Inuyasha was pretty sure Kagome was up to something.
If his nose was anything to fucking go by—and it almost always was—the aroma of bittersweet cacao and cream wafting up from the first floor restaurant meant his girlfriend was baking with chocolate.
Leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms above his head to work out the kinks in his spine—each vertebrae clicking back into place with a satisfying “crack”—the silver-haired hanyou took a moment to savor the word: girlfriend.
Kami, there were days he still couldn’t believe it. Days it still felt like a dream, a delicate soap bubble that would burst with an unwary prick of his claw.
Because fuck if he didn’t love everything about her.
Inuyasha loved the furrow in her brow Kagome got when she was concentrating on getting a dish to look just right on the plate. Loved the way she would hum off-key while doing dishes, the way she constantly seemed to move to the rhythm of a song only she could hear. Like she would waltz right out of his life if he didn’t treasure her properly.
Loved the little smile that graced her face whenever he asked for seconds of a dish, the joy with which she threw herself into each day. Loved her fire, her selflessness, the kindness that seemed to radiate from her soul. But most of all, he loved the way she tasted things.
Inuyasha had never been jealous of an inanimate object until he’d seen Kagome use her tasting spoon.
She had a whole set of them, with stubby handles and deep, wide bases, that she kept in her apron pocket; lined up neatly on her counter; once, he even found one standing upright in the pencil well by her cash register. They were some special fucking design by some special fucking chef: Kagome had laughed at him the first time he tried to pronounce their name, Kunz, as “cuhnts.”
Apparently it was “koons.”
It seemed like she used them for everything—stirring, basting, drizzling and tasting, fuck him, the tasting.
He’d never tire of watching the silver spoon disappear between her lips, the sensual way she’d lick off the sauce with her little pink tongue, the agonizingly slow pull of it back out. When Kagome was tasting in the kitchen, Inuyasha could not keep himself from following her hungrily with his eyes, from wishing it was him in her mouth and not some dumbass spoon.
And sometimes he swore she’d give the silverware an extra long, slow slurp when she knew he was watching.
Ultimately the conclusion was simple: Inuyasha was a fucking goner —had been since the first time he saw her, surrounded by flowers and utterly glowing— and didn’t everyone know it. He was pretty sure Sango had renamed his contact in her phone as “Simp, Boy.”
It was fair to say Inuyasha and Kagome’s relationship had blossomed in the months they’d been together, ripened and sweetened like a peach on the branch. Oh, they still fought, strong-willed artists that they both were—Kagome had a temper, especially when it came to slights, perceived or otherwise, against her restaurant, and Inuyasha had a tendency to put his foot in his mouth when thrust into uncomfortable situations—but somehow the two of them made it work.
He’d insisted on giving her a key to his place early on, tired of worrying and arguing over whether Kagome should take the train by herself from Shrine to her apartment halfway across the damn city whenever she worked an extra-late night. (She’d called him “overbearing”; he’d called her “naive.”) Tokyo was safe for a city, sure, and he knew Kagome could take care of herself, but she was still five-foot-tiny and “safe” wasn’t a guarantee.
So he’d given her a key—almost forced in on her, still hot from the cutter—and impressed upon her that she could just come spend the night at his, that he’d already cleared out a drawer just in case she had some fucking shampoo or any other girly shit she wanted to keep there. Underwear. Tampons. Makeup. Whatever.
The first evening he’d heard the door creak open from where he’d been (also) working late at his computer, too anxious and stressed to sleep until he knew she was home safe for the night, felt like a small victory. And like the opening of another more metaphorical door, too.
He’d made it...well worth her while, of course. There were, it turns out, certain perks to living above your girlfriend’s workplace. And if it meant she stayed over a few nights a week? Well, Inuyasha wasn’t complaining, even if Miroku (that pervy fucker) made one too many snarky comments about how many yawns he was letting out during their morning meetings. He was just jealous; Sango was still keeping him at arm’s length (though Inuyasha had heard, in confidence, that she was this close to giving the flashy gallery agent one chance to take her out).
