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His hair was down. It was down, it was down, it was hanging around his shoulders, still dripping with water since he’d washed it half an hour ago. It curled slightly over his forehead, falling into those narrow indigo eyes. Sango was grateful that he was preoccupied with his thoughts; otherwise, he’d have caught her staring.
Sango hated admitting how handsome Miroku was. She often caught herself watching him sidelong, taking in the strong lines of his face and wondering what the rest of him looked like—well, without bandages from injuries. She hated that she had illicit thoughts at all. All she really wanted to do was kill Naraku and save Kohaku. But the butterflies didn’t stop around him, and hadn’t for a while now.
Actually, that was a lie; they were killed off fairly quickly when he flirted with all the pretty women on their travels.
Like tonight, when he’d “exorcised” the “evil spirits” from the village’s most eloquent home in exchange for a place to stay the night, and then proceeded to flatter and charm the wits out of the daughter of the house. Sango could only sit and brood—if she revealed aloud that it bothered her, his ego would be insufferably large, and she would have to admit that she cared for him more than a friend should.
Was that what they were? Friends? Sango’s jaw clenched as she recalled the incident earlier that morning where he’d grabbed a handful of her ass. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to objectify her, but it was beginning to really damage her heart. Friends didn’t do this sort of thing: flirt with her, then with other women. He clearly didn’t care about her.
And that was the thought that finally made her pull her eyes away from Miroku, frowning to herself and ignoring the stinging sensation in her chest. She returned to tightening the bindings on her weapon, trying not to wonder what the monk was thinking about so intently. She wished Kagome and Inuyasha had not returned to Kagome’s time for the week. She’d appreciate their mindless arguments right about now. Even Shippo would be a welcome addition of noise, but he’d elected to stay in Kaede’s village while she and the lecher traveled to kill off some demons nearby.
So, now she was left alone with the monk who occupied her thoughts, both lustful and angry. It infuriated her to no end. So much so that she gritted her teeth and abandoned Hiraikotsu next to the futon and stepped outside, feeling Miroku’s gaze on her back as she left.
“Hey, Kirara,” she said softly, sitting beside the demon cat in the grass. She chirped in response and purred under Sango’s stroking hand, leaning into the loving touch. Sango sighed, frowning even as Kirara’s presence calmed her. “I’m sorry you can’t stay inside with us this time. House rules, I suppose.”
Kirara merely blinked up at her and meowed.
“It would be much nicer to have you next to me as a buffer,” Sango muttered, glancing up at the sea of glittering stars that seemed to stretch on forever. “Who knows what that pervert will try to do tonight.” She sighed again and wished she could relax completely. But—ugh—that damn monk just…riled her up so much. Her scowl deepened as she recalled the way Miroku smiled at the daughter, whose name escaped her. The way his hand lingered on the girl’s shoulder. His flowery words.
“What a jerk,” she muttered petulantly, plucking at the grass around her knees.
“Sango?”
Groaning inwardly, she looked over her shoulder to see Miroku peeking out of the sliding paper door. He donned an expression of concern, mouth slightly downturned and eyebrows set straight over those bedroom eyes. Sango’s gaze, against her will, slipped further down to where his robes lay loosely around his shoulders, revealing the barest hint of his chest. Then she looked at his cursed hand, bound by the rich purple cloth and spiritual beads.
She’d often wondered what those beads would feel like against…
Blinking rapidly, Sango inhaled a sharp breath and banished that thought. “Yes?” she replied, annoyed at her breathlessness.
“Are you alright?” he asked, a bit hesitant. “You stormed off a few minutes ago… I merely wanted to check on you.”
“Fine,” she nodded, if a little curt. “I’ll be in shortly.”
Miroku hesitated again before he fully stepped out from behind the door, padding towards her on soft feet. Sango sighed—she did that a lot when it came to him—and resigned herself to the fact that he wouldn’t leave her alone. “Sango,” he murmured, sitting cross-legged beside her, inches away. She swallowed and violently ignored the butterflies that threatened to make her head go fuzzy. “Did I offend you earlier by flirting with Miss Asumi?”
Asumi. Sango’s jaw locked as she gnashed her teeth. Why did he remember this girl’s name when he didn’t bother for any of the others? That hurt even worse than the mindless flirting. Ugh!
“No,” she answered, deliberately slow so it seemed calmer than she felt. “It’s not really my business who you entangle with, monk.”
“What if I were entangled with you?”
Sango whipped her head towards him, flushing crimson as her mouth popped open. But then she saw his teasing grin, and her ire returned. “Don’t—“ she growled, swallowing again to stop herself from shouting. “Do not joke about such things with me.”
Miroku leaned in slightly, making her heart ba-dump extra hard in her throat. His smile turned into something more heated, eyes boring into hers. “Sango, dearest, please believe me when I say I would never joke about something so serious with you.”
Sango blinked, suddenly dazed by his words and his voice, lowered to a soft, inviting tone, and the way his gaze fell to her mouth briefly, and… Stop. Stop, stop. She frowned deeply at him, then turned her face away.
She didn’t deserve this back and forth treatment. She deserved better. She deserved honesty.
“Sango?”
“Leave me alone, Miroku,” she mumbled, her cheeks heating once more—but out of humiliation rather than shock. “Just…go.”
Suddenly, there was something brushing her hair away from the nape of her neck; she gasped as unwelcome, pleasant chills erupted across her skin, realizing it was his fingers, gentle and tentative. Her body froze, unsure what he was doing, unsure what she should do. And then…oh, gods…breath wafted against her as his mouth grazed the spot where his fingertips had lingered.
“I’m sorry, Sango,” he whispered, the sensation of his lips sending another shiver through her. “How can I make it up to you?”
“You…you…” Sango was at a loss for words. What did he think he was doing? And why wasn’t she pulling away? Was she just a glutton for punishment?
Miroku’s hand trailed from her neck to her shoulder, then down the back of her arm. It was only then that she realized it was his right hand that beheld his wind tunnel as it grasped her own, blessed beads clinking softly when it touched her arm. He was basically pressed against her back now. His mouth remained at the top of her neck, not fully kissing her there, but enough that desire swirled in her belly.
She was beginning to get lightheaded.
“You’re being unusually quiet,” he breathed, a hint of apprehension in his voice.
How did he expect her to speak when put in this position? This wonderfully warm, delicious position…
No, no, no; she had to resist this—she couldn’t let him sway her after he’d shamelessly flirted with the girl. Asumi. Rage glimmered, but as his clothed, cursed hand entwined with hers, it faded.
She was tired of fighting this attraction. She was tired of being frustrated every time she saw him smile at women. She wanted him to kiss her more. She wanted to slap him.
“Miroku,” she whispered, eyes fluttering closed, “please…”
“Stop” was the word meant to follow, but it never left her lips.
Sango allowed Miroku to pull her into his lap, the heat of his body now seeping into hers. She shuddered in his grasp. His lips met the side of her neck and she automatically tilted her head. She felt like she would melt.
“You are the only one I want to do this with, Sango,” he said, the low tenor of his voice sending yet another set of shivers down her spine. “No one else captures my attention the way you do.” His arms snaked around her middle, one coming up to rest near her throat. The beads on his arm felt hot. Or was that her?
Was she really letting him touch her so inappropriately? Would she let him get farther than this?
“Look at me,” he whispered.
Sango, half-lidded and nearly delirious from the mix of pleasure and outrage, turned her head. Her nose brushed his before she met his eyes, the feel of his breath upon her lips making her heart flip in her chest. “What?” she breathed, trembling.
“I don’t…” Miroku trailed off, seeming to struggle for words. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”
Her heart strained, throat closing up. She did want that. But she wanted to be the only one he touched. She wanted to be the only one he looked at, talked to, flirted with. Tears welled in her eyes and she had to turn her head away, shame burning in her cheeks. How often would he embarrass her? How often would she let it happen before she had enough?
“Sango?” he murmured worriedly, gripping her hand tighter.
“Why do you keep doing this?” she whispered, tortured. “When you know…when it’s so clear how much I care?”
