InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Fleeting ❯ Passion ( Chapter 29 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

un_love_you prompt:  #30 – (Author’s Choice) – “I’ll take your invitation, if you’ll take all of me.”

Kagome smiled indulgently as she rested her head on Sesshoumaru’s chest.  They lay, half-naked, on the floor of their common room, curled together beneath her favorite blue blanket.  She had no idea how long they’d been there, basking in their afterglow – and, quite frankly, she didn’t care.  The night was dark and still, the rain having long since dissipated.

She sighed contentedly, drawing her fingers over his skin in long, languid motions, following the lines of his torso, cresting over the smooth, taut cords of muscle that crisscrossed his abdomen.  Her hand trailed into the far open half of his shirt as her eyelids grew heavy, but she valiantly fought the urge to sleep.  Not that it was too terribly difficult – every time she closed her eyes, she found herself reliving their frenzied encounter by the door.

Even after endlessly dreaming of, and fantasizing about, and yearning for that very moment, it had still totally blown her mind.  It had been quick and awkward and over far too soon, but it had given her a contact high nonetheless.  It had also taken her longer than it should have to realize why:  it was about more than just being sober, feeling attracted to her partner, being ready and willing and eager to lose herself to sensation.  It was about the intensity of the moment – the way they couldn’t stop kissing – the way his climax had ignited her own.  

It was the way she felt when he was inside her…like he completed her.  

Every aspect of the experience of having sex had been heightened, making her wonder if she’d been sleeping with strangers her entire life.  It was a little scary to contemplate – but, paradoxically, it turned her on in a major, practically insatiable way.  Round two had been just as satisfying, albeit a little less frantic (though just as intense), and horizontal instead of vertical.  It amused her that they hadn’t yet managed to completely undress each other, and she was beginning to suspect it was because he liked it that way.

Or maybe it meant that they weren’t yet finished…

Her heart skipped a beat as she contemplated the notion.  Thank goodness for IUDs, she mused silently as she pressed a kiss to his chest.  The fleeting touch caused him to shift slightly beneath her, curving his arm around her waist and drawing her into the hollow of his hip.  She lifted her head, propping herself up on one elbow so that she could gaze down at him.

His eyes were still closed, his expression one of deep satisfaction as his hair fanned across the carpet around him, shimmering softly in the glow of the overhead fluorescents.  She touched his face, brushing aside errant, silky strands from his brow before tracing his fine, elegant features with her fingertips.

“Sesshoumaru,” she murmured, her hair spilling over her shoulders as she leaned closer to him, trailing a finger along the curve of his lower lip.

“Hmm,” he breathed, the hand at her waist sliding down over her backside and giving her a gentle squeeze.

She shivered beneath the intimate touch, pressing kisses along the line of his jaw as she pushed aside the collar of his shirt.  “Can we stay like this forever?” she wondered aloud, laving her tongue over the curve of his shoulder and relishing the way his breath seemed to quicken in response.  

“Hmm,” he mused, his hold on her tightening, causing her to part her legs as he drew her body into his.  “I think, eventually, we should get up from the floor.”

She chuckled, the low, throaty sound reverberating through her and into him.  “That’s not what I meant,” she chided softly, laying one leg on top of his as her hand skimmed down the length of his torso.  She continued her light, tantalizing kisses, trailing over his collarbone and down the column of his throat, causing his chest to rise sharply beneath her touch.  She glanced up, gauging his reaction to her teasing, loving the way his eyes were still closed, yet his lips had parted, his breath steadily growing heavier.

It pleased her to watch his expression change in response to her movements, to see the desire he felt for her so blatant in his features.  Heaviness pooled in her belly as she closed in on her prize, as her hand slid through fine, coarse hair at the base of his cock, as she encircled it, giving him an experimental stroke.  She already knew, even without having seen him totally naked, that he was a grower instead of a show-er, which suited her plans perfectly fine.  She could see it so clearly in her mind’s eye – how easy it would be to tease and taunt and excite him before sheathing him to the hilt – and the very idea sent a rush of fiery need shooting straight through her.

