Page 88 of The Weaver

He felt the warmth of her blush against his fingers as her eyes softened. She leaned her cheek into his hand. “I understand now.”

“Good.” He set his tools aside, folded the dress over his lower forearm, and gently took the stick from her, placing it upon a nearby rock. “Now…”

Rekosh grasped Ahmya’s wrist and tugged her closer. The motion threw her off balance; she gasped, and he righted her by palming her ass, his hand now over the offending cloth.

She laughed. “What are you doing?”

Breathing in her scent, he trilled. This was the last time it would be tainted by the odor of foreign silk.

Rekosh would thoroughly enjoy this.

Releasing her wrist, he hooked the fingers of his upper hands beneath the pink silk of her top and bottom garments.The sound of the silk tearing as he rent it apart with his claws was amongst the most satisfying he’d ever heard. He ripped the fabric away from her.

Ahmya sucked in a short, sharp breath, hands flying to her body to shield her nakedness. “Rekosh!”

He tossed the tattered pink silks into the fire. The flames leapt and swirled, their light intensifying as the silk ignited. A foul odor, not unlike burned hair, filled the air.

“Not even fit to serve as rags,” he said.

That despised silk already forgotten, Rekosh lowered his gaze to drink in his mate’s naked form.

He’d been so focused on making the new dress—on her wearing it—that he’d overlooked this part of the process.

Her long black hair hung around her slim shoulders, obscuring the bite mark he’d left, but the rest of his marks were on clear display. Faint bruises and small scratches told the story of his hands on her body, gripping, squeezing, and kneading flesh as they’d mated. His fingers flexed with the yearning to hold her thus again.

He stared at the arm she’d banded across her chest. Even after they had come together so intimately, after she’d taken his stem so deeply, after his hands had explored every bit of her tender form, Ahmya retained her shyness. And he found it endearing.

Rekosh’s eyes flicked up to hers. He could not pretend to know all the secrets that dwelt in human minds and hid within their gazes, but he understood the hesitancy that flashed through hers.

Neither of them spoke for the space of a heartbeat, a moment stretched by its weight. A new light sparked in her eyes, strong, steady, determined.

Ahmya took a deep breath, chest and shoulders rising, and lowered her arms to her sides.

“Ah,kir’ani vi’keishi,” Rekosh purred, his eyes dipping to hersmall, pert breasts, with their brown nipples. He grazed them with the backs of his fingers. She shivered, and before his eyes, those nipples hardened into little buds, responding swiftly, perfectly, to his touch.

She caught her bottom lip between her flat, white teeth with a whimper.

The finest silk could not rival the feel of her delicate skin, and nothing could match the thrill of watching—of feeling—her body react to him.

Rekosh’s hearts thumped a little louder, a little faster, as he trailed his touch outward from her nipples, lightly tracing the soft mounds of her breasts. The heat of her flesh flowed straight into his body and intensified with each beat of his hearts.

“How you have bloomed for me…” He slid his hands down over her belly. He felt it quiver, heard her breath hitch, and something stirred in his core. A sweet, alluring scent danced upon the air, beckoning his fingers lower, lower. One hand shifted toward her hip, while the other continued straight down.

When his touch brushed over the dark curls at the apex of her thighs, Ahmya whispered, “Rekosh...”

That scent, Ahmya’s scent, strengthened, growing headier, and Rekosh’s stem throbbed, pressing against the inside of his slit. Hunger roared through him, louder than any beast.

He drew his claspers in tight, squeezing his slit closed against that pressure, and stilled his hands. How had he not anticipated this? How could he have expected himself to avoid temptation while she was unclothed before him, while he was touching her, smelling her?

If he allowed this to continue, if he allowed his hand even a thread’s width lower, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He’d plunge into another frenzy.

He’d never known such yearning, such need, as he felt for his Ahmya.

When he’d asked Ketahn what it was like to mate a human, Ketahn had offered only a cryptic response—Unlike anything.That conversation had left Rekosh more intrigued than ever, with a thousand new questions and not a single answer. It was a mystery he’d been determined to solve himself.

And now he knew. Now that he’d mated his human, his Ahmya, hisnyleea, he knew thatunlike anythingwas the only response Ketahn could ever have given. He knew there were no words that could ever describe the experience adequately.

Yet as much as he craved to be inside his mate again, to feel her pussy wrapped around his cock, he knew that he’d lost control during their rutting. He’d been rough, and her untried body was sore. Though she’d assured him it was a good hurt, she needed time to rest and recover.

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