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She reached for Ichigo and he was there, an arm wrapping around her waist to pull her back against him. She looked up; their eyes met, a silent conversation passing between them as Shiro and Grimmjow both watched. “Exactly what do you want then, Grimmjow? Shiro? Because,” Rukia said, pitching her voice lower, huskier. She rolled her shoulders back and lowered her fan. “Ichigo was going to take me home and fuck me until I passed out, and you have both interrupted that.”
Neither spoke; they watched her, and one another.
“I demand…” She paused, and Ichigo’s arm tightened around her waist, warm and reassuring. Encouraging. “That you make it up to me.”
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In which Rukia is, for once, very greedy indeed.
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