Her breath was deep and unsteady as she contemplated the thought, but before she realized what was happening, she found herself flat on her back with her hand pressed between her own legs instead of his.  Sesshoumaru lay on his side beside her, his arm pinning hers in place as he gazed at her with amusement.  “Are you that voracious?” he mused aloud, stroking her hand with his.

She pouted.  “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” he replied, leaning down to kiss her.  “It’s just that some of us have to pace ourselves.”

She held him there, returning the kiss, curling her free hand around his neck.  “You’re the one who made me wait for almost a year,” she reminded him softly, nipping at his lower lip.

“True,” he conceded, “but that’s not a debt I intend to pay in one evening.”

She exhaled sharply as she felt his hand closing over hers at the apex of her thighs, manipulating her fingers against her warm, slick folds.  He continued to kiss her, long and slow and deep, parting her lips, his tongue stroking the underside of hers.  Her legs fell slack as she relaxed into the floor, welcoming his nearness, even as he teased.

She could feel the tip of his erection stirring against her hip as their hands moved between her legs – her thumb finding her clitoris; his fingers stroking her inner thigh, drawing her legs further apart.  “Show me,” he whispered against her lips as his hand joined hers once more.  “Show me your pleasure.”

Heat poured through her body in response to his request, and she lifted her gaze to meet his.  His eyes were hooded, but his interest was apparent in his expression, the corners of his mouth curving up as he watched her.  His breath was warm against her cheek, his lips soft on hers as he kissed her again, gently – almost reverently.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” he murmured, his hand rising to stroke her arm as she continued to pleasure herself.  “This is my second favorite fantasy.”

She exhaled sharply, her hips arching up.  “S-second?” she choked out.

He nodded.  “Yes,” he breathed, closing his hand over hers and gently directing one of her fingers inside herself.  “If it isn’t me satisfying you, then it’s you – it’s always you.”  He nipped at the corner of her mouth.  “I wonder how accurate my fantasies have been?”

She needed no further encouragement.  Her eyes slipped shut as she continued, sliding a second finger into her warmth, rubbing her thumb over her clit.  Spikes of intense pleasure rocked through her as he continued to kiss and caress her, as she felt the heaviness of his arousal, so tantalizingly close and yet – so far.

Her breath was short and sharp in her chest as she imagined him fantasizing about her.  It made her feel incredibly sexy and flattered and excited to know he’d harbored such intense desire for her.  How long had he felt this way?  How often did he think about it?  Just contemplating such notions turned her on even more, making her need for release that much more urgent.

Her favorite fantasy starring him took place in the shower – together or alone, it didn’t matter.  There was just something about the heat, the steam, the rivulets of water cascading down into familiar and unfamiliar places… She pictured it now – him, in the shower, under the water, thinking about her, fantasizing about her, steam rising around him as he took himself in hand –

She moaned as she brought herself to release, her hips arching off the floor as her muscles spasmed around her fingers.  Her pulse was racing, her breath short in her chest, and she fought to control her reaction.  She’d already had sex with him – good sex; frantic, intense sex – so why did this orgasm feel – so – strong?

When she finally managed to crack her eyes open, she realized – quite stunningly – that she was alone in the room, on the floor, under the blanket.  A horrible, nauseating thought struck her – could it all have been a dream?  She sat up way too fast; it took a moment for her equilibrium to settle, but then she spied his jacket, still sopping wet, hanging on a metal hook in the foyer.  Closer inspection revealed rainwater pooling beneath it – and her panties nearby, carelessly flung aside.

She smiled to herself as she waited for her heart to slow its rapid pace…and became aware of the faint sound of running water.  She stood, on shaky legs, and ventured down the hall, reassurance mounting as she approached the closed door of the bathroom and heard the muffled sounds of the shower.

Sounds like my fantasy became a reality, too, she thought to herself, prickles of satisfaction scoring her spine.

She never wanted this night to end.

