Page 69 of The Weaver

“The third cup represents our future,” she said, pouring water into it. “The harmony and happiness we will share, our willpower to stand united against any challenge in our lives and claim prosperity for ourselves. And…and…”

She looked down and tucked her hair behind her ear, dislodging the flower, which fell.

Rekosh’s lower hand darted out, catching the blossom on his palm. He returned it to its place over her ear and caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Capturing her chin, he tipped her face up and forced her eyes back to his. “And what, my Ahmya?”

Pink stained her cheeks. “And the children we will be blessed with.”

Something roused deep within Rekosh’s chest. Something primal and possessive. His gaze dipped to Ahmya’s belly. It would be there that his seed would take root, there that his mate would carry the life they created, there that their broodling would be sheltered as it grew.

But for that to occur, they would need to mate.

And Rekosh intended to claim his lovely little female very, very soon.

He returned his eyes to hers and drank. Her lips parted with a soft, shuddering breath.

No water had ever tasted so pure, so sweet. But nothing would ever compare to the taste of Ahmya.

Only when he had finished did he release her chin and withdraw his hand, presenting her the stone cup. “For our future,kir’ani vi’keishi.”

Ahmya stared at him as she took the offered stone, holding it up for him to fill. Swiftly, she brought it to her lips, took her three sips, and set it down upon the boulder, likely harder than she’d intended based on her wince.

Rekosh’s mandibles lifted, and he cocked his head. “The ritual is done?”

Ahmya nodded, clutching her hands in her lap and wringing her fingers. “Yes.”

“We are mates in your people’s way?” He passed the waterskin to his lower hands, closed it, and set it aside.

“There is…one more thing. A tradition from my American heritage.”

He flattened his lower palms on the ground and leaned closer. “What is it?”

Clenching her hands, she bounced in place, her gaze flicking everywhere but to him.

“Ahmya?”

Her eyes met Rekosh’s an instant before her hands darted out, caught his mandibles, and tugged him closer. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed her mouth to his.

Rekosh’s eyes flared as her soft, warm lips moved against his hard mouth. Their warmth spread across his face, building and building until it was a wave of fire filling his core.

But she pulled away far too soon.

CHAPTER 17

Ahmya’s lipstingled as she sat back on her heels, her skin flaming in embarrassment and desire. She curled her fingers against her thighs, bunching the silk of her dress. She’d kissed him. His mouth had been hard and unyielding, but she’d felt the warmth of his hide, the tickle of his breath, and had smelled his spicy scent.

And she wanted more.

With her head bowed, hoping her hair concealed her heated face, she said, “A kiss to seal our bond as mates.”

“Kiss me again,kir’ani vi’keishi. Mywife.”

Ahmya’s breath hitched at that word. She looked up at him. He was staring at her, those red eyes of his blazing.

He lifted a hand, hooked the loose strands of her hair, and swept them behind her ear. “Teach me.”

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

She barely knew how to kiss, and now he wantedherto teachhim?

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