Page 51 of The Weaver

Her small breasts felt heavy, her nipples painfully tight, and the hollow pressure in her core expanded with every brush ofhis face against her skin. He wasn’t just drawing in her scent—he was marking her with his own. His spicy aroma filled her nose, overcoming the fragrances of rain and earth.

There was something animalistic about this, something primal, and it spoke to a part of Ahmya that she’d never known existed. A long-sleeping part that had been roused by him, an instinctual answer to his scent, his touch, his intensity, his desire.

She delved her hands deeper into his hair, curling the strands around her fingers and squeezing as the pressure in her became nearly too much to bear.

Rekosh growled and slid his face lower. His claws bit into her ass as he tugged her impossibly closer and parted her thighs, his breath sweeping through the short hair on her mons.

And then something long, wet, and firm dragged over the folds of her pussy and her clit.

The sensation was so strange, so overwhelming, so startling, sopleasurable, that Ahmya cried out and shoved away from Rekosh.

He jolted back, and she stumbled, catching herself on the wall with her hair falling around her face. Body trembling and breath ragged, she clutched her chest. Her lungs ached to draw in more air.

The stone was frigid and unyielding at her back, but it did nothing to cool the inferno within her. Even the pain of rocks digging into the soles of her feet and the sting from Rekosh’s claws and fangs having scratched her didn’t assuage the yearning in her core.

But the strongest sensation of all was the lingering feel of his tongue having licked her sex.

Ahmya squeezed her thighs together.

He licked me.

She curled fingers, pressing her nails into her chest.

He licked me.

Her clit throbbed with the memory of his tongue’s feel, aching with desire for more.

Rekosh licked my pussy.

Ahmya flattened a palm on her lower belly and pressed down. It did nothing to alleviate the discomfort.

Something scraped on the ground. Ahmya ran her fingers through her hair, combing it from her face, and peered at Rekosh.

He’d shifted farther back from her, toward the edge of the overhang. His long black, white, and red locks hung about his shoulders, and there was a distant, frenzied light in his eyes. Harsh breaths had his chest and shoulders heaving. His lower hands, one atop the other, were covering his pelvis—covering his slit. He shook his head, and the motion rippled through his entire body.

“I… I will return. Small time. Soon.” He brought his upper forearms together with a shallow bow, half the vrix gesture of apology, and strode out of the shelter.

Ahmya pushed away from the wall to follow. “Rekosh, wait!”

He paused and halted her with a thrust of his hand. “Stay.”

“Where are you going?”

“I will not go far.” He turned his head, and four of his bright red eyes locked with hers. “Stay, Ahmya.”

Brow furrowing, she crossed her arms over her chest. Her urge to obey his command warred with her need to follow him. In the end, she nodded.

Silently, she watched as he disappeared amidst the greenery. Cold swept through her to replace the heat that had suffused her only moments ago. The rain fell steadily, and runoff from the overhang splashed upon the ground at her feet.

“What happened?”

What happened? He licked your pussy and you shoved away from him like you were repulsed. That’s what happened.

But she hadn’t been repulsed at all. Shocked, but not repulsed.

Does he know that?

Ahmya chewed on the inside of her bottom lip as she searched the jungle for any sign of Rekosh. He was nowhere to be seen. But he was close. She knew he was, trusted he was. He would not leave her alone.

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