FREE USE in Primitive World - Chapter 305: Stripping Down

Chapter 305: Chapter 305: Stripping Down

Sol kicked the heavy timber doors of the balcony shut, the sound a dull thud that sealed them away from the rest of the world. The Great Orrath, the looming threat of the Zharun, the suffocating expectations of the tribe… all of it was locked outside.

Inside the cavernous quarters of the Feline Spire, there was only the flickering amber glow of the dying fire pit and the frantic, ragged breathing of two people that didn’t know if they would survive the next day.

Sol carried Kira across the polished wooden floorboards, his stride long and effortless. She felt feather-light against the tectonic density of his newly integrated Layer 1 strength, but the emotional weight she anchored him to was immense. Her arms were locked tightly around his neck, her fingers tangled in his dark hair, pulling his mouth down to hers again and again. It was a chaotic, starving exchange.

He reached the edge of the massive, circular bed, piled high with the plush, downy feathers of high-tier avians and thick, white pelts.

He didn’t drop her. He followed her down, his knees sinking into the furs as he laid her back against the center of the bed. He hovered over her, supporting his weight on his forearms, trapping her between his solid frame and the bed.

He kept his arms banded around her waist, pulling her hips flush against his. The physical contrast between them was boundless. She was a storm… sharp, agile, vibrating with a tense, kinetic energy. He was the mountain… immovable, heavy, radiating a heat that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.

“Look at me,” Sol murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that resonated deep in his chest.

Kira lifted her chin, her chest heaving. The tips of her hair were fanned out across the white pelts like a halo of moonlight. Her feline eyes were completely dilated, entirely stripped of the cold, stoic Vanguard discipline that had defined her entire life. The tears were gone, replaced by a dark, consuming hunger that mirrored his own.

Right now, she wasn’t the Warchief’s daughter. She wasn’t an Elite Warrior. She was just Kira.

And she was looking at him as if he were the only solid thing left in the universe.

Sol stared down into those stormy, desperate eyes, and the final, lingering wall of his detachment completely crumbled.

Sol brought his free hand up, his heavy, calloused fingers tracing the sharp, beautiful line of her jaw. He leaned in, his mouth finding hers again. This kiss wasn’t the frantic, crashing collision of the balcony. It was slow, devastatingly thorough, and agonizingly deep.

He tasted her deeply… the faint salt of her earlier grief, the wild musk of her skin. He mapped the inside of her mouth with a deliberate, agonizing patience, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow, rhythmic pull that drew a soft, helpless sound from the back of her throat.

Because Sol didn’t just want her, he needed to consume the despair she had carried, to replace the hollow ache of her grief with a physical presence so absolute it left no room for thought.

Sol’s tongue was like a blunt instrument, forcing its way past her teeth, mapping the velvet heat of her mouth with a predatory thoroughness.

He sucked at her lips, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, while Kira bit back, her feline canines drawing the faint, iron tang of blood that they both swallowed as if it were the only life-sustaining essence left in the world.

After what felt like an eternity, when the fire in the center of the room was a dying, red eye, struggling to stay open against the thick, heavy silence of the Spire. Sol slowly pulled away, a sliver strand of saliva connecting them desperately. He didn’t pull away further and just watched her. Kira was a mess… hair tangled, eyes red, clothes looking like she’d crawled through a swamp of her own misery.

He didn’t feel pity. Pity was for the weak, and Kira wasn’t weak.

“Take them off,” Sol said. His voice wasn’t a suggestion. It was a low, guttural rasp that scraped against the walls of the room. It sounded like two stones grinding together.

Kira looked up, her feline eyes wide, the pupils blown out until the blue was just a thin, vibrating ring. She didn’t hesitate. There was no shy glancing away, no modest fumbling. She was a warrior.

She grabbed the hem of that gray tunic and slowly, agonizingly, she pulled the fabric up.

The fire pit’s dying amber glow licked at her skin as it was revealed, inch by agonizing inch. First, the lean, taut muscles of her stomach, etched with the definition of a predator. Then the swell of her ribcage, where her heart hammered against her bones like a frantic bird in a cage of ivory. Finally, the tunic passed over her head and was cast aside, a discarded skin, hitting the floor with a soft, wet sound.

She was bare. Her skin was the color of cream in the firelight, but it was mapped with the reality of her life. Scars from training blades, nicks from jungle thorns, and the hard, corded muscle of someone who killed for a living. She was truly a masterpiece of violence and grace.

Her breasts high and firm, tipped with dark, tensed peaks that rose in response to the cooling air and the burning intensity of his stare.

Sol’s eyes tracked every inch of her. He felt the heat in his own blood starting to boil. The Level 1 core in his chest was spinning like a turbine, burning his body hotter than it ever has been.

“Everything, Kira,” he growled.

She stood up, her hands going to the tie of her simple leggings. She stepped out of them, kicking them aside. She stood there, completely naked. Honestly, she was beautiful, not just simple beauty, it was a dangerous type of beauty. She looked like something that would bite you as soon as kiss you.