FREE USE in Primitive World - Chapter 362: Zephyra’s Teasing

Chapter 362: Chapter 362: Zephyra’s Teasing

Her skin was pure, flawless pale, completely covered in intricate, glowing cyan tattoos that pulsed with the rhythm of her breathing, and her long, silver hair fell down her back in damp, heavy waves.

The room was sweltering hot, thanks to whatever ritual she was doing. And she was sweating profusely. Thick beads of sweat rolled down her long, elegant neck, tracing the deep valley of her cleavage and making the thin linen wraps cling tightly to her lush, mature curves.

The sweat made her skin glisten. She looked mature, dangerous, and impossibly hot.

Sol’s throat went bone dry. He swallowed hard, an audible gulp in the quiet room. The primal, raw display of her powers, combined with the slick, sweat-covered skin and her mature, commanding presence, shook whatever restraints were left deep in his mind.

The intense battle-lust that had been simmering in his veins for days suddenly mutated, awakening a heavy, burning spike of pure lust in his gut.

His Sun Core… a foundation built on pure, volatile, aggressive yang energy… reacted instantly. The heavy, thrumming warmth in his gut spiked, sending a rush of hot blood straight south. The primal lust of a body wired for survival and dominance violently woke up.

Zephyra didn’t open her eyes, but she held up a single, perfectly manicured hand.

“Wait,” her voice rang out in the quiet room. It was smooth, raspy, and incredibly alluring. “Let me finish the cycle.”

Sol stood there, perfectly still. His silver-crimson eyes locked onto the rhythmic, heavy rise and fall of her chest as she cycled the essence through her body.

He watched the sweat drip down her toned stomach, pooling at the edge of her lower linen wrap.

A few minutes later, the glowing cyan tattoos slowly dimmed and sank back into her body.

Zephyra let out a long, steamy exhale and finally opened her eyes. They were sharp, dreamy , and filled with an ancient, knowing amusement as they locked directly onto his face. The woman looking at him had sharp, exotic features, high cheekbones, and deep, dark eyes that held decades of ruthless experience.

The wet linen wraps barely contained the heavy, swelling curves of her chest, the dark peaks pushing clearly against the soaked fabric.

She casually wiped a streak of sweat from her collarbone, totally unbothered by her state of undress.

“You’re staring too much, Divine One, ” Zephyra purred, a wicked little smirk playing on her lips.

“I… uh,” Sol stammered for a fraction of a second, quickly forcing his composure back into place. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Zephyra let out a low, throaty laugh. She didn’t bother trying to cover herself up. In fact, she leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hands, giving him an even better view of her cleavage.

“You aren’t interrupting,” she purred, her eyes dragging down his body, lingering his broad chest. “I am just finishing my ritual. The storm spell drains the vitality from the flesh, breaking the vessel to the brink of death. But the Great Orrath always gives it back, if you know the right rituals.”

“Anyways, did you come all this way just to stare?” She questioned playfully, seeing his eyes struck on her peaks.

Hearing the playful teasing tone, Sol felt his courage increase dramatically, this time he didn’t look away or apologize. He just crossed his arms, stepping further into the grove. “I was told to come check on a frail shaman who almost died holding the sky together. I’m trying to figure out if I walked into the wrong courtyard.”

Zephyra let out a rich, throaty laugh. She uncrossed her legs, shifting her weight and stretching her back. The movement flexed her core, drawing his eyes straight back to her midriff.

There was no hesitation in her posture, no attempt to cover herself, no trace of embarrassment. She was utterly at ease, as if her body were nothing more than another vessel of the earth, no different than stone or river.

Her eyes, deep and luminous, fixed on Sol with a serenity that made his breath catch. When she spoke, her voice was low and resonant, carrying the presence of someone who had long since shed the shackles of mortal vanity:

“The appearance is merely a byproduct of our mortal presence in the world,” she said, tilting her head, letting her hair spill across her shoulder. Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “Our true look is our soul. Flesh is clay, shifting and temporary. What you see before you…” she gestured lightly to her own body, the motion slow, deliberate, “…is only the shadow of what I am.”

She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear, her tone dipping into a teasing whisper:

“But shadows can tempt, can they not? Even if they are not the truth. Tell me, warrior… are you strong enough to see past the vessel, or will you be caught staring at the illusion?”

Her laughter was soft, almost musical, but carried a bite of challenge. She sat back again, utterly unbothered by her near-nakedness, her gaze fixed on him with the kind of playful daring that made it impossible to tell whether she was testing his spirit… or deliberately unraveling it.

Sol was stumped, he didn’t know how to answer this, if he said if he was strong enough to ignore her physical body, it means she didn’t have enough charm, and if he said he liked her physical body more, it would mean he is vain person who lust after bodies, not the soul.

In reality there was no right answer. So, he did what a capable man would do, he swiftly changed the subject. “By the way, are you okay? You looked like you were tearing yourself apart up there.”

Zephyra sighed, leaning back on her hands. The playful smirk faded just a fraction. ” Well…I am alive. But the overdraft to call that storm was severe. My whole body is stiff and bruised. It will take weeks to fully purge the deep exhaustion from my muscles and bones. And you? You look remarkably sturdy for a man who had a hole in his stomach.”