Kagome wrapped a towel around herself, securing it with a quick fold as she studied herself in the steam-laden mirror.  She couldn’t help but smile at her reflection, at her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, and she ran her fingers through her hair, brushing away the tangles that always seemed to set in immediately after her showers.

She had to admit, it felt good to wash away the rain and sweat and stickiness of the day – and it was probably for the best that they’d bathed separately, considering her absolute inability to keep her hands off of him.  And, because she’d already done it, she wasn’t tempted to linger and fantasize about him while standing under the warm flow of the water.  No, instead she could concentrate on herself, on how alive and invigorated she felt, even though she was closing in on twenty-four straight hours of being awake.  

Her heart quickened in her chest as she stepped out of the bathroom.  She had little desire to cross the hall back to her own room, to brush her hair and change into proper pajamas and crawl into her bed, as was her normal routine.  He’s not going anywhere, she reminded herself, but she couldn’t stop the tide of longing that washed over her – to touch him, to hold him, to be by his side, to feel the warmth and solidness of his body next to hers.  Perhaps it was the lunacy of still being awake so deep into the night, but even the thought of being separated from him by one thin wall was too much to bear.  It made her feel silly, but also afraid.  Of any relationship she’d ever had – of any man she’d ever been with – no one had ever made her feel the way he did.  None of them had made her crave his nearness, or the way she felt when she was with him:

Desired.  Serene.  Whole.

Fulfilled.

She shivered, clasping her arms around herself.  She’d been acutely aware from the start of just how deep her feelings for him ran, but somehow, even now, she still felt unprepared for it – for the hidden emotions it stirred in her, feelings she’d never had before and didn’t quite know how to deal with.  

Her eyes trailed down the hallway toward his bedroom.  She’d only ever been in that room once, and only after she’d forced her way inside.  It was his sanctuary, a place to which she’d never been invited.  Even after everything they’d been through that year (and that evening) – after everything they’d done together (in the library, in the foyer, in the common room) – she still wasn’t sure that she would be welcome there.

It was his refuge, it was the place where he escaped from the world, it…

Its door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light beckoning to her.

She hesitated, her heart throbbing against her ribs as she moved to the end of the hall, her hand shaking slightly as she clasped the knob.  She pushed the door open wider, just enough to slip her foot into the room, and to peer inside.

Her breath caught as she surveyed the scene before her.  Cream-colored walls were the backdrop of the simple yet elegant space, accentuated by his richly appointed furniture – the desk she’d once searched for clues of disloyalty sat opposite a large wood-framed bed; shelves of the same, dark-colored wood lined three of the walls, all of them filled to the brim with books and music.  Hunter-green drapes lined his window; a matching duvet covered his mattress.  It was all immaculate, clean and organized and neat as a pin.

And yet, as beautiful as her surroundings were, her eyes still riveted almost immediately to him.  She watched as he carefully lit the wick of a jarred candle, crossing the room to set it atop his bureau, its golden glow immediately illuminating the darkened corner.  She quickly realized that all of the light in the room was coming from candles and lamps, each placed strategically to brighten the space, yet keep the cozy ambience.

She smiled, absolutely enchanted by his painstaking attention to detail.  “And here I thought you didn’t have a romantic bone in your body,” she intoned, her eyes trailing after him as he went back to his desk and picked up another candle.

“I don’t,” he replied, sparing a glance at the ceiling, at the light fixture attached to the overhead fan.  “I’d just rather not be in the dark.”

She lifted a brow, unconvinced by this line of reasoning, and reached for the light switch beside her on the wall.  A mild wave of surprise rolled over her as she flipped the controls, only managing to turn the fan on and off, causing the candles to flicker – and Sesshoumaru to smile.

She flushed, dropping her eyes as she clutched her towel around herself, worrying the seam under the edge of her thumbnail.  He seemed oblivious to her sudden awkwardness, lifting the candle he held to eye level as he adjusted the volume on his stereo system.  The sweet, soft strains of Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty ballet seeped into the room from the surround-sound speakers.

“And the music?” she ventured, feeling heartened but curious as her gaze settled upon him once more.

