InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 9: Subterfuge ❯ Lust ( Chapter 198 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

'What the . . .?  She's . . . singing . . .?'

He leaned in closer, turning his head, pressing his ear against the door as a rather stupid grin quirked his lips.  He couldn't help it.  She was . . . singing, and not just any song, but 'V' . . .

The door suddenly opened, moist air flowing out of the bathroom, the scent of lavender, of chamomile, of eucalyptus hitting him in the face.  The smile on his lips faded away, his eyes widening as the sight of her came crashing down on him.  Completely naked, holding a towel in front of her, as though it would provide some kind of defense, she gasped as the words of the song died away, as her gaze widened, as the droplets of water from her bath clung to her skin, as a few rivulets trailed from her hair, coursing down her body.

Gooseflesh erupted on her arms, on her breasts, and she remained silent, nostrils flaring, quaking, quivering.  In the space of a moment, she captured him in her simple gaze, in the unabashed pink that quickly infused her skin.

Evan opened his mouth—it was suddenly bone-dry—choking on the words that just wouldn't form.  A visceral growl escaped him as he reached out, as he grasped her arms, dragging her against him, unmindful of how rough he might be, kissing her hard as so many months of unrequited passion rose up to devour him.

She didn't fight him, didn't offer any kind of resistance at all.  Lips opening to him, hands impatiently shoving up under his shirt, searing his flesh with her touch, she gasped softly, shuddered violently, whispered his name as he relinquished his hold on her lips, dropping his mouth to her throat.

It wasn't nearly enough.  As hungry as he was, as voracious as he was, the only thought in his mind was that he needed more: more of the silk of her skin, as warm as velvet, burning under his touch, but the fever was lust, a passion so overpowering . . .

Yanking at his shirt, she uttered a half-whimper, a half-growl.  Caught on his elbows, she couldn't remove it, and a base instinct made him release her long enough for her to shove the shirt off.  Arms locking around her once more, the burn of her flesh against his, he couldn't stand it, mind reeling, caged so tightly between want and need.

Licking the residual moisture from her body as he dropped to his knees, running fangs precariously over her skin before closing his mouth over a rosy nipple, he growled low in his throat—a vicious sound—as shivers erupted in goose flesh, as her stunted breathing grew more shallow, more heady, more wanton.  She uttered a plaintive moan,  hands sinking deep in his hair, holding him close, closer, as she rocked against him, begging, pleading . . .

Clinging to him, her body as pliable as a rag doll, she arched against him, silently begging him to touch her, willing him to understand.  The burning under her skin raged ever higher, the scent of her desire closing in around him, goading him further.  Suckling his way back and forth between the rise of her breasts, he issued another growl—a sound of pride, of a man lost in the realm of satisfying his mate . . .

His mate . . .

His world . . .

Valerie . . .

V . . .

Her body writhed against his, unconsciously seeking more, so much more.  Straddling his lap, she undulated her hips, movements growing more wild as his body answered hers.  The fabric of his jeans chafed at him, the barrier that separated him from what he wanted was nearly unbearable.  He hurt—ached—but he couldn't help savoring the pain as he strained against the confines of his clothing.

She scooted off his lap as he rose to his knees once more, as he pushed himself to his feet again, breaking the contact of his lips, grasping her breast as his mouth returned to hers, tasting the sweetness of her, catching her sighs, her harsh breaths.  Every nerve in his body was on fire, searing a path to his brain that was made up of nothing more than tactile sensation, of primitive need . . .

Her hands trembled as she tugged on his jeans, deft fingers unfastening them, shoving at them impatiently.  Somehow, he managed to kick them off.  A moment later, her hands wrapped around him, pumping him greedily as his body stiffened even more, as he threw his head back, unleashing a growl that he just couldn't restrain.

He lifted her off her feet, set her back onto the counter.  She let go of him as he dropped to his knees, as he pushed her knees apart seconds before he buried his tongue deep inside her.  A strangled cry, a smothered gasp, she collapsed back against the mirror, locking her legs around his neck, drawing him in closer, deeper . . .

Reveling in the overwhelming scent of her, flicking his tongue over the part of her that he craved most, he closed his lips over the tiniest bit of her as every muscle in her body tensed, as his name, ragged and harsh, spilled from her.  Sucking gently as he plunged a finger into her, she rocked against him, moaning, panting, keening as her passion spiraled out of control.

Moving on instinct, fighting to control the unfurling need to take her, to make her his, he savored her, devoured her, his own lust tempered slightly by the hunger in her every movement.  Pleasure claimed her time and again, yet it wasn't enough—not nearly enough.

Pushing against him, she nearly tumbled off the counter.  He caught her, steadied her, his fingers drenched in her.  She groaned softly, shoved him back, uttered a moan of protest as she purposefully maneuvered her hips, as his finger slipped out of her.  Her body slid over his, her knees on either side of his head.  "Fuck!" he choked out as the searing heat of her mouth slid over him, taking in as much of him as she could.  Evan reached up, grasped her hips, yanked her down, only to bury his tongue in her once more.  She tore her mouth away from him, cried out as the steady rhythm of the song on the radio seemed to take over her body, as she ground her hips against his voracious mouth.

Dropping her lips over him again, she sucked at him greedily, hungrily, the suction of her mouth breaking, only to take hold again.  He could feel the churning of a powerful orgasm stirring deep within, and he pushed her away before he came completely undone.

In one fluid motion, he had her pinned to the floor, her legs locking around his hips before he could move himself into position.  "P-Please," she whispered, arching her back, thrusting her breasts upward, as though she were begging for his touch.

He fell forward, hands grasping her breasts as the head of his cock slid between the slick folds of her pussy . . .

"Evan?  Evan!  What the hell are you doing?"

Evan growled, rearing back, swinging an arm wildly at the interruption.  A hand caught his wrist, a second hand closing over it, tugging hard.  He jerked back, pinning the intruder with a fierce glower, ready to fight if he had to—ready to destroy anyone who would dare to come between him and his mate . . .

"Stop it!  You don't even have a condom!"

The sound of those words snapped him out of his stupor, and he blinked in sudden confusion as Madison's face swam in and out of focus.

"F . . . Fuck . . ." he hissed, shoving himself off of Valerie.  She didn't even seem to realize that Madison was there for a moment, and Evan grimaced, grabbing his jeans as he shoved Madison aside, as he stumbled out of the bathroom.  Mind reeling, unable to make any sense at all of just what had happened, he stopped abruptly, caught himself on the back of a chair, dragging in lungful after lungful of shattered breaths as he struggled for a semblance of control.  Somewhere in his jumbled brain, he heard the sound of feet darting away, of a door slamming in the distance.  Squeezing his eyes closed, he just couldn't . . . just couldn't understand . . .

"What the hell were you doing?"

Grimacing at the reproach in Madison's voice, Evan ground his teeth together to keep himself from lashing out at her.  "I . . . I don't  . . . know," he rasped out, rubbing a tired hand over his face.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Madison demanded, pulling his hand away so that she could see his face.

"I mean, I—don't—fucking—know!" he snapped, pushing away from the chair, pinning Madison with a fierce glower.  Then, as though all of the anger had been spent in his outburst, he sighed, shoulders slumping, and his gaze dropped to the floor.  "I . . . I don't know," he whispered.

Madison sighed, rubbing her arms despite the warmth of the apartment.  "So she's broken up with Marvin?  Finally?" she suddenly asked, her tone much gentler than it had been.

Evan grimaced but didn't answer.  What . . . What was he doing?  If Madison hadn't interrupted when she did . . . He couldn't finish that thought, even to himself . . .

Sucking in a sharp breath, Madison paced across the floor and back again.  "So . . . She's still engaged?  Evan—"

"Spare me the lecture, Maddy," he interrupted, his tone more angry than he meant for it to be, but the anger was directed at himself, at the inability to control himself.  "I wasn't . . . That wasn't . . ."

"Even so . . ."

He sighed, shrugging as though it was the only thing that he could do.  Confusion washed over him in harsh waves, digging at his soul.  Was he really going to do that?  Would he really have gone so far?  Grimacing inwardly, he shook his head.  Yeah . . . Yeah, he would have . . . if Madison hadn't interfered . . . "She . . . she said she loves me," he said, uttering out loud the words that he was trying to tell himself.  He didn't really know who he was trying to make excuses to . . . and what did it matter, either way?

"She did?" Madison asked incredulously.  "She really did?"

"She did," he muttered, but shook his head.  "I mean, she was running a fever, but she . . . she said it.  She meant it . . ." He winced.  'She . . . she meant it; I know she did . . . I think she did . . . Didn't she . . .?'

Madison stared at him for several moments.  "Of course she meant it," she said, as though it was a foregone conclusion.  "But Evan—"

"But what?"

"Does she know anything?  Have you told her anything?"

"About what?" he growled, yanking on his jeans.

"About you," she replied calmly.  "About who you are—what you are."

"Look, I wasn't planning on . . . on any of that," he insisted, his patience wearing thin once more as he waved a hand toward the bathroom.  "That wasn't . . . That wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Then you'd better make sure it doesn't happen again, Evan—at least, not until it's the right time!  You can't just go around doing what you were doing!  You didn't even have a condom, and if I hadn't walked in when I did—"

"You think I don't know that?" he growled.  "It wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Damn right, it wasn't supposed to!" she growled back.  Drawing a deep breath, she shook her head slowly, as though she were trying to control her temper.  "Go home, Evan," she finally said.  "Go home and clear your head."

He wanted to argue with her.  He wanted to go to Valerie, to try to fix what had just happened.  He started to turn, but the sight of the hallway, of the closed door—Valerie's door—stopped him.  Somehow, the distance that was only feet felt like so much more . . .

"Go home," Madison said once more.  He started when she reached out to rub his back.  "I'll talk to her.  Just go home, okay?"

He stared at her for a long moment, wishing that he could find the words to argue with her.  But he couldn't, could he?  Couldn't find the words to gainsay her . . . Couldn't find the words to say to Valerie, to even begin to make everything between them okay again.

"T . . . Tell her that I'm sorry?" Evan asked, his voice sounding tired, stupid to his own ears.

Madison nodded.  "You don't have to be sorry," she told him.  "I would guess that it was as much her fault as it was yours."

Evan didn't believe that for a minute, but he didn't argue with Madison, either.  There wasn't much to say, was there?  And he didn't have to be brilliant to know that he'd just messed up everything—everything.   Just what would Valerie say to him the next time they saw each other?  Or would she try to avoid him, try to push him out of her life like she had before?  Because he really wasn't stupid enough to think that it would change anything for the better.  The bottom line of it was that, even if she did love him, she was scared shitless of him on some level, too . . .

Stopping with his hand on the door knob, Evan didn't turn to face Madison when he paused.  "Maddy?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't be too hard on her, okay?  I . . . Well, it was my fault, not hers."

"I'm not going to be," she assured him.  "I promise."

Evan considered that for a moment.  Then he nodded and slipped out the door.


Madison watched the door close behind Evan, scowling thoughtfully as she tried to make sense of it all.  She'd stopped over to pick up that skirt and let herself in when no one answered the door, and she probably wouldn't have said a thing, likely would have just turned around and let herself back out again if . . .

Just what was he thinking? Madison sighed and slowly shook her head.  No, that wasn't the right question.  He wasn't thinking at all.  When did he ever when it came to Valerie?  He just did whatever it was his heart told him to do.

That wasn't the problem, though; not by a long shot.  The real problem was very, very different, wasn't it?  And Madison . . . "Damn," she muttered, turning on her heel, stalking down the hallway to get some long-overdue answers.

Valerie didn't answer, and Madison opened the door.

Huddled on the edge of her bed, securely tucked into the copious folds of a pale pink robe, bedraggled hair hanging in clumps around her, she looked . . . lost, didn't she?  Lost and confused and shocked . . .

"Valerie," she said softly, unsure whether or not the woman even realized that she'd entered the room at all.  "Valerie, I think we need to talk."

A barely perceptible nod—just once.

"I want to ask you," she went on, pushing aside the stab of pity in the hopes of getting some answers.  "Just what's going on?  Between you and Evan . . .?"

Valerie didn't seem to have heard her, and for a moment, Madison really thought that maybe she hadn't.  Then she sighed—no, that wasn't quite right.  It was more of a choked sob . . . "I . . . I don't know," she replied, her voice barely audible in the silence.

Madison frowned.  She really didn't know, did she?  "Yeah, well, do you know what it looks like to me?" she asked, unable to shove aside the memory of them, of what she'd found when she'd arrived . . . It wasn't what they were doing as much as the implications that went along with it—things that Evan would have regretted, things that Valerie would have never forgiven him for when all was said and done . . . and the underlying knowledge as glaring as the sun: it was already too late for Evan, wasn't it?  Already too late . . . already too far gone, and there was no hope for him: no hope to bring him back . . . "You're using him, Valerie, just like everyone else ever has.  You're using him for whatever you get from him, and isn't that convenient for you?"

Valerie gasped softly, her head jerking up, her eyes wide.  Shaking her head, she tried to refute Madison's words.  "I . . . No, I . . ."

"Aren't you?" she challenged, barely able to contain the anger in her tone.  Too many memories of Evan, of spending hours upon end, hanging out, listening to him play the guitar, laughing as he told her everything he ever wanted to do—and the unsettling suspicion that things had somehow spiraled well out of anyone's control . . .

Valerie shook her head, but it seemed more like a feeble attempt to placate Madison's anger than an actual argument to the contrary.  "But I . . ." She paused, swallowed hard.  "Evan means the world to me . . ."

"Oh?  So you've dumped ol' Marvin, have you?"

Valerie blinked, her gaze slowly shifting to meet Madison's as what little color she'd had in her skin leeched away in an instant.  "M-Marvin?" she echoed almost dumbly, as though she couldn't even remember who that was.  Then she quickly shook her head, her gaze skittering away.  "N-No . . . Marvin and I . . ."

"Marvin and you, what?" Madison challenged.  "You're going to get married?  You're going to live happily ever after—the image of everything that you think is safe?  Reliable? Don't make me laugh!"

Recoiling at the vehemence in Madison's voice, Valerie seemed to be struggling to find any shred of truth to cling to.  "Marvin—"

"Oh, fuck that little peckerhead," Madison snarled, stomping over to stand before Valerie.  "What about Evan?"

"Evan . . . Evan and I are . . . are friends," she murmured lamely, wincing, knowing just how pathetic she really sounded.  Oh, maybe she was confused, and maybe it was something she hadn't wanted to think about, but enough was enough, wasn't it?  And didn't Evan deserve to be a consideration to her, after all . . .?

"Friends?" Madison scoffed, refusing to let Valerie off the hook: not this time.  "Okay, I'll buy that.  I mean, you talk to him how many times a day?  You see him every day, too, don't you?  When's the last time you had to go a whole day without at least hearing his voice?"

Rubbing at her forehead, Valerie couldn't do a thing, could only look a little more confused, a little more lost, a little more pathetic.

Madison wasn't about to let it go.  It was too late for that, wasn't it?  "Let me ask you something, V.  When you wake up in the morning, before you even open your eyes, what do you think about?  Who do you think about?  Do you wonder if Marvin's going to call you?  To tell you good morning?  To tell you to have a good day at work?"  Valerie uttered a sharp little groan, a piteous sound. Was she trying to refute Madison's questions in her mind? Or was she trying her damndest not to ask herself anything at all . . .? "Or do you think of Evan?  Do you reach for your phone to see if he texted you in the middle of the night?  Do you dial his number before you bother to get out of bed?  You do, don't you?  So ask yourself, V, do you love him like you told him you did?"

Valerie blinked at Madison's abrupt question, shaking her head as the confusion broke wide.  Opening and closing her mouth a few times, trying in vain to figure out just what to say . . . Madison didn't know exactly what was said, but Evan had told her that Valerie had admitted as much.  If she denied saying any such thing . . . Well, Madison wasn't sure how she'd deal with that, but suddenly, Valerie's eyes opened wide, a terrified kind of wonder unmistakable in her every movement.  If she had forgotten saying that to Evan, it was obvious to Madison that she now remembered.  Still, she tried to say something—anything—but the words wouldn't come, and maybe that was better, anyway . . .

"If you love him, then for God's sake, stop this!" Madison went on, gritting her teeth in an effort to keep from reaching out, from grabbing hold of Valerie, to keep from shaking some sense into the woman.  "Don't you see what you're doing?  Keeping Marvin on the line while you're stringing Evan along?  How fair is that, V?  How fair is that to either of them?  I'm not just talking about Evan, but just how fair is that to Marvin, too?"

"E-Evan . . ." Valerie murmured, burying her face in her hands.  "I-I . . . I wasn't . . . That's not what I . . ." Letting her hands fall into her lap, her shoulders slumped, she looked thoroughly defeated, and for a moment—only for a moment—Madison nearly relented.  But the memory of the expression on Evan's face—that pain, that confusion—was enough to bring her irritation rushing back to the fore.  "Marvin . . ."

"I swear to God, if you start touting Marvin's saint-like qualities, I think I'm going to puke," Madison shot back.  "He's reliable, right?  Because you don't rely on him for shit!  And dependable?  Because you don't have to depend on him, either!  The bottom line is that he's safe for you, isn't he?  He's safe for you because he's nothing to you, and you know it!  You're safe with that little ass because you don't love him, so how in the hell can he hurt you when you don't even love him?"

