InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 3: Forever ❯ Bonding Moments ( Chapter 46 )

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Clean version of this chapter can be read here:

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2220709/46/

 

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~~Chapter 46~~

~Bonding Moments~

 

Nezumi leaned over to spit the toothpaste out and rinsed her mouth. Turning the faucet handle toward the hot side, she waited for the water to warm a little before rinsing her face and reaching for the towel. Her fingers brushed over the warm hand that caught hers, and she opened her eyes to see Ryomaru lounging against the counter, a glass of champagne in one hand, the towel in the other. Smiling just a little as he set the glass aside, he turned toward her, tilted her chin up, and dabbed the moisture from her face.

 

“My uncle might not be impressed with the hotel bill,” he commented dryly though his eyes were lit with amusement.

 

Nezumi tried not to think about how gentle Ryomaru's touch was. She could discern the slight tremor in his hands but couldn't look away from his stare. `Why would he be shaking? He can't be nervous . . . or can he?'

 

“There . . . you're dry,” he said, his voice gruff. “Don't forget your ring.”

 

She nodded, unable to speak as she fumbled around to grab her `wedding ring'. Staring into his eyes had a curious effect on her. Her stomach turned somersaults as her nerves reacted, and she felt light-headed, almost feverish.

 

“Time for bed, Deirdre.”

 

He grasped her hands and tugged, but her feet didn't want to move. With a husky chuckle, he picked her up, carrying her out of the bathroom and through the suite to the spacious bedroom. “You want to try out the Jacuzzi?” she asked as she peeked over his shoulder at the already swirling water in the huge tub built into the floor. Steam rose in little tendrils from the frothing liquid.

 

Ryomaru snorted. “Later.”

 

“Ryo? I . . . I . . .” She swallowed hard, unable to voice her emotion past the thickening in her throat. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathered her courage to say what she felt, what was in her heart and had been there for so long. “You're my best friend, and I . . . I feel safe with you. I . . . I . . .”

 

He must have understood what she couldn't say. Letting her legs fall to the bed, he held her close with an arm around her waist and smiled. “Me, too.”

 

She pressed her lips against his, needing to tell him what she felt even if the words didn't work the way they should. Ryomaru had always known what she wanted to say, hadn't he? He'd always known, and he'd always been able to tell her the same things.

 

He uttered a low whine as her lips moved against his. His hands were definitely shaking now. As he ran his fingers along her jaw, she felt the trembling, the shivers that ran down his spine. She hadn't really known that she could have such an effect on him, and the knowledge that she did only served to fuel the ache that burned through her veins.

 

His teeth grazed her lips as she gripped his t-shirt, her fingers wrapping around fabric so tightly her fingers felt numb. Her mind reeled as complete intoxication of her senses raged out of control. He pushed her sweater and t-shirt up, untangling her hands from his shirt and breaking the kiss long enough to drag them both over her head. His shirt followed hers onto the floor, and when he looked at her again, his eyes were bright, glowing. “If you want to save that bra, Deirdre, you'd better take it off, yourself,” he rasped as he jerked on the fly of his jeans.

 

Nezumi didn't question his sincerity. She knew him a little to well to think that he was just making idle threats. Still she hesitated as she watched him take off the rest of his clothes. She couldn't bring herself to look at certain parts of him, but the rest of Ryomaru's body . . .

 

Her fingers were shaking too much to unfasten the button on her jeans. Three tries later with Ryomaru's chuckles filling the air, Nezumi finally managed to unhook her pants as a flush crept up her skin. “Don't look at me like that,” she whispered, hands pausing as she started to push off her jeans.

 

“Like what?” he countered, sitting on the foot of the bed, gazing over his shoulder at her with a teasing smile.

 

“Like . . . like you're going to attack me.”

 

“You'd like it if I did,” he assured her. “You'd---da-a-amn.”

 

He winced as he uttered the last word. Nezumi had finished kicking off her pants and was sitting up on the bed with her legs tucked under her but still wearing her bra and panties. Ryomaru's gaze was fastened on her legs, and his eyes grew wide as he stared.

 

“Ryo? What's wrong with you?”

 

“Nothing,” he choked out. “It's your legs . . . Damn, damn, damn . . .”

 

“Is something the matter? Ryo?”

 

“No . . . yeah . . . get off `em, will you?”

 

Nezumi blinked in consternation, still unsure what to make of Ryomaru's strange behavior. “Get off what?”

“Your legs, wench, your legs! You're squashing them!”