He fell silent. He knew what she meant. Why did he keep galavanting around with all these women when she was right in front of him? Why did anyone else matter?
“I think…” he began finally, “it’s my own way of protecting you.” She could’ve scoffed if the statement wasn’t said with such sadness. “If we cannot defeat Naraku…I couldn’t bear to have you live through what I did. Watching my father be consumed by this curse—it damaged me more than I care to admit. And damning you to the same fate is something unforgivable.”
Sango took a deep breath…and pressed her back into his chest, bringing them closer. “Miroku—you have to let me make that choice myself. I don’t want you to push me away. I want to be…”
Yours. Yours, Miroku, I want to be yours! she screamed in her head.
“Seeing you with them,” she continued, her voice nearly breaking, “hurts more than anything I could imagine.”
“Watching me die would be worse,” he promised darkly.
Sango ripped herself away from him, standing so swiftly that it made her dizzy. She pinned her gaze on him, feeling a snarl in the back of her throat. “We aren’t losing to Naraku,” she spat. “We can’t. I refuse.”
Miroku’s face softened, though his lips thinned as he pressed them together. A look of contemplation, of grimness that told her he didn’t think the same way.
“So you…” she breathed, shaking her head slowly. “You won’t even try?”
“Of course, I’ll try, Sango—“
“But you don’t think we’ll win? You don’t think we stand a chance?”
“He almost has all of the jewel shards,” Miroku said softly. “It all just seems…out of reach.”
Sango wanted to scream to the heavens; instead, a choked whimper fell from her lips as she knelt before him, taking his cursed hand in hers. And then she pressed his palm to her cheek, a rush of love—wrathful, tough, gentle, and patient—stealing her breath. Miroku’s eyes glittered with that same, unending sadness and regret, though his throat bobbed as he gulped audibly.
“Miroku,” she murmured. “If you can’t believe in yourself, then believe in me. In all the others fighting against Naraku. You don’t have to do anything alone—you have people who love you. You have a family who have chosen you. We will defeat Naraku, because there’s no other option.”
Miroku blew out a shaky breath, a smile faint on his lips. “You’re right,” he conceded. “I’ve been on my own for so long, it’s hard to break that habit.”
Sango darted her eyes between his. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to know what it was like to be loved by him. But she couldn’t force the words out. So, she hoped he could see it on her face, in her gaze as she glanced to his mouth that looked softer than the cloth against her cheek.
His smile faded, lips parting as he leaned in.
Sango’s eyelids fluttered closed. She waited. And waited.
“Perhaps we should go inside.”
Disappointment slammed Sango so hard that she almost flinched at his whisper. She slowly opened her eyes, following the column of his throat up to his jaw, his mouth, then finally his…eyes… Sango blushed under his gaze but didn’t avoid it; the way he looked at her—like he was starving. Had she misinterpreted his words?
“We should?” she replied, breathless and lightheaded, eyes flickering as she thought about what exactly they could do inside. With his hand still cupping her cheek, her imagination ran wild.
His whispering groan against her throat—hands roaming—her waist, her hips, pressed down against the cold floor with his own—gods, what did his body feel like?
She didn’t mean to, but Sango moaned aloud, quiet and hungry.
“Sango, dearest,” Miroku sighed, a hint of pain in his voice as he shut his eyes. “You can’t…that sound…I can’t…”
“Please,” Sango said softly, finally lifting her hands to rest on the place between his neck and shoulders. “I want…I want to.”
She desperately needed to say so much more. I want to know you. I want to make love to you. I want to become lost in you. I want to do everything. I want to, I want to, I want to. But that was all that left her mouth, and she hoped that was enough. She hoped he could feel the deep, powerful longing that pulsed in her chest—consumed her entire soul.
Miroku released a harsh breath, almost like a snarl, that sent the strangest bolt of arousal to her belly, and then…
And then he was crushing her into an embrace that ripped the air from her very lungs.
His hands didn’t wander farther than the small of her back and her nape. Still, they made her feel hotter than any other touch he’d instigated before. Sango buried her face in his neck as her own arms wrapped around his shoulders, and she bravely—or stupidly—pressed a lingering kiss to the slope of his strong throat.
