InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Fruition ❯ Propositions ( Chapter 57 )

Charity smoothed the skirt of the short black dress down over her hips, frowning at herself in the mirror as she turned from side to side, staring at her reflection with a critical eye.  The dress was a slightly looser style, more of a modified baby doll design with airy, billowing sheer fabric over the stretchy black slip dress.  It was a little more on the adventurous side for her, but a special night called for a special dress, in her estimation.  She only hoped that Ben liked it, too . . .

After having spent the bulk of their first day back in Maine, catching up on stuff she'd ignored while they were gone, she was starting to feel as though everything might be slowly getting back to normal.

Ben had spent most of the day over at the Zelig mansion, telling Cain everything that had happened and to plan on what kind of security measures they might need to formulate here.  He'd called a couple hours ago and asked her on a date, which had made her giggle.  He'd said he'd managed to get reservations at one of the nicest places in Bevelle and that Eddie had said she'd be happy to watch the girls. The housekeeper had missed the babies, and, considering the woman had cleaned the house holding one or the other of the girls pretty much the entire time, Charity figured that Ben's assessment was accurate enough.

It was nice to be able to breathe, wasn't it?  To wake up in the morning and not to have to feel that ever-present looming sense of dread, that feeling that something terrible was coming . . .

It had been explained to her that the overwhelming threat had been squelched with the death of Ben's father.  Since he was the tactician behind the entire affair, it wasn't that surprising.  Tetsuo was the biggest physical threat, but he'd lost the one who had masterminded the more subversive aspects.  The most of the dissidents had retreated, but it was troubling since they'd opted to flee to Europe, and it was no surprise to anyone that they'd done so.  Given that Ian MacDonnough, the current European tai-youkai, was openly critical of Sesshoumaru's handling of the office of the Inu no Taisho, it was a concern that he would support the faction, at least, behind closed doors.

No, the only reservation she had about finally going home again was that they'd left Kyouhei and Kells behind.  He'd ended up, sending Hana away.  Ben had told her that Kyouhei simply didn't have it in him to kill his childhood friend in retribution, and he could understand why she'd attacked their mother.  Yukina had killed Hana's mother centuries ago in a fit of rage over a broken vase.  Hana had never known about it, not until Yukina had told her on that fateful day.  The woman had lost her mind, had snapped, and in the end, she'd acted in passion, and even so, Yukina’s time was limited, anyway, given that her mate was already gone.  No, the one thing that Kyouhei couldn't see past was that she'd done so, knowing that Yukina was pregnant, and, had she died before Kells had been born, they would have lost the infant, too.

Even so, Charity couldn't help but to worry about the two of them.  They were staying there at the compound alone—Kyouhei had insisted that it was what he wanted.  Ben had said that they'd come back soon, to visit with the two on a purely brotherly level.  Kyouhei had promised that he'd come for the wedding, but she'd seen signs, hadn't she?  He wasn't okay psychologically.  As though something deep down had broken inside him that day, he was still struggling a lot more than he wanted to admit.

Ben said that it was something that Kyouhei was going to have to figure out on his own, but that maybe the addition of Kells was enough to help him.  For the first time, maybe ever, Kyouhei was the one who was needed, necessary, and maybe it would help him to gain a new perspective on everything that had happened, and maybe, with Kells, he could learn what life was supposed to be.

Even so, she thought as she pulled out a pair of simple pearl stud earrings, she had told Kyouhei before they'd left that, should he need anything at all, ever, that they were no farther than a phone call away.  He'd nodded, tried to smile.  It was more of a grimace than a real, true expression of joy . . .

"Kyouhei-san," she said as the two of them had stared out over the courtyard as the evening shadows started to fall.  She held a drowsing Emmeline in her lap while he finished feeding Kells.  The skies were mellow, the air calm, a sense of overwhelming peace that settled over everything, a beautiful feeling after such a tumultuous couple of weeks.  "You . . . You know that you're always welcome with Ben and me, right?  I mean, I hope you to know that, but I wanted to say it out loud.   I . . . I don't want you to ever question it."

He nodded, lifting Kells to his shoulder, patting his back to try to make him burp.  "I know," he replied, blue eyes soft, sad.  "I just hate the idea of taking him from everything that he senses as being familiar."

