Thirty minutes?!

Once again Kagome stared at her phone in utter shock, her right hand still wedged between her twitching thighs. Quickly but carefully, she extracted her drenched, pruny fingers—trying with all her might not to brush her hair-trigger clit for fear she’d still explode.

Breathing heavily, she wiped her slick hand on the inside of her dress and hastily shrugged it back down. Her legs were wobbly as she stepped toward the closet door, teeth gritting when her dress-bound thighs clenched dangerously tight around her hot, swollen flesh. Frantically, she grasped at the handle, the door screeching open on its rusted hinges as she more or less threw herself out into the hall.

The way was clear, the frisky youkai couple from earlier having thankfully moved on. Painfully aware of how obvious she must be with her flushed skin and sex scent, Kagome rushed along as briskly as her impractical footwear would allow. She couldn’t believe what a ridiculous time constraint Sesshoumaru had given her—the train ride alone would take at least twenty minutes!

Then again, she could totally believe it…

Trying not to panic, she burst through the club exit, her heels clicking rapidly over the pavement as she power-walked to the closest station a block away. She had just pushed through the turnstile and stumbled narrowly aboard when she remembered Kouhei.

“Oh, gods…” Kagome groaned loudly as she sank onto the benchseat—earning her a few affronted looks from her fellow passengers.

Ripping her phone out of her purse, she typed and re-typed a text to her poor abandoned date, finally settling on: Emergency. Had to run. Sorry 🙁

Biting down hard on her lip in guilt, Kagome hit Send before switching her phone off altogether. It was cowardly, she knew, but really, all things considered, this was the least of her crimes this evening…

Two train transfers and twenty-seven minutes later, Kagome stumbled out onto the street again. It was still a three-block uphill trek to Sesshoumaru’s office. Sacrificing the last ounce of her self-respect, she ripped off her heels and started to sprint, her gait restricted by the tight clutch of her dress. With a growl that would have made Inuyasha proud, Kagome ripped the material up the side, splitting it jaggedly to the hip.

…She’d figure out a way to explain this to Sachiko later.

With her total range of motion restored, Kagome ran full-speed ahead, bowling through a couple of unwary passersby. Thanking whatever god had seen fit to make her so ridiculously over-prepared, she wrenched her office access card out of her purse and slammed it to the sensor at the door. Nothing had ever sounded so good as that cheery little beep when the light flashed green–bright green, like the glow of his deadly, sexy claws, her mind supplied unhelpfully–and the lock clicked open.

Looking like an escort who’d just barely survived some sort of post-apocalyptic disaster, Kagome collapsed at her desk, shoving her sore feet back into her heels as she looked despairingly at the clock. Thirty-three minutes had passed. Her shoulders sank as she trudged up to his office–her heart rising to her throat when his deep, cool voice bid her enter.

He stood at the panoramic window, the rich dark fabric of his pants nearly blending with the shadows, his crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves. His collar was open, the slim red streak of his tie sinfully bisecting his chiseled chest, the tapered end of that neckwear pointing straight down like an arrow in Kagome’s dirty mind. Despite the modern clothing, he looked every bit as surreal as he always had–the unconcealed markings on his wrists and face glaring from his moon-pale skin, the bright silver hair bound at his nape shimmering faintly from his brow to the gap between his shoulder blades.

And then there were the eyes–decadent and gleaming gold, cutting to her at last as she stood hesitating in the doorway.

“You,” he said, turning toward her, “are late.”

It was a moment before Kagome found her voice. “I–I’m sorry, Sesshoumaru-sama.”

He took her in with one long, weighted glance. Trying not to fidget, she could almost physically feel his eyes moving over her in their keen appraisal. Stalking a few steps toward her, he rested his claws lightly against the polished edge of his desk.

“Come here, miko.”

Swallowing, Kagome approached, her nipples shamelessly peaking through the thin, clingy satin. It would be too much–much too much–for Sesshoumaru not to notice, her heart-rate staggering a little at the thought.

As she came to a stop before the mahogany desk, his sharp gaze flicked to the torn fabric at her hip. “What happened to your dress?”

“I…must have caught it on something,” she fibbed lamely, her cheeks flooding red.

It was pretty clear he didn’t buy this story, but he also didn’t seem particularly interested, either. Kagome’s relief was short-lived as he circled around the corner of the desk, her eyes following the glide of his ivory claws as he drew up just beside her. Her stomach and chest went tight at his proximity. This close, she could feel the dark heat radiating from him, smell his heady masculine scent–and perhaps the faintest trace of some subtle, expensive youkai cologne. Clutching her purse in a death-grip, Kagome tried not to tremble in her heels.

She knew that he could smell her, too. With those superior senses of his, he had probably smelled her long before she’d even approached the door, but at this distance–or lack thereof–there was absolutely no chance he wouldn’t scent her arousal. There hadn’t been a moment to spare for her to wash off the evidence of her near-orgasm, and the fresh wetness she could feel seeping out of her right now certainly wasn’t helping matters…

Let’s face it–I’m a hot mess, Kagome lamented inwardly, channeling her inner Sachiko.

“Was there…something you wanted from me, Sesshoumaru-sama?” she asked timidly, more to break the embarrassing, kilometers-thick tension than anything else.

“Yes,” he said, another ungodly long pause ensuing in the wake of this ruthlessly frustrating reply.

Just as she was contemplating another verbal way out, he stepped behind her, Kagome shifting a little closer to the desk out of instinct. Her shoulders hunched as she sensed him looming slightly over her, his demonic aura just brushing her own.

“I was going to have you polish my sword,” he said, in such a brisk, deadpan tone that the startled miko couldn’t tell whether it was more or less likely that he’d meant it literally. “But another time, perhaps.” The very ends of his shoes touched her spindly heels as he moved in even closer, switching smoothly to English. “Instead, you will take my dictation.”

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Kagome had watched a lot of American television, and the likelihood that he’d just made yet another double-entendre was not lost on her. The trembling in her slickened thighs was totally beyond her control now to repress.

“How,” she asked faintly, in the same language and with the same questionable emphasis, “should I take down your dictation, Lord Sesshoumaru?”

Clawed hands curved around the edge of the desk as he pinned her in from behind. His cool breath flowed over her bare shoulder, his silky tone making her skin prickle even more.

“I will tell you,” he said, “exactly.”

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

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