Ensnared: An Alien Romance Trilogy (The Spider’s Mate Book 1)

That scent… By the Eight, it was driving Ketahn mad. It was Ivy’s fragrance, the same one he’d first smelled after opening her cocoon in the pit, but it was so much stronger, so much sweeter, and undeniably feminine. Before, it had been alluring but subtle. Something had changed over the last few moments.

Not even the queen’s scent, which was nearly as powerful as Zurvashi herself in its own way, had been able to cloud Ketahn’s mind like this. His stem was thrumming behind his slit, and tremors pulsed through his claspers and threatened to force them outward.

What had changed? Why was Ivy emitting this heady scent, and why was it centered on her slit?

His chest vibrated with another growl as he shifted his hand, placing a finger along either side of Ivy’s slit. Her flesh there was hot, soft, silken, and he had the sense that it was damp not merely because she’d just left the water.

Unable to look away, he spread his fingers. Her slit opened like the petals of a blooming flower, revealing slick flesh that was even pinker than her lips.

Had he any doubt she was female before, it was destroyed now; there was a small, tight opening at the bottom of her slit, beckoning him, tempting him.

What would it feel like to push his stem inside her, to feel her clench around him? What would it feel like to have her soft hide sliding against his? His stem pulsed, pushing unrelentingly against his slit, and his claspers stretched forward reflexively, brushing along the upper segments of her legs.

Higher up, near the apex of her slit, was a small bud, hooded by a delicate fold of flesh.

He could feel the throbbing of her heartbeat under his fingertips, and heat poured off her, welcoming and enticing. How hot was she within? Ketahn trailed a finger along her slit, gathering the glistening dew from those pink petals. Ivy gasped, and her legs tensed, her toes curling down. More nectar gathered at her center, and her scent strengthened.

Vrix females did not produce their own secretions—it was the males whose slick eased entry. This, like everything else about Ivy, was something new. Something unexpected. Something…intriguing.

What did her dew taste like? Would it be as sweet and heady as it smelled?

His finger reached for that bud, which was firmer than the surrounding flesh but gave way to his touch more than the peaks of her chest mounds had. He circled it, pushing that hood of flesh away.

Ivy cried out, bucking her hips against his hand. “Ketahn! No! Oh gahd, stahp!” She wildly fought his hold and twisted her hips. “Thisiz rawng. Thisiz soh, soh rawng. No morr!”

Something in her voice pierced the lustful haze that had seized Ketahn. He tore his eyes away from her slit to look up, past her heaving chest and its soft, rounded, fleshy mounds, to her face. Her cheeks were pinkened, her eyes were wide and pleading, and her lips were parted. There was a crease in the skin between her eyebrows.

Though he did not fully understand how to read the signs on her face, he knew the panic in her eyes—and he recognized a glimmer of hurt.

He’d again been on the verge of mating with her. He’d been moments away from his stem emerging to plunge into her hot, soft flesh.

And not once during his exploration of Ivy had Ketahn thought of her as anything but a tantalizing female.

Keeping his upper hands around her wrists, he hooked his lower pair under her knees and lifted her off his legs, carefully guiding her feet to the ground. As soon as she was standing on her own, he released her and backed away, bowing his head and pressing his forearms together. “I am sorry, Ivy. I did not mean to frighten you.”

She stumbled back, nearly tripping over her own feet, and yanked down the upper cloth to cover her mounds. Her pale golden hair was a tangled mess around her head and heaving shoulders. She thrust a hand between her legs, cupping her slit as she hunched over, body trembling.

“This kant bee hapin ing,” she said, speaking quickly, breathlessly. “I kant bee ternd awn bai a spider man.” She whimpered. “Oh gahd, hee wuz naht uhbowt too mayk me kum.”

“Ivy?”

Ivy snapped her face toward Ketahn and thrust a finger at him. “I am naht hapee wihth you ryt n’ow.”

Ketahn tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, clicking his mandible fangs together. Though he didn’t understand most of her words, her tone wasn’t hard to translate—she was angry.

And that didn’t feel any better to him than her upset and hurt had only moments before, intensifying the constricting feeling in his chest. He wasn’t even sure what manner of creature Ivy was, but he knew that he wanted her to be content. Not angry, afraid, or hurt.

She withdrew her hand from between her legs, turned away, and walked toward the stream. His gaze dropped to her hindquarters. The flesh there was round and plump. Her soft, pale hide should have revolted him, but something about it invited his touch, begged him to run his tongue over it and sample its taste.

Ivy crouched and plunged her hands into the flowing water, scrubbing them together before splashing her face and holding her palms to her cheeks.

Was she angry with him because he’d removed her covering, or because he’d touched her? Because of the way he’d touched her?

