Page 89 of The Weaver

He would set aside his desire and give her that time. He would give her whatever she needed, no matter the discomfort or hardship he’d have to endure to do so.

Rekosh forced his hands off her. He immediately found himself battling the impulse to touch her again, and his hands hesitated in their retreat. In that tumultuous moment, he almost swore Ahmya swayed toward him, as though meaning to follow his hands…

No.It must’ve been a trick of the flickering light, nothing more.

He snatched his hands back, unfolded the dress, and raised it.

“Arms up,vi’keishi,” he said.

Ahmya exhaled shakily before lifting her arms over her head.

Willing his hearts to slow and his stem to relent, he slipped the dress on over her arms, trying to ignore the brush of his hide against her skin as he drew it down her body.

She lowered her arms once the dress was in place.

Withdrawing from her took nearly all Rekosh’s willpower. Before Ahmya, he’d never realized just how strong—and how conflicting—instincts could be. He was driven to protect her, provide for her, and rut her. He was compelled to clothe her in his silk, yet every time he saw her in it, he was assailed by the overwhelming urge to tear it off her body and claim her again.

That desire was raging now. But he denied it, taking another step back and running his gaze over his mate to survey his work. The dress flowed with the shape of her body, but it was loose enough to easily be donned and removed. The hem hung at the tops of her knees, and the skirt was wide enough that it wouldn’t restrict her movement if she walked, ran, or climbed.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

Ahmya smoothed her palms over the fabric toward her thighs. The dress slid down her body, baring the soft flesh of her breasts and exposing her taut nipples.

Rekosh clenched his fists, and the ache in his core intensified.

She caught the top of the dress with a chuckle and tugged it back up as she met his gaze. “It feels good, but I think I need something to hold it in place better.”

“Something to hold it in place…” His mandibles sagged as he studied the dress. He’d shaped it for her body, but had left just a little looseness so she wouldn’t have to fight her way in and out of it. Of course it wasn’t going to cling to her without some means of being secured.

Creating human clothing was new, which made it a thrilling challenge for Rekosh. Despite having spent most of his life weaving and sewing, there was so much he didn’t know about the garments humans preferred, so much he had to learn. And he welcomed the process of puzzling it out. He relished the creativity required to do so.

His gaze settled on her bare shoulders. “Ah…”

Rekosh turned away from her, snatched the spare scraps of cloth off the ground, and took up his knife. The solution was so simple, how had he not thought of it before giving her the dress?

With care that belied his excitement, he cut the scraps into thinner strips, which he separated into two sets of three. Holding on to the ends, he quickly and firmly plaited the strips into cords.

When he was done, he closed the distance between himself and Ahmya.

“Be still a moment,kir’ani vi’keishi.” Rekosh slipped his fingers under the top of her dress, peeling it slightly away from her skin, and pinned the shorter cords into place over her shoulders. “This is good?”

Smiling, Ahmya ran her fingers over one of the braided straps and nodded. “I love them.”

Rekosh trilled. After stitching the straps onto the dress, he trimmed the excess silk and stepped back to look her over.

As the thornskulls might have said… Under moon and stars, hisnyleeawas beautiful. But there was another thing he could do for the dress—something that would adorn it while serving a practical function.

Sinking down, he took up the longest of the cloth scraps and sliced it into more strips, his gaze flicking to his mate as she ran her hands over the dress.

“You’re going to spoil me, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Spoil you?” Fingers stilling, Rekosh cocked his head, mandibles twitching. “How would you…spoil?”

Ahmya shook her head with a chuckle. “Not spoil like food. Spoil as inpampurreengme. Um…showering me with lots of pretty new clothes and gifts.”

Rekosh chittered as he plaited the long strips of silk. “Yes, I will spoil you. I will not rest until I have given you a gift for each star in the sky.”

“I’m only kidding, Rekosh! I don’t need gifts.” She stepped to his side and pressed a kiss to his headcrest. “I only need you.”

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