“S-Sango…”
She whispered, lips brushing his skin ever so slightly, “This is the last time you’ll hear me beg, Miroku. Take me inside, keep me, or leave me alone forever.”
The ground was swept up from under her legs as he stood, arms hooked under her thighs. Sango hummed in content, sneaking her tongue out to taste the salt on his skin, grinning when his steps toward the house faltered.
It hit her, then—she was really doing this. She would lay with him tonight; her life would be forever altered; she would know how he felt. Sango briefly wondered what it would be like: magical, as the village women she’d met over the years claimed it to be when one was in love. Or horrible, as the women hated the men they bore children for. But then she vanquished the latter thought. Miroku would never intentionally physically harm her. He was a gentle soul, regardless of his monkhood.
Sango had no lingering doubts as the door slid shut behind him.
Miroku sank to his knees immediately, kneeling before the single futon, originally intended for her to sleep on while he would slump in the corner. But that was no longer the case. He carefully slid her onto the soft bedding, took one reproachful glance at her flushed face—Sango knew he was trying to talk himself out of it—but then he shook his head and, in movements so quick it made her head spin, took her jaw between both hands and tilted her face up to slant that sinful mouth over hers.
Sango had been kissed a few times. Once when she was young, before she’d become a true Slayer, with the boy she’d had a crush on. Another time just before Naraku had destroyed the village, with another boy that taught her how to kiss through many of them, though it never went farther than that. She was grateful for those moments, because now, in the heat of everything, she wasn’t fumbling.
His breath was warm as it breezed across her lips. Sango’s throat made some kind of noise, a cross between a moan and a whine, and she relished in his grip that tightened before his fingers slipped into her hair. He kissed her so ravenously, so frightfully and cataclysmically enraptured.
She wanted him to tear her apart.
All of a sudden, she craved more pressure. Intensity. She needed him to decimate her.
Sango opened her mouth and sucked his upper lip between her own while her fingers tore at his robes. Miroku stumbled slightly but soon followed her desperation, deftly undoing her skirts and robes as well. As their clothes fell away, his tongue swept into her mouth, licking along hers and sending brand new waves of flaming desire through her. Sango whimpered and wrapped one leg around his, shuddering at the sensation of his bare, heated skin.
She wanted to look at him; she really did. But her need for touch vastly exceeded that want.
Miroku broke their kiss and latched onto her throat, sucking and biting his way down to her chest. Sango was panting now, her ragged breaths the only sounds apart from her roaring heartbeat in her ears and his traveling mouth. Then his lips wrapped around one of her nipples—
Sango gasped sharply. “Gods,” she murmured, arching into him. He groaned, the soft sound vibrating against her pliable flesh as his hands trailed down her waist, hips, then rested on her thighs, pausing to massage them. Sango squirmed as he switched to her other breast, allowing her fingers to run through his dark hair.
The heat of his mouth was searing. The coolness of his sigh against her as he left. His talented hands, roaming the expanse of her naked lower half. Sango was nearly writhing beneath him as he traveled lower south, down her belly, pressing achingly soft kisses across her hips. She didn’t know how to tell him she needed him to be rougher, but she certainly wasn’t going to interrupt him anyway.
He dragged his tongue from the tip of her hip bone down to her mid-thigh, nipping once before coming back up slowly. Sango whimpered. She knew what was coming—Kagome, though younger, knew a great deal more than she had through word of mouth by her gossip-driven friends. And therefore, when they had somehow broached the subject of sex together, this had come up.
Miroku was going to place his mouth on her bare, swollen cunt, and he would kiss her there…quite thoroughly.
A flash of heat, in tandem with his hands that gripped her hips, made her moan again, head dipped back as her fingers found purchase on her own breasts. She allowed her body to do what felt right in the moment; she wasn’t going to question it; she would trust herself. Trust Miroku.
She felt his breath before his lips. And his lips before his tongue. And his tongue before his teeth, grazing ever so slightly.