 

“They're legs, Ryo.”

 

“No . . . they're damn fine legs, wench, and it's play time.”

 

“P-playtime?”

 

“Hells, yes.”

 

He rolled over and crawled straight toward her. She squeaked as she fell back in her effort to escape him. He laughed, crawling over her and pinning her in place with a rough growl. She gasped as her breath hitched, as the ragged sound of her own inhalations echoed in the quiet room. Laying flat on her back with her hands on either side of her head, she felt the fizzling tingle as every single nerve in her body shot to life.

 

“Ryo, I can't . . . breathe . . .”

 

“Uh, Nez, for future reference . . . you might not want to tell me when you can't breathe.”

 

“Ryo . . .”

 

“Nez . . .”

 

“What are you---?”

 

He sat back, grasping her ankles and tugging her legs out from under her. Nezumi squealed, and he momentarily flattened his ears as his unabashed gaze roamed up and down the length of her legs. “You know, Nez, I really like these,” he remarked.

 

A distinct shiver ran up her spine at his matter-of-fact statement. It didn't occur to her that she should try to cover herself. Nothing could permeate the haze that engulfed her brain as she stared at his twitching ears. He turned his attention to her right ankle, letting his hand slip to capture her foot. Letting go of her left leg, he gently dragged his claws over her foot, smiling absently when he felt her twitch and tug at her foot, before grasping the appendage in his hands and rubbing her instep with the pads of his thumbs.

 

“You have the most delicate toes I've ever seen,” he mused.

 

She murmured something---she wasn't sure what---and he chuckled softly as he worked his way up her foot to her toes. Bending her foot, he kissed the slope of her ankle. She sucked in another harsh breath as his fangs grazed over her Achilles tendon and up the back of her calf. Surging heat shot through her, spurred on by the attention he paid her. The thoroughness of his investigation was maddening, frustrating, beautiful.

 

“I love your legs, Deirdre.”

 

Beyond the powers of speech, she uttered a little moan. He let go of that leg only to gasp the other; to torment her even more as he slowly restarted the process again. Agonizingly slow, torturous and heady, Nezumi gasped softly as his fangs burned a path up her legs, as his tongue brushed against the hollows behind her knees. He knew what he was doing to her. When she forced her eyes open, he was staring at her. His promises of forever lit his gaze. He didn't have to speak the words for her to understand. She was his; he was hers, and their bond, their promise, would see them through.

 

“Promise you'll never be ashamed, okay?”

 

She nodded, her foggy mind dazed despite her comprehension of his question.

 

He growled his approval, flicking his tongue over the inside of her thigh. With a sharp cry, she arched off the bed, lost in a barrage of emotion, and she thought she heard him chuckle.

 

She tried to pull away from him, tried to sit up. He stayed her with a sharp growl. She curled her hands around fistfuls of the wine colored silk comforter beneath them. She was completely at his mercy to take whatever he was willing to give. He knew it, he reveled in it, and as she felt herself slipping away into a world where sensation was the only goal: to touch, to taste, to feel Ryomaru . . .

 

 

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Insane, really, to feel so much self-satisfaction at the sound of Nezumi's rasping cry. He'd never been with a woman who reacted with so much passion. Her body strained under his touch; she rose against his hands, pressed herself against him. Her scent was thick in the air, rich and deep. His instincts told him to claim her. His will made him hesitate. Taking his time, learning everything about her . . . he owed her that, didn't he? He owed it to her and to himself. To show her how beautiful she was in his eyes . . . That was what he wanted. That's what he needed to give her.

 

Her legs enthralled him, devastated him, and he couldn't help himself as he took his time kissing every inch of them, taking time to make sure that she was covered in his scent, that she truly belonged to him. She was trembling under his touch. A savage pride welled up in him, a fierce arrogance as she keened softly, her knuckles white as she clenched fistfuls of the comforter in her hands.

 

“Open your eyes,” he growled.

 

Nezumi shook her head.

 

“Open your eyes, Deirdre.”

 

It seemed like it took all of her will to comply. She did, slowly. Eyes darkened to nearly black, she gazed up at him through half-closed, heavy lidded eyes. He stifled a groan as he felt the tug on his self-control. Strained beyond anything he'd ever felt before, he forced himself to slow down, to replace her memory of one night of passion that had ended so badly with a night that wouldn't hurt her when she remembered---one that she would know he remembered, too.

 

`You can remember it, Ryo. You just haven't.'

 

`What? Shut up! I'm busy here!'

