Maybe that was why Kagome took this sordid plunge in the first place—because a part of her knew he wouldn’t be able to resist it.

Sesshoumaru was too domineering, too alpha to just sit back and watch her fuck herself in front of him—regardless of whatever lust-addled growling had come out of him earlier. And when his claws crashed sparking against the invisible barrier she’d raised around herself in his preoccupation, she got her proof.

“Kagome…” he thundered, his fine cheek stripes going wide and jagged.

“You said you like to watch,” she reminded him acidly. “So watch.”

Bringing her knees together, she shucked off her drenched panties and flung them across the room. Like an actual dog, his crimsoning eyes followed their flight briefly before snapping back to the sight of her womanhood narrowly exposed. That he was maddened by this tantalizing display of her was brutally apparent, and Kagome’s own breath caught for a moment at the way his ferocious stare seemed almost to penetrate her. In this state of piercing, unbridled menace, Sesshoumaru loomed over her—barrier and all—the whole hut darkening with the gloom of his aura as he sank his claws into the tabletop beside her.

Precariously, the sturdy piece of furniture wobbled and groaned.

Kagome glared. “Don’t you dare break my table.”

“Damn your table,” Sesshoumaru bit back, retracting a hand all the same as he eyed her brimming cunt.

At the base of his throbbing cock, his fist remained clenched but still. He was waiting for her, of course, but Kagome was in no mood to humor him—now or ever. Instead of reaching for her own aching flesh, she took her time removing the torn strips of linen from her chest, letting them flutter down one-by-one to pile loosely beside her. By the time the last one fell, Sesshoumaru was apoplectic.

“How much would you pay for me, I wonder?” she mused aloud, her fingers whispering along the curves of her breasts.

In a voice clotted with want and resentment, Sesshoumaru replied, “I have paid for you a hundred times over.”

“With your wounded pride?” Kagome scoffed. “That’s rich, all right. Well, you can consider this your consolation prize, Sesshoumaru-sama.”

Yet even when she started to touch herself again in earnest, wending her fingers through the soft tangle of curls at her mound, he was far from mollified. The savage thrust of his fist over his cock was almost grudging—as if he simply couldn’t restrain himself. As if he hated himself for hungering after even these bitter, meager leavings she condescended to cast his way. Perversely thrilled by this, Kagome went slower still, the long minutes ticking by as she traced her fingers over one slick outer lip, then the other—utterly neglecting the blushing inner folds, the pulsing clit and most of all the starving hole that seemed to scream for contact as the ghost of her touch skirted past it.

Despite the admittedly impressive progress he had made over the past few months, Sesshoumaru was fast unraveling. His youki flamed against her barrier as his fangs distended, his eyes nearly shot through with red. He was looking less like a man by the second, and though irritated at the necessity for it, Kagome knew she had to intervene.

“Down,” she snapped, her feminine walls seizing faintly as he crashed to the floor for the second time that day.

A string of snarling curses ripped from his throat, but his eyes lost their bloody hue. The standing veins in his chest and neck ceased to visibly thrum. His facial markings slimmed and smoothed. At his temples, sweat slicked his bangs to a dark, heavy silver, his dilated pupils contracting wildly as he fought to focus his gaze upon her.

It was in that moment of weakness that Kagome pressed her fingers in a V to the swollen lips of her sex, and spread herself open completely to his view.

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi