, she felt each stroke between her thighs? When he rapped a knuckle on the table between them, it echoed the stuttered tempo of her own heart, and only then could she force herself to look away.

Draco Malfoy's hands were her most despicable fantasy.