"It's not so much the place where he is that gives him a sense of security. It's that you're with him," she told him.  "You're his familiarity, not a house or a place."

"How do you know this?"

She shrugged, toying with Emmeline’s flyaway hair.  "Well, we've traveled quite a bit since the babies came to us, and they're fine, right?  But even then, people are more important, especially to a child, than where you physically live.  Just . . . do what you need to do for your own peace of mind, because he's going to know—he'll sense it—if you're not at ease with where you are."

He sighed.  It was more of an exhalation than a sound of melancholy, though.  "Everything I've ever known has changed," he said.  "My parents . . . were not good people.  I've known this for a long time . . . They . . . They earned what happened to them.  They chose it, and somewhere deep down, I knew it would have to come to this.  I just . . ."

She reached over, patted his knee.  "They were still your parents, Kyouhei-san," she replied.  "It would be stranger, I think, if you didn't care."

Letting out a deep breath as the memory faded, Charity flicked her wrist to glance at her watch.  Nearly six-thirty, and Ben had said he'd be home by seven to take her on their date.

"Hey, Cherry, sorry I'm running a little late.  I'll be ready in a few minutes . . . Just let me change . . ."  Ben trailed off as he strode into the room, yanking at his tie as he headed for the walk-in closet, only to stop short when he lifted his chin and got a good look at her.  He looked surprised for all of a moment before digging his hands into his pockets and leaning back against the closet door.  "Damn," he murmured, his gaze taking on a very appreciative light.  He wasn't smiling, exactly, but he didn't have to.  It was all there in his eyes.  "You look . . . Damn," he breathed again.

She wandered over, holding out a single pearl pendant on a glimmering white gold chain.  "Could you . . .?"

He took it, and she turned around, gathering up her hair to get it out of the way while he looped the necklace around her throat and carefully fastened it.  Then he leaned down, brushed his lips over the nape of her neck.  She shivered and leaned against him, hands grasping his thighs as her eyes drifted closed, as she sighed softly.

His hands slipped around her waist, drawing her back against him as he nudged her fallen hair out of the way, tenderly nipping at her throat.  A million little trills echoed through her body as he kissed his way to her jaw line, as her head fell to the side.  He moaned softly against her skin, his breath condensing on the sensitive flesh, and he sighed, turning her around so that he could kiss her lips.

The current between them was electrifying, inebriating, and she slipped her hands up, sinking her fingers into his hair, dislodging the thin ribbon he'd used to tie it back this morning.  With a loud groan, he maneuvered them, pressing her back against the closet door, slipping his hands up her arms, thumbs catching under the thin straps that held the slip of a dress in place.  He pushed the straps down her arms, watching intently as her breasts sprang free, groaning again as her nipples reacted to the brush of the fabric: lengthening, hardening, as he dropped to his knees, as he latched onto her like a dying man, and she was his water . . .

She felt as though her knees were going to crumble under her as he flicked his tongue over one rosy nipple, creating a heat, an ache, so intense, so powerful, so consuming, that she very nearly screamed when he let go, when he slowly kissed his way to the other breast.

His hands pushed the dress down over her hips, catching the pretty edges of her black lace panties, letting them go as they fell to the floor.  He dragged his mouth away, and she whimpered as she let her chin fall forward, as she opened her eyes to gaze at him.

He worked the buttons of his shirt, discarding it with her dress and panties, before standing up slowly, staring deep into her eyes as he stripped off the rest of his clothes.  Then he scooped her up, carried her over to the bed.  "I . . . I wanted to wait until our wedding night," he said, giving her a half-smile as his gaze roved over her.  "But I can't.  I think . . ."

She reached up, turned his face with a gentle hand.  "I think we've waited long enough," she told him.  "I love you . . . and I want you . . ."

His answer was a roughened growl as he let her legs fall onto the duvet.  She flopped back against the soft mattress, and a moment later, he fell on her, his body a study of strength and life, of everything she'd ever wanted or needed.  Hands stroking her sides, branding her flesh with every brush, every caress.  A stuttering heat that ignited, burned bright as the inner passion spiraled higher and higher.