 

`Shut up, yourself, and listen! Please your mate, Ryo, and you'll remember.'

 

`I'd be happy to do that if you'd shut the fuck up!'

 

Satisfied that his youkai would be quiet for awhile, Ryomaru chuckled hoarsely as Nezumi's eyes drifted closed again. “I'll stop if you close your eyes,” he commented as he flicked his tongue against the flesh of her inner thigh.

 

She whimpered but opened her eyes. Ryomaru chuckled again. “Do you have---” He paused to lick, “---any idea how fucking sexy your legs are, Deirdre?”

 

She managed a choked sound that wasn't even close to a real word.

 

Pausing between words, alternating from one thigh to the other, Ryomaru prolonged the torment with the aid of his teeth, his fangs, his tongue. “And I think . . . I'll take . . . my time . . . getting to know . . . every . . . inch . . . of . . . them.”

 

She was past whimpering now, closing in fast on a pained half-sob. She kept her eyes open. How she managed, he wasn't sure. She was stronger than he had thought; he had to give her that. “Do you want me to stop?”

 

A sharp moan was his only answer. He could see it in her gaze. She really didn't know what she wanted. Interesting problem, he supposed. On the one hand, she was being pushed past her endurance. On the other . . . she loved every moment of it.

 

“I could keep exploring,” he mused, pausing for a moment to suck on her skin. “Or I could stop . . . all you have to do is say the word, you know.”

 

“R-Ryo . . .”

 

“You want me to stop? Okay . . . `course, I can't blame you for being too chicken . . .”

 

She gasped at his statement and choked out an indignant noise. He knew she would. “I-I-I . . . didn't say stop,” she muttered.

 

Hiding his amusement as he gently raked his claws up and down the outside of her hips, her thighs, and he nipped her skin. She moaned.

 

He sat up a little, frowned at the flimsy cloth panties she hadn't removed. “Deirdre . . . didn't I warn you that I'd shred what you didn't take off?”

 

She struggled to lean on her elbows, a look of mixed confusion and absolute chagrin wrinkling her brow. “What?”

 

He shook his head slowly as he caught his claws under the fabric and tugged. She gasped as the cotton panties tore like paper.

 

“What are you---?”

 

Her question ended in a strangled cry as she fell back and involuntarily lifted her hips, inviting his attention as he stifled a groan. Her body reacted to his on a purely primitive level; her scent spiraling out of control, raging like a storm around him. Choking back whimpers, moans, she smashed the back of her hand over her mouth as he breathed her in, as he touched her, as he loved her.

 

“I wanna hear you, Deirdre. No one else will hear you, and even if they did . . . we are in the honeymoon suite . . .”

 

She shook her head wildly, pressed her hand tighter over her lips.

 

“Have it your way,” he agreed as he slipped his arms under her hips. “You'll scream for me, yet.”

 

Her answer was a plaintive whine as he slowly, deliberately touched her with the tip of his tongue. She tried to sit up. He grabbed her hands, held them by her sides, his tongue delving into her. Bucking her hips as she sought escape from his torture didn't work. With a raspy cry, her body tensed, and Ryomaru could feel the tremors rocking through her as she squeaked, moaned.

 

A barrage of memories crashed over him. Images of the night they'd shared so long ago crystallizing in his mind as she gave herself up to pure sensation, as he reveled in the magic of her. She murmured broken words, inane sentences; appeals to whatever entities were listening. Ryomaru was relentless. Pleasing her had become a mission, his calling, and in pleasing her, he was setting himself free, too.

 

She tried to tug her hands free. Ryomaru held tight. Burying his tongue in her as she shuddered around him, he ignored the consuming ache in his body, the desire that was culminating in a raw pain, an unrestrained burn. He needed her, wanted her, had to possess her, but the sounds of her contentment and her own swell of passion was enough to temper the insanity. Her legs closed around him, cuddling him as he taunted her. The satin of her skin burned against his, and she cried out his name as he flicked his tongue over her again.

 

This time he let go of her hands as he grasped her bra and shredded it, too. Her hands dug into his hair, found his ears, and whether she realized it or not, she rubbed in time with his strokes. Hands wrapping around her breasts, thumbs flicking her nipples until they were distended and swollen, Ryomaru was relentless, bringing her pleasure again and again. His body ached, throbbed, but he wouldn't stop---couldn't stop---not until she was satisfied . . .

 

He growled against her. The reverberations wrenched another half-cry, half-whine from her.

