Page 82 of The Weaver

Her flesh was so lovely, so smooth and soft. Perfect but for one thing. Missing only one thing.

All will know she is mine.

All will know my claim.

A growl tore from his chest as he bent over her, parted his jaws, and sank his teeth into her shoulder.

Ahmya screamed. Her body went rigid beneath him, and her warm blood trickled into his mouth. It was sweet, with a tang he could not place.

She’ll bear my mark.

He sank his teeth deeper.

Mine.

Mine.

Rekosh forced his mouth open. The fire inside him had grown into a scorching blaze, and the pressure in his stem was too immense to comprehend. The slightest twitch of Ahmya’s body should’ve been enough to push him over the edge, to make him burst. Yet somehow, he held himself still long enough to gently lick the blood away from her wound.

“Mynyleea,” he purred. “My precious little flower.”

Mine.

“Myluveen,” she said fervently, turning her face toward him. “My husband.”

Her words stoked Rekosh’s inner flames. He shoved himself up with his upper arms, angling his head to stare down at her. Despite her fluttering lashes, she held his gaze, her dark eyes gleaming with need to match his own.

He pulled back and drove into her hard, again and again, rutting with newfound vigor and passion. Her gasps and moans wove with his growls and grunts after each thrust.

The heat and pressure expanded and intensified.

“Bound to you,” he rasped between his breaths. “I…am bound. We are bound. Thread to thread. Hearts…to heart. Spirit to spirit.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

With a final thrust, Rekosh buried his cock as deep as it could go, until her pussy encased his bulges, sealing him in, and his slit was flush with hers.

That very moment, her sex squeezed him with stunning strength, with staggering need, and all that pressure within him finally burst. A bestial roar clawed out of Rekosh’s throat as seed erupted from his stem. He shut his eyes. Pleasure shrouded his vision completely in crimson and silenced his every thought.

There was only all-consuming rapture. It was the thread that bound Rekosh to Ahmya, that wove their heartsthreads, their souls, together fully and finally. Bliss, pure and true.

It was not possible to be this close to anyone. To be this interwoven. To fit together so seamlessly, so perfectly. Not even the Eight themselves could have designed this joining better.

Not even the Eight themselves could have created a creature so beautiful as Rekosh’snyleea.

Through that euphoric haze, he was aware of the slit at the end of his stem parting, of his tendrils emerging to stroke his mate from within. His breath shuddered as their fluttering movements sent fresh pulses of ecstasy through him, coaxing forth more of his seed.

But it was Ahmya’s reaction that brought him true joy.

She gasped. “What is?—”

Her words broke in a cry of pleasure that had her entire body seizing beneath him. Her pussy clenched around his cock so tightly that his breath caught in his lungs, his head seemed to spin, and his limbs nearly gave out.

Liquid heat flooded Ahmya within. Rekosh buried his claws in the ground and growled, riding the currents of pleasure as she came undone around him, as her convulsions and cries drew ever more seed from his stem.

When the frenzy subsided, and the haze lifted from his mind, Rekosh dropped onto his forearms, holding himself aloft over his mate. He bowed his head. His chest and shoulders heaved with his ragged breaths, and his body trembled with the onslaught of pleasure still roiling through him. He was aware of Ahmya beneath him, her warm breath teasing his hide, was aware of his stem buried deep inside her, of her soft inner walls spasming around it, of his tendrils flittering within her.

Ahmya’s soft lips brushed across his chest. “Rekosh.”

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