In her dark and shapeless dreams, Kagome floated along within a cloud. Her body dispersed like vapor. She became edgeless, indistinct. She was everywhere and nowhere. She was here, and she was gone.

Is this what it feels like, she wondered distantly, to no longer exist?

She imagined her pure soul, cut loose from its flawed earthly vessel, untethered and effervescent, drifting freely once more through eternity. Absent of her conscious self, Kagome reveled in the tranquility of the moment. Here, there was no strife, no heartache. No guilt or remorse. Here, there was nothing.

There was nothing.

It was this nothingness, this emptiness, which compelled her to return to herself. Her memories condensed as she awoke, to find that she was softly suspended still.

She lay on the floor of the abandoned hut. A low fire burned in the hearth nearby. The savory scents of smoke and cooked meat wafted over her. Suddenly ravenous, Kagome slipped out from the pile of fur that ensconced her and crawled over.

An array of dishes was laid out over the wooden planks: trays of fresh and pickled vegetables, bowls of still-steaming soup, skewers of roasted chicken and pork. There were sweet buns and rice balls, dumplings and tea—and several more courses besides, some of which even Kagome had never seen. Her mouth watered at the sight of it all. Her eyes scanned heatedly over the assortment, as she tried to decide just what to eat first.

How this banquet had appeared here didn’t register. Nor did the fire or the gleaming silk and armor it revealed nearby. Kagome was more than halfway through breakfast before she even thought of Sesshoumaru. She remembered him with a jolt as the reed door chattered open and he entered, bare-chested and bare-footed. His long damp hair glinted with a dull metallic sheen.

Kagome froze mid-bite at the sight of him. As his gaze fell upon her, she reddened. Abruptly conscious of her own stark nudity, she hunched her shoulders. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she glanced around desperately for some sort of cover.

“…Where’s my yukata?” she asked faintly, at a loss.

“Drying outside,” he answered.

The floorboards creaked as he crossed the short distance between them. Kagome watched him approach in trepidation. His white hakama clung loosely to his chiseled waist. The dark red slash of his stomach marking disappeared beneath the ties. The hems at his ankles hung open. White silk billowed around the high arches of his feet, their exposed toes tipped in short ivory claws. Stepping past her, he reclined leisurely on one side. His hair streamed out over the floor beside him as he propped himself up under the jaw.

His eyes traveled over her just as leisurely. “Finish your meal,” he said.

Swallowing, Kagome stared stubbornly at the wall. “This food—did you steal it?”

“This Sesshoumaru has no need to steal.”

“Right,” she muttered. “The world is your oyster.”

He said nothing to this—not that Kagome expected him to. With a sigh, she uncurled one arm from around her and picked at a bit of radish. Over the years, Miroku’s less-than-scrupulous methods of procurement had accustomed her not to question a meal too deeply. She was still terribly hungry. No point in letting good food go to waste, she figured.

Popping the radish into her mouth, she chewed slowly. Her thighs clenched as she felt the languid weight of his eyes upon her still. It was unsettling, knowing he was once again just sitting there watching her eat. She wished he would say something, do something—anything to relieve the tension mounting in the room. Darting a glance at him, she could see the dark hunger shadowing his gaze, feel it stirring in the air around them.

Gooseflesh peppered her skin as she tried in vain to focus on her meal. Needing both hands to finish off the miso soup, she had no choice but to bare her breasts to him as she tilted the bowl back to her waiting lips. Instantly, the atmosphere sharpened. Kagome’s breath hitched as she saw, in her peripheral vision, one set of claws slip beneath the waistline of his hakama.

Setting the bowl down with a clatter, she reached shakily for a piece of meat. She scarcely tasted it. Her eyes kept returning to him, fluttering back to the outline of his fist like a moth to the flame. Catching her gaze intently at last, Sesshoumaru removed his hand and extended it toward her. The stripes on his wrist rippled in the firelight.

“Come here, Kagome.”

His smooth voice flowed over her, calm and expectant. Belatedly, she set down the empty skewer she’d been holding. Her heart throbbed audibly. She felt his summons like a hook set within her. Currents of demonic energy seized at her spiritual defenses, urging her toward him.

