FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 319: Kira’s Mischief

The morning light had matured into a soft, honeyed gold that spilled across the petrified wooden floorboards, illuminating the dancing dust motes in the air. The heavy, visceral promise they had just shared... the silent oath to walk into the coming slaughter still hung between them, more tangible than the musk of their union.

The heavy, grounding silence of the room was broken only by the soft, rhythmic sound of their breathing and the distant, muffled calls of the waking Veynar tribe far below the Feline Spire. Sol’s arms were still locked around Kira, his chest a broad, burning wall against her back, his resolve to protect her solidifying into something as unyielding as the petrified wood of the Great Heartwood.

"Okay, okay... now you are actually suffocating me," Kira murmured, her voice muffled against his arm. She reached up and tapped playfully on his brawny arms, her fingers tracing the hard, corded muscle of his physique.

Sol hurriedly let her go, his grip loosening like a predator startled out of a trance. He stepped back half an inch, his silver-crimson eyes scanning her for any sign of genuine distress. "Are you okay? I didn’t—"

He stopped when he saw the expression on her face. Kira wasn’t pained or annoyed. She was looking at him with a soft, glowing amusement, her feline eyes crinkling at the corners. The fearsome Huntress, the daughter of the Warchief, was actually suppressed by a giggle.

She smiled, looking at his worried expression, and a playful light danced in her sapphire eyes. "I was just joking, Sol," she said, her voice a melodic lilt in the morning light. She reached up, and before he could react with his enhanced speed, she caught both of his cheeks between her fingers, pulling them outward with a cute, mischievous grin. "But it’s really good seeing you flustered like this. The big, scary ’Divine One’ actually has a heart under all that hard muscle. Who knew?"

"Y-you..." Sol started, but the protest died in his throat.

The sight of her... bare-chested in the morning light, her skin a map of scars and fresh, passionate bruises, her hair a chestnut waterfall over her shoulders... was a total sensory overload. The playful tug on his cheeks was the final straw.

He didn’t argue, he did give her the chance to finish the tease. He ducked his head down, moving with the deceptive, fluid speed of the Dreadwing, and captured her lips in a sudden, deep, and incredibly possessive kiss that was a direct answer to her teasing.

It wasn’t the slow, exploratory kiss of a morning greeting, it was a true possessive kiss. He tasted the dampness of her recent wash and the lingering, sweet musk that even the water couldn’t fully erase.

Kira let out a muffled sound of surprise against his mouth, her body jumping at the sudden, electric contact.

While his mouth worked hers with a relentless hunger, his hands, acting on an instinct that had been simmering since he first woke up, went directly to her breasts. He cupped the firm, athletic mounds, and began moulding them in various shapes, his fingers finding her beautiful soft nipples and started teasing them.

Kira tried to pull back, her hands coming up to push against his chest, but the moment his fingers tightened and began to roll the sensitive tips, her strength vanished. The protest turned into a soft moan that was swallowed by his mouth.

Her nipples were already tensed from the cool morning air, but under the heat of his touch, they became hard gems of desire, aching for the same intensity he had provided in the dark.

He playfully pulled them just like she had pulled his cheeks.

Kira’s breath hitched. She let out a sharp, involuntary protest into the kiss, her body arching toward him even as her mind tried to maintain a shred of morning order. She was a warrior, built for discipline, but Sol’s hands were like a living forge, melting her resolve into liquid heat.

Kira instantly protested into his mouth, a soft, throaty sound that was half-hiss and half-sigh. She tried to pull back, her hands flat against his chest, but the resistance was half-hearted at best. She was a Spirit Warrior, built for the struggle, and she met his sudden escalation with a flare of her own heat.

Sol smirked against her lips, sensing the shift in her stance. He released the sharp pinch of his fingers on her nipples but refused to let go of her breasts and simply focused on the deep, rhythmic glide of the kiss, his hands continuing to knead and mould the ivory softness of her chest, feeling the frantic, hammering rhythm of her heart beneath his palms.

Every touch was an assertion of property, a visceral reminder that the marks across her skin weren’t accidents... they were signatures.

After a long saliva-slicked while, they finally separated, a thin, glistening string of saliva still attached between them, catching the slate-gray light before it snapped. Kira leaned back, her chest heaving, her stormy eyes glassy and unfocused, the purplish bruises on her ribs darkening as her blood began to pump faster.

Her gaze involuntarily drifted downwards towards the searing heat her stomach was feeling, and since he wasn’t wearing anything, the evidence of his arousal was undeniable. His cock was rising again, a thick, angry rod of tensed muscle that strained against the air, throbbing with a rhythmic, heavy pulse, pointing toward the heavens with a pride that matched his own.

Kira’s face, already flushed from the kiss, deepened into a brilliant, undeniable crimson. She hurriedly raised her hands to cover her eyes, a gesture of shy embarrassment that felt incredibly endearing coming from a woman who could kill a man with her bare hands.

What are you thinking... just after getting up?" she whispered, though the way her eyes keep going down to it betrayed her.

Sol didn’t look away. He stood proudly, his massive, scarred frame absorbing the morning light like a black hole. He smirked, the cynical edge returning to his eyes. "Of course, I’m thinking about what we did the whole night. Every second of it."