She can't get close enough.

Kagome aches—needs—to touch and explore. Shaking hands reach past the gap in his yukata, desperate for warm skin under her fingertips.

He exhales, his eyes sinking shut when she makes contact, and she fumbles to push more material aside, flattening her palm over his heart.

He feels hot. Feverish. And the frenzied tempo beneath her hand pounds, the strong pulse racing as they seek greater connection.

"This isn't reading," Kagome whispers, and she touches her lips once again to his.

Sesshoumaru kisses her back, eyes gentling after she pulls back. "No, it's not."