Page 83 of The Weaver

A low purr rumbled in his chest, and he bent closer to her, nuzzling her hair. He drew in her scent, now laced so intricately with his.Theirscent. With a croon, he shifted his hand from her breast to rest over her heart, which pounded rapidly under his palm.

Alive.

How many times had he nearly lost Ahmya? How many times had her life nearly ended, which would never have allowed them to come to this point? To mate, to bind themselves together so fiercely that Rekosh would challenge the Eight before he let them or anything else take her from him.

Slowly, he moved his hand from her heart to her throat. He curled his fingers around it loosely, again feeling her pulse, and stroked her jaw with his thumb. “My heartsthread, you unmake me.”

Ahmya hummed softly and brought her bound wrists to his face, cupping his jaw between her hands. “I love you.”

With another purr, he pressed his face into her palms, scraping his mouth over them in a kiss. But he stilled his face as the tremors within him escalated again, bringing new surges of pleasure. His tendrils thrummed, caressing her sex and coaxing her open within, even while building him to a new peak.

She wriggled her body, grinding her slit against his. “Rekosh?”

A harsh breath escaped him as his claspers gripped her firmly, refusing to let her go. He opened his eyes to look at her. “Ahmya…”

Her chest rose and fell in quick succession, and her brows pinched. She arched her back, grinding her pussy harder against him, taking his stem impossibly deeper. “What am I feeling inside? What are you….” She moaned, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m… I’m… Oh God, I’m coming again!”

With a cry, she dropped her bound hands over her head. Her body tensed, and her sex spasmed.

Rekosh snarled as another climax seized him. Their bodies released in unison, more of her slick flowing with his freshly spilled seed, his pleasure mingling with hers, their bodies remaining connected, remaining intertwined.

Rekosh reveled in the sensations. Reveled in this closeness,which was beyond his greatest imaginings, beyond anything he could’ve hoped for. Together, they rode out the waves of pleasure.

When finally the sensations began to fade, Rekosh chittered. “Ah,kir’ani vi’keishi. Would that I could bind us together like this forever, because this is where I belong. With you.”

CHAPTER 20

Ahmya layon her belly atop a blanket spread over a carpet of thick grass. Her arms were folded beneath her head, her eyes were closed, and her lips were curled in a soft smile.

The evening sun was warm upon her damp skin, and the spring burbled soothingly nearby. This spot, here and now, was a little piece of paradise, providing a welcome respite from the hardships of the last couple days. And she never would’ve envisioned herself in a place like this—relaxing beside a crystal-clear pool in the middle of the jungle, naked, with Rekosh lying on his side next to her.

A delightful shiver coursed through her as Rekosh leisurely brushed a silkblossom along her back. The soft petals followed her spine, dipping into the arch of her lower back before rising over the curve of her ass. The gesture was as loving as it was teasing.

Heat simmered in her belly, and desire burned in her core, but Ahmya was content to simply relish the moment. And as much as she craved to feel Rekosh’s cock inside her again, to feel that fullness, that closeness, that connection, she was exhausted from their fierce lovemaking. Her muscles were sore,she had bruises and scratches from his rough, possessive grip, red chafe marks from the silk bindings, and her shoulder stung where Rekosh had bitten her and left his mark.

She had been well and thoroughly fucked.

And she’d loved every bit of it.

Of all her discomforts, it was her pussy that was hardest to ignore. It ached deliciously. Even now, she still felt whispers of his presence there, of his fullness, and each time the sensation passed, it would leave a yearning throb in its wake that almost made her want to ignore the soreness and take Rekosh again.

The flower brushed lightly over the bite mark on her shoulder. Without seeing him, Ahmya knew Rekosh was staring at it. There had been such a covetous gleam in his eyes when he’d cleansed the wound and dressed it with sticky silk.

Ahmya grinned. “Are you preening again?”

The flower stilled. “Preening? I do not know that word.”

She opened her eyes and turned her head, resting it back upon her arms as she looked at him.

He reclined on his side with his right elbows atop the blanket and his head propped in his upper hand. His lower left arm was draped over his abdomen, while the upper was extended, holding the flower. He had his right legs curled beneath his hindquarters, with the left ones bent, their tips resting near her legs. His long hair, still damp after bathing, hung loose over his shoulders, its red and white strands especially vibrant in the sunlight. She loved it like this. Loved it when she could run her fingers through his tresses, unhindered by a braid.

Scars were visible on his dark hide—especially the most recent of them, which he’d received while defending her from the kuzahks.

“It means that you’re pleased with yourself,” she said.

Rekosh trilled, lifting his mandibles. “Then yes. I am preening,kir’ani vi’keishi. I have finally claimed my pretty mate.”

Ahmya chuckled. “You did. You really,reallydid.”

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