Withholding

© Salome Wilde, 2008

Withholding

Chapter 2

In her inescapably adolescent way and despite all evidence to the contrary, Rin decided everything would change the day Sesshomaru exposed his need and embraced her. But did she truly believe it? In less than a year’s time, they had gone through so very much together. Pleasure, pain, and something else—something more, that blurred the boundaries and reached beyond them, a kind of exquisite anguish that Rin chided herself for wallowing in each night before she finally fell asleep. That anguish wove a thorned vine around her heart and squeezed it hard, but it also wrapped her in a spell of devotion that bloomed, like a rose, from the richness of her youthful emotions and the zeal for life that her love for Sesshomaru gave her. The dance of intimacy with Sesshomaru was infinitely more intricate than childish games of “he loves me, he loves me not” and far more complex than her life could possibly have prepared her for. Yet, concluded Rin decisively as she lay by the fire—watching her silver-haired Lord sleep a dozen paces away—their bond was necessarily richer and more powerful because it was so difficult.

To test herself, she posed the question of whether she ever longed for those more innocent days, when Sesshomaru was a perfect and untouchable father-god, a champion of mythic proportions, a heroic master to serve unquestioningly her whole life through. The thorns dug into her heart. No. She could never wish for less than she had now. Even the worst of it had brought her to this place in herself, this deeper sense of need and purpose. She breathed in deeply and smelled Sesshomaru in the air, reinforcing her conclusion. The past three nights had been almost sleepless for her, unable as she was not to constantly inhale the almost palpable aura of Sesshomaru. He had withheld his need then unleashed it as his kind did, or perhaps as only he could do. He had let her sense his love, since he could not express it as she could. But saying “I love you” came so easily to Rin. How could she not cherish all the more his unique form of declaration: the releasing of the inimitable scent of a daiyokai who had been marked for life by one girl’s first intimate touch? Oh, that kiss. She ran her finger gently along her bottom lip. So long ago now, and as yet unrepeated. Nothing could compare with the embrace of three days before, of course. It made her feel reassured, secure, complete. But it also seemed to move them backwards, into a father-daughter love. As deeply as she cherished that bond and though she would have given her life for even a fragment of that warmth, she pined for more.

Even that wretched night when he had taken and marked her so cruelly had lost its sharp edges over time and had become fodder for romanticized fantasy. If it could be like that now, Rin projected, with her knowing Sesshomaru as she now did, with the essence of his love permeating her senses with every breath she took, then how good it would be. No matter how rough, no matter how little warmth, no matter if he left her side the moment his satisfaction was complete—it would be enough; it would be everything. She fought within herself for this to be true, even as her eyes filled with tears. She was lying to herself. She knew it. And Sesshomaru probably knew it to. She sat up and fixed her gaze fully on him. With a look of burning intensity, she willed him to open his eyes and face her. Is this how it would always be, her mute stare demanded, this deep desiring ache without the reprieve of even a single kiss?

Sesshomaru’s golden eyes opened, and he fixed her within their commanding depths. Rin flinched, dropped her head forward, and let her long hair cascade around her face.

“Do not hide from me, Rin.”

Rin’s heart beat hard and fast in her chest. Why could she follow him during the day with ease, but each night was such a torment? Why was she desperate for him to see her, to turn that molten gaze upon her, but then could not bear the way he scorched her soul with his look? Why could they not breach this impasse, despite having confessed—in their own ways—their commitment and desire for one another? Rin raised her eyes. She reminded herself to breathe deeply, for Sesshomaru’s eyes were not the window to his soul, his scent was. His scent that had been transformed for her, because of her.

“What is it, Rin?” he asked, without emotion.

Rin rose, walked to him. His rich essence grew stronger as she advanced upon his seated form. He looked up at her in silence, watching. She sat on her heels before him but did not bow her head. Instead, she spoke, quietly and as confidently as her love and desire could make her: “Touch me, Sesshomaru.”

