Page 96 of The Weaver

Grasping her hips, he lifted her slightly, withdrawing his cock nearly to the tip, and slammed her back down upon him, stealing her breath again. Before she could recover, he thrust into her again and again, setting a frenzied pace that had his claws digging into her skin and his exhalations coming in ragged growls.

When her head tilted back and her lashes fluttered shut, he caught her jaw and forced her face back toward his.

“Losak’ven dun,” he commanded. “Eyes on mine.”

Panting, Ahmya did as he commanded. As much as her eyes wanted to roll back in her head in pleasure, as much as her eyelids wanted to close, she held his gaze as he rutted her.

It was raw, untamed, bestial, and all Ahmya could do was wrap her legs around him and hold on as he used her body. His hide scraped her inner thighs, his claws pricked her skin, and he held her so tightly she knew she’d end up with more bruises, but she didn’t care. She wanted it all. She wanted Rekosh and everything he had to give her, whether loving or fierce.

She surrendered to him completely.

Ahmya touched her forehead to his headcrest and slid a hand into his braided hair, gripping it. With every pound of his cock inside her body, she uttered his name. His strokes were hard, brutal, and deep, and she only wanted him deeper, deeper, deeper. Wanted to feel the delicious burn and utter fullness from his bulges.

Shivers coursed through her, and those tendrils caressed her from within, a tender contrast to the savagery of his thrusts.

The pleasure coiling in her belly, winding tighter and tighter, sharpened until she felt like she could take no more. Rapture burst through her.

Ahmya wound her arms around Rekosh’s neck as her entire body constricted and a scream of pleasure tore from her throat.

“Ahmya,” Rekosh rasped, his body trembling as he slammed into her one final time before his cock swelled.

Clutching her tight against him, he roared, and heat bloomed within her core as he filled her with his seed. The movements of those tendrils intensified, stimulating her cervix, sending Ahmya into another release. She moaned and ground her pussy down on his slit, keeping his bulges lodged deep, unwilling to let this moment end.

It seemed Rekosh was just as unwilling, as he kept his hands locked on her hips, ensuring that his cock remained buried in her, sealing his seed inside, while they both shuddered through one orgasm after another, each less potent than the last but no less pleasurable.

When the fluttering of those tendrils finally stopped, Ahmya sagged against him. Her limbs were trembling and weak, and her body was coated in perspiration.

She pressed a kiss to Rekosh’s neck. “I love you.”

He gently nuzzled the bite mark on her shoulder as he combed his claws through her hair. “You are woven into my spirit, my heartsthread.”

CHAPTER 23

By the light of day,it all seemed so obvious. The signs were everywhere. This had been a settlement—a fairly large one, by all appearances. Much of what Ahmya and Rekosh had mistaken for rock formations or irregularities in the ground were ancient stone walls, caked with dirt and strangled by vines. Despite the trees and cloying vegetation, despite large sections of walls having collapsed or been swallowed by time and the elements, it was easy to visualize the foundations of the structures that once stood here.

It was likely because Ahmya knew what she was looking for now. Her eyes had been opened to the nature of this place, and now she could not unsee it—not that she wanted to. This was fascinating. The vrix were a diverse people, and their history was richer than even Rekosh, with so many stories stashed in his brain, could ever have guessed.

His interest was as piqued as hers as their exploration uncovered more scattered carvings and patches of weblike vrix writing, most of which were too worn for him to decipher. This place represented a part of his culture, his heritage, he’d neverknown about, and discovering it alongside him made Ahmya’s heart swell.

She knew all too well the feeling of being disconnected from one’s heritage. Knew all too well the self-doubt that could arise from it, knew the contradictory pull between past, present, and future. Growing up in the United States had left her feeling like an outsider when she’d visited Japan, her parents’ homeland. There’d been so much she hadn’t known about.

Her mother had taught her as much as she could about their culture, their history, but she’d died while Ahmya was young. And though Ahmya’s father had been born in Japan, he’d moved to the States as a boy and spent most of his life there.

Not that he’d been much of a talker, anyway.

Now, she would never have a chance to speak to him again, would never visit Japan again, would never learn more about her heritage.

It would’ve been the same if you’d made it to Xolea. This is the choice you made.

Yet as much as it saddened her, Ahmya didn’t regret that choice. Every step she’d taken had brought her here. It had brought her to Rekosh.

They continued their exploration farther into the scattered ruins, and when they discovered a set of broad, crumbling steps, Ahmya ascended them, her spear tapping the stone as she used it as a walking stick.

Running her fingers along the moss-covered stone wall that ran along one side, she caught hints of faded carvings beneath. “I wish you were able to see this place as it once was. Even as ruins, it’s beautiful.”

“To see it with you now is enough,” Rekosh replied, walking beside with his spear in hand.

“Do you think if we brought the thornskulls here, it could be restored?”

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