She sucked in a sharp breath, drew back with a wince like she'd just been struck.  The deadly accuracy of Madison's words hit her hard.  "That . . . that isn't true," she argued, but her voice was too feeble, too painfully pathetic . . . She was grasping wildly at straws, fighting to hang on to the final vestiges of a transient illusion of what she thought that she needed . . .

"You love Evan; that's the truth, isn't it?  When you said that to him, you meant it, didn't you?  Why can't you admit it now?"

Slowly, so slowly, Valerie's eyes rose, met Madison's, and the fear—the overwhelming fear, the rising hysteria—was hard to stomach.  Madison didn't really know why Valerie was so frightened, but she had the feeling that those feelings might just be enough to convince Valerie that she really didn't dare take the chance with Evan, after all.  "I . . . I . . ."

Plopping down beside Valerie, Madison grasped her shoulders firmly, forced Valerie to look her in the eyes.   Holding onto her, she gave her a little shake, willing her to snap out of the shocked stupor that she'd been hiding in all along.  "Take that chance, can't you?" she begged. "You know him, right?  Don't you know that he's worth the risk?  Can't you try to believe in him?  He's not like other men! If he says he loves you, he means it!"

Brow furrowing, Valerie's irritation spiked, and she knocked Madison's hands away.  "I know he means it . . . now, anyway," she blurted, indignant color finally flooding into her cheeks.  "He thinks he does, and . . . and I'm sure that he does . . ." Her anger seemed to drain away as quickly as it had come, and she sighed, turning away, rubbing her face once more in an infinitely weary kind of way.  "For now," she muttered, her voice muffled by her hands.  "A . . . A week?  A month?  Maybe a couple years?  And then . . . And then, what, Maddy?  What then . . .?"

Heaving a sigh of her own, Madison frowned.  "If he says that he loves you, he means it," she stated once more.  "He's not lying about it."

"I don't think he is," Valerie agreed slowly, brokenly.  "But you know as well as I do, Maddy, things like that?  They never last.  Just because he feels that way today doesn't mean he will still feel that way tomorrow."

"Of course he will," Madison insisted.

"How do you know that?"

"Because he's—" Cutting herself off abruptly, Madison sighed.  As much as she might want to tell her, it wasn't her place . . . "Because I know him," she said instead, "and you should, too."

That did nothing to reassure Valerie.  If anything, she looked even more distressed than she had before.

Madison shook her head.  "Okay, fine, but you know, you can't keep doing this to them or to yourself.  It's not fair."

Uttering a half-sob, Valerie dropped her face into her hands again.  She looked so lost, so confused, and Madison didn't doubt for a moment that she really had no idea just how things had spiraled out of control.

With another long sigh, Madison reached over, tugged Valerie's hands away from her face gently.  "Listen, V," she said, her tone much gentler than it had been so far, "you have to make a choice, you know.  You can't let this go on.  It's not fair to Evan or Marvin . . . and it's not fair to you."

Valerie considered what Madison had said for a moment, but the confusion only seemed to worsen.  "Wh . . . What do I do?" she whispered, her eyes scanning Madison's face for an answer.

Madison shook her head, wishing in vain that she could make the decision for her because if she could . . . "Go there, Valerie," she finally said.  "Go to Marvin, look him in the eye, and be honest with yourself.  Ask yourself if that's the man you really want to spend the rest of your life with, and if he's not, then end it.  If he is . . ." Madison grimaced inwardly.  Yes, she was positive that Valerie really was in love with Evan, but . . . but she wasn't entirely sure that Valerie really had it in her to admit it to herself.  Valerie was stubborn, wasn't she?  And if anyone could convince herself that she would rather have something that she viewed as secure over taking that chance on something that could be wonderful, Madison had very little doubt that Valerie could do that, too . . . and that was the conclusion that scared Madison the most.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Madison plunged on.  "If you do decide that you want to marry Marvin after all, then I want you to promise me—swear to me—that you'll never, ever see Evan again."

Valerie looked stunned by Madison's request.  "Never . . .?  But . . ."

Madison couldn't back down.  "No, V, it's only fair.  Whether you want to believe it or not, Evan is in love with you, but if you still intend to marry Marvin, then you need to let him go because all you're doing is stringing him along, giving him hope when you have no intention of even considering that he might be right for you, after all.  So, no . . . you go get on a plane, look Marvin in the eye, and make your choice.  What you're doing now . . . It can't go on, and you know it."

Valerie winced, though she seemed to be considering Madison's words.  In the end, she nodded.  "O . . . Okay," she said, her voice raw, rough with emotion.  "Y . . . You're right.  I . . . I will . . ."