He kissed her softly, lips tender as they brushed over hers, time and again, as his hands squeezed her breasts, only to release when she whimpered, as she ran her fingers up and down his back, savoring the warmth of his skin under her sensitive touch.

Kissing his way down her chin, along her throat, tongue darting out to taste the balmy skin under his ardent perusal, he let himself explore her body, took his time as he catalogued every moan, every sigh, every whimper.  The feathering touches on her belly made her quiver, unconsciously lifting her pelvis.  The touch of his hands on her hips made her quake, dragging her own hands away from his back, only to wrap tight around fistfuls of the duvet cover beneath her.

Sliding down at a maddeningly slow glide, he slipped his arms under her legs, parted them as he breathed in the scent of her: the wildness of the spring rains, the wonder of the morning flowers, opening her like one of those blossoms as the dawn kissed their petals.

And then he tasted her.

She called out his name, her body erupting in shivers and shockwaves as she kicked against the bed, digging in her heels, as though she were trying to squirm away from him, to avoid the consuming fire that raged through them both.  He held onto her, relentless in his exploration, touching her as deeply as she touched him.  Lips closing over the one tiny nub that set her passion free, he slipped a finger into her as she cried out again, as she gasped and shook and cried.

The orgasm that shot through her was harsh, tearing, and somehow beautiful, but before she could regain her senses again, she felt him, pushing himself up again, his lips falling onto hers as he entered her.  Tearing her mouth away, she called out his name as another violent string of explosions rattled through her once more—only these were more intense, more shattering, more defining than the first one had been.

Through her haze, she could feel him moving inside her, the culmination of heat and light and beauty as he lay claim to her, body, mind, and soul.  The jarring movements created a pattern of light and dark, as he held himself above her, his face contorted in an expression of pleasure bordering on the sweetest pain.

A part of her felt as though it were dying, only to come alive again, as she lifted her hips to meet his, as she whimpered and gasped and held on to his arms, as she heard the call of his youki and welcomed it.  His heart thundered in her ears, the sound of his blood running through his veins, as clear to her as it would be if he had spoken out loud, yet the need, the want that had built and escalated so quickly just moments before was back with a vengeance—with an unrelenting fervor that goaded her as want became need that then became ache that circled around itself with an urgency that made her want to scream.

He felt it, too.

The steady tempo of their bodies, rising and falling increased, goaded by the desire to reach the pleasure that lingered just out of their grasps.  With a harsh growl, he leaned back, reared up, grasped her legs, thrusting into her hard, driving the pulsing ache deep inside her to a fevered level.  The pressure that had built, like a rubber band being stretched farther and farther, finally snapped, exploded in a violent wash of heat and blinding light, as he throbbed inside her, and, with a roughened cry, she felt him as he gave her everything in that one, brilliant moment . . .

He pitched forward, catching himself on his elbows as he reclaimed her lips once more, kissing her so gently, so deeply, that it brought tears to her eyes, even as her brain struggled to regain a sense of sanity.  Her body felt as though it were cast of lead, her heart still beating like it was trying to escape the confines of her body.

He stroked her cheeks, whispered half-words that were lost as he kissed her over and over again.  Charity was a little distracted, however, because he was still deep inside her—still very hard—leaving her very, very aware.

Lifting her hips against his, she uttered a soft whimper that was lost in the confines of his mouth, but he groaned at the reminder, his body, shuddering even as he began to rock his hips again.  This time, though, he was slow, almost languorous as he made love to her, his lips against hers, kissing her slowly.

The altered pace was maddening, almost infuriating, in its slow completeness, in the utter devastation of her senses.  The blinding sense that he was hers and that she was his was a humbling thing, tempering the rampant lust that tried so hard to consume them both.  Eyes closed, savoring the touch of his body against hers, the absolute surge of something wanton, tempered so easily by a pure love . . . He moaned, his body straining as he tried to hold back the raw adrenaline that tormented him, he threw his head back, his movements taking on a sense of urgency.

The quickening pace broke her will, demolished her resolve, the beckoning of that beautiful thing, growing brighter and brighter in her mind—breathing stunted and shallow as she raised her hips, only for him to drive them back down once more.  She wrapped her legs around his hips, held him tightly, oh, so deeply, the sense of completeness as they moved in syncopated harmony, swelling, throbbing, gushing . . .

