“Don’t say it,” she warns, her voice a breathy plea that my senses interpret as an invitation.
“Arousal responses,” I finish. “You find this situation stimulating.”
Her denial is weak, an obligatory protest her body has already rendered moot. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Fascinating,” I murmur, a low chittering of amusement rumbling in my chest. My most primitive instincts, dormant for eighty years, are awake and screaming.
This is not prey. This is a potential mate. And Vyder protocol for such an encounter is clear, brutal, and profoundly impolite by human standards.
“I never imagined I’d catch a human with such… particular tastes.”
She starts to protest again, but I silence her with a raised claw. “Your body disagrees. Quite emphatically, in fact.” My voice drops, shedding its academic tone for something more primal. “Tell me, June of Hartwell Delivery, have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be completely, utterly at someone’s mercy?”
The question destroys her composure. The web vibrates with the force of her body’s silent, affirmative answer.
“I can see that you have,” I say, my own systems now preparing for what must come next. “And now I find myself in a dilemma. Civilized human protocol dictates I should cut you free… But Vyders such as myself follow a different set of rules. You see, to my kind, it’s extremely rude to simply release a responsive female who’s displayed so perfectly in one’s web.”
“What are you going to do?” she whispers, and the terror in her voice is now laced with an unmistakable thread of anticipation.
I allow a predatory smile to spread across my features, an expression of mandibles and sharp edges that she should find terrifying.
Her arousal only spikes.
“Why, I’m going to give you exactly what you desire,” I say, the decision made as my ancient instincts take command. “After all, what kind of host would I be if I left a guest wanting? And you, June of Hartwell Delivery, are clearly very, very wanting…”
Chapter 3
What Struggles in the Spider's Web
June
Riven has made it clearhe knows exactly what I want. Even if I’m not even sure myself.
But before I can protest or agree or do anything rational, he moves. One razor-sharp claw extends, and I freeze, certain this is where my evening takes a hard turn toward dismemberment.
Instead, he delicately traces the seam of my cargo pants from hip to knee.
The tough canvas parts like tissue paper with the softest whisper of tearing fabric. Cool evening air hits my exposed skin, and I gasp at the sudden contrast. He’s cut through the outer layer with surgical precision, leaving me bare from mid-thigh down on one side.
“Those were my favorite work pants,” I say in an attempt to focus on something—anything—besides how the gentle brush of his claw against my skin sent electricity through my veins.
“I’ll compensate you appropriately,” he replies, already moving to repeat the process on my other leg. Another precise cut, another whisper of parting fabric.
Then, with two more deft cuts on either side of my waistband, my pants fall away in shredded pieces, leaving me exposed in ways I never have before.
The web’s design becomes suddenly, mortifyingly clear: I’m displayed with my legs parted, arms spread wide, every vulnerable inch on perfect display for his alien gaze.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and the reverence in his voice makes my breath hitch. “You respond so perfectly to restraint.”
His massive form settles between my spread legs, and I realize with a gasp what he intends to do next. The silk holds me perfectly in place as he studies me with those six yellow eyes, his alien face unreadable.
“Wait,” I say, my heart hammering hard. “I don’t… I’ve never…”
“Never been properly worshipped?” His low voice rumbles, vibrating through the silk and into my bones. “How unfortunate. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Human males are notoriously inadequate at such things.”
Before I can process his casual insult to my entire species, one razor-sharp claw hooks delicately under the elastic of my cotton underwear. The fabric parts with barely a whisper, and secondslater I’m completely exposed to the mountain air and his hungry gaze.
“Much better,” he murmurs with obvious satisfaction. “Though your undergarments are deplorably utilitarian. We’ll need to address that in future deliveries.”