He scraped the tip of a leg across the ground. She was intelligent, capable of deep emotion and complex thoughts and language, and he had treated her like nothing more than an animal.

No, that wasn’t right. He’d been driven by curiosity, but even more so by instinct. Her scent had called to him, had crashed over him and swept his mind away just as the waters of a flooding river might have swept away his body.

She was so different from the vrix, fascinatingly so, and those differences grew more appealing with each passing moment.

Ivy was no animal—and she wasn’t a pet. She was…something else. Something more. Something for which neither Ketahn nor his kind had a name. And if he could not tell her directly, he needed to show her that he wanted her to feel at ease. To feel…equal.

“Ivy?”

She ignored him and splashed her cheeks again.

Ketahn huffed and stalked over to her. She turned away from him, but he caught one of her wrists and hauled her up to her feet.

“Stahp! Lhet goh!”

She tugged on her arm and tried to lean out of his reach. He grasped her other wrist and turned her to face him, guiding her hands toward his chest. Ivy bared her flat, white teeth in a not happy expression, growled, and tore her arms out of his hold.

“Ivy,” he said, lunging forward to grab her wrists again before she could retreat. “Pleez. I will not hurt you.”

“Wut?” She stared up at him with her eyebrows tilted down and her lips pressed together firmly.

He tugged her closer, placing her hands on his chest. “You can touch me.” He slid her hands slowly toward his shoulders. “You can explore.”

Ketahn released her wrists, lowered his arms, and bowed his head toward her.

This time, she didn’t pull away. Her palms remained upon his hide. Her expression eased, taking on a hint of confusion.

“Arr you wahnt ing me too tuch you?” she asked. She slid her right hand back down his chest. “Tuch?”

“Yes, touch,” he said first in her language, then in his own.

Her eyebrows dipped again, and she hesitated, as though she were about to pull away. She drew in a deep, shaky breath and seemed to find some resolve.

“Fiyn.” Ivy rolled her eyes in their sockets, displaying an alarming amount of their whites. “You prahblee wohnt stahp til I doo.”

She flattened her palms on his chest and spread her fingers. Her eyes were focused on her hands as she moved them up, over the smooth, hard planes of his chest and the raised scars upon it, then over the ridges of his collar bones, which ran down from his shoulders. Those hands dipped to the more tender flesh of his neck, where her fingertips sparked thrills across his hide that were like tiny bolts of lightning.

Ivy paused there and flicked her gaze up to his.

“Touch, Ivy,” he rumbled.

She trailed her hands up the thick cords of muscle on the sides of his neck, following them to his mandibles. Her fingers were hesitant as they brushed along the soft hide where his mandibles connected to his face and swept down to the tips of their fangs.

“Theez arr sharrp.”

Ketahn curled his hands into loose fists and forced his mandibles to relax. Her scent filled the air around him, and it still bore that extra sweetness that had driven him mad before. He did not allow himself to look down, but he knew her slit was close—so close he almost swore he could feel its heat. When his claspers twitched, he drew them in as snug as he could, pressing them over his slit to keep it closed.

This touching was not for him, it was for Ivy. But that didn’t stop it from feeling good. He enjoyed the soft rasp of her skin on his.

Ivy reached higher and cupped his jaw. She used her thumbs to trace his mouth.

“Oh’pen,” she said, then opened her mouth.

He glanced at her pink tongue and her straight, white teeth, and he might easily have lost himself staring at her lips for a long while, but he’d apparently maintained enough discipline to comply. He said the word for open in his language before opening his mouth wide.

Her eyebrows rose. “You hav reelee sharrp teeth.” She applied a little pressure to the underside of his jaw, making him close his mouth. “Klohz.”

“Close.” He snapped his mouth shut with a click of his teeth.

One corner of her lips rose. “Guhd theeng you dohnt plann too eat me.”

His mandibles twitched, and he lifted a hand to pluck up a strand of her damp hair, which he stroked between finger and thumb. In her language, he said, “Ketahn no eat Ivy.”

Her lips curled up fully as she met his eyes. “Ivy no eat Ketahn.”

Ketahn spread and raised his mandibles and narrowed his eyes slightly, letting out a soft chitter. The thought of this little creature eating him was amusing, but in his spirit, he knew it was not impossible—there was an admirable fierceness at Ivy’s core, a hint of predatory instinct that was weak but not entirely dormant.

Ivy cocked her head. “You arr smy’ling, arrent you?” She drew a hand back and traced her finger across her mouth, tilting its corners higher. “Smy’l.”

“Yes.” He ran a fingertip straight along the line of his mouth and said in her language, “Ketahn no lips.”