 

“Want me to stop?” he goaded.

 

She arched her hips again, silently begging for his mouth again. “N-n-n-n---”

 

“Didn't think so,” he gloated, darting his tongue against her again. Pinching her nipples hard enough to make her whimper, he winced as her fingers unconsciously tightened on his ears. Her body tensed once more, and she screamed.

 

“Ryo . . . please,” she pleaded, her body tense then slack.

 

He smiled, relenting as she struggled to breathe, breasts heaving, skin flushed, eyes squeezed closed as she whimpered softly, her body protesting the heat of his mouth. He crawled up, letting his body rub over hers as she rose up to meet him.

 

Gritting his teeth as he concentrated on not following his screeching instincts that were demanding that he end it now, Ryomaru slipped his arms under her, rolled over so that she was sprawled on his chest. “Forever, Deirdre. You know that, right?” he murmured as he caught her ponytail holder with his claw and released her hair in a wave of raven black hair. It spilled over her shoulders, swept against his chest.

 

She opened her eyes and smiled weakly, eyes unusually bright as she lowered her lips to his. He groaned as her tongue slipped into his mouth, ran along the ridge of his teeth, along the contours of his fangs. His blatant perusal had unleashed her passion. The girl he knew had somehow become the hunter, and she was stalking him.

 

Her fingers flicked the nipple stud, toyed with it as her tongue pressed against his. He seized her hips, pulled her against him. She uttered a growl, throwing her head back as the sound echoed in the quiet room. Her mouth returned with a vengeance, covering his nipple as her tongue replaced her fingers. He groaned, reached behind his head, grasped the headboard so tightly it splintered under his claws.

 

Bucking his hips under her, Nezumi gasped as he found her. He let go of the headboard, unable to stop himself, he grabbed her hips and slammed her down hard. She screamed again, sitting up straight. His hands found her breasts again, and he groaned, shuddered as she clumsily moved her hips.

 

“Ryo, I can't . . .”

 

His hands slipped to her hips again, and he lifted her up only to jerk her back down again. Nezumi whimpered. “Like this, Deirdre . . . you can do it.”

 

“I . . . kami, I . . .”

“Do it . . .” he goaded, guiding her through the movements.

 

“I . . .” She cut herself off with a sharp gasp, her body demanding, responding, needing. “Ryo, please . . .”

 

Squeezing his eyes closed against the sight of her straddling him, Ryomaru grimaced. “Fuck me.”

 

His words set off something inside her. With his hands firmly on his hips, she mimicked his movements, rising up on her knees only to drop back down. The surge of her body on his, the demand of her passion strained against his attempt to hold back. He let go of her to grip the headboard again. Arms bulging, muscles straining, every part of him resisting the pleasure that rose inside him, he couldn't ignore the heat that surrounded him, the lust tempered by a deeper emotion. . . .

 

She caught onto the motion a little too fast. Her movements gained a fluidity that frayed his control as his body surrendered. She cried out moments before he did. He could feel the pulse of her heartbeat, could feel the surge of his world exploding, only to be brought back together in Nezumi.

 

She collapsed against his chest, her breathing rough, shallow. His hands tangled in her hair, and he held her close as she broke down in sobs and laughter.

 

“Kami . . . I didn't . . . I didn't hurt you, did I?” he forced himself to ask.

 

“No,” she sniffled then giggled. “No, Ryo, you didn't.”

 

Only then did he release the breath he'd been holding, closing his eyes as he kissed her forehead, as he cuddled her close. “I remember it . . . the first time . . .”

 

“You do?” she asked, pushing herself up on her elbows.

 

He nodded, running a finger down her forehead, down her nose, brushing over her lips. She closed her eyes for a moment and shivered. “Yeah, I do . . . I'm sorry I'm late.”

 

“You're not late,” she told him as she leaned down to kiss him. “Maybe we were just a little early. No regrets, right? Forever.”

 

“You're pretty savvy for a human,” he teased.

 

Nezumi shook her head and rolled off him.

 

“Oi, where you going?”

 

Nezumi grinned. “I want to try out that Jacuzzi.”

 

Ryomaru snorted.

 

She peeked back at him, a smile surfacing on her lips as her eyes lit with a dangerous glow. “Wanna come with me?”

 

Ryomaru thought it over and shrugged before sitting up and scooting off the bed. “I've never done anything in one of those,” he allowed.

 

Nezumi just laughed.

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromRyomaru:

`The Sex', huh …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Forever): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~