Sango’s mouth dropped open. “Miroku,” she cried softly, her pelvis rising up to meet his face. At his name, Miroku’s fingers tightened and his jaw relaxed—she could feel it between her thighs—and he licked, sucked, devoured her.
This was…so much better than she… “Gods, Miroku! Mmnhh—ahh…” Imagined.
Without her noticing, too caught up in the throes of her mounting pleasure, he snuck one of his hands down to her center. Then her eyes popped wide as she felt him spread her apart and lick one long, hard stripe upward, his tongue briefly dipping inside her. Sango’s back arched hard as she inhaled and released a garbled mess of groans. Her eyes rolled back when he did it again, and again, and then he moaned against her, sending vibrations she never knew could be so powerful straight into her.
Tears sprung in the corners of her eyes. Her body was wound tightly. She felt tingly all over, and yet nothing was relaxed. Like she was an ocean of pleasure, but there was a dam blocking her way from flowing.
“Gods, Miroku, please,” she babbled, not knowing what she was begging for. “I’m…I c-can’t…Miroku, please, please, Gods, I…”
He whimpered—oh, that sound was so amazing—and sucked her clit into his mouth, lapping at it softly. Sango cried out, chest heaving with each pant and moan and whine and plead. Then his fingers slid so, so carefully into her, curling repeatedly.
His tongue brushed in time with the curl of his fingers. The dam was cracking. Her hands couldn’t find a place to land. Her hair, his hair, the blanket under her back, her full, weighted breasts. Sango’s hips thrusted of their own accord, grinding against his face as he continued unperturbed.
She opened her eyes and glanced down at him. His hair, still down and falling over his forehead and into his eyes, made him look messier than normal. And the way his head bobbed minimally as he ate her. Truly. She breathed a curse, the metaphorical, aforementioned dam now splintering, her sea of pleasure, arousal, and desire seeping through. Then his eyes opened, flashing to hers instantly.
They were dark, lustful, shaded under furrowed brows.
He raised his mouth from her briefly, parted lips glistening in the dim light provided by the fire-burning lamp. “Come on, Sango,” he whispered under his panting breaths. “Let me fucking hear you, my love.”
Gods. Gods—
She broke; her voice over his name, her body in his skilled hands, her spirit at his sweet and filthy words.
Then his smooth voice was by her ear, speaking even as she couldn’t stop moaning, falling falling forever.
“That’s a good girl. You look so beautiful right now. That’s it, keep going, baby. Yes, fuck.”
She didn’t know how, but she broke again, nearly screaming as her pleasure doubled, overrunning her body, stealing her breath, fogging her brain, making her ears ring, her legs quake. She gripped his arms for dear life and buried her face into his chest as she rode his hand that still stroked her insides gently.
And then it slowed down. Blessed gods, it slowed down, and so did her body, though it still throbbed and pulsed. Her breath came in short bursts as she tried to catch it.
This is what the village women meant. This is what Kagome talked about.
Sango lifted her face to look at Miroku—her lover, now. He’d removed his hand moments ago, but she already missed it. His face was a bit calmer, though his eyes still beheld that glimmer of desire. Without a word, she clasped the back of his neck and drew him in, kissing him with all the passion in the world.
She’d decided already, earlier, that she was going to go all the way. And so had he.
Miroku moaned, low and deliciously, into her mouth as he rolled on top of her. She felt his arms next to her head, his thighs under hers as he… Sango gasped at the sensation of him. The length, the girth, pressing snugly against her pussy. His cock was rock hard, and it shot white-hot bolts of renewed pleasure through her.
He wanted her.
She could feel it in the way his tongue slid against hers. In the way he rocked slightly forward, making her gasp again. In the way one of his hands flew down to her left hip, the other bracing his weight, and made her move with him.
Miroku pulled away and spoke against her lips. “Sango, are you—“
“Yes,” she interrupted breathlessly. “Please.”
He groaned softly, “But—“
“If you don’t do it now, I’ll kill you, you lecherous monk.”
Miroku paused before laughing under his breath. “I don’t know why, but that turns me on even more,” he murmured. She shivered. Then his hips shifted, and he pushed inward with no warning.