He took a deep, contemplative breath, his eyes falling closed as he slowly exhaled.  “I find it quite soothing,” he finally said, opening his eyes as he turned and held out his hand to her.  “Don’t you?”

She felt her breath catch as she stared at him in response, at the serenity of his expression; at the way his hair fell over his shoulders in a cascade of molten silver, the long, tousled locks grazing his waist; at the way his skin glowed in the candlelight – his face, his shoulders, his chest, his arms; at the way the flickering flames threw his regal features into high relief against the shadows; at the way his eyes seemed to penetrate hers, even from across the room.

Suddenly, everything coalesced as she stood there, taking it all in – the room, the mood, the music – and him, clad only in light linen pants, his arm extended, his head tilted slightly as he regarded her.  This was his invitation:  into his home, his sanctuary, his refuge, his life –

– his heart.  

She couldn’t even identify all of the waves of emotions swiftly crashing through her, all at once, closing her throat and choking way her air:  love, relief, joy, anxiety, disbelief, anguish, fear, desire… She trembled under the weight of it all, her lips quivering as she lifted her hands to cover her face, unable to stop the tears that spilled over her cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, his tone more curious than concerned as he closed the space between them with long, languid strides.  He reached for her, cupping her face in his hand, trailing the pad of his thumb over the crest of her cheek.

She couldn’t think, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t speak – all she could do was fall forward, into him, as her knees threatened to give out from under her.  He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her close, dropping a kiss into her hair.  The warmth and comfort of his embrace was enough to strengthen her tears into sobs – but only for a moment.  She worked to catch her breath, to quell the rapid pace of her pulse; she swallowed hard over the lump that had risen in her throat, and tried to put it all into words.

“It’s you,” she managed to choke out, “and me – and this” – she gestured helplessly – “and – everything.”  It’s love, she amended silently, resting her head against his chest and threading her fingers through a nearby lock of his hair.  She could hear the beat of his heart, its cadence steady against his ribs, and she let the soothing rhythm seep into her, calming her.

He simply held her for a long moment, his hands warm and soft in her hair, across her back.

“You amaze me,” he finally said, the words reverberating into her.  “You amaze me, and astonish me, and humble me, Kagome.”

She furrowed her brow, wiping away the tracks of her tears as she looked up at him.  “What do you mean?” she asked hesitantly.

His gaze was thoughtful as he drew away from her, taking her hands into his and gently tugging her into the room.  “You amaze me,” he explained, brushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear, “with your passion, your enthusiasm, your experience…”  His voice trailed off suggestively, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.  “You allow yourself to feel so deeply, so ardently, so completely – and you’re unafraid to show it.

“You astonish me,” he continued, sliding his hand down to caress of her cheek, his fingers trailing even lower, over the line of her jaw, “because even though you possess all of these qualities, it’s apparent that you have never truly been loved.”

Her heart skipped a beat as his fingers swept down over the curve of her neck, following the line of her shoulder, his touch light yet electrifying, raising gooseflesh in its wake.  “And you humble me,” he added, his voice a low rumble, “for letting me be the first.”  

He smoothed his hands down the lengths of her arms, his expression turning incredulous.  “How is it that you, the veritable whirlwind, have made it this far into life without knowing what it means to love – and be loved?” he mused.

She dropped her eyes, lacing her fingers through his, unsure if he even wanted an answer.  Whether he did or not, he was going to get one.  

“I was so afraid,” she confessed in a whispered rush.  “After my father died, watching the way the vultures descended on my mother…”  She shuddered, tightening her grip on him, directing her words to the floor.  “They only wanted one thing from her – the power he once wielded.”

She shook her head, feeling the sharp pang of sadness and fear roar up within her.  “I never wanted to make her mistakes,” she admitted, “to give my heart away and give someone the chance to break it.  I had to be so careful – I could never let anybody get close enough to do that to me – to hurt me.”

