Fire and Ice - 7

The tavern door shut behind them with a soft click, the mist of dawn lingering in the air, damp and cool.

Mira stood in the entryway, her cloak heavy with sweat, her wrists still bound beneath the fabric with silk ropes, their faint pressure a lingering anchor.

Her red hair clung to her neck, damp and wild, her breath coming too fast, her bronze skin flushed from the Guild's judgment.

The tavern was quiet, its hearth glowing faintly, the scent of woodsmoke and polished oak wrapping around her like a balm.

Kio didn't ask what the Guild said, didn't probe her trembling heart.

He led her to the back room, his steps steady, his presence a quiet tide that held her when she was on the verge of breaking.

The room was small, warmed by a low fire, its stone walls softened by woven mats and a single cushion, the air thick with cedar and wax.

Mira sank onto the mat by the fire, her cloak falling away to reveal the silk bindings crisscrossing her wrists, loose but present, a map of her surrender.

Her body was a vision of strength and sensuality—her full breasts straining against her tunic, their curves accentuated by the firelight, her nipples taut beneath the fabric.

Her waist was narrow, her stomach toned with a faint ripple of muscle, leading to wide hips and a rounded, firm ass that shifted as she sat.

Her long, muscular legs, bronzed and smooth, glistened with sweat, her thighs parted slightly, hinting at the heat between them, her pussy hidden but alive with need.

She looked down at the ropes, her amber eyes shadowed.

"I didn't deserve that pass," she said, her voice low, raw. "I cheated."

"You focused," Kio replied, his tone calm, unyielding.

"I panicked," she said, her hands trembling, her fireblood stirring beneath her skin.

"You adapted," he countered, his dark eyes meeting hers, steady and sure.

Mira's breath hitched, her chest rising. "I don't want to burn like that again," she said, her voice breaking.

"Not like it's a performance. Not where a slip could hurt someone."

She looked up, her eyes bare, unguarded. "I want to feel safe when I burn."

Kio stepped behind her, his presence a quiet anchor.

He gently undid the silk bindings, his fingers brushing her wrists, letting the ropes fall like shed skin.

He sat, pulling her between his legs, her back pressing against his chest, his arms encircling her—one hand resting on her stomach, warm and steady, the other over her chest, his palm covering her heartbeat, feeling its rapid pulse.

"Let's slow it down," he said, his voice low, a promise woven into the words.

Mira didn't respond, her body tense, her fire simmering.

Kio pressed his lips behind her ear, a soft kiss that sent a shiver through her.

"Let me show you how to burn softer," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.

His hands moved with gentle care, no pressure, no tease, just a rhythmic warmth that coaxed her fire to settle.

He stroked her thighs, his fingers tracing the smooth, muscular curves, then her sides, gliding along her ribs, each touch a worship of her body's strength and softness.

He avoided her folds, orbiting her heat with a maddening patience, his palms warm, his breath steady, guiding her to breathe in sync.

Mira's breath slowed, her fireblood pulsing low, warm and steady, no longer a blaze but a glow.

Her body relaxed, her curves yielding against him, her thighs parting slightly, inviting more.

Kio's hand drifted lower, one finger—gentle, reverent—circling her clit, not pressing but teasing, a soft spiral that drew a quiet gasp from her lips.

She didn't buck, didn't plead, didn't scream.

She breathed, her chest rising, her fireblood humming beneath her skin, alive but contained.

Kio kept the rhythm soft, his finger tracing her clit with a steady, worshipful touch, holding her on the edge for what felt like hours.

Her pussy grew slick, her thighs trembling faintly, her breasts heaving with each slow breath, her nipples straining against her tunic, her body a canvas of need and surrender.

And then.

She came, it was without a word, a soft, shuddering release that rippled through her like a tide.

Her pussy clenched, her clit throbbing under Kio's gentle touch, a warm flood of pleasure spilling through her core, her thighs quivering, her breath escaping in a quiet exhale—a candle snuffed at dusk.

Her body arched faintly, her curves pressing into Kio, her fireblood glowing softly, no flare, no blaze, just peace.

Mira curled into his chest, her red hair spilling over his shoulder, her body warm and pliant.

"I didn't know it could feel like that," she whispered, her voice soft, raw with wonder.

Kio stroked her hair, his fingers gentle, his touch a steady anchor.

"You don't always have to blaze to be seen," he said, his voice low, a quiet truth.

She closed her eyes, her breath evening, and for the first time in years, her fire slept cold, a gentle ember cradled in the tavern's quiet embrace.