Sango’s mouth fell ajar, her eyes flashing in shock as they met his own. His jaw was set, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. The stretching was—gods, it was surprisingly amazing. Sango nodded, eyelashes fluttering along with her soft moan. Miroku’s smile faltered a little, but he pushed more, stretching her even further. It burned…and she welcomed it.
When he bottomed out, Miroku’s head dropped to her shoulder and he growled.
Sango trembled. He felt so, so indescribably good. His weight, his breath on her chest. His pelvis fitted so perfectly against hers. She whimpered and wound her arms around his neck, lifting her legs, as well, to hold his waist in place.
“S-Sango,” he groaned, shaking his head slightly.
“I’m good, Miroku.”
“I’m not,” he whispered in return.
Oh.
Sango grinned, proud—and maybe a little smug, too.
She turned her head, brushing her lips along his neck and up to his jaw. “Too much for you to handle, monk?” she teased. “I thought you would be more prepared.”
Miroku released a shaky breath, shaking his head again. “It’s different with you,” he said, soft and tender.
Sango’s throat tightened as she froze. “Different?” she echoed.
“Sango,” he admonished, “don’t tell me you think I cared about any of those other women.” He rose onto both of his arms, towering over her as he stared into her face. He was flushed, hair hanging down around his strong featured face, mouth pressed into a displeased line. Sango couldn’t help but blush, gaze falling to the column of his throat, down his chest, his abdomen, then to where they both met. Where he rested inside her, full and tense. Her eyes darted back to his when he spoke again. “You occupy my every thought, Sango. I compare every face I see to yours. I dream of you.”
Her heart swelled to astronomical proportions. She breathed in quietly, clenching her jaw against the emotional tears rising to the surface. Cupping his face, her thumbs brushed his cheekbones delicately, watching his eyes glitter the same way she felt hers were. “Miroku,” she whispered, wetting her lips with a swipe of her tongue. “I love you.”
The words, never spoken aloud before, seemed to quiet everything in the room. His lips parted, expression falling from frustrated to something much more serene. “You do?” he asked, his tone hushed.
She smiled. “Do you think I’d agree to something like this if I didn’t?”
Miroku leaned in and brushed his lips along hers. “I can’t believe you’d patronize me while I’m in such a predicament, my dear Sango.” She giggled, then he paused. “I love you, too,” he breathed against her mouth.
Her heart flipped two, three times. She kissed him once more, then shifted her hips to thrust gently toward him. They both gasped together. “I think it’s time you start moving,” she murmured.
He nodded, and as her fingers slipped into his hair, he pulled back and slowly plunged inside her—the second time of the night.
Sango shuddered. “Yes,” she whispered. “Please, Miroku.”
“You’re so tight,” he panted. “I can barely move.”
“Keep going,” she groaned. “Please.”
“Fuck. I swear, Sango, I’m going to make you go as crazy as you’re making me right now with that fucking begging.”
But he thrust again before she could retort—not that she had the breath, or the thoughts, to. She’d never heard him curse so much before. It was incredibly attractive on his lips in particular. Miroku slowly sat up, giving her a full line of sight to his toned body, abdominal muscles rippling as he slid out and back in once more. His head tipped back while he groaned low in his throat, hands holding her waist. Her mouth watered.
Sango was full in a way she’d never thought about. She felt complete, although she never knew something could have been missing. A lupine whine left her when he plunged so damn slowly again. Her eyes drank in all of him; he trembled above her, sweat beginning to glisten all over his upper body, every muscle tensed and flexed as he—
Held himself back.
Sango lifted her hips in time with his next thrust, making him snap his head in her direction, beautiful midnight eyes wide and astonished.
“Stop being gentle with me,” she ordered in a purring voice as her foot brushed his lower spine.
His brow furrowed. “Sango,” he sighed, almost roughly. His head tipped back again and he swallowed. “Please, my love. Have some patience.”
Sango reached her hand out and pressed her palm flat against his abs, relishing in the soft gasp he gave at her touch. “I can’t,” she breathed, the heat in her voice nearly scalding. Her other hand copied the previous one, and she grasped his hips and made him move closer, as he had done to her earlier. Miroku grunted. “I’ve waited too long already. Come on, Miroku—show me. Show me everything.”
