I Fell for Myself by Stella Mira

I Would Not Stop

A waft of wind susurrated, spoke of wilderness and untamed things and lust, promises of perspiration and slick skin. Kagome couldn't mistake the scent of woman and primal need and urgency. It was intoxicating, guided her steps towards the kneeling form before her. She licked her lips, tongue dragging over sharp-tipped teeth. A drop of blood, gliding down her throat, saturated with heat, less anger, more voracity. Her muscles flexed, her claws twitched, vibrations of aggression and impatience. Desire throbbed, feasted on her animal senses, gathered in dips and strips of skin, seethed in a mass low in her abdomen. Sesshōmaru had delayed this too long, frayed her capacity to hold herself back, make it easier on him with his eccentric notions and postponement. Kagome took another step towards him – and another. He was close, too close – Kagome could almost taste the salt of his sweat, feel the warmth of his body.

Sesshōmaru could sense her slow approach, the imminence of the act, but the miko had fallen silent. It was rather unnerving, evoked a mélange of feelings and sensations he was unfamiliar with. His nature would not allow him to yield, but this body…held of a will of its own. His mind revisited the pathways of memory, the few times he had indulged in such things. Females were wanton and shameless and quite vocal in their pleasure, but always submissive, always beneath him. Sesshōmaru thought to imitate them, but he couldn't quite bring himself to accept this. Was this how the miko would react were she in his place? No. No – she was different from the females he had bedded. This body told him as much, whispered suggestions, urged him to forgo these notions of staying still and pliable.

"Miko –" Sesshōmaru sought to ask of her past experiences, of how she liked to be taken, to understand this restlessness rippling through his body – but then a cuff of muscle and lean thews coiled around his waist, pressed him against the source of his discontent. His shoulder blades slid against the contours of her torso, naked skin and a lick of sweat. Sesshōmaru tensed but didn't struggle. Her other arm planted itself on the ground next to his face even as she ground against him.

"You better not tell me to stop now…"

Her voice had regressed to a cluster of instincts, rough-edged. It seeped into his core, inflamed his nerve endings, tempted the fires brewing beneath layers of tissue and skin – and he made a sound between a growl and a hiss.

"You would not stop. I would not stop. There is no need for further delay."

Her arm tightened around him, an onslaught of restriction and power, as if to tell him you are not going anywhere. Sesshōmaru felt her laugh, more rumble than laughter, arousing, like everything else about this act.