Come Undone

“You won’t be disappointed,” you smirk, giving him a confident wink.

“I bet I won’t,” he replies, an arrogant leer toying on the edge of his lips. “I have a feeling you’re worth every dime.”

“Oh?” you ask, your eyebrow quirking up in a seductive manner. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because pleasure is your business, isn’t it?” he states more than asks, his hands now coming up to run feather-light touches up and down your jacketed arms, and you shiver inside despite the doubled barrier you’re wearing. “You’re here to make sure that I get what I want. And I bet there’s a lot more to you than your name implies,” he finishes predatorily, dropping his voice to a low, gravelly tone.

Your mouth goes dry all of a sudden, and you forcefully gulp and take a deep, long breath, willing your pulse to decelerate its raging tempo. You know he’s enjoying your discomfort. You’re certain that he can feel the very hammerings in your chest, can smell the rush of heat that’s swimming through your veins.

And you have no doubt that he’s already mapped out how he’s going to make you twist with lust; squirm in his oh, so talented hands. You can taste the desire in his eyes, and you know that it’s only a matter of time before you’re senselessly screaming out his name.

You steady yourself with another mouthful of air, forcefully swallowing down a tortured whimper. And when you feel like you can speak again, you meet his lust-addled stare and part your lips.

“Tell me your pleasure,” you breathe finally, voice low and husky. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

---

His fingers suddenly wrap around your arms, drawing you closer, and your hands fly up to grip his, just above the elbows. Slowly, he leans his head down, his mouth so temptingly near, hovering just a hairsbreadth from yours.

With the stubbornness of a wolf, you defy the all-consuming impulse to close your eyes and seal the deal with a most hot-blooded kiss, even as your gaze flickers back and forth between those hungry yellow oracles and those full velvety lips.

And when he opens his mouth, you think he’s finally going to kiss you, but to your surprise (and slight disappointment), he speaks instead.

“I’ve no doubt you will,” he replies, his mouth twisting up into that cocky, lopsided smirk again.

The brazen insinuation in his voice sends the butterflies in your stomach into a quivering frenzy. You feel tremors of hot electricity twisting up inside, sizzling; igniting a raging fire underneath your skin.

His grip on your arms tightens, and he draws you nearer still until your breasts are against his chest. You can feel the barren heat of his body radiating through your clothes, and you find that you’re unable to breathe from the intensity.

And then you feel his lips ghost against the outer shell of your ear once more, hot breath sending shivers of anticipation down to your toes, and for once, you feel grateful that he has you in his strong grasp; you would’ve swooned helplessly, otherwise.

“Now…” he prefaces in that dangerous tone, “…undress for me.”

And having said that, he lets go of your arms and walks away without so much as a backward glance, leaving you standing there to fulfill his demand.

You’re dumbfounded.

And for the span of a few moments, you stand motionless, rooted to your spot. Frozen in place. Your mind whirs as if trying to process his first request, nay… imperative for the evening. But then you take several deep, calming breaths, and you secure yourself with the fact that you are a professional.

Slowly, you turn around to see him retreat further into the living room, only to settle himself into the loveseat, where he can have an unhindered view of your ‘performance.’ He reaches a clawed hand over to the coffee table for something resembling a remote control, and for a brief second, you’re baffled, feel affronted, even, that he would dare to watch the television when he’s supposed to be watching you.

But your befuddlement is soon replaced with awareness when you hear the sound of soft, sensual music filtering in the background, and you see the lights overhead dim to a seductive hue, creating a would-be spotlight. Belatedly, you realize that you’re standing center stage, right in the middle of all the attention – his undivided attention.

Your cheeks flush again when you realize that you can no longer see Sesshoumaru, and that you’re all alone on his impromptu stage. You know where he’s still sitting. He hasn’t moved from where he’s perched his frame. But situating himself just outside of the muted radius, watching you, waiting… you can’t help but feel vulnerable.

Exposed.

Hunted, even.

Because unlike your feral namesake, this time, Sesshoumaru's the proverbial hunter...

And you’re his fucking prey.

You close your eyes and bow your head close to your chest, trying to still the nervous flutter deep within your gut. And when you’ve garnered enough control, you take another deep breath, lifting your head up and opening your ocean blue eyes as you slowly exhale. It’s a relaxing technique you’ve learned to master. And it’s a method you often employ to rein in your focus, especially when things are starting to slip from your control.

You can’t see his face, only the steady whites of his eyes and the maroon stripes adorning his cheeks– eyes liquid with a maelstrom of emotions too hungry to deny. You swear that if it is possible, you can probably drown in their transparency. And that thought alone makes you wonder whether it is you who is actually casting the spell on him or if he’s already taken you captive, and you’re just blind to it.