She could feel the rise of that reckless thing, that elusive sense of repletion that was so easily lost, only to be found again and again.  It rose within her as her body reacted with a will of its own, opening around him, bidding him to take her, to show her the way so that they could discover it together once more.  The tide of insatiable hunger, the rise and fall of two heartbeats, the words that were whispered and lost in the space of an instant, as she took, as she gave, as she reeled in the understanding that this was now, was forever, was that elusive thing that they'd found together . . .

And the quickening movements, the elongated and exaggerated motions, only taunted her more as she arched her back, pressed her body against his, willing him to acknowledge what she wanted—needed—from him.

She felt it again in a vague sort of way as her own body tightened, convulsed.  Choking out her name in a rasping, reaching cry, his body tensed as the heat of his orgasm filled her again, as her own rocked inside her, her body reacting of its own accord, as her cry of release echoed with his in the quiet, in the stillness, in the heart . . .

She didn't know how long she lay there, struggling to breathe as her brain slowly, slowly cleared.  Cuddled against Ben's chest as he held her close, he kissed her forehead, gave her a little squeeze.  She didn't remember him rolling over, but he must have.  Her legs had slipped between his as he idly rubbed her shoulder with the pad of his thumb.

He moaned softly, letting out a deep breath, and suddenly, he chuckled.

"What's so funny?" she asked, lifting her head off his chest so that she could look at his face.

"What do you think?"

Blinking at his strange question, she gave her head a little shake.  He chuckled again and lifted her hand, turning it toward her to show her the engagement ring he'd managed to slip on her finger before she'd fully regained her senses.  She gasped, eyes widening as she stared at the gorgeous piece.

"It's platinum," he told her.  "I found it in an antique shop and had the stone replaced . . . Cost more for them to refurbish the thing than it would have if I had just gone in and bought one, but . . . Well, it reminded me of you—assuming you still want to marry me, that is."

"Of course, I do!  I love it," she whispered, unable to take her eyes off the ring on her finger.  "I . . . I love you."

"I love you, too, Cherry . . ." Again, he chuckled, and he slowly shook his head.  "Guess we missed dinner," he said, looking slightly sheepish for a second.  Then he shrugged.  "Maybe there are some leftovers or something in the fridge . . ."

"I'd say that was a pretty good trade-off," she told him, kissing his cheek.  "You're my mate now . . ."

"I'm your mate now," he agreed.  "Well, I was already your mate.  It's just official now, I guess."

"No regrets?"

He rolled his eyes.  "Just that I couldn't wait till after the wedding . . . I mean, I went to the trouble of asking your father for his blessing, and then this happens . . ."

"Did you really?" she asked, breaking into a grin as she considered his words.  "You actually asked him?  That's so . . ."

"Old fashioned?" he asked with a grimace.

"I was going to say, 'sweet'," she corrected.

He sighed.  She giggled as she snuggled against him once more.

"Cherry?"

"Hmm?"

He sighed again.  "About the wedding . . ."

"What about it?"

"Any thoughts as to when you might want to do that?" he asked.

She scooted around, crossing her arms on his chest to prop herself up to look at him again.  "I like July weddings," she ventured.

"July?  That's . . . That's like, two weeks away."

She nodded slowly, tracing his lips with the tip of her claw as he shivered.  "Well, you know, I was thinking . . . I don't want or need a huge wedding.  Just . . . Just us and the people we love the most—that can make it here on such short notice."

He looked pleased enough, and yet, he shook his head.  "I want you to have the wedding you've always dreamed of, Charity, and two weeks doesn't sound like nearly enough to get it all done."

"The wedding I've always dreamed of was all about my mate, and the rest of it?  It's all just details.  Besides . . . You seem to have forgotten.  My twin is the very best event planner in the world—and I'll bet you a thousand bucks that she's already got the whole thing, all ready to go, and just waiting for us to say the word."

He considered that and sighed, but he finally chuckled and pulled her down for another slow kiss.  "Somehow, that just wouldn't surprise me."