It was good that she was telling him what to do, it kept him on track, kept him confident rather than worrying about whether he was doing any of this right. Even if her instructions were vague. Where? Harry wanted to ask, but all that left his lips was a soft groan, his mouth moving along the curve of her neck. Oh, well. He could figure out that much himself.
There were still clothes between them, and they covered parts of her that he hadn't touched yet. He curled his fingers into the waistband of her shorts and got her knickers as well, tugging them down. It wasn't done gracefully, because he didn't have the best angle for it, and she was distracting him with the touch of her hands, with the way her body arched up against his. But he got them off, and then ran his hands almost wonderingly up her legs, lifting his head to look down at her.
The sight of her took his breath away, all pale flushed skin and curves and Quidditch-toned muscle, fiery red hair and dark eyes and her heartbeat pulsing almost visibly beneath her skin as she breathed. He almost forgot to touch her, but his hands instinctively did what his mind couldn't even begin to consciously process, mapping out her thighs and hips before, tentatively, sliding one hand between her legs. This was the part of her he understood the least, and he tried to force his fuzzy mind to process her reactions, to make sure he wasn't doing anything wrong.