The inuyokai did not move for long, agonizing moments. Rin urged him on with her soul, and hoped it came through in her scent or her eyes or some part of her that could reach him. He seemed to be studying her. Then, in a delicate, fluid movement, he reached forward and placed his hand on her cheek. His thumb stroked her skin tenderly. Rin pressed her face into his palm and shut her eyes. Sesshomaru exhaled audibly, and Rin wondered what he was thinking. But she would not ask. No: neither his impassive face nor his words could tell her what she needed to know, and in this moment, even his possessive, pervasive scent could not. Only his touch could assure her that he desired her as deeply as she desired him. Feeling she was offering up all of her hopes for future happiness in one small gesture, Rin leaned forward and parted her lips. She had the sensation of being suspended in midair, poised for free fall, and Sesshomaru would either catch her or let her plummet.

All at once, she was overwhelmed with sensation. His hand was in her hair, pulling her close, and those soft, inhumanly cool lips were upon hers. She kissed him fervently, passionately, and he met her need and desire with what she was certain was an equal fervor of his own. She felt she was being tasted, savored, enjoyed—and not by a predator or a dispassionate owner, but by a lover, as eager to know her as she was to know him. He parted her lips with his tongue, and she felt herself opened to him anew, vulnerable and precious yet heavy with need. She let him savor her mouth, explore it, and then offered the same, lavishing attention upon him until they met in a perfect exchange of wet, warm, beautiful sensation.

Easily, his arm cradled her and laid her back without breaking the kiss. He poised his body over hers, but kept his weight from her. She could sense his commitment to a pleasure that would be entirely reciprocal, that would invoke the past only as it led them to this consensual bliss. They kissed with increasing vigor until Rin felt near to swooning. All her blood seemed to have rushed to her head. She wondered if she could die from a kiss.

Separating from her as gently as he could, Sesshomaru sat back and parted Rin’s robes, exposing her small high breasts. He brought his mouth to them, letting his lips roam the soft, pale flesh. The kisses aroused and heightened her senses, as did the tickle of the mokomoko’s fur; her nipples tingled and tightened to small, erect buds before he had even touched them. And when he did touch them, flicking his tongue across first one then the other, she could not help but moan and arch her back wantonly. Sesshomaru took immediate advantage of her position, wrapping his arm beneath her and pulling her into his mouth with dexterous passion. He fed voraciously, sucking each nipple intently, drawing out Rin’s pleasure with expert skill. Rin let her head fall back languidly, and her hair spilled in a silken pool beneath her. She whimpered and he sucked harder in response, then drew his teeth gently across each pebbled tip. Rin gasped and Sesshomaru swallowed the small sound and her very breath in a devastating kiss.

When he released her, it was again to offer more. He laid her gently back and sat beside her, his elegant fingers beginning to remove the obi that kept her kimono fastened. Only a few seconds of frustrated effort resulted in a predictable impatience, and Sesshomaru reached out his claws to nimbly slash it open without touching Rin’s flesh. Yet Rin pulled away instantly. Almost without thought, she tucked her knees and turned onto her side. A sound came from Sesshomaru’s throat but was cut off abruptly. She felt him there, very still, at her side. He neither touched her nor walked away. Rin lay, curled away from him, and breathed. She reached out with her senses and felt the fear, and knew it did not come from a threat projected by him. The scent that rose from Sesshomaru was urgent but not dangerous. It was not precisely protective but it was warm and it was right.

Slowly, she turned back to her lover, and relaxed her body again. Her now unbelted kimono parted of its own accord, and Sesshomaru stared down at the naked form before him. Rin blushed at the intensity of his gaze, but she did not attempt to cover herself or turn away. He bent forward to draw his cool, wet tongue over her, from her navel to her throat, leaving her shivering and longing for more. She smiled and reached her hand to touch his flat-muscled chest. He closed his eyes and let her caress him for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision and rose fully before her. He kept his eyes on hers as he removed his robe, which was tied loosely with his sash. The garment fell and he stood before her, his pale body radiant and slender in the moonlight, his mokomoko a furred halo across his broad, slim shoulders. Rin was awestruck.

She waited for him to come to her, to press his body to hers, to enter her and bring them both to the heights of pleasure she had longed for since she sampled her own delights with Priestess Kikyo those many months before. He stood, proud and controlled, and she knew, suddenly, that he awaited her invitation. With a maturity and composure far beyond her years, Rin spoke, “Come to me, my beautiful Lord Sesshomaru,” and parted her legs in welcome.

It was as Sesshomaru positioned himself between Rin’s thighs that they heard Jaken’s bloodcurdling scream.