Page 72 of The Weaver

“Do I scare you, Ahmya?”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head before meeting his gaze. “I need you, Rekosh.”

He unfolded his right foreleg, extended it toward her, and planted its tip on the ground behind her. The hairs upon his legs stood on end. “Remove the dress,vi’keishi.”

Whatever inhibitions Ahmya might have had in the past were gone. She didn’t care that they were out in the open, thatsomeone could stumble upon them. All that mattered in this moment was him. Wasthem.

She gathered the silk in her palms until the hem of the skirt was above her knees. Rekosh watched, enrapt, as she slipped off the shoes. She curled her toes into the soft grass as a smile lighted upon her lips.

Dropping the skirt, she slowly smoothed her hands up her belly and over her breasts, feeling the embroidered flowers and hard crystals beneath her palms. Her breath hitched as she ran her hands over her beaded nipples. A titillating sensation zipped through her, straight to her clit. But she didn’t stop there.

Taking hold of the strap that wrapped around the back of her neck, she lifted it off over her head, her hair teasing her sensitive skin as it tumbled back down over her shoulders and back.

She held Rekosh’s gaze as she clutched the dress to her chest.

No more barriers.

Ahmya let the dress go.

The whisper of the fabric against her skin as it fell made her shiver. It was so light, so soft, so sensual, awakening every part of her to a new awareness, a new craving. The silk’s caress made her yearn for his touch. For those long, strong fingers, with their rough calluses, to trail along every inch of her, for him to make her feel things of which she’d only dreamed.

All her craving, all her hunger, was echoed in the low growl that rumbled from Rekosh. His eight crimson eyes stared at her, burning, devouring, commanding. Once the gown had pooled at her feet, he shifted his foreleg closer, curling it around her and brushing it along her calf. Its tiny hairs tickled as they glided over her skin.

“The Eight themselves could never have shaped beauty to match yours,” he said huskily.

Ahmya smiled, cheeks flushing at his praise.

His foreleg rose to her backside, and Ahmya released a little squeak and settled her hands upon his chest when he drew her closer.

Rekosh smiled. “Ah, my heartsthread.”

His hearts hammered beneath her palms, strong, powerful. Alive. She looked down at where she was touching him and traced her fingers over the ridges of his chest, following them to the center of his abdomen. Her hand was so small, her skin in such stark contrast to his black hide. His teak and amber scent was so much more potent now, its notes of lavender even more pronounced; it was intoxicating.

She continued trailing her fingers down, down, down... Rekosh shivered, curling his lower hands around her hips. When she reached just above his slit, just above his cock, he tensed, growling, and his grip tightened before one of his upper hands caught her wrist.

Her eyes snapped to his. “Did I do something wrong?”

“If you touch, I will lose myself,” he rasped, head dipping to brush his mouth across her forehead. “I do not want to hurt you.”

Ahmya smiled at his kiss. “You’d never hurt me, Rekosh.”

“I never want to hurt you, Ahmya, but the mating frenzy…” He exhaled heavily. “I do not know if I will be…me when it takes me.”

She closed her eyes and cupped his jaw beneath his mandibles. “Ivy said that when a male calls a female his heartsthread, it is everything. That their spirits and hearts are bound.”

Ahmya drew back and met his gaze as she placed a hand once more over his hearts. She stroked his mandible with a thumb. “You are mine, Rekosh. My heartsthread, my mate, myluveen. I trust you with everything in me. Iloveyou.”

Those words flowed from her so naturally. And they weretrue. They had been true for so long, buried deep down beneath her uncertainty and trepidation. But she was free from all that. Free to openly and honestly share that love with him.

And she saw those words, saw that love, reflected in his eyes as he stared down at her. She felt it in the delicacy of his touch as he moved an upper hand to her belly and skimmed a finger along the tiny trail of scars.

“You wear the marks of my failure already. I did not protect you,” he said in a low, broken voice.

Ahmya’s heart squeezed at the pain in his words. She dropped her hand from his chest to cover his, pressing his palm flat against her stomach. “I am alive, Rekosh. The scars are from what I endured, what I lived through. They don’t mark your failure. They mark my strength. And I’m here, standing before you now, as your mate, because of you.”

She caressed his jaw and mandible. “I’m not helpless, Rekosh…but I need you.”

He turned his face to her palm, nuzzling it. “Mynyleea, my heartsthread… You are my little flower, and you have made my hearts bloom.” Lifting his head, he cupped the back of hers, combing his claws through her hair.

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