He lifted their joined hands, breaking away to slip his arms around her, bringing her close as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.  “I can understand that,” he acknowledged softly.  “I’ve known that pain, and you were right to be cautious.”  He sighed, the rush of his breath warm against her lips.  “The last woman…”

She curled her arms around him, her head falling into the hollow of his neck as she brought his body flush to hers.  “You wanted to marry her,” she mused aloud, the words sounding utterly strange as they tumbled out of her, only to be countered by a swift rush of possessiveness.  It was hard for her to fathom him as anyone other than hers, such was the depth and ferocity of her feelings for him.  She dug her nails into his back.  Suddenly, she had to know:  just how close had she come to not even knowing him at all – to possibly missing out on the love of her life?  “What happened?”

“She broke my heart,” he replied matter-of-factly, his tone sad, if resigned.  “She used me to further her own position in life, and tried to leverage the power of my father’s name to her advantage.  Mercifully, I found out before it was too late…”  

He sighed, falling out of her arms and sinking down onto his bed.  “It was hard to let her go,” he admitted, staring into his hands, now curled in his lap.  “Even though she hurt me so deeply, so thoroughly – I still loved her.”

Kagome felt her head growing heavy with tears again.  “Do you still love her?” she whispered, her eyes falling away from his, locking onto the bow of his lips as she awaited his answer.

“No,” he responded, oblivious to the rush of relief that swept through her.  “And until I met you, I was certain that I’d never love again.”  He looked wistful as he reached for her, closing the space between them.  “That’s why…”

“Why what?” she prompted.

His expression turned wry as he ran his hands down her sides.  “That’s why I was alone for four fucking years,” he mused sardonically, taking hold of her hips and bringing her forward, “and why I kept you at arm’s length from the start.”  He circled his arms around her legs, and he rested his head against her belly, squeezing his eyes shut.  “I didn’t want to fall in love again.”  

She exhaled slowly, warmth blossoming where his temple met her abdomen, and she relished the way it rose up through her torso and into her chest, her neck, her head – into the very roots of her hair, causing her scalp to tingle.  She savored the sensation, and the way he held her, so vulnerable and trusting.  She touched him tentatively, one hand brushing through the crown of his hair as the other traced the sweep of his jaw to his ear, her fingers sinking into the lush, silky curtain of silver.  “I’d apologize,” she offered with a small smile, “but I’m not sorry it happened.”

“I am,” he murmured, his expression sobering as he drew away from her, smoothing his hands up over her hips.  “If only for not telling you before why I would never – could never – sleep with you.”  He lifted his eyes to meet hers, and whatever mirth she might’ve felt drained away as she held his gaze, so somber and serious.  

“When I’m with someone, I want to be with them completely,” he told her, his hold on her firm as he rose to his full height.  “You awakened in me emotions I never thought I’d feel again – feelings that drove me to distraction, at the most inopportune times.”

He lifted his hands to frame her face.  “But I wanted you enough to let it happen, because I thought I could control it,” he continued, running his thumb over her lower lip, “even though I knew that I was keeping something so vitally important from you…”  He closed his eyes, pain lancing his features as his voice trailed off.  

“But no matter how much I wanted you, I couldn’t give in to that selfishness, and allow myself to hurt you,” he informed her, meeting her gaze after a long moment.  “Because I know what it feels like to be used – and I know what it feels like to lose someone.”  

He brought her close, sliding his hand into her hair, cradling the back of her head as his lips met hers in a kiss laced with sorrow, and promise.  “I didn’t want to lose you,” he admitted.

She curled her arms around his shoulders, digging her fingers into his skin where she held him.  “I don’t want to lose you now – not again,” she whispered, unable to conceal the anxious fear in her voice.

His lips were soft against the curve of her chin, following the line of her jaw, finding the supple skin just beneath her ear.  “You came back, and gave me a second chance,” he breathed, brushing her hair away to expose the delicate arch of her neck, and to plant a kiss there.  “I will always cherish that.”

She trembled as she stood there, tightening the brace of her arms around him as he continued to caress her, sliding kisses down the column of her neck.  Her breath was short and sharp in her chest when his mouth settled in the hollow of her shoulder, nipping and licking, his teeth grazing over her skin, sending prickles of pleasure and need shimmering down her spine.  She eased back as his head drifted lower, as he swept his tongue over her collarbone in a long, languid stroke, as his mouth closed over the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat, stealing the very breath from her lungs.