On trembling legs, Kagome stood. More stumbling than walking, she padded over to him. Ducking her head, she sank down to her knees— caught in a strange attitude as she leaned toward him and away from him all at once. Reaching out to her in her wretched limbo, clawed fingers prized apart the tangle of her own. Kagome looked at him with a shiver as he drew the first few slender digits of her right hand into his mouth.

Her nipples peaked through the curtain of her hair. Her folded legs tensed. Gleaning the salt and oil from her skin, Sesshoumaru pulled her deeper in. His eyes shone with a sultry, liquid gleam. As the tip of a fang slid beneath her nail to clean it, Kagome finally noticed how relatively tidy the rest of her was—despite the fact that she hadn’t bathed in more than a day.

Even the insides of her sex-drenched thighs were now unsullied. Feeling the meticulous rasp of his tongue over her knuckles, she suspected she knew the reason why.

Releasing her fingers from his mouth, he guided them down to his chest. “Touch me,” he said lowly, dragging her closer to him by the hip.

Her palm flattened. Her fingers splayed out against him. His skin burned hot beneath her hand. His powerful heartbeat reverberated through them both. Kagome’s nails curled against him.

“I can’t do this,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t do this again.”

His claws skimmed up along her side. Ghosting over her ribs, they skirted the underside of her breast. “Why not?”

“…Because it’s wrong,” she breathed out when his thumbnail dented her there.

A bark of laughter escaped him. Kagome started at the sound. As he rolled over onto his back, her fingers brushed inadvertently over one sculpted pectoral, and she snatched back her hand like it’d been burned. His amber eyes met hers piercingly.

“What difference does that make now?”

Kagome gasped, both hands flying to his chest as he hauled her onto him. Her knees hit the tops of his shoulders. His muscular arms bent her over him as he crushed his mouth to her naked sex. Her spine went rigid beneath his hands. Her breath left her in short panicked bursts.

“No,” she whimpered as he lapped at her sundered folds. His grip tightened around her when she attempted to break free. “Sesshoumaru—Sesshoumaru, stop…”

His answering growl shook her to the womb. His claws circled back around her hips as he spread her supple flesh open to him that much more. From front to back, he licked her along the entire length of her cleft. A low whine choked in her, somewhere between her throat and her chest.

“You don’t want me to stop,” he said to her roughly. The point of his tongue flicked at the hooded tip of her sex. “This, we both know.”

Kagome bit down hard on her lip as he plunged into her. Her hips flinched at his tongue’s spearing thrusts. As his course within her broadened and deepened, her refutations died in her throat. A ragged moan left her lips instead, as she gave herself over to his rhythmic intrusion.

“…I don’t want you to stop,” she confessed on a groan.

Youki lashed her as she bowed against him. Her breasts mashed to his torso. Her hair spilled out like ink across his alabaster skin. Reaching around her, his fingers pulled and pinched at her tender folds, at the ultra-sensitive bead nestled between them, making Kagome jerk and cry as he brought her to stark, devastating completion.

In the aftershocks of her orgasm, she sobbed dryly, grasping for purchase against his stony chest. Steely bands of muscle flexed beneath her sprawled hands as he continued to pluck and probe her, the overstimulation driving her insane. Clutching at him as best she could for leverage, she rode out his assault with a clenched jaw and stinging eyes. The abrupt shift of his attentions from her front entrance to her back seemed almost merciful by comparison.

Still, she squirmed and struggled as he swirled his coarse tongue over her puckered flesh—as if he hadn’t defiled her enough. Punished her enough. Because now that her mind was clearing, she could feel the reprimand in his actions—though what she’d done to deserve this sort of chastisement, she couldn’t begin to fathom.

The thought of accepting her punishment subdued her nevertheless. She found herself relaxing into the role of willing sufferer as he breached her filthy little hole. Visceral pleasure softened the sharp-edged discomfort she felt at the invasion. Since the first time his tongue had penetrated her there, she had secretly been craving for him to violate her like this again. Another shudder of arousal raked over her even as she shamed herself for the whorish thought.

But she wanted him to fuck her there. She wanted his tongue in her ass, wanted it in her womanhood. She wanted to feel it everywhere.

And she wanted to feel him, too.

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

Revised 8/31/22

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