Giving up on editing any more photos—how could he, when his mind was in the gutter and Kagome was just a floor below and working with chocolate, for fuck’s sake—Inuyasha took a second to back up his progress before pushing himself to his feet (damn, when had his leg fallen asleep?!) and padding over to the genkan, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to head down and take just a little peek. Just a casual check-in. Good boyfriends did that, right?
Besides, maybe he could help her...taste test. See, wasn’t he selfless?
Inuyasha slipped his feet into a pair of flip-flops, swung his door open, and made his way down the exterior stairs—why the fuck where they so creaky, seriously someone should grease them or something—as quietly as he could. Creeping cautiously, toes tightly curled (to prevent his flip-flops from, well, flopping), he even managed to pop Shrine’s notoriously sticky sliding door open without much noise. It wasn’t like Inuyasha wanted to startle Kagome, per se, but he didn’t want to give her any time to hide whatever she was making, either.
As soon as he cracked the door, a luscious wave of chocolate washed over him, and he felt himself start to drool a little as he inhaled. Fuck he hoped he’d get a piece (or even just a small nibble) of whatever Kagome was making because it smelled amazing: not too sweet or cloying, just pure, decadent chocolate with a hint of cream and sugar. He fucking swore it would haunt his dreams that night, and every night after.
Kagome was behind the counter, whisking something on the stove with her back to him. Her riot of ebony waves was pulled back in a loose fishtail braid, and a red apron was cinched around her waist, though Inuyasha could see Kagome had already managed to get a smudge of what looked like (predictably) chocolate right smack in the middle of the left back pocket of her dark jeans.
Not that he was looking at her ass or anything. Nope.
A springform pan was cooling on a wire rack, and Inuyasha was more than tempted to swipe the delectable-smelling treat that instant. Only the knowledge that Kagome would absolutely stab him with one of her many knives (she had as many knives as spoons, if not more) kept him from petty larceny. Instead, he settled for merely sneaking up on her—much less risk to his corporeal form that way.
Tiptoeing into the kitchen, Inuyasha slipped his arms around Kagome and bent down to nuzzle into the spot in her neck that never failed to elicit an adorable little “squeak.”
“Hey,” he purred, breathing in her scent and feeling the lingering tension in his shoulders evaporate.
She’d asked him, once, to describe what she smelled like. He’d tried to deflect—how could you fucking describe perfection?—but he’d eventually caved (like he always did, when it came to Kagome) and said she smelled like the tingle in your stomach when you woke up on Christmas morning, or the way a summer sunset made you want to stop time itself. And now it was all that plus the fucking chocolate.
She was going to give him a goddamn cavity, so sweet.
“Ya-aaash,” Kagome squealed, trying in vain to hide the pot she had simmering on the stove, even as she kept one hand whisking away, dedicated to her craft until the end. “What’re you dooooing?”
“Can’t I come check on my girlfriend?” he asked, punctuating each word with a little kiss to her neck. She groaned in mock frustration, but pressed a little closer into his hold.
“I knew I should have done this at my own apartment,” she grumbled. “Don’t know why I thought I could hide this from your nose. But the oven here is just so much nicer.”
“I don’t mind,” Inuyasha replied honestly, giving her one last squeeze before moving to lean against the counter, arms casually crossed, so he could watch.
“Well I do. It ruins the surprise.” She pouted (adorably, Inuyasha wanted to point out). Still, his ears perked up at the word “surprise.” If Kagome’s previous surprises were anything to go by, he was going to like this one, too.
“And what’s the surprise, Ka-Go-Me?” he prompted, watching the blush rise on her cheeks as she continued to whisk away at the pot full of glossy, smooth ganache, staying stubbornly silent. Well, even though it was pretty clear based on the cooling cake behind him what the surprise was, it would still be plenty fun getting her to admit it. So perhaps it was time to play a bit...dirty.
