Kagome made her way through the forest, treading that familiar, dreaded path. She sweltered in the hot, sticky air. Her pack weighed heavy at her back. Sweat beaded between her shoulder blades, wove a sinuous course down her spine.

It seemed surreal to her, to be back in this place. But as the trees thinned and the desolate village came into view once more, she could no longer deny the truth that lay before her: she was going to sleep with Sesshoumaru.

Again.

Just as she was coming to terms with this fact, the gloomy sky opened above her, unleashing a downpour of rain. Hitching up the hem of her yukata, she sprinted for the accursed shack. Her sandals slipped and splashed in the flooded grass.

By the time she made her way inside, she was drenched to the bone. She stripped off her belongings and then her clothing, thankful that she’d left some firewood stacked in a corner of the hut. Naked and shivering, she gathered it up and set to work at the hearth.

As the fire bloomed to life before her, she hung a line across the length of the hut and strung up her sodden clothes. It was just barely past noon. She still had a few more hours until Sesshoumaru would arrive.

Extracting a semi-dry blanket from her trusty yellow sack, she wrapped it around her bare shoulders and huddled close to the hearth. She was just starting to feel warm again when the reed curtain parted, and Sesshoumaru stepped through. His armor was absent. His rain-soaked hair flowed down the planes of his chest in ribbons of dark, curving silver.

Kagome gaped. “Sesshoumaru, what—what are you doing here?”

He cast her a pointed look as he wrung out his dripping hair. Without preamble, he began to walk toward her, shrugging out of his translucent haori. Flushing, Kagome averted her gaze, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

As he drew to a stop beside her, she shivered again.

“Lie down,” he said.

Keeping her back to him, Kagome extricated herself from the blanket and laid it out on the floor. Stiffly, she lowered herself down onto it, stomach first.

His bare thighs closed around her hips. His erection nudged at her tailbone. Clawed fingers roamed across her naked back, collecting her damp hair and pushing it over her shoulder. When his thumb brushed, seemingly absently, against the lingering mark on her neck, she went rigid at the memory.

He had said the wound would heal—he didn’t tell her it would scar.

She wondered what else he wasn’t telling her.

“You said that you knew—just by my scent,” she blurted out, glancing back at him in apprehension. “What else…what else can you smell?”

His hands slid down from her shoulders, dipping into the arch of her spine. “Your fear.”

One palm settled next to her cheek. The other smoothed over the swell of her backside. His mouth descended to the shell of her ear. The ends of his wet bangs skirted her temple. Freed by the touch, an errant rain drop fell anew, gliding to the line of her jaw. The rumble of his voice echoed in her bones.

“…Your desire.”

He moved back, spreading her legs apart with a knee. Cool air chilled the liquid heat between her thighs. She drew in a shuddering breath at her total exposure. Desperately, inanely, she wished that she at least had a shirt on to cover her upper half. She had never felt so utterly vulnerable before. Her legs twitched in vain to close.

“Sesshoumaru…” she whispered pleadingly. What exactly she was begging him for, she couldn’t say.

As a claw tip grazed just along the edge of her outer folds, she realized that whatever it was, he wasn’t going to oblige her. The flat of his nail eased tortuously down the soft inner lining of her labia, pressing back and opening her further. Kagome whimpered at this unhurried—unabashed—exploration. Her core streamed helplessly under his tangible scrutiny.

No one—not Inuyasha, not even she—had ever examined her lower half this closely. The hand still gripping her backside shifted now toward her hip, baring yet another hidden part of her to his view. Kagome trembled at the raw shock of emotion that flared within her. This wasn’t part of the act—

This was pure violation.

She opened her mouth to tell him so when his cool finger sank inside her blazing heat, and the words died in her throat. Groaning, she twisted her hands into the fleece beneath her as he plumbed her slowly, deeply, slipping in another slender digit to join the first. The pads of his fingers hooked voluptuously toward her front. His thumb traced briefly along her brimming entrance before sweeping down to caress the needy flesh at her apex.

Her walls fluttered at the sharp, electric thrill of his touch. His pace increased within her, mirroring the escalation of her breathing. His thumb retreated, and now there was only the relentless, arcing stroke of his fingers, and her body’s fleeting, desperate attempts to clench around them. Somehow her inner muscles’ lack of purchase fueled her lust even more, stoking her with added tension at every failed attempt.

As the sensations within her deepened, mellowing to that familiar, fateful plateau, he suddenly withdrew his hand. Her legs snapped shut between the vise of his knees. Her captive breath escaped her in a rush. Propping herself up on an elbow, she glared back at him over her shoulder in misty agitation.

“What—” she began, unable to complete the thought before he bore her back down to the blanketed floor, and thrust into her through the gap in her shuttered thighs.

A choked cry tore from her lips. His slick hand wedged beneath her, cupping her mound as he pounded into her with punishing force. His size and his strength brought her to the absolute brink of what her body could bear. He growled hard against the column of her throat. His free hand imprisoned both of her wrists. She gasped for air beneath the crushing weight of his chest.

She had been wrong. She had not been prepared for this. This wasn’t sleeping together. This was something else—something she’d never engaged in before, yet recognized instinctively. There was only one way to describe what he was doing to her—only one word. A word that struck her as filthy even as she said it in her mind.

But there was no other way to put it—he was fucking her. He was holding her down, and he was fucking her.

And she was enjoying it.

There was no plateau to this pleasure—there was only the razor-edged fall. She came abruptly, violently, arching off the ground with enough force to lift them both—until his plunging hips brought her back down again, riding out her harsh release against his own.

As he peeled himself off her, she sat up at once, struggling to refill her depleted lungs. Panting, aching, she stared back at him as he lay down beside her. His damp, glistening fingers hovered above his face. For a moment, he studied the sheen of her wetness on his skin before he pinned her with his gaze.

The intensity in his amber eyes pierced her to the marrow. She knew now why he’d arrived here on her heels this afternoon—knew even before he spoke the words what it was he was going to say.

“Lie back down.”

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

Revised 7/7/22

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