Chapter Text
Kagome’s lips latched onto Sesshoumaru’s with a desperation that overridden all else. This time, she wasn’t waiting for him to lead—she was the aggressor, biting down on his bottom lip with a sharp edge that bordered on pain, before soothing it with her tongue. He opened his mouth for her, surrendering to the feverish caress of her tongue as it tangled with his, each movement wild and unrestrained.
Sesshoumaru let her take control, feeling the urgency in her movements, the way her body pressed against his like she was trying to drown out everything else. She reached for his wrist again, guiding a clawed hand up to cup her breast. The sensation of her soft flesh filling his rough, calloused palm was exhilarating, and he couldn’t help but rub his thumb across her nipple, coaxing the peak to harden under his touch. Her lips left his trailing fiery kisses along his jaw, and her hips rolled against him in a slow, tantalizing rhythm that made it harder for him to hold back.
“Kagome,” he groaned, her name escaping his lips like a plea. His restraint was slipping, the urge to take control, to dominate, clawing at him with every touch. But she didn’t seem to care. Her small hands were already at his belt, fumbling with the buckle, desperate to free him from the confines of his clothing. His pulse quickened at the thought of her touching him, taking his growing erection in her grasp.
But then, she whispered something that made his blood run cold.
“Do it. Make me your mate… so they won’t take him away from me.”
The words pierced through the haze of desire, shattering the moment. Sesshoumaru stilled, his breath catching in his throat as he finally noticed all the signs he had been ignoring. He had been too caught up in his own desires, too focused on the feel of her body against his, to see what was right in front of him.
Pushing her back gently, he removed her hands from his belt, forcing her to stop. His golden eyes searched hers, and what he found nearly made him sick.
Kagome’s sapphire eyes, usually so full of life, were empty. They stared back at him, void of any longing or passion. Her gaze was distant, hollow, and as he took a deep breath, he was hit with the overwhelming scent of salt and the sour tang of despair. She wasn’t here with him—she was somewhere else, trapped in her own pain, her own desperation. If things had progressed, he had no doubt that she would have been completely unresponsive, dry, and withdrawn, her body merely going through the motions.
She didn’t want him—not truly. She was seeing this as a necessary evil, a means to an end to keep Shippou. It wasn’t desire that drove her, but heartache. If any other full-blooded demon had been in his place, she would have done the same, tried to make them her mate just to solve her problem.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and the longer he looked at her confused, almost pleading expression, the more disgusted he felt. Not with her, but with himself—for not seeing it sooner, for allowing his own lust to blind him to her suffering.