Page 67 of The Weaver

Mine.

His stem strained against his slit, but he tightened his claspers, refusing to relinquish control. Pain radiated through his core. He would not harm her. He wouldneverharm her. If he fell prey to the mating frenzy…

He met her gaze as he neared her. “Kir’ani vi’keishi…”

Ahmya’s brown eyes held him captive. They had since the moment he’d first looked into them, when they’d been shy, uncertain, and a little fearful. A hint of that shyness remained, but it was accompanied by something brighter—a yearning that matched his own.

Rekosh stopped before Ahmya. She tipped her head back, and her eyes flicked between his. Hands fidgeting, she caught her bottom lip with her teeth, nibbling on it. He longed for it to be his fang nipping that lip, leaving his mark there for all to see.

He’d craved this female for so, so long, and now, she would finally be his.

Yet he was determined to savor this.

“You wear the finest silk ever woven.” Raising a hand, he brushed the back of a finger up along the strap of her dress, following it to her slender neck. “Made to echo but a single thread of your beauty.”

He caught her chin and carefully used his thumb claw to free her lip from her teeth. Fire blazed deep within him as he smoothed his thumb along that tender, yielding flesh. “And all I want is to tear it from your body.”

Ahmya’s eyes flared as she drew in a sharp breath. Catching his wrist with one hand, she flattened the other on his chest. “I-I don’t want your gift ruined.”

Rekosh eased closer, caging her hips between his lower hands, and dropped his head. He pressed his mouth to the place where her neck and shoulder met and inhaled. Her fragrance,so natural and sweet, so wholly her, was accented by a hint of cleanleaf. But there was more.

Her arousal. It was subtle and light, tantalizing and tormenting, and it flooded his senses. He craved more.

“You are my gift, Ahmya.” He slowly ran his tongue over her skin as he gathered the fabric of her dress at her hips, drawing up the skirt. His claspers eased at that taste of her, and his slit parted against the pressure of his stem.

Ahmya shivered, her breath quickening. She curled her fingers against his chest, scratching his hide with her blunt claws, and tightened her grip on his wrist. “Rekosh…” She tipped her forehead against the side of his face. “Wait.”

He growled and drew in another breath. His muscles tensed as his desire to prolong this moment battled his instinct to rut hernow. Though the haze was encroaching on the edges of his mind, part of him still knew the dress was important to her. It was also important to him. He could not damage it any more than he could bring himself to harm Ahmya.

“I have waited long,” he rasped against her soft flesh. “But I will wait longer if it is your command,kir’ani vi’keishi.”

“There’s…something I want to share with you.” She skimmed her lips along his jaw to his mandible before whispering, “Please.”

Rekosh shivered. That teasing brush of her lips nearly unraveled him. Somehow, he gathered the frayed strands of his control, wound them tight around himself, and raised his head. He ignored the trail of warmth left behind by her mouth as he lifted his mandibles in a smile. “Anything.”

Ahmya smiled wide, flashing her little white teeth, and took a step back, forcing him to relinquish his hold as she withdrew her hands. Rekosh dug the tips of his legs into the ground to resist the urge to follow, to capture her in his embrace. He pressed his claws into his palms. The pain sharpened his focus.

“What is it you would share?” Rekosh asked.

She grasped a thick lock of her hair and ran her fingers through it, turning one of her knees inward in a way that shielded her hair-covered slit. “On Earth, there are all different kinds of wedding traditions that humans take part in when getting married, depending on where they’re from or where they live.”

Releasing her hair, Ahmya moved past him, stopping to crouch beside his bag. She opened it. “My parents were from Japan. My father immigrated to the United States when he was a little boy and grew up there. As an adult, he joined themiluh terree, and he met my mother while he wasstayshundback in Japan. Even though I was raised in the States like he was, we followed a lot of Japanese traditions.”

Ahmya removed Rekosh’s waterskin, rose, and walked back to the pool. “And us becoming…mates, well, it’s technically like getting married, so I wanted to share a tradition with you that’s been performed for many centuries by my people.” She waved a hand at a low, flat stone beside the pool.

A bowl-shaped rock with two hollowed out halves of eldernut shells stacked inside had been placed upon it.

Rekosh glanced between the rock and Ahmya, tilting his head.

Ahmya chuckled and clutched the waterskin to her chest. “It’s…not quite the same. Not at all really. Normally there would be a beautiful set ofsakazuki, which are ceremonial cups, but I had to improvise and use whatever I could find. And instead ofsake, which isrycewyne”—she lifted the waterskin—“we’ll be using water. But it’s not about what’s in our cups. It’s about what’s in our hearts.”

He stepped closer to her and gestured to the stone. “Tell me more,vi’keishi. Show me.”

She smiled. “This is a binding ritual calledsan-san-kudo, which means three-three-nine times. The couple is supposed to take three sips ofsakefrom each cup.”

Ahmya grasped the front of her skirt and lifted it as she knelt upon the grassy ground, propping the waterskin against her thigh. Bending forward, she patted the ground in front of Rekosh.

Taking care with his sore foreleg, Rekosh lowered himself onto the ground before her. With less than a segment between them, he could not escape her scent, and heat stirred within him anew, but he held his claspers tight against his slit and settled his lower hands atop his forelegs.

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