It wasn't his hand curving around the back of her knee, nor was it his lips trailing across her neck. It wasn't the play of the muscles in his back under her hands, nor was it the occasional tickle of his hair on her face. It wasn't the faintly musky scent of him, nor the low, guttural moan he gave when she pulled him to her. It wasn't the insistent yearning of her body, nor the whispered prayer of her name from his lips when he entered her.
What made Narcissa come apart was the utter love in Lucius' eyes.