“Now that there are no secrets between us…” he whispered into her skin.

“I don’t want anything between us,” she whimpered, reaching between them to strip away her towel – and the last of her inhibitions.  She wanted him so badly – he made her feel beautiful and desirable and comfortable in her own skin, like she could stand naked before him and not be found wanting.  She wanted that, to feel the brush of bare skin against bare skin, to savor the warmth of his body seeping into hers, to understand what he meant when he spoke of being loved.

His hands closed over hers, stilling her movements; when she looked up, she found herself arrested by his gaze, his eyes the color of dark honey.  “Let me,” he implored, covering her mouth with his as he tucked his fingers into the fold of the towel, tugging it loose.

She felt the soft fabric fall away from her body, pooling at her feet as he smoothed one hand across her waist, the other still tangled in her hair, drawing her head back as he trailed kisses down her neck, finding the hollow between her collarbones, and laving his tongue over the pulse point buried there.  She sighed, closing her arms around his shoulders, arching forward into his touch, heaviness beginning to gather in the cradle of her pelvis.

She shivered when the hand in her hair drifted down the curve of her back, supporting the weight of her body as he shifted against her.  She gasped when she felt his hand on her breast, the touch excruciatingly light as he trailed his fingers over the sides, his movements careful and slow, almost reverent, as if he was taking his time to learn every square inch.  He stroked the fullest curve with his fingertips over and over again, up and down and up and down in the sweetest torture she’d ever known, finally bringing his hand up, cupping the fullness in his palm.

He sank down onto his bed, drawing her into his lap, and rested his head against her chest, wanting to see and hear and feel the ways his exploration was affecting her.  Her heart fluttered and her chest constricted, her breathing growing shallower and shallower as he continued, curling his fingers into the soft skin between her breast and her ribcage.  She felt him smile into her skin as he circled his thumb over her nipple, working it into a hard, pebbled peak.

She tried to watch was he was doing, to stay in the moment with him, but it was so incredibly difficult to resist giving into the sensations swirling up beneath his touch.  It wasn’t the first time he’d touched her breasts, but there was something different and delicious about it.  Each caress sent a bolt of need straight to the core of her being, causing heat to flush and build and weigh heavily between her legs.

She whimpered when she felt his hand fall away, sliding down her side, over the curve of her hip.  He touched her leg, trailing his fingertips over the smooth skin of her thigh before brushing his hand over her abdomen, causing her muscles to quiver and constrict.  Still, he held his head to her chest, his hair silky and luxurious against her skin, and he listened – to the way her heart raced, to the jerky, irregular rhythm of her breathing, to the tiny, delectable moan he elicited when he dipped his thumb into her belly button.

It was pleasure and pain, having him so close and yet still aching for his touch.  Maybe it was worse, knowing how it felt to have him, all of him – the way it felt to have his mouth, his lips, his teeth, his tongue on her, the way it felt when his body closed around hers, the way it felt when his hips moved with hers, the way it felt to have him inside her, tight and heavy and full.

He shifted his position, easing her back until she lay on the mattress, and he loomed over her for a moment, his hands at her sides as his golden eyes roved over her, taking in the obvious need he’d built up in her.  She ached for him, his nearness and warmth, to feel his body flush against hers.  It was agony of the best kind, finding herself vulnerable beneath him, yearning and waiting and wanting something she knew was so amazing – and so precious – that she would never tire of it.

She reached for him, curling her hands into the nape of his neck, brushing his hair over the regal set of his shoulders until it pooled on the bed around her, curtaining them together as he lowered his body onto hers.  Her breath was short and sharp and very nearly stopped when his lips met her skin again, brushing and nipping over the tops of her breasts.  She arched up when she felt him drawing his tongue up the line of her breastbone, her abdomen rising to meet his in a burst of fire-driven need.  She felt herself growing warm and slick beneath him as his mouth followed the trails forged earlier by his hands, torturous routes over the curve of each breast, along the sweep of skin over her ribs, down the flat expanse of her belly.

