He was very good at this. Greta's frame of reference admittedly shrunk beyond a certain point (they'd crossed it about—oh, was that his hand? There? Just now, then), but the panting and the hiccup-like gasps she could not help but voice and a somewhat crazed urge to get rid of all the clothing seemed like trustworthy indicators. The thought that she didn't intend to stop him should it go beyond a raunchy snog in a pub loo gave her a quick jolt that was not all to do with a well-placed nip from Ludo. But really, what else did a girl inviting a boy to follow her into the loo want?
There were disadvantages to this purity business… for instance, what to do with the hand he hadn't thrillingly restrained? She was hoping at some point, instinct would kick in and lend a hand (ha)… and instinct was telling her it wanted to touch all of him, so she gave in to the impulse, running her fingertips and scouring ever-so-lightly with her nails the expanse of his back, his fantastically toned arms, and between themselves to his chest, the sight of which she was hesitant to say did strange and somewhat embarrassing things to her. Her hand trailed just a touch lower, emboldened by the fact that she was standing in a public lavatory thinking extraordinarily inappropriate things with a mind to do even more and this very attractive wizard seemed to enjoy and even encourage such attentions.
Her leg was creeping up to wrap around his waist of its own accord and when it, he, or she caused his hand to move just there between her legs, she hummed delightedly.
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