Kagome slid to the rough wooden floor. Pushing herself up on trembling arms, she breathed heavily as she pulled her folded legs beneath her. Her body still quaked in the aftermath of yet another soul-shattering release. Hot seed spilled from her already flooded core, trailed down her upper thigh in thick, steady streams—as though her body had once again reached its limit, and she could hold no more of him.

But he had made her take him anyway. Moistening her dry, cracked lips, she glanced back at him. He was sitting up as well. Shadows slanted across him, darkening the contours of his naked chest, setting his golden eyes aglow. As he watched her, his tongue rasped along a glimmering claw, tasting her wetness there.

Kagome shivered. Primal fear and arousal coursed through her at the sight. He was a predator—a monster. Maybe she had forgotten. Or maybe she had never really understood this in the first place.

But now she could see, all too clearly, the demon she was dealing with. Now she could only wonder at what she had done in seeking him out.

At what else Sesshoumaru had in store for her.

“Why?” she asked him, the question leaving her as little more than a whimper.

“Why,” he repeated, lowering his gleaming claws. “You know why.”

“But twice in one day—that’s too much…you know that it is.”

His eyes narrowed as he moved toward her, closing in. The muscles in his arms and chest flexed lithely. When she flinched away, he snagged her by the hip, pulling her back beneath him.

“W-what are you doing?”

The question was weak, rhetorical. Against her aching entrance, he was already raised and hard. He pressed into her slightly, experimentally—drawing out the vein of desire he’d already tapped and bringing it shimmering to the surface.

“Stacking the odds,” he answered her nonetheless, as he sheathed himself inside her once again.

The remaining days passed in a blur—a sexual haze that left her raw and hollow, dirty and used. It seemed that as soon as he left her he was back to torment her all over again. In the purgatory of her solitude, she barely had time to eat and sleep before he was bearing down on her once more, dragging her back down into hell with the hook and scrape of his claws.

He fucked her brutally, relentlessly—just the way she had come to like it. Just the way she needed it, his molten eyes seemed to say. He didn’t ask her if she wanted it that way. He didn’t pay her pleading whispers any mind. The only thing he seemed to heed was her unspoken wish to keep her front concealed from him. Not out of chivalry, Kagome suspected, but out of some wry, twisted amusement he derived from the challenge of it.

Even when he wasn’t fucking her, even when he was taking his time with her, teasing out her orgasms with sadistic slowness, there was still an undercurrent of urgency—a furious sort of drive in him, as if there was something he needed to prove. To her or to himself, she had no idea. She knew only that as the last day of her stay drew to a close, this perceived need of his intensified that much further.

He lay now on his side, with her flush against him. Her leg was thrown back over his hip, pinned down by the rigid beam of his forearm as he plundered her unfurled sex, without and within. The pads of his fingers slipped and swirled, playing over her soaked and swollen flesh with practiced, feverish intent. All the while, his hips slammed against her, sending jarring ripples through her backside as his massive length and girth cored her anew.

His other arm barred her across the shoulders. His stony fingers dented her pale skin. His sharp claws dug into her, drawing blood which his rough tongue lapped away. She moaned at each soothing stroke. Her stomach muscles fluttered beneath the silken fan of his hair. Its silvery softness contrasted so starkly with the hard ramming of his erection inside her.

She was bruised all over—her knees, her hips, her thighs, her tender folds. He hadn’t been gentle. And she hadn’t wanted him to be.

She seemed to exist in another plane of reality altogether. A dimension where her old life—her old self—seemed so foreign and inconceivable to her. She seemed to exist now only for this: his pleasure and her own by consequence. She dwelt in a limbo of brooding desire, punctuated only by pinpoints of bliss. Scattered moments of bright, total relief, like the one that was peaking in her now.

The red stripes on his wrist dimmed in her blurring vision. Her beleaguered inner muscles pulsed around him softly, languidly as he poured himself out into her at last. She wondered, dimly, how he had anything left in him to give her. As his hips crashed against hers in a fading crescendo, he slackened his grip. His head fell into the junction of her neck and shoulder. Her far-flung leg curled back into herself again.

“Will you leave at dawn?” he asked against her skin.

She nodded faintly in reply.

Her eyes were so tired. Her body was so tired. She felt herself drifting into unconsciousness even as he eased her up onto her hands and knees again. As he positioned her before him, she groaned in protest, despite the latent desire that stirred within her. How he could be ready so soon after was beyond her, but she was too far gone to question it.

As she waited for his hardness to breach her, his clawed fingers curled around the fronts of her thighs, pulling her back and spreading her wide. A frisson of dark heat ran through her. Her anticipation built with every second of delay. Her weary sex teemed yet again. But when he met her at last, his touch was soft—wet.

Kagome’s eyes flew open in alarm. A hissed breath escaped her as she tried to jerk away. But his stony hands prevented it, drawing her back toward his open mouth. She felt the barest press of his fangs against her spread outer folds. The tip of his tongue traced them lazily before slipping between, caressing her smooth inner labia in a slow, agonizing circuit. Just barely, he skirted her dripping entrance, and the searing bundle of nerves at the forefront.

She whimpered helplessly as he explored her—branded her. His hot tongue flattened over her tender lower lips, sliding over the whole burning length of her womanhood in a lick that had his name tearing from her throat in a tortured, guttural cry.

His mouth closed around her throbbing nub then. His lips and tongue molded over that firm little point of flesh, setting her whole trembling body alight. And when he started to move against her, each swipe shook her to the foundation. Each flick sparked a blaze in her drenched, undulating core like fire on oil-slicked waves. When he sucked her into the cavern of his mouth, she bucked against him, nearly igniting altogether.

Distantly, Kagome realized she was crying.

At the pinnacle of her desire, he drew back. His tongue plunged into her quivering hole, making her arch, making her scream. She pushed back against him. Her whole body convulsed as she ground urgently into his buried face, needing to feel him on every inch of her electrified skin as he continued to fuck her with his tongue. He devoured her prone womanhood, and when he’d consumed it to his dark satisfaction, he turned to her other entrance, pushing without pause past that tight, forbidden ring of flesh. He tasted her, probed her. He flooded her anew with a deep and terrible pleasure that had her sobbing and choking in shame.

When his hold on her eased at last, she crumpled in upon herself, streaming and shuddering. She bowed her head. She drew her knees toward her stomach as she hugged her arms around her heaving chest. She felt his presence move away, heard the soft swish of silk as he dressed. She glanced up at him in bleak, watery confusion.

After that…after all that, he was just going to leave? He wasn’t going to take her again?

Then, what had been the point of it all? As he collected his swords, her heart clenched with dread at the realization that he was just going to leave things this way, without even completing the act. Without even making the smallest effort to justify what had just played out between them.

Instead, he’d elected to let her hang in this sordid state. It was so heartless, so cruel. It was no less than what she deserved, yet she despaired anyway.

“Do you hate me?” she whispered, certain of the answer, but still needing to hear him say it all the same.

The intense flare of his youki seemed to confirm her suspicions, even as he retraced his steps and knelt before her. His claws caught her by the chin, angling up her downcast face. For a moment he studied the tear tracks on her cheeks, as though etching them into memory.

“No, Kagome,” he said at last. “I don’t hate you.”

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

Revised 7/8/22

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