He rose up again to kiss her, his lips soft and pliant and tasting faintly of her skin.  She moaned deep in her throat when he shifted over her, when she felt his hands on her legs, parting them so that he might press himself against her.  She whimpered when she felt him draw away, felt air between her thighs instead of his arousal, felt the knot of need in her core tighten with frustration, in need of release.

“Breathe,” he whispered against her lips, smoothing his hands up and down her sides in long, sumptuous strokes.

“I – can’t,” she choked out, straining against his hold, closing her arms around him and trying to bring his body down to meet hers again.

“Yes, you can,” he cajoled, shifting onto his side as he rolled her onto hers.  His breath was warm against the shell of her ear, his silvery hair silken against her skin as he wrapped his arms around her, his chest flush against her back and his hips cradled into hers.

She exhaled sharply, the heat in her core exploding when she felt the heaviness of his erection brushing against her legs.  “Oh,” she moaned, rocking her hips into his, wishing it was enough to move him inside her, to ease the pressure knotted deep in her pelvis.

He touched her breasts, palming the fullness of them and squeezing gently, which only made her press harder and more urgently against him.  It was delicious, but it was still torture, and she couldn’t stand it any longer – she shoved her hands between her thighs, thrusting her fingers inside herself, crying out in stark, sheer relief to finally feel relief, however fleeting.

It took her a minute to catch her breath, to realize that they were lying perfectly still on the bed, his head resting against her shoulder, his hands firm at her waist as he held her tightly in place.  “Are you okay?” he murmured, more of a statement than a question, the words reverberating into her.

She nodded, feeling flushed and constricted as she eased her hands away.  “Sorry,” she whispered, feeling her heart clench as she wiped the slickness coating her fingers onto her thighs.

“For what?” he mused, softening his hold on her as he curled her body further into his.  “It felt amazing.”

She blinked, digging her nails into the skin of her legs as surprise washed through her.  “You aren’t insulted?” she asked cautiously.  

He shifted slightly, lifting himself up so that he could look into her face.  “That I’ve turned you on that much?” he responded, rather amused.  “Why should I find that insulting?”

“Because I took matters into my own hands?” she sputtered incredulously, bringing them up so that he might see them, since apparently it wasn’t obvious.

He leaned into her, sliding one of his hands between her legs, dipping his longest finger inside her.  She gasped, her entire body seizing, then relaxing, as he stroked her.  “Is that so,” he murmured, nipping at her earlobe.  “You still feel unsatisfied to me.”

She could only nod, rocking her hips into his, her breath shallow and jagged in her lungs.  She felt not only his hand, but his cock as well, long and hard and pulsating against her skin.

“I don’t care how anybody else does this,” he told her, his voice a low rumble in his throat as he pressed his hips into hers.  “All I know is you, and myself, and what feels good between us.”

She nodded again, drawing her lower lip between her teeth and biting down, trying to find some other way to release the intense pressure throbbing between her legs.

“You cannot insult me,” he continued, his breath warm against the shell of her ear, “because I do not take what I am unwilling to give.  My pleasure is yours.”

“Then please me,” she begged, opening her legs as she rolled her hips into his.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck as he continued to stroke her, dipping another finger in to join the first, rubbing his thumb over her clitoris, just as she had shown him.  She knew this – she loved this – and his hand felt even better than her own, his fingers long and tapered and elegant.

She lost herself in the sensation, in the heat and need that curled in her belly, in the way her skin tingled wherever it touched his, in the softness of his mouth and the smoothness of his tongue as he nipped and licked at her neck and her shoulder.  She relished it all, and the way it seemed to stoke her inner fire in the most decadent way.

He kept her in the moment, using his free hand to find one of hers and direct it back, curling her fingers into the waistband slung low across his hips.  She took the hint, bringing both of her hands back and smoothing them over the sides of his legs, rising up and hooking her thumbs into the waistband, slowly pushing the light linen down over the curve of his backside.  She kept her movements measured and deliberate, unable to resist teasing him a little, enjoying the way he squirmed in response.