Inuyasha slipped back behind Kagome, enclosing her firmly between the counter and his frame. He started peppering little kisses up and down the side of her neck, enjoying the slight hitch in her breath and the way Kagome’s hips pleasantly pressed back into him as she squirmed.
“Yash?” she murmured, and he nipped her gently in reprimand, soothing the red mark briefly with his tongue.
“Keep whisking,” he said huskily, continuing to work his way up and down her neck with open-mouth kisses; slowly, gently, taking his sweet, sweet time. Even though he could feel her breath start to come more raggedly, hear the little sighs and gasps that always went straight to his dick.
Eventually he started to run his hands up and down her arms, to her hips, up the planes of her stomach and over her breasts—keeping his roving hands and grazing from where they both wanted them to go—before starting the torturous cycle over again.
He could feel the goosebumps on her arm.
Finally he reached forward and plucked one of those damn spoons from her front apron pocket, moving his other hand to stop Kagome’s increasingly erratic whisking.
“Turn off the heat,” he murmured in her ear, and she moved her other hand to fumble with the dial on the stove. He deftly removed the whisk from Kagome’s grasp, setting it down somewhere to the side, and with one smooth twist spun them around, so Kagome’s back was now pressed to the counter facing the main dining room rather than the burner (he’d learned the hard way that fire was a definite risk to getting frisky in the kitchen).
Freed from her whisky business, Kagome took advantage of her newly available hands to loop her fingers through Inuyasha’s belt loops, rubbing her thumbs over the sensitive skin on his hip bones. Trails of fire followed wherever she touched, lighting him up from the inside out.
“Not the surprise I had in mind,” she murmured throatily, tipping her chin up in an invitation for a proper kiss, “but I’m not complaining.”
Inuyasha wanted nothing more than to ravage her where she stood, but the small remaining rational corner of his brain reminded him that he had some spoon-themed “revenge” in mind.
So, with the fanged smirk he knew she liked—and no, neither the way Kagome’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, nor the spike in her scent, escaped notice—Inuyasha twisted around to quickly grab the saucepan of ganache by the (cool) handle and dipping the tasting spoon into the glossy, gleaming liquid. He pulled out a heaping spoonful, chocolate overflowing and running in warm rivulets down the handle and over his fingers, and held it up to Kagome’s mouth.
She hesitated, and Inuyasha tilted the spoon so even more of it spilled over, dripping obscenely onto his hand. “Unless you want to make a mess?”
Kagome raised one eyebrow at him, but obediently parted her lips, letting him feed her a spoonful of chocolate, and he nearly groaned at the sight of the spoon disappearing into her mouth. She held his golden gaze with her own, pupils blown wide with arousal, as she slurped and sucked at the ganache, and the last little lick she gave her lips when the spoon was completely clean was an unexpected erotic rush.
Honestly, the smirk she gave him should have been sufficient warning, but before Inuyasha could get another spoonful, Kagome had brought his chocolate-covered hand to her lips and given him a long, slow lick from wrist to palm.
Then she popped his index finger into the hot depths of her mouth.
Now Inuyasha really did groan, struggling not to drop the pot as Kagome batted her eyes and sucked the chocolate off his finger. And fuck she was doing some swirling thing with her talented fucking tongue that he could just imagine around his dick, hot and wet.
When she had cleaned his last finger off, Kagome released his hand with a lewd “pop.”
“You needed to be cleaned up,” she said cheekily. “And you taste delicious. I’ve outdone myself.”
The frayed remains of his self-control snapping, Inuyasha fumbled with the bowl of chocolate, putting it...somewhere out of the way, before hoisting Kagome up—fucking finally—into his arms, securing her with one hand on her delectable ass, directly over that damn distracting chocolate smudge. Kagome’s legs wrapped around his waist automatically, pressing her against his increasingly uncomfortable erection.
But none of that mattered because he was fucking kissing Kagome.
Inuyasha greedily swallowed every little whimper and moan she let out as he plundered her mouth, running his tongue along the seam of her lips until she allowed him entry. She tasted like chocolate, and felt like a bittersweet sin—her palm tenderly cradling his cheek as he slanted his mouth more firmly over hers, even as her hips writhed in a way that threatened his very sanity.
