Page 70 of The Weaver

Vrix don’t have lips. They don’t know what kissing is. If you’re horrible at it…well, how is he to know?

That thought didn’t make this any easier.

But seeing him like this, with all that passion in his gaze, while she was aflame with desire, Ahmya knew her inexperience didn’t matter. Because she wanted this.

And so did he.

Not looking away from Rekosh, Ahmya rose to her feet and stepped closer. He straightened. When he was sitting like this, they were nearly the same height.

You can do this, Ahmya. This is Rekosh. Your friend, your husband, your mate.

My mate.

Warmth spread through her chest, radiating outward.

Ahmya took hold of his thick braid. She brushed her thumb across some of the red and white strands woven into it, which shimmered in the sunlight, before gently tugging on his hair. “Come closer.”

Rekosh’s lower hands settled on her hips, his long fingers nearly encircling her completely, as he lowered his head with mandibles raised.

She placed her hands upon his shoulders. This close, every breath she took was laced with his scent. “Now press your mouth to?—”

He firmly touched his mouth to hers.

And there it remained, unmoving.

Ahmya chuckled, her self-consciousness melting away.

There was nothing to be embarrassed about. They were two people, newlyweds, who would learn from one another. He was just as eager for this as she was.

Closing her eyes, she lightly brushed her lips over his mouth. Back and forth, again and again, learning the feel of him, relishing the delightful tingles sparked by this simple contact. Though his hide was hard, it bore a subtle, suede-like texture that kept him from abrading her. Those brushes turned into light kisses along the crease of his mouth and his faux fangs.

With a trill, Rekosh curled his upper arms around her, and his hands flexed on her hips as he drew her closer. He nudged his mouth more firmly to hers, scraping it against her lips. She felt the pricks of his claws on her skin, unhindered by the delicate silk, and the sensation stirred a wicked desire within her core. A need for more. She wanted his hands all over her body, exploring, teasing, desperate, wanted his fingers in her hair and his claws grazing her skin.

“Kiss me back, Rekosh.” Ahmya flicked her tongue over the crease of his mouth.

He drew back with a sharp inhalation. Their eyes met briefly—just long enough for Ahmya to see the firestorm within his gaze.

The intensity of his desire made her heart leap.

Growling, he tightened his grip on Ahmya and pressed his mouth to hers again. This time, his mouth opened, and his long tongue slipped out, sweeping across her lips. Demanding entry.

Ahmya obeyed.

His slick tongue delved into her mouth. Its sensuous strokes sent thrilling shivers through her and coaxed her to open wider, to twine her tongue with his. It banished every thought from her mind, leaving only Rekosh—the feel of him, the smell of him, the tasteof him. Sweet and spicy, everything that was wholly him.

How could he taste this good?

Ahmya only wanted more. She closed her lips around his tongue and sucked.

He purred as one of his hands slid up her spine to cradle the back of her head. The sound vibrated into her, making her nipples hard and her clit twitch. A whimper escaped her as she clutched at his shoulders, wanting—needing—him closer.

His tongue did not slow. With every lick, he grew bolder, hungrier, more fervent, and her need sharpened as liquid heatgathered in her core. He left no part of her mouth unexplored, no part untouched.

She felt something else, something long and thin skimming the sides of her calves, curling behind her knees, bunching up the silk of the gown.

His claspers.

Rekosh broke the kiss abruptly, withdrawing his face and curling his fingers into her hair to prevent Ahmya from following. That tongue ran along her jaw and slowly down her neck. She sighed and tilted her head aside. She felt the silkblossom fall again, but it was instantly forgotten. There was no focusing on anything else while his tongue was on her like this.

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