Ivy nodded, her eyes dipping to his mouth. She touched her fingertips there again, tracing them lightly, testing their flexibility. “Eetz ohkay. You kan smile yor w’ay.”

Her hand moved higher, following the edges of his headcrest before threading into his hair. She combed her fingers through it until the strands fluttered down to rest over his shoulders. He wanted her to do it again.

Instead, she flattened her palms on his chest. Her eyebrows fell. Leaning forward, she turned her head and pressed the side of her face against his chest, sliding her hands toward his sides.

Ketahn stilled, uncertain of what she was doing or how to react. Face-to-face touching was something intimate to his kind, performed only between vrix who trusted and cared for one another fully, and though this wasn’t quite that, it felt incredibly close. He could not ignore the warmth of her hide or of her breath, which teased at his chest. He could not ignore the feel of her little hands on his sides or her damp hair brushing against him.

And it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore her scent.

“You hav morr thann one harrt,” she said, her voice vibrating into him. Pulling back, she settled her hand on his chest again and tapped her fingers. It took him a moment to realize she was matching the rhythm of his hearts.

Taking hold of his left lower wrist, she brought his hand up and pressed it into the valley between her chest mounds. Ketahn tilted his head, regarding her questioningly, but just as he was about to ask her what she was doing, he felt it. The steady thump-thump, thump-thump beneath his palm. Ivy’s heart.

“Harrt,” she said again. “Ivy haz one harrt.”

Ivy has one heart.

That understanding didn’t come with any surprise. She was small, and even if she stood as tall as a female vrix, her body shape still would’ve meant there’d be less of her. It was reasonable that she could survive only with one heart.

But what did it mean for her strength of spirit? Every vrix possessed a heartsthread that linked their hearts and spirit; did having but one heart make hers weaker?

As he stared down at her and that strange pulse continued under his palm, he had the sudden urge to weave her into his own heartsthread—to keep her safe, to keep her supported, to keep…her.

Tilting her head, Ivy continued to study his body, running her fingers along his upper shoulders, following the muscles of his arms before exploring where his lower shoulders connected to his sides. Every moment spent with her hands upon his hide made it harder to suppress his urges; his instincts were rising again, threatening to take control.

“You arr naht soh skairee eh nee morr,” she said softly.

She trailed her hand down his abdomen, lower and lower, and his muscles tensed beneath her touch. His claspers shifted in anticipation, defying his will. His stem swelled within his slit, creating swift, torturous pressure.

When her hand was a finger’s span from his slit, he caught her wrist and snatched it away, breaking that contact. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

“No. Not there, Ivy.”

She glared at him, then rolled her eyes, letting out a pfft sound. “Hippuh krit. You touched me.” She pointed down, and his eyes dipped to her slit.

A growl clawed up from his chest, and his claspers twitched, stretching toward her. Ketahn slammed his forelegs on the ground and thrust himself away from Ivy. “It is too much. I cannot control myself if you touch me that way.”

He spun away from her, a tremor coursing through his limbs as the pressure behind his slit flared. He sucked in a breath and pulled his claspers in tight enough that their tips painfully dug into the hide of his pelvis.

Queen Zurvashi had frequently tried to tempt him, to lure him in with her scent, her body language. This pale little creature had come closer to getting him to submit to his instincts in two nights than the queen had in seven years.

He forced his gaze to anything, to anywhere, but Ivy—and thankfully, it landed on a cluster of cleanleaf growing along the streambank. They were exactly the reminder he needed of his purpose for bringing Ivy here.

Ketahn strode to the plant and plucked off several of the thick leaves with two of his hands. Once he had enough, he made his way back toward Ivy, keeping his eyes averted from her. She had her lower cloth covering in hand and was bending down as though about to put them on. He snatched them from her grasp; even without bringing the cloth to his nose, he could smell a hint of her piss on it.

Of course, there was a hint of something else on it, too, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge that sweet scent now.

“Hay!” She held out her hand. “Giv me my shortz, Ketahn.”

“This needs to be cleaned,” he said, twisting away from her to keep the cloth out of her reach as he stepped to the water’s edge—beside the spot where he’d dropped the rolled-up fur. “Before your piss-scent lures every animal in the jungle to us.”

She stood beside him with her arms folded across her chest as he crushed some of the leaves in his fist, bent down, and plunged her cloth into the stream to scrub it. Her form lingered at the edge of his vision. He tried—and failed—to pretend his face was not again level with her slit.

“Stuh bern spider man,” Ivy muttered.

He lifted one of his rear legs, hooking it behind her to brush across her rounded hindquarters. She yelped and hopped away.

“Ketahn,” he said, smiling.