He shifted beneath her to aid in her quest, careful to keep his hands in place where they were – one inside her, the other now teasing her breasts – and groaned aloud when she finally managed to free him.  She pushed his pants to his knees, and then he took over, kicking them the rest of the way off and over the side of the bed.

They curled together, the hand inside her slowing as he adjusted his position, tucking himself into her, his erection stirring between her thighs.  Her hands stole down to touch him, to feel the fullness of him, completely aroused, thrumming with desire that mirrored her own.  She felt his fingers slide out of her, felt his hand wrapping around his cock, coating it with the slickness he’d worked up inside her, but she took over before he could go any further, giving him a long, experimental stroke.

“Kagome,” he moaned, his voice tight, his words muffled in her hair.  He grappled for her hips, his hands moving down to open her thighs, to relieve some of his tension, and she smirked, bucking her hips into his as she gave him another squeeze.

He answered her teasing with a bit of his own, sliding through her fingers and into her body, just enough to ignite the arousal still knotted tightly in her abdomen, to make it cry out for another release – for real release.  She stroked him again, warming him in her hands before guided him inside, sinking her hips into his.

It was the most exquisite feeling.

She breathed in deep and exhaled, closing her legs around his, squeezing her muscles around him, holding him deep inside her.

For a moment, they simply lay there, enjoying the sensation of fitting together.

She loved the way he felt, inside her but also all around her – the cradle of his hips supporting hers; the way his arms wrapped around her waist, his hands soft beneath her breasts; the way his chin rested on her shoulder, his breath warm in her hair; the rise and fall of his chest against her back, the sensation of his skin, hot and flushed and bare next to hers.

I love you, she thought, relaxing around him, curling into him as he began to move inside her.  She swept the curtain of his hair over her, savoring the way the silky strands shimmered against her skin.  She clutched her hands around his and let herself go, let herself trust for the very first time – that this wasn’t be the end – that she could stay – that he would stay – that she would have the chance to savor him again.

Her heart gained traction in her chest as the heaviness in her abdomen rumbled, as raw and aching need gnawed at her insides, heating and constricting and burning just beneath her skin.  She fought to keep breath in her lungs as his thrusts became shorter, sharper, and harder, driving deep into her core, closer and closer and closer to that luscious, throbbing knot –

– and then it shattered, and she felt free, her body trembling under the force of her orgasm, her legs falling slack around his, even as she gripped his fingers with renewed force.  She felt his mouth hot on her skin, sucking and kneading the back of her neck, the curve of her shoulder, and it only made the first wave of aftershocks even better.

She was only just beginning to float back down to earth when she felt him stiffen, and seize, and trap his breath in his lungs as he closed his arms around her.  She whimpered when she felt him draw away, only to gasp in surprise when he rolled his body on top of hers, pressing her into the mattress as he drove home one last thrust and erupted inside her.

He held her close as he rode the waves of his climax, his hips moving shallowly into hers.  She could feel the heaviness of his breath against her back as she snuggled into him, enjoying the weight of his body on top of hers.  She felt safe and secure and comforted and assured, protected from the world and its insecurities.

So this is what it means to love, she mused to herself as their bodies slowed to a stop.  In the haze of her satisfaction, her mind slowly pieced it all back together.  It was all still there – the relief, the joy, the anxiety, the disbelief, the anguish, the fear, the desire – but the balance had shifted.  It had all been worth it:  everything she’d suffered over the last eight months had been repaid, beyond measure.  He was worth it.  This was worth it.

He released his hold on her, shifting down onto the bed beside her, and she shivered in the balmy air of the early morning, instantly sensing and missing the heat and comfort of his body.  “Don’t leave me,” she murmured, rolling over to face him, tucking her head against his chest as she draped her arms around him.

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her brow.  “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, pulling the edge of the duvet with him as he wrapped his arms around her, blanketing them both its softness.