I want to see what you’re like without the charming exterior. I want to see you lose control. I want to see you fall apart for me.
She said nothing else, but by the way his chest heaved, she imagined he understood.
Miroku braced a strong hand on her stomach—his covered hand, purple cloth soft against her warm skin. His face was set sternly, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he seemed to focus all his attention on her. Sango, if not already blushing, could’ve sworn crimson fire swallowed her from her toes all the way to her scalp. Then he dragged his cock out, and snapped forward with a force and quickness that made her cry out in surprise.
“Stop being gentle?” Miroku repeated in a clenched mutter, glaring. “Show you everything? Do you have any idea what you’re asking?”
He—fucked her, was the only applicable word—roughly again; Sango yelped, panting, eyes wide.
“I can barely hold onto my sanity as it is,” he growled, bowing his head. His eyes zeroed in on where they were connected, and his hand trailed downwards until his fingers found her clit where they circled it in achingly slow and soft motions. Sango moaned long and hard, feeling her nipples tighten even more as her pleasure grew. “You’re such a gluttonous woman, Sango. How could you ask me to treat you so brutally?”
Sango tossed her head back as he fucked her once again, expert fingers working her up to another precipice. She almost forgot to breathe. “Please,” she whimpered. “Please, faster, Miroku!”
“Gods, Sango—“ he said through gritted teeth, though he ended up obeying her pleas. She whimpered through every thrust, gradually rising in volume. Her hands clawed at the skin of his stomach, his flexed hips, but he snarled again and grabbed both her wrists, pinning them above her head. Now closer, she could hear his labored breath, an occasional moan slipping in. “Next time,” he said stormily, “we do things the way I want to.”
Her back arched, needing him closer. Needing his weight. “I’m not some porcelain doll,” she claimed, gasping for breath right after from his harsh pace.
“No,” he laughed dryly, “certainly not.”
His fingers slid between hers as he openly kissed her neck. His chest pressed against hers now, his speed having slowed, but not his roughness. Sango groaned hard, meeting him on every move, legs bent so far back that her knees almost lined up with her ribs. He hit a spot so deep inside her that she felt a scream crawling its way up her throat.
“S-Sango,” he stuttered, breathless, against her throat. “You feel too good. There’s no way I can…”
She trembled at his desperate words. “It’s okay,” she whimpered. “I promise.”
“No,” Miroku shook his head, pulling back to stare at her. “I want to feel you come on me.”
She bit her lip, flushing. His mouth was so filthy. And delicious.
Miroku released her hands and grabbed her ass and breast simultaneously, tweaking a nipple while adjusting the angle of her hips. Sango gasped sharply—how did he get even deeper than before? “That’s it,” he whispered, eyes alight. “Fucking feel me, Sango.”
At a loss for words, all she could do was nod helplessly.
“You’re so beautiful. A complete mess, my love. My love.”
Her back arched, a euphoric sob ripping from inside her chest.
All too suddenly, bliss wracked her body—wave upon wave of bliss.
Miroku released a resounding moan right after, movements becoming disarrayed, chaotic.
Something warm spread through her, and then everything slowed.
Their breathing, their bodies, time. Though their hearts thundered together relentlessly, pressed close in their embrace.
Sango’s head cleared, and she nuzzled into his neck, his dark hair tickling her nose. He made a contented hum before turning to meet her gaze, one midnight eye peeking at her. She smiled tenderly.
“How do you feel?” Miroku mumbled.
“Wonderful…my love.”
He rose onto his arms, braced on either side of her head, and brushed his lips against hers. “Keep calling me that, and we’ll have to go again.”
“You can do that? So quickly? I thought men had to wait a while longer than women.”
He grinned and, the wicked lecher he was, tilted his hips. He was still like steel inside of her. Sango moaned softly. “Normally, that would be the case,” he murmured. “But you’re a different story.”
Sango took only a second.
She nodded quickly and captured his lips once more, swallowing his groan.