Eventually they parted for air, and Inuyasha settled her on the counter, fitting himself between her spread legs and bracing his hands on her thighs, thumbs running teasing circles so close to where he knew she wanted him, and taking a moment to smugly admire Kagome’s glazed, half-lidded expression, the way her kiss-swollen lips gently parted.
Still...there was plenty of ganache left.
He leaned down to give Kagome another gentle, lingering kiss, rewarding the way she leaned eagerly into the caress with a firm stroke over her still-covered core, causing her hips to thrust into his teasing fingers. Then, although it was the last thing he wanted to do—and hers, based on the way she tried to tug him closer—he pulled back, groping around until he found the bowl that started it all.
“Well Kagome,” Inuyasha purred, holding the bowl up invitingly, “where do you need cleaning? Show me.”
Slowly she dipped her thumb in the ganache. “Here?” she asked a touch hesitantly.
Not quite the location he’d hoped for, but it was a start. He could work with that.
“Well, then,” he murmured, bending down to take the offending digit into his own mouth, “I’ll just have to do something about that.”
He slipped Kagome’s thumb between his lips, sucking and swirling at the chocolate. He grazed the delicate pad of her finger with one fang, relishing the breathy moan it drew out of her. He wanted her to make that noise again.
And fuck, she had outdone herself. The chocolate was dark, and rich, and his mouth was filled with nothing but the addictive combination of the cacao and the natural salt and sweat from her skin. Kami, he would lick chocolate from wherever she told him to, and probably beg for more.
Finger finally “clean,” he released it from his mouth with one last little flick.
“Anywhere else?” he prompted, placing his hands back high on her thighs.
Bolder, Kagome produced another spoon from somewhere, and dipped it in the bowl, brushing a streak across her cheek.
“Here,” she said, and Inuyasha swiped his tongue gently across her face.
She followed with a trail down the side of her neck. “Now here,” she breathed, and Inuyasha obliged, taking his time with little licks and sucks and nibbles. He lingered on her pulse point, and grazed his fangs over the juncture where neck met shoulder. She gasped and squirmed beneath him, head lolling back as he teased her with fang, and tongue, and claws—which were still rubbing maddenly slow circles between her legs.
Inuyasha never said he’d make his surprise easy for her.
“Where else, Ka-Go-Me?”
“Lower,” she whined, pushing her hips into his hands.
“Where’s that? I need you to be more specific.”
“If you’re all cleaned off, I guess that means I’ll have to...stop,” and he made to pull away.
“No, wait! Here—” He watched as Kagome reached behind her back and fumbled with the tie of her apron, slowly (too slowly!) loosening the knot and pulling the cloth over her head and tossing it to the floor. She toyed with the hem of her sweater, and Inuyasha almost whined as she began to raise it up, baring the taut, creamy skin of her stomach inch by inch to his burning gaze.
She was a fucking goddess. And he would eat —he would treat—her as such.
Clad only in her bra—her fucking see-through black lace bra—she took the spoon again, scooped up some ganache, and drizzled it over the tops of her breasts. Inuyasha felt his jeans tighten further as he noticed a thin trail slide down between her cleavage. He trembled as he waited for her signal.
“He-er,” she finally breathed, and he needed no further encouragement to bury his face in her breasts, pulling down the lace of one cup to expose one peaked, dusky nipple. Kagome moaned as he pulled it into his mouth, sucking and rolling the bud with his tongue. Squirming under his ministrations, Kagome’s hands buried themselves in Inuyasha’s hair, nails scratching pleasurably at his scalp and rubbing the base of his sensitive ears, sending tingles shooting down his spine. Holy fuck .
He switched sides, giving the neglected breast the same attention. Kagome was keening and writhing, trying to push her sensitive nipples further into his mouth as he feasted, to move his fingers closer to where Inuyasha could smell—even over the chocolate—her arousal.
