Page 25 of Pleasured By the Panther
In short order, his back legs blurred again, but this time he didn’t stop. He went on, weaving gown after gown, each one tailored exactly to Miranda’s shape.
The second gown he made was a pale lavender with soft, flowing sleeves that brushed her wrists, airy and casual. The third was a creamy white slip-dress with delicate straps, simple but elegant. The fourth shimmered in bronze tones, hugging her waist and flowing into a loose skirt she could wear for walking.
The fifth gown was ruby red and off the shoulder, with a daring neckline that made her cheeks heat as she imagined wearing it in public. The sixth was soft rose-pink—modest but flattering—with a sash that cinched just under her breasts. The seventh was a silvery gray, so finely woven it looked like moonlight had been caught in fabric.
And then came the last.
Thryxis turned, holding out a gown that stole her breath away. It was turquoise blue, the exact shade of a tropical ocean. The fabric plunged in a V-neck, then swept low in the back. The skirt flared in perfect ripples, made for dancing or turning heads at any formal event.
“Oh my God,” Miranda whispered, pressing her hand to her mouth as she studied the stunning creation. “It’s gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.”
Thryxis inclined his head gravely.
“You honor my work with your words. These garments are yours, beautiful Elite.”
“Mine?” She blinked at him. “All of them? I mean—you’re just giving them to me?”
“Of course.” His back legs had already produced what looked like a hanging bag—but alien in every respect. It shimmered like opal, folding around the gowns as though it were alive. Once they were inside, Thryxis touched the side of the bag, and it folded again. And again. Shrinking smaller and smaller until it was no bigger than her hand.
“Oh!” Miranda gasped. “But… won’t they wrinkle?”
“The fabric I spin never wrinkles,” Thryxis assured her. “It is light enough to fold infinitely small, yet strong enough that even steel cables cannot compare. You may wash it, stretch it, wear it as often as you like—your gowns will remain as you see them now. They will never wear out.”
Miranda’s throat tightened with gratitude.
“Thank you. Thank you so much. These are… amazing. More than I ever expected.”
“It is I who thank you,” Thryxis said with a low bow, all five eyes blinking at once. “To shape beauty for one worthy of it is the highest honor of my craft.”
“Truly, old friend, you are too kind,” Korrath purred. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart for making garments rare and perfect enough to frame my lovely one’s beauty.”
“I am but putting the perfect diamond into a proper setting,” Thryxis murmured. “But if you would, old friend, a private word.”
The two of them stepped aside for a moment and spoke in low tones. Miranda couldn’t catch the words, only the low rumble of Korrath’s voice and the faint hiss of the spider-Monstrum’s replies. Whatever they were saying seemed serious, though, because Korrath’s face was grave.
Finally, the big Monstrum returned, taking her hand in his much larger one.
“Come,” he said softly. “It is time to return to the Light Side of the ship.”
“Farewell!” Thryxis waved to them both. “Visit again sometime—I greatly enjoyed spinning for you,” he added to Miranda.
“Thank you! I will. I mean, if I come back.”
She clutched the tiny folded bag to her chest, still stunned by the treasures inside, and followed Korrath back through the neon jungle.
16
KORRATH
Thryxis’s words echoed in Korrath’s head long after they left the workshop.
Her heat is rising, Korrath. You smell it, as I do. I can tell she’s been among the pleasure blossoms—they left their mark on her—her scent burns with it. If you did not cleanse her properly, their secretions will sink deeper, quickening her Second Heat.
Korrath’s jaw tightened as he guided Miranda toward the Transport Hub. He had smelled it too—the heady sweetness of her arousal growing thicker in the air around her. The way she had winced when Thryxis’s measuring tape brushed her breasts…the restless shifting of her thighs. She might not know it herself, but her body was changing, the rhythm of her desire quickening.
And it was his fault.
He had urged her to surrender to the blossoms, to open herself to their touch. He had wanted to see her undone…to hear her moans…to watch her take pleasure with abandon. But now she bore the price of his selfishness.
