Page 81 of The Weaver

She cried out and slapped her hands on his chest, her backarching and legs quivering. The squeeze of her pussy nearly undid him. But his mind was in a haze, stained red by the mating frenzy, consumed by overwhelming pleasure…and instinct would not be denied.

Claim her.

Rut her.

Conquer her.

Rekosh’s spinnerets were already working, his rear legs already feeding a silk strand to his waiting hands.

Mine.

Working faster than his eyes could track, his hands deftly guided the rope around her body. He spread her legs wide, bent them so her calves were pressed to her thighs, and bound them, ensuring she could not close herself to him. He looped the strand around her pelvis, securing it with hasty but intricate knots up to her slender waist, over the flat of her belly, and between her small, supple breasts, framing them before he knotted it around her back and shoulders. Finally, he caught her wrists, forced them over her head, and tied them together.

All the while, his cock throbbed, nestled deep in her wet, welcoming heat. All the while, her pussy clenched, assailing him with sensation, thickening the crimson haze that had gripped his mind. All the while, her scent urged him on.

“You belong to me, mynyleea,” he rumbled, planting his upper hands on the ground to either side of her head. His lower hands grasped her legs, tugging her body snug against his. She let out a soundless, breathy cry, and he growled.

“Forever claimed.” Spreading his bent legs to either side, he drew his hips back and stared down into her half-lidded, lustful eyes. “Forever conquered.”

Rekosh emphasized those words by driving his hips forward and burying himself in her as deep as he could. Ahmya’s pussy wrapped snugly around his bulges.

Her back bowed, her little fingers clawed at the grass, and she sang her pleasure. Rekosh gave her more. And he took everything.

He pumped in and out, his claspers hooking over her thighs to draw her into his every thrust, each of which came faster than the last. Pleasure buzzed through him, an incessant, building hum that eclipsed the jungle around him. There was only him, only her. Only their bond.

Ahmya’s moans and cries were the only song he cared about. He added his own sounds to it—grunts, growls, snarls, and hisses as his legs scrabbled for more purchase, as he lifted her backside and angled his pelvis to get more leverage, more depth, more speed.

As he rutted his mate.

“Forevermine,” he declared.

She writhed beneath him, her dark hair spread wildly around her like the petals of a flower that had blossomed for Rekosh alone. The sounds of her pleasure filled the air. “Rekosh… Please…”

More. Take more. Give more.

She is mine.

She is all, everything.

The fingers of his upper hands curled, burying his claws in the ground. The waves of ecstasy came so fast now that they were as one—an unrelenting stream of sensation that could not be stemmed, could not be denied, could not be diverted.

Not that he wanted to.

This was ecstasy. Even the ache in his injured leg, even the way his ragged breaths tore at his lungs and throat. The pressure building in his stem, already so powerful that it threatened to tear him asunder, was so painful it had become pleasure. The inferno blazing at his core, so hot it would surely reduce him to ash, only made every feeling stronger.

He lifted one of his lower hands to cover her breast, kneading the soft flesh under his palm as he held her down.

“What are you,vi’keishi?” Rekosh demanded, catching the hardened bud of her nipple between finger and thumb and pinching, eliciting a gasp from his mate.

“I’m…I’m yours! Yours…forever…” Ahmya’s words came short and sharp, escaping between her harsh, panting breaths.

His leg joints sank into the soft ground as he thrust harder, faster. Her tender flesh yielded to his fingers and claws, and her slit clutched at his stem desperately, ravenously, fighting in vain every time he pulled back, drawing him in every time he plunged inside her.

“Your little slit… Feel how it fits? How it takes my cock? Ah, my pretty, pretty mate. See how it needs me?” A ragged snarl escaped him. “Howyouneed me?”

Ahmya arched her neck as she rasped, “Yes! I need you so much.”

Rekosh’s mandibles spread. Her sounds, her scent, her feel, her beauty…he was lost in this, lost in her. But something prodded at his mind. Another instinct, as yet denied. Another need.

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