Nevertheless, you shake these thoughts away and do your best to find your focus, returning his hawk-like stare with an intensity to match.

You’re ready…

Slowly, your hands travel up your body to grasp gently at the lapels of your jacket, and you sense his gaze flicker down to your delicate, feminine hands, tracking every one of your movements. You slide the blood red garment over your shoulders, your movements unhurried as you free each of your arms.

Next, you take the time to fold your jacket vertically, drape it over the back of the nearest couch with care, where you proceed to undo the slide your stiletto Mary Janes, tucking them neatly underneath the seat before returning to your place in the dull spotlight.

You know what he must be thinking: What in the hell are you doing folding your jacket and putting your shoes away neatly when you’re supposed to be concentrating on taking off your damn clothes?

But you can’t bring yourself or your OCD to care. This is your show, damn it! This is your fucking striptease! And you’ll do this performance regardless of how ridiculous those actions might look.

You take another deep breath as you step inside the lighted circle. You look for the whites in his eyes again, and when you find them, you raise your wrists to let down your blue-black tresses from your tight, orderly bun.

Slowly, your hands trail up to your chest, fingers raking leisurely to find the first point where the buttons are fastened on your black button-down shirt. And when you find that spot, you release the first button with unhurried care, offering him a slivered glimpse into the creamy skin that’s hidden underneath.

You hear him force down a gulp, and your lips curl up into a small, teasing leer when you see him shift uncomfortably in his seat. Your eyes flash with renewed confidence, his reaction spurring you on to continue your wicked tease.

Gradually, your hands move down to the next button, unfastening it slowly, agonizingly, before moving down to the next.

You watch him watch you intently. You can taste the desire pouring out of his eyes, and you know you’re treading on dangerous ground teasing a demon like him like this.

But you don’t care.

That’s a risk you’re willing to take.

Little by little, you undo the buttons of your un-tucked shirt, parting each side grandly like the Red Sea. Each measured journey downward reveals more and more of your smooth skin underneath, skin that’s sprinkled with little beads of perspiration trailing in a straight, tantalizing path down your red, lacey cloth-covered breasts towards your belly button, where it disappears under the hem of your pants.

You turn around when you’re down to the last button, feeling his eyes rake over your still-covered back. And when you’ve unhooked it, your fingers drift up to your lapels, sliding them off your frame just a little bit until only the tops of your shoulders are exposed, gifting him with another alluring sample of what’s to come.

You hear him shift impatiently, and you smile to yourself because you know that you’re about to torture him even more.

Abruptly, you cease undressing altogether and pause, turning your head to the side to ‘look,’ waiting patiently to draw out a more acceptable reaction from your client.

You hear his body shift once more. Not once does he speak a word.

But you stubbornly hold your ground until you hear him release a labored groan. Only then do you turn your head back to the front, your smirk widening into a naughty grin before you finally decide to continue your torturous act.

Slowly, purposefully, you shed the black material from your frame, offering him a gorgeous profile of your smooth, toned back – a back that is attached to an attractive torso that narrows down to your waist, where you know that your carefully picked dark blue jeans hang seductively low, hugging your bodacious hips, and highlighting the muscled swell of your professional ass just tantalizingly so.

As with your jacket, you take the time to fold your shirt into a vertical half, setting it right on top of your coat on the back of the couch, before approaching center stage once more. You step into the middle of the spotlight and meet his fiery stare again, watching him now as he leans forward with anticipation in his seat, propping his elbows on top of his knees while strands of white falling over his shoulders like snow.

Deliberately, you raise your left hand and let it wander lazily down the valley on your chest, walking your fingers down towards your belly button, before parking it on the button of your trousers. You’re just about to undo your pants when you suddenly hear his gravelly voice.

“Stop,” he barely croaks out, his Adam’s apple bouncing once again as he struggles to swallow thickly.

You cease your movements all at once, freezing in your tracks as your would-be spotlight suddenly returns to its previous brightness. Your eyes search to understand his, fascinated by the liquid emotions they display, curious to see what kinds of carnal adventure he has in mind.

“Not yet,” he says in a throaty whisper.

He stands up and moves to settle his taller frame in front of you, an air of reverence etched across his face.

Your own eyes flicker from his lava-like ones, down to the full, plush lips underneath, so irresistibly close, just a breath away from fulfillment.

He catches your wayward glance, surveys the way your tongue darts erotically across your lips as you wait in breathless expectation, your tongue leaving an inviting wet trace, a shimmering gloss – a sample of what he can possibly taste.

