When he finally reaches one of my breasts, cupping it with careful pressure, I arch into the touch as much as the restraints will allow.
“So responsive,” he murmurs appreciatively. “So beautifully reactive.”
His thumb brushes across my nipple, and I make a sound that would be embarrassing if I had any capacity for shame left. He repeats the motion, watching my face with that predator’s focus,learning exactly what pressure, what rhythm makes me respond most strongly.
“Riven,” I breathe, straining against the silk as heat builds between my legs.
“Yes?” He sounds perfectly composed, despite the intensity of his focus.
“I need…” I trail off, not sure how to articulate what I want.
“I know exactly what you need,” he says, and one hand begins trailing down my stomach, across the silk strands, toward the edge of my underwear. “I can smell it. Feel it in how you’re straining against my web.” His fingers trace the waistband of my panties, then dip just slightly beneath. “But I want to hear you say it,” he continues. “Tell me what you need, June.”
I swallow hard, desire battling the last shreds of my dignity. “I need more,” I finally say, some part of me feeling bold, another part of me unsure what I mean by ‘more.’
“More?” he echoes, that predatory focus intensifying. “More is very… unspecific, June.”
I struggle to find words through the haze of desire. It’s not just about physical pleasure anymore. I realize now that something shifted inside me after that terrifying moment on the mountain when the mudslide nearly took me.
I’ve spent my whole life being careful, calculating, planning every route to avoid danger. And for what? I still nearly died on that mountain today. I could have been swept away without ever really living.
“I want everything,” I say, my voice stronger now. “I want you to stop being careful with me. I want to know what it feels like to be yours completely.”
All of his eyes widen slightly, his mandibles clicking rapidly.
“June,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Do you understand what you’re asking for?”
“Maybe not entirely,” I admit. “But I want to find out.”
He’s perfectly still for a moment, studying me with that intense, alien focus. Then he moves, adjusting the silk that binds my legs. With expert manipulation, he spreads them wide apart, leaving me completely exposed to him.
Something shifts in his posture, a release of careful control, and I get a glimpse of the true predator beneath the civilized veneer. With one swift motion, he tears my underwear away, the silk giving way as easily as tissue paper.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, studying me with unabashed appreciation. “So different from my kind, yet so perfect.”
His fingers drag along my inner thigh, moving with agonizing slowness toward where I’m aching for him. When he finally touches me, I cry out at the intensity of the sensation.
“So wet,” he observes as his finger slides easily through my pussy. “Is this all for me, June?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Good. Because everything I’m about to do is for you.” His touch becomes more confident, finding exactly the right spot tomake my hips buck against the restraints. “I’ve studied human anatomy extensively, but theory and practice are such different things, aren’t they?”
“You’re doing fine with the practical application,” I manage, as he circles my clit with maddening precision.
He makes that clicking sound of pleasure again. “High praise. But I’ve barely begun.”
With that warning, he slides a finger inside me, and I moan at the intrusion. His finger is large, stretching me in the most delicious way. He watches my face intently as he begins to move it in and out, gauging my reactions to find the perfect rhythm.
“More,” I plead, and he obliges by adding a second finger, stretching me further.
“Like this?” he asks, curling his fingers to hit a spot inside me that makes me see stars.
“Yes!” I cry out, straining against the silk that holds me suspended in his web. “God, yes, just like that.”
He continues working me with his fingers, his other hand moving to my breast, teasing and pinching my nipple in counterpoint to the thrusting of his fingers. I’m lost in sensation, every nerve ending alive with pleasure as he systematically dismantles my control.
Just as I’m getting close to the edge, he withdraws his fingers, and I make a sound of protest that’s almost embarrassing.
