Page 71 of The Weaver

He licked down to the hollow of her throat before tracing her collarbone to her shoulder. The large, wicked fangs of his mandibles grazed her sensitive skin, leaving tingles in their wake as he trailed his tongue back up.

She clutched his shoulders with a whimper when he licked beneath her ear.

With a satisfied trill, he buried his face against her throat and rubbed his mouth over her skin. She reveled in every rasping swipe, in every teasing scrape of his mandibles, in his every heated exhalation and every flick of his tongue.

He was marking her, and she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted to bear his scent from head to toe.

“Ahmya,” he rumbled. His mouth opened wider, and she felt his sharp teeth on her neck.

Ahmya gasped, but didn’t pull away. Instead, she slipped her fingers into his hair and drew him closer, forcing his teeth to press harder. She’d seen the bite mark Ketahn had left on Ivy’s shoulder. She wanted one of her own. Wanted Rekosh’s mark for all to see.

But she could not match his strength as he eased his teeth back. Rekosh’s lashing tongue soothed away the sting of his fangs, his hunger tempered by reverence.

“Mine. My mate. Mynyleea.” Heat radiated from his hide, and a tremor coursed through his limbs as he released a heavy, harsh breath. His fingers hooked the low neckline of her dress. “Need this off. Now.”

“Yes... No, wait!” Ahmya lifted her head and looked at Rekosh, hurriedly placing a hand over his before he could tug too hard. “Please don’t tear it.”

Hard muscle flexed under her palm, and his claspers twitched around her legs.

“I’ll remove it.” She brushed her thumb over his knuckles. “But I love it too much to see it ruined.”

He released a strained hum. Tension radiated from him, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop him if he pulled at the fabric. But she also knew that he didn’t want to see it damaged any more than she did.

One look at the gown had been enough to tell her how much time and care he’d poured into its creation—how much of himself he’d poured into it. And that made it priceless to her.

Finally, his hold relaxed. He released the dress first, and then he released her, claspers and all, to lean back. The light in his eyes was no less bright as he looked her over.

“Remove it slowly,” he ordered. “I want to hear the silk whisper against your skin.”

Her belly fluttered at his command. She wanted his hands back on her, wanted his tongue, but more than anything, she wanted to feel him against her flesh with not even this gossamer silk as a barrier between them.

She stepped back.

And froze.

“Oh...”

Red rocket, indeed. One point to Callie.

Rekosh’s slit was fully parted, and protruding from it was his crimson cock. It was long, thick, and glistening. The shaft widened at the head before narrowing to a tapered, two-pointed tip with a two-inch slit at its center. There was a pair of bulges near the base of his shaft, one on each side.

Ahmya’s pussy clenched—not in fear of his size, but in acute need. She wanted him inside her, filling her, stretching her, wanted to feel his heartbeat thrumming at her core, wanted to be one with him. The proof of her desire was in the pulsing of her clit and the slick wetting her inner thighs. Her body was begging for him.

She gathered the silk of her skirt at her belly and squeezed her thighs together. It did nothing to alleviate the hollow ache in her core. Nothing would…except him.

A breeze swept past her, a balm against her heated skin.

“Ahmya?”

Rekosh’s rough, gravelly voice drew her gaze up to his. The open yearning in his red eyes only fanned the flames burning inside her.

“I’ve never seen a…” Ahmya flicked her eyes down. “I’ve never seen a vrix cock before.”

His gaze dropped to his erection. His claspers drew in tight against his pelvis as he wrapped his fingers around his shaft. The sound he made was half chitter, half hiss. “It is not like human stems.”

Ahmya tightened her grip on the silk as she stared at his cock.

No, it most definitely is not.

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