You feel heady with emotion and sensations you cannot yet fully describe. And you can hear your heart pounding in your ears, your insides twisting up to make you tremble with desire.

At last, he covers the backs of your hands gently and takes the flat of your palms on a heavenward journey from his stomach, all the way up to the muscled plains of his chest, your fingers, guided by his, roving sensually across porcelain skin.

His breathing becomes labored...

Heavier.

You can feel his alcohol-laced breath caressing your lips. And when you run your fingers across his hardening nipples, brown peaks just begging to be touched and tasted, you hear his breath hitch.

It turns you on.

A shot of pure, erotic tremor blazes through your nervous system, pooling deep in your groin. And without thinking, you let your feral instinct take over and dip your head down, your eager mouth colliding hotly against a welcoming chest.

Your hands roam everywhere, cataloguing every dip and swell his gorgeous form has to offer, your mouth ravenous in its quest to sample his physique.

You pepper his chest with wet kisses, dragging your lips teasingly, languidly across his hardened nipples, capturing one between your teeth before giving it a hell of a tongue-lashing. You hear a groan tear out from the back of his throat, his hands flying to grip the sides of your shoulders, and you trail your eyes up to see him toss his head back in lust-addled bliss, eyes closed, and mouth parted slightly.

It’s a most exquisite sight, you judge. And you know you wouldn’t mind seeing more of that same expression as the night wears on. In fact, you’re looking forward to it.

You’re being paid to provide him with unmatched pleasure, after all.

You move your mouth to the other peak, lavishing it with the same generous attention. And when you’re finished, you lick a steady line up his sternum, pause to lave at the dip between his collarbones, and then continue your oral journey upwards, kissing a wet path up the side of his throat.

“Tell me your pleasure,” you breathe hoarsely into his ear as your lips nibble at the delicate skin underneath his earlobe, swallowing his pulse. “Tell me what you want.”

Again, he doesn’t answer.

But with a vicious growl that half-startles you, he envelops you in a fierce embrace, wrapping as much of his arms and body around you as his lips come crashing down, fusing hungrily over your own, covering your entire mouth with starved, wet kisses, full of lips and tongue.

He wants you.

You can see it… feel it… touch it… taste it…

You feel like you can lose yourself completely; let yourself drown in the liquid rapture of the moment. The sensations are overwhelming, intoxicating… stoking the feverish fire in your blood, overriding all coherent thought.

You have no time to think or to brace yourself.

But thankfully, your body knows what it wants, and you react by kissing him back senselessly, stealing mouthfuls of air, as much as his greedy, pillowy lips would allow, his tongue plunging repeatedly into the cavern of your whimpering mouth, muffling your moans.

You can barely feel your feet stepping back as he advances forward. And the next thing you feel are his strong hands pushing down on your shoulders, forcing you to sit on the single-seat sofa behind you as he tears his mouth away. You turn your gaze up into his lust-glazed eyes, and this time, it’s your turn to swallow thickly when you see that ‘look’ on his face.

Your professional experience tells you that you know exactly what he wants from you next.

Slowly, your hands move to caress his slender waist, fingers teasing the hem of his low-cut jeans. With the flick of your thumb, you undo the button and unzip the fly. Then hooking your thumbs on either side of his waistband, you drag both his silk boxers and pants down his legs, your greedy hands palming the arch of his ass and the backs of his thighs on your journey down.

He steps out of his last garments, then. And when you pick them up with the intention of folding them, he stops you with an amused look, takes them from your hands, and tosses them carelessly in the direction of the loveseat. Neither garment made it to their intended mark. And you resist your compulsive urge to look at the mess he created, fixing your eyes resolutely upon him.

He meets your stare and doesn’t speak, a dangerous, arrogant quirk toying on one side of his lips.

He’s studying you…

You can feel it.

He’s fascinated by the paradox your physique presents: a small, lean form that is very attractive for a woman; the translucent depth in your ever-changing blue eyes; long, soft, jet black hair against a pale skin; the way you look so ‘innocent’ and yet so utterly debauchable all at once.

It’s as if he wants to protect you and devour you at the same time.

And then suddenly, comprehension dawns on you as loudly as if Sesshoumaru had spoken it himself. And you come to realize just what exactly this man’s unfulfilled fantasy is; how he wants his ‘pleasure’ packaged and delivered tonight.

It unnerves you a bit, but you don’t look away, a tremor of exhilaration igniting at the pit of your stomach.

You know the fantasy has already begun…


:]:]:]:]:]:]:]:]:]:]:]:]:] Reviews force my hands to type.
A/N: Another chapter completed. I have the rest of them ready, but I think I would rather torture you... hee hee. Reviews will make me post them faster!!!