Although Inuyasha would have been (almost) content to see if he could get Kagome to orgasm just from touching her breasts, she clearly had other ideas. Without further prompting, she took one hand and dipped one finger in the chocolate, pushing Inuyasha back long enough to draw a shaky line down her stomach and disappearing below the waist of her jeans in a clear invitation.
“Lower! ” she demanded, panting, and Inuyasha smirked but complied, taking his time tasting every silky inch of her skin—swirling his tongue briefly around her navel—until he was kneeling on the floor, at eye-level with the button of her jeans.
He flicked his tongue quickly below the hem and Kagome whimpered, legs quivering as they spread wider of their own accord.
Inuyasha looked up from where he knelt, and kami what a view it was. Kagome was flushed and panting, chest heaving with exertion, white skin blushing crimson along the path his tongue and teeth had made down her delicate form. Strands of hair were coming loose from her braid and framing her face like a fluffy halo. He couldn’t resist reaching back up and giving one sensitive nipple another tweak between his knuckles, and her hips jerked in response to the sudden spike in stimulation.
Mine he thought possessively, and moved to fiddle with the clasp.
“Lower?” he rumbled.
“Kami yes, Inuyasha! ”
He growled in pleasure, popping open her fly and practically clawing the jeans down her legs, Kagome helpfully wiggling them off. When the offending garment was on the floor (where it fucking belonged), he settled himself back between his girlfriend’s thighs, drawing her legs up and over his shoulders.
He placed an open-mouth kiss to the inside of one thigh, and Kagome mewled in frustration. “Not that low!” she hissed, twisting her hips in desperate search for touch. Inuyasha smirked.
“Put me where you want me, then.”
Letting out a growl that would rival his own, Kagome wound her fingers through Inuyasha’s hair and shoved him until he was inches away from her glistening slit.
“Eat, ” she ordered.
So Inuyasha parted her folds (carefully) with his fingers and ate like she was his favorite dessert.
And she was, kami, she was sugar and spice and everything nice—her wetness coating his tongue and and his cheeks and even his fucking hair, filling his nose until all he could taste and feel and smell was Kagome. He gave a long, slow lick with the flat of his tongue up her slit and found the little bud of nerves that would make her scream when he flicked it with the tip of his tongue.
He built her up, keeping her on the knife’s edge of release, feeling her heels dig into his shoulders. Her fingers scrabbled for purchase against the counter as she gasped and babbled syllables that might have been his name. With one finger he made exquisite circles just inside, feeling her clench around his knuckle, breath hissing through her teeth.
Ears pricked to every subtle change in breathing, in the increasingly frenetic beat of her heart, Inuyasha moved faster, heeding her silent (and not so silent) cries for “more” and “harder,” finally pressing his tongue against firmly her as he mercilessly thrust with his fingers, until she came with a cry ripped from deep within her, legs locked around the nape of his neck, riding her pleasure out on his mouth.
He soothed her down from the high with gentle kisses, murmuring sweet endearments into her sweat-slicked skin. Kagome finally relaxed, boneless, against him and sighed in bliss.
“And here I thought I would be surprising you this weekend.”
“I liked this better,” he rumbled contentedly, lifting her down from the counter and wrapping her securely in his arms, settling his back against the counter frame to cuddle. One hand lazily traced up and down her arm, enjoying the simple closeness. Her hair tickled his chin.
“But I was going to make you a cake! ”
“It was going to have ganache.”
“I think we’ve eaten plenty of that already.”
“But the recipe has a cool name. It’s called ‘ La Bete Noire.’”
“Fuck if I know what that means,” Inuyasha said.
He could practically feel her smile. “It means ‘The Black Beast.’”
“All the better to eat you with, my dear?” Kagome giggled, snuggling closer. “Don’t worry, I think I’ve already had most of my cake...and eaten it, too.”
“What...I can’t have seconds?” He placed another kiss behind one ear and nuzzled her in a decidedly less tame manner.
After all...didn’t Kagome have honey somewhere in this damn kitchen, too?