Harry had wondered before what this would be like, whether he'd be any good at it, but he could not even have begun to imagine the reality of it. He had no technique, at least not yet, but he had instincts, he had his heart and his desires to guide him, and he had Ginny. He had learned everything about kissing and touching up to this point with her, and this was no different. With each movement that either of them made, each moment that passed, he was learning from experience, figuring out what felt good.
Well, it all felt good, but some things felt better. If he'd hungered for the soft sounds and touches he was getting from her before, he felt it even more strongly for the reaction he was getting now: the grip she had on his hair, which should have hurt but didn't, sending little electric shivers over his scalp and down his spine. And, god, the feeling of her legs around his waist tightening and pulling him in - it was unbelievably hot to feel how much she wanted him, all of him, everything he had to give.
And he gave it, willingly, muscles burning with exertion and lungs aching with the lack of oxygen, trying to hold her tighter, touch every inch of her, devour her mouth. He felt as though he might explode with it, but the sensation just kept building, reducing him to incoherency. How she was still forming complete words, he wasn't sure; he kept biting off part of her name to groan, interrupting even the nonsensical sounds to gasp for breath. His self control was lost, and he